We Are Here to Hurt Each Other

by Paula D. Ashe

I didn’t even register his long strides towards me. Didn’t really feel the heat from the flame as it kissed the tip of the tobacco and paper. I inhaled the poison, and him. “Why do you leave them roses?” I expected at least a flash of panic or fear, but instead he smiled with his whole being as if he’d been waiting for release. “Because I want them to know reverence. The kind that life restricts.” Unconsciously, we turned from the bar and headed back towards the heart of the city. He lit up and blew rings into the night air. A siren howled. “How did you know it was me? Are you a cop?” I laughed. “No. I’m just an admirer of your work.” “Huh,” he said around his cigarette. “What do you do?” “I feed the suffering that fuels existence.” We were at the middle of Clarksdale Bridge. The river was a winding black mirror. I flicked my cigarette away, watched the orange light float then fade. “If that’s true, you should be worshipped.” I smiled. “In some corners of the universe, I am.” And this is our beginning and Heaven's promised end. Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful; and the end of that mirth is heaviness. Proverbs 13:14 (KJV)