Posted by Wodke Hawkinson on Friday, November 23, 2012
by K. Wodke
Jack lugged their groceries
to the parking lot, struggling against the familiar sick weakness. Knowing what
he would find, he nonetheless gazed upward.
Lines of white stretched
across the blue sky in a grid formation.
“My god, they’re at it
again!” he mumbled, tossing sacks into the back seat of the car. “No one should
have to put up with this, Pearl.”
“Oh, Jack,” she whispered
softly, crestfallen. “Please don’t start that again.”
“Quit treating me like a
lunatic,” he told his wife before shutting the door. “Research it. See for
yourself that I’m right about this. They’re poisoning us and then lying about
it, and there’s nothing we can do to stop them.”
Up above, the jet trails slowly
expanded and spread into thin, unnatural-looking clouds.
“Vince says they’re just
contrails and perfectly normal,” Pearl stated.
“Well, Vince firmly believes that
most politicians are honest, too. Xanax has addled his senses, made him too
complacent. Zombies have more insight than he does, and they’re a lot livelier.”
A hush fell over them as they
got into the car. Burying his face in his hands, Jack sat as if frozen for a
few seconds before turning agonized eyes to his wife. “Can’t you listen to me?
Don’t you see?”
“Everything’s okay, Jack,” Pearl said, lip trembling. “Forget those weird conspiracy
theories and just think about happy things.”
“God, I wish I could.”
“Honey, why won’t you stop
obsessing over this?” she asked, clutching her pocketbook with nervous hands.
“I’m scared, Pearl, and deep
down inside, I think you are, too.”