Apocalypse Dream #3 This Month

From where I stood still on the busy streets, the crowd parted like a velvet theater curtain, and a tall man in plaid strode up to me and handed me a card that read:
________________________

6,446,131,400 murderers =

0 people.
________________________

These days, soothsayers were spreading their words through business cards, flyers, pamphlets. It was impossible to tell the ones with vision from the ones without.

* * *

Phrases rendered obscene because of their inability to produce meaning were shouted repetitiously around me: "Neffort, neffort, neffort!" "Aski, aski, aski!" I was huddled near the passenger side headlight in 50s movie atom bomb position in the middle of an alley. At least ten men and women filtered in and out of the car, blood splattered, some with hatchets, some with guns, some with bare hands, all ridding the world of each other. I don't even feel anything anymore. I just want away from this. Booted feet and ragged jeans dripping blood appeared in front of my eyes and I ran to the end of the alley.

There is a man waiting there who motions to a machine gunner at the other end of the alley. "Rid her of her misery," he shouts. "Do away with her." The machine gunner aims and I run.

* * *

The streets are real, city, grey, corporate. A gaunt, shaved head cop with bloody cheeks stands still amidst more murderous chaos in the left rule of thirds photography position. A sign for Quick Lube flickers in the background. An upturned car burns. I turn and leave the view.

* * *

I need a needle and thread. The city is wasted, unholy, in shambles. Grey, again. I step over cement stumps in a parking lot and hear a wounded child screaming. At this point, I am too numb to care and choose to avoid the sound rather than help the child. I get to the post, a small counter at the edge of the parking lot, and tell the woman what I need. She charges me an unexpectedly high amount. These supplies are dear.