An October Day

         Last night I dreamt of blood. There was a huge oak tree at the center of a black hill with crimson colored leaves on its dead, crooked branches. A blinding white background surrounded the view, searing the eyes to nearly blindness. The leaves fell down silently,—almost serenely—down to the coated ground which seemed to have held the basis of so many lives. There was no escaping the sight, the blood, the fear…

         It's late October here in New York City, the time of the year when the leaves begin to fall down from the trees’ branches like shriveled, dead skin. The sky is a dreary grey. It’s been like that for days. Along with the life of this city Death seemed to have taken the sun with him as well. No one was able explain the atrocity of what happened. It could be anything really; a virus, the government…or God. Maybe he’s had enough of humans what with our selfishness and greed. Maybe he’s decided to wipe us out, teach us a lesson.

         Well, whatever it is, there’s no stopping it now. From what I could see out of my window, New York City is a ghost town. No people walking down the sidewalks, no streetlights working, no heavy traffic, nothing. All there was left were the trees and their transparent leaves, falling down, down, down just as we are.