After Destruction

The prophet mutter his pronouncements to a jaded congregation that paid no attention. They didn't need to hear the truth from the mouth of a crazed zealot to understand this time was different. The world really was coming to an end. At least all the parts that mattered.

War. Drought. Pestilence. Disease.

Everything promised had finally arrived, and the people, rather than tending to their own affairs, were content to rage and destroy and ensure that everyone would meet the same fate. Leave nothing behind.

The prophet continued to mumble for anyone who might be listening.

"After destruction comes rebirth."

An Empire At War

The empire went to war the same way an insecure dog picks fights, erratically and for unknown cause. Was it to assert dominance in an uncertain universe? Or maybe to protect resources of little worth and questionable appeal to her adversaries? Who can say? The whims of the empress were unpredictable and perhaps more than a little self-destructive.

The reasons mattered little to the soldiers of the empire. They were just unfortunate strays caught up in affairs beyond their ken, with only one concern: hope that their lives, and their deaths, would somehow satiate the inscrutable monarch.

They rarely did.

All The Time In The World

“Paul, Emily here.” Pleasant and composed as always. “I need a power of attorney for my mom, Agnes.”

“Sure. Why the POA?”

“Mom has terminal cancer. Not yet but very soon she’ll need heavy morphine. I’ll handle her affairs.”

We meet at Hospice. Agnes is sitting up, hair brushed, gracious, as pleasant and composed as Emily. She signs the POA, we find witnesses. We chat, then: “Thanks, Paul, so very much. Goodbye!” All without any misgivings, remorse, self-pity. As I leave, mother and daughter carry on, chatting amiably. They make the most of it.

All the time in the world.

From Guest Contributor Tony Covatta