Jan. 3rd, 2011

campkilkare: (Default)
"They say this is the year the world ends." It's warm here, warm for December for a East Coast girl. The hand in hers is warmer.

"They're always saying that."

She gets swatted, not without cause. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

"What do you think?"

"Maybe."

Another swat, even more deserved. "Sap."

"Ow! No mind-reading allowed!"

"Pfft. I did more damage to my hand than you." The hand touches her more gently, though. Another firework explodes, and the field gives up a chorus of oohs.

"You'll be fine. You're going to rule that school. I'm serious, though. About the end of the world."

"Are you?"

"Well... you know. I'm curious. You're into all that mystic stuff..."

"--meaning I have a couple candles and some cards--"

"So... what do you think about it?"

"I think..." She puts her hand over the other girl's. "I think I don't want to think about the ends of the world tonight."

"Sap." They fold together under the starburst light.

They only have a month left together, after all; the world, by everyone's best calculations, has at least two years. You can't believe everything you read on pyramids.

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T. Oso

March 2016

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