How About This Armageddon, Then?
by Abner Dormiendo
They say we cannot choose where we come from, but we can choose where to go. The setting: the dinner table in your apartment, smoke from your cigarette lingering in the air like an aftermath. Weapons of mass destruction at our reach — a fork, a spoon, a Bible, the ashtray, the newspaper this morning reporting the death of a husband and wife, what is left of the chicken you ate resting on a plate, all of them casualties of this silent war. Never mind the mountains of papers and photographs stacked on the table, nor the static in the television. We cannot go back to where we were. I am offering you a choice. How about a fire? Let us burn what we have, papers and bones, our bodies included. I will be the ashes in your clothes, and you the smoke in my lungs. We cannot choose where to come from. But now, we could go.