Hints and Whispers
There’ve been many.
I’m an intuitive person by Nature (well, OK, maybe by Nurture, what the bleep do I know?). For whatever reason, I’ve relied on intuition my entire life. It’s how I process “data.” The thing is, though, it hasn’t been all that profitable an experience.
I see hints and I hear whispers. Unfortunately, the hints are indecipherable...the whispers inaudible. I can sense a change in the air; hear a subsonic rumble beneath my feet, but nothing more.
In my youth, I would lie awake at night pondering the imponderable. I would conjure a myriad of hypotheses; analyze EVERY facet as dark hours melted into dawn. Then would come the fateful day when
I finally learned the meanings of the auguries and portents, the hints and whispers that had haunted me so. I would be flummoxed, gob-smacked, laid to waste and devastated...each and every time. You see, I may be intuitive, but I am also naïve. That’s not a combination worth braggin’ on, or writing home to mom about. I mean, what’s the point of knowing that tragedy is in the air, if one can’t see the piano falling from the sky? I never possessed sufficient wisdom to know when life, as I knew it, would end. Despite the fact that I took careful measure of the angles...sifted, sorted and weighed the possibilities...
I ALWAYS overlooked the skinny chance that the faithful had lost their faith, that lovers no longer loved, or that something precious and beautiful may, someday, cease to be. I never considered
I said I was naïve. Believe it.
I’m different now. No, I still sense the hints and hear the whispers, but I no longer ponder the imponderable. I do not lie in bed red-eyed and frantic. No. I’ve WAY too many scars for that.
Nowadays, I merely lie prostrate...as storms rage and hard rain pelts my windows. I lie prostrate and listen to the wild winds shriek while coyotes yelp and howl. I lie silent, waiting, knowing only that...soon...
I will be drenched in my own blood.
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