Don’t call it a movie. A fib. A lie. Call it alive. Alive we are. Alive we will be, tomorrow is always here, a tale for the historians it is going to be. So, how you will tell the story to your grandchild, the script will dictate. Tomorrow!
Flicking through the three hundred sixty five pages New York Times bestseller, the title reads, when the world stopped, like a Broadway musical. An hand embroidered stitched letters on the back of a tablecloth.
It wasn’t me or you or they, it was us, all of us. It wasn’t black, white, brown, yellow, gray or pink, it was us. It wasn’t I speak Portuguese, you speak English, yo hablo Espanol, je parlais Francais, Io parlo Italiano, oh sorry no I don’t speak German; it was us. Yeah, who cares really?! It quivered. Who? What?! Us. The world. Stopped into complete oblivious, paralyzed from the waist down, naked like a prostitute on the corner street, baked like sweet potato left despondent on a dark alley by an unknown martian masquerading as Hercules.
The plot wasn’t without a hole but it was real. The town’s people were up and arms, mystified, ready to eat crow but came to their senses long enough to demand answers. Who in the name of the Holy Ghost could have committed such atrocity but it was too late. Hitting the break they couldn’t, the beast was already out driving like a drunken squirrel and stopping it, would have been as clever as trying to call a lifeline on who wants to be a millionaire. Huh?! Yup. A task. An episode. A job. Last I heard, whatever it was, took off line zippping down like Elon Musk spaceship leaving folks stranded on the banks of the river Jordan drum beating themselves to death. Who in the moon years would have the answer? But just like a flashlight, folks heard a cracked voice peeking through the bushes, turned around to see the town obnoxious chatty charley blabbing that miss Katherine might. She might, he said but why? “I don’t know, she might; cause she was the only one left boozenapping”, he replied.