Better Not BeMature

            Next day, woke up. Should have been morning. Wasn't. I was right. Tomorrow became today; sure had found the sun. Plucked out of the sky and into my pocket.

            Now it was dark. Now it wasn't morning. New night to follow the old one. Not but a moment of light between them. Morning no longer.

            The world was ending, though. Wasn't it?

            That's why the cars drove ceaseless. The city emptied, an hourglass with too much sand. Not enough space to escape to. That space was ending too.

            Wasn't it?

            Certainly seemed so.

            I was dead now, standing. Below the window, mine no longer. I knew that. I had hunted myself. And now I was my own prized pelt. Hunter.


            I turned around. Sunlight shone out of my pocket.

            "Hunter, is that you?"

            "No," I answered. "No, it is not I."

            And the stranger passed me by. So much for recognition. I didn't bother with it. They didn't bother with it.

            God damn it, I realized. This better not be another vivid dream. Damn the anti-depressies. Why do I even take them?

The End

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