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Prose Nocturnes: Ahead, Forward
We stare incessantly ahead, forward, gathered here from all stations in life---million dollar CEO and common pimp; scientist and trash collector; musician and journalist; rich, poor, old, young, both genders, all racial types, every sexual preference---all of us awkward, bewildered, not knowing what to say or, really, why we have been brought here; except that we are all here against our wills, and are unable to move. We pray, or curse, or scream, or weep, or call for our mothers or other loved ones until the pre-set television comes on for a single hour, the nightly news broadcast; and, quieting, we hear again about the spree of the latest serial killer, dubbed The Headsman, who took our lives from us, and us, us heads, from our bodies and lives, leaving only bleeding, decapitated corpses.
