The Inexplicable Survival Of The Knives

It is a month after the deluge--

Stevens and I are the only humans left.

The rest have passed through the Brita filter of God's wrath, and into the next world.

It is up to me, now, to be the mother of mankind's future;

This means, of course, rapid extinction.

"Have a strawberry," urges Stevens. He thinks it will improve my snappish morning moods. It won't, but as a gesture I have agreed to leave my collection of ceremonial daggers locked in their gleaming glass cases until at least nine each day.

They were a gift from a former girlfriend, and I have kept them; even the one or two she kissed my bones with, by way of goodbye.

Nice.

Stevens is now huddled like a fetus up in the useless guard tower, watching old black and white movies.

He would like it if I loved him.

I do not.



In the evening, the sun sets into Stevens' tea cup, lighting his boyish face as if he were some outlet store saint.

I have to admit, he looks appealing at such times,

But all of my favorite dresses got ruined, my jewelry is gone, and I am prone to moody tears at the drop of a hat.

Charming.

All of this prevents me from going to him, wrapping my fingers around his sensibilities, and growling in his ear, "Planting time in the garden, Country."

Wouldn't he just love it if I did.

Wouldn't our Eden be lush and green, with happy babies in my arms and underfoot, as numerous as pebbles.

The truth is, though, that I wish Stevens were a woman.

He is not.



It is a month after the deluge--

Stevens and I are the only humans left.

When I get lonely enough, I let Stevens wear my black top hat and pitch the knives at me;

It reminds me of my true love's touch,

And if it grows dark enough,

He almost looks like her, except that his shoulders are too broad and he does not wish to kill me.

"Why are we the ones still here?" I scream at him in sudden desperate misery.

"What kind of crazy joke is this?"

I would like it if he would answer me,

But now he, too, is gone.

_______