Urban Omega
by Casey Jespon
© 1998

I sat at my lawn table and sipped my Fresco. In the distance I heard a bird chirp and a train derail. Dozens of people sent to a screaming death. But I didn't care. We were all going to die anyway. I had forseen the end of the world, the apocolypse that would be tomorrow. Nothing would spoil my last day on Earth, except maybe a violent sneeze. I saw a movie the other night where two boys paid their baby sister to unbutton her shirt. Surely a better last memory than eating catered dishes from a fast food restaurant, as I was doing now. I can't remember the last time I thought so much about Orson Wells. Perhaps if I uttered "rosebud" at the last second it would all be worthwhile.

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