Pulled from a deep sleep, she picked up her ringing phone. “Hello?”
“Turn on the television,” her husband commanded.
The dark box came to life and she tried to make sense of the images before her. As she watched, a plane struck a tower like an arrow shot through a cowboy. She gasped.
“The world is ending. I want to be with you.”
“If the world is ending,” she answered, “I don’t want to be with you.”
He opened the cabinet doors though he knew nothing remained behind them. Yesterday, he’d stood on a chair and looked for crumbs left behind on the shelves, wetting his finger to pick them up and licking them off.
He couldn’t share with his mother. Feeding her would only make him twice as hungry and prolong her suffering. And she was suffering, there was no doubt about that – wasting away. Waste not, want not.
His mouth watering, he picked up the cleaver and left the kitchen.