Sky Full of Elephants

by Cebo Campbell

They killed themselves. One morning, every white person in America walked into the nearest body of water and drowned.

But then again, Charlie noted, neither grief nor calamity had ever stopped the joy of black people.

The city almost resembled life before the event—with subtle differences. There were no more homeless people. Less trash littered the shoulders, because no one mass-produced single-use plastics and containers anymore. The biggest difference, he determined, was better felt than seen. The only word he could think to describe life was easier.

“Charles, it’s okay to be two things at once. Every day that a tree is growing, it’s dying at the same time. If it can do that, then a very sad thing can also give you release.

“Walkers,” Sailor said. “Believe they can get into heaven if they follow white folks into the sea.”