Among the strata of rubble, a faint, pulsing blue light. Digging to identify the source. A monitor is extracted. They shake it, wipe it with a rag. Repeating on the screen, an image of someone from Their Time, the time of the Loco Eagles. In a scene with a house and a lawn, some words can be heard. "Now." "Didn't you?" The person saying the words moves with poise, grace even. Her blue and white clothes: water and light. She leans out the doorway of a white bus. Beatific smile. The pair thinks, They were not all killers. "Flow." Did one of the others call her “Flow?” Movement, grace, hope among desolation: Flo. God (who is absent) is not against us, the pair thinks.
No comments:
Post a Comment