HolY InFaNT, ANONYM “The end of what?” they ask. “The end of the world.” Time slows down as they each reach the same conclusion you have. Clambering to the bow of the ship, they all want a look at what will be their certain and untimely death. Soon the hysteria morphs into silent acceptance. Collectively you sink down and sit together on the deck, a group of old men on the sea, unlucky and all alone. The edge of the Earth appears to grow closer each time you look, and it’s hard to keep from picturing each ghastly way a trip over that great waterfall of uncertainty could end. A man shouts, “It’s here! Brace yourselves!” Your eyes instinctively squeeze shut, synchronized with the rest of the crew. A wave splashes over the side of the boat. You taste salt on your tongue and shiver with the cold shock of the sea and you know—this is it. This is where it all ends. You succumb to the fear and everything goes black. Slowly coming to, you cautiously stand up and look around. Everything looks just as you left it. The salty wind blows across your face, the sun glimmers on the damp deck, and the boat rocks on the turbulent—but slowly calming—sea. As you take in your surroundings you are more sure then you have ever been.
63 • ECHOES
