Endtimes

We came to a river. It was nighttime, and you could hear the bullfrogs. A couple of Christians running around with their heads chopped off were to be our guides. They were very solemn. I could only accept Jesus into my stomach, and I could only get half of him down even with that delicious sauce. For you sportsmen, it was a Mercury that powered the boat. The water was as black as a cat in a dark alley at night, the stars like those glowing eyes upon the rushes. Someone showed me his collection of owl pellets. “In water they become what the owl ate,” he said. It must be lean times for owls too because when he threw one in, it slithered off without even speaking to us.

There was a kid who kept whining, “Are we there yet?” His father, an old man with a beard, kept threatening to turn the boat around. It was funny considering his bible, which he used as a rudder, kept us circling until we were so dizzy the earth reversed its rotation.