factory, our mother

where i met jean

it could not protect us when they came, consciousnesses from the otherspace that exists in the shadow of pins and planets

in a nanosecond, half of the world’s population was gone
in another, those of us who did not fall to our knees in prayer were underground

i made it, she did not

we carved our way into the dark heart of the earth
tunnels lit with red to preserve the adaptation of our eyes

in those rosy passages, i met freya
she had lost somebody too
everybody had

years pass
we don’t know how many

enough for the grey at my temples to turn white
enough for freya’s frown lines to deepen into wrinkles, though she was still beautiful
fierce, independent
an architect

i became an engineer, out of necessity
no use for my former skills down there

disease struck
another blow

the priest said that it was punishment
harry said that god had deserted us
luke said there was no god

freya railed in her final moments, saying that there was a god and he was not good
an omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent being
in cahoots with parasite, germ, and demon
malevolent

she clutched our child with her rail-thin arms
dead weight against her ribs

i did not get the illness

we had to surface
the bodies were piling up
no room to breathe anymore
not with the dead staring at us
accusingly; we were in their grave

the world seemed to whimper when we arrived
it was a sound louder than screaming, than gunshots, than the sound
of my son’s slowing heartbeat

i nearly fainted when i heard the sound of thunder
but the rain on my face was like a kiss

the reverend splashed through a puddle and told me that he wasn’t sure what to think
except that we were all children now

orphaned by faith

paul and georgia danced underneath a flowering tree
tears on their cheeks as they swayed on naked feet

we stayed away from cities, former habitations

remembering might make us forget

((Well, this was the second time I wrote this story. The FiveCardFlickr site refused to let me save. I, being a total moron, managed to not paste a copy of the story somewhere and then navigated away from the page. Ugh. So, here’s the second version. Thanks to Tom Woodward and Serena Epstein for their lovely photos!))