June Flash Lit #10 - Up Against the Law

The end is near.  I have been saying it for years and it is always true.  Maybe it hasn’t happened yet, or maybe it’s already over.  It’s hard to tell, what with the physics and the psychics and all.  Time is a law unto itself, really, except when it turns into mass or energy or speed, which it does all too often, although can I really say it’s often?  That’s a time word, and thus uncertain.  But the vision, that’s true.  I’ve seen it.  The end.

It’s not about sheep and goats or wheat and chaff or left and right.  It’s not about fire or ice or even Frost and Dante and Milton.  Even John didn’t grok it with his menagerie of living creatures and horses and horned and horny beasts.

Funny thing, vision.  It’s faster than sound, but the sound is what makes sense.  The sound comes later, out of sync, and we have to piece it together with the sights like some kind of post-production engineers dubbing and redubbing.  Like knights who keep changing their names night after night.

The end?  What’s it like?  It’s the space at the end of the book, that last page before the back cover, blank, clear, light.  It’s the silence after the last period, the end of the sentence, when the sentence has been carried out and the law has no more to say.  It’s a wide, clear, glorious forgiveness stretching out into whatever it is that is left at the end.

“Move along, buddy.  You’re annoying the neighbors.  I don’t want to have to take you in drunk and disorderly again…”