Oblivion

The deep hole on the sidewalk was no less guilty of her fall than the thoughts she was carrying in her head. How was she to know what a prophet sounded like? All she had was a telephone line hijacked by the static of her own judgement. She knew she couldn't face up to the conversation; she hung up.

The deep hole on the sidewalk was no accident. Had she answered her caller, he would have told her to watch her twenty seventh step. Better, he would have given her a different route altogether. But it scared her that he knew too much, and she, too little. It was more like her to run. It unfailingly distanced her moments of truth and brought her to where memory and imagination conveniently blended into one another.

The deep hole on the sidewalk offered no land lines, and had no reception. Should a prophet call again, she must dig herself out to answer.

(written March 2008)