The Divine Farce (LeapLit)

by Michael S.A. Graziano

Theatrics don’t work if nobody cares.

H must stand for Hell. The food must have been made and stamped in Hell’s kitchen. Then again, H could stand for Heaven. Or for the Hilton Group. Maybe the management of Eternity had been outsourced to a hotel chain.

There is no motivation like thirst.

I lost all kindness. I tore at people’s hair and skin, I hit, I elbowed myself into gaps in the crowd, I screamed. The caves were filled with moving obstacles that I no longer recognized as people. They were bags of stuff with legs. I didn’t care if I hurt those bags, if they would only get out of my way.

If death hands you rancid shit strewn with human hair, make an escape ladder. Is that a variant of the adage?