I Feel Fine
He appeared on the screen
and told me in stereo
Get ready for the flood
the last time
the world will weep
for you.
I waited for a button prompt...
"repeatedly tap 'X' to build some shit”
Rain crawled in
through openings I didn't know existed,
licking passed those grooves
nails left in studs,
dripping out of the buttons
on my remote.
I thought of tan, slender, fingers
with her knuckles,
holding herself
all together.
I tried to touch them
Nearly consumed by walloping mounds,
when the top of an old gazebo floated
by with its rickety planks
that housed the community
Christmas tree every year.
I floated down
where streets used to be,
and felt so stale in the rain.
There were
cries
from soaked strangers
wading and waiting
for a warm hand.
Between the wet gush of annihilation
and the dizzying turbulence
of the gazebo top,
I couldn’t hold on.
Not
one.
The best they got
(if anything)
was a final,
slippery, high-five.
Restart from last save!
Are you sure?
All progress will be lost.
The final pixels flickering
on Times Square mega tv's,
dying in a symphony
of salted
last breath bubbles
Drifting amongst the remaining buildings,
I could see the top of everything
that was created.
I looked into a corner office,
liquor housed in crystal
on a serving cart
just below pictures of family.
I looked for health and experience
but everything was still.
I thought the end would smell
like disease
or gun smoke,
but it smelled like the beach
and lingered like it too.
I could’ve built anything.
Pause.
Exit.
Open new game file.
Anything.
First published in Newtown Literary, issue 8, 2016