IX. Apocalypse.
- aliya anand
- Jan 20, 2022
- 1 min read
The little Martian looks around eyes wide, mouth agape.
His hands dart out to grasp at the low-hanging banyan roots in the park near my house. He pulls them back just as quickly, with a silly giggle.
His eyes are gleeful as he takes in the bright blue sky and the poofy clouds. He arches his back in the 3 pm sun and takes a long ,deep breath of crisp January air.
"How can it be so beautiful?" He wonders out loud
"What?"
"The apocalypse."
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