The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On

by Franny Choi

The good news is that things will go back to the way they were, which is also the bad news.

It Is What It Is Each morning, on her way to make a living, my mother passes that business, now closed, where— I’ve tried not to think of it— a man killed three Korean mothers just like mine. Her voice echoes, heavy, into the tunnel between us: What am I supposed to do? Be afraid? What am I supposed to do? In the tunnel between us, her voice echoes, heavy just like mine. A man killed three Korean mothers. I’ve tried not to think of it. That business, now closed. Where to make a life? My mother passes each morning on her way.

In the afterlife of apocalypse, my people, too, are settlers of a theft. Pay me like a man whose ancestors burned down the homes of Pequot children. Deserve, deserve, what a sad little word. I’m an upstanding citizen of a country far from earned.