Friday afternoon, three fifteen p.m. Traffic hums merrily along as the weekend approaches. Songbirds overhead are in full voice. Far beyond the suburban streets, high in the hills, the earth is abloom with color. The world’s every breeze carries upon it the scent and the promise of summer, etc., etc.
And yet. Does the universe not teeter on the very brink of destruction?
Yes. Yes, it does teeter, on that exact brink.
Cover Page Footnote
Xiomara was originally published at Booth.
Booth: Vol. 7
, Article 4.
Available at: https://digitalcommons.butler.edu/booth/vol7/iss6/4