Miss Subways

by David Duchovny

Gods are immortal and therefore patient.

Because ye olde gods are not dead. They walk among us still, with their pagan ideas and habits, waiting for reanimation. They are lonely. They are bored. And very, very pissed off. They grow tired of waiting, and they sense another historical moment is imminent. There is no wall high enough to keep them out, pace Donald. I’m afraid their time has come again.

we humans were gods of destruction, we were Shiva, destroyer of worlds, bringing death and extinction wherever we went,

Exactly—that’s what part of the story is saying about the power of your mind, it can think things that never were, and once thought, those things are here forever.”

Summer was almost here. Ah, summer. One thing about teaching was you never gave up that blessed relief come summertime—it still meant freedom from work and all those things that it means to little children. Some days, Emer liked that she retained this childish glee at coming June, some days she felt ashamed that she had never grown out of it.

one day, someone will find that bottle and wonder who the strangers in the photograph were. Someone may make up stories about the strangers and what they did. And some of it will be true. All of it will be true. AN END