Conversation

Written 57-H07 [2026-02-08], Edited 57-H07 [2026-02-08]

Image credit: Twitter Twemoji

“The end of the world is coming,” I said. “When Neptune aligns with Venus, the stream of tachyons from the Horse Head Nebula will increase in intensity until the entire continent of North America is vaporized. And what are you going to do about it?”

It was a full moon night deep in the bowels of the city. Thousands walked past, ignoring my interlocutor and I, crunching the snow underneath their boots.

“The rest of the planet will the choked with toxic gas and dust, the sun will be blocked out across the world for forty days and forty nights. Acid rain will dissolve people’s flesh and seep into the cracks of buildings. Do you understand that!” I said.

I pointed at the heathen. I was panting, clouds of vapor left my mouth in the freezing air.

“And then on the forty-first day, the clouds shall part and the Archangel of Xloptaryon the Circular shall appear. Yea, he shall take the form of a flaming wheel and judge the nonbelievers. Will you repent? Or shall you remain unfaithful, like a man with a heart of stone?”

The brick wall I was talking to remained motionless.

“That wasn’t much of a conversation,” I whispered to the tire of my car.

Feedback from the Joy of Writing group

• “in the bowels” - does that mean it is underground?
  • (nope)