And Soon They’ll Carry Him Away
Life as theater. That’s a funny line, given my experience with it. I remember wading out into the middle of the creek. It ran high, because of all the rain that spring, and I couldn’t see the bottom too well. I picked my way out there to claim one of His work shirts, snagged on some underwater rock.
And, I couldn’t stop looking at the sky. It was weighted down with more rain.
I slipped on a rock and fought to keep my face above the silty water as I studied the angry sky. Tried to imagine the shapes in the clouds. Who they were. What they would become. To divert my mind from my dilemma.
Was I dying? Drowning? Seizing? My body was doing something I couldn’t understand. Couldn’t control. I roiled along with the current and hoped someone would recognize me, that my face wouldn’t be bashed in when I ran aground.
I reached for a puff of white shirt. Or I tried. My arm was dead as the cloth bloomed over my face. I watched the clouds of material obliterate the purple sky.
And purple faded to black.