Knowing the future doesn’t help.
I lay there, looking at a rock as the edges of my vision dimmed and the voices drew closer.
“Daddy, can you show me how to do this?”
I smiled and bent down next to him. “Of course.”
The sky tore. Blinding light suffused the horizon, obliterating the color of the sunset. I wept.
“Babiluv, kiss me again!”
Her face shone and I complied.
His gargling faded to silence as my hands choked the life from him. My breath screamed in my chest, trembling setting in as I lurched back, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Son, help me with this.”
“Ok, daddy.” I bent down next to him in the garden, our purpose intent upon growth.
The wind swirled around us as we stood upon the peak, looking down at the valley below. Verdant growth swathed in multitudinous hues stretched forth, the scent of life permeating our nostrils. I breathed in deeply, the joy bursting from my heart.
“Is this the end?” Some screamed as buildings crashed to earth around us.
“It is the beginning.” I whispered, kneeling, eyes shut tightly, secure in my place.
I inhaled the dry earth. The heat of the sun soothed my back. The voices were close. Concerned. I closed my eyes.
Knowing the past helps.