The line didn’t seem to be getting any shorter. They wound back and forth in the roped-off corridors. In the distance, a terrible light obscured the front. There was a faint suggestion of wings.
“I’m so excited,” Geraldine confided.
“Sure you’re… going up, then?” said Paul.
“It’s probably the backlog. You know, the Apocalypse and all. The anticipation makes it better.”
“I wonder,” said Paul, “wouldn’t we be happier if we actually knew? I mean, where exactly are we now?”
Geraldine didn’t answer, but her brow wrinkled with new concern. In the distance there was a cry, abruptly cut off.
DP FICTION #5: “Not a Bird” by H.E. Roulo
58 minutes ago