[Fiction] Dear Posse No. 3: What the Sun Said

Dear Posse,

I want to thank everyone who keeps commenting to say “the eclipse is over, everything is normal, it’s cool, quit worrying, stop freaking out.”

I know better.

The shadows want me to think the same thing.

I’m not falling for it.

I walked down the Tobacco Trail this morning, past a middle-aged white guy in a Hamilton T-shirt listening to Joe Rogan without the courtesy of earbuds. “We’re all going to die,” I yelled at him over the stoned blather coming from his smartphone.

He didn’t say anything back. Just walked the other way a little faster.

The sun stopped screaming long enough to say: “Warn them all you want. They don’t see what you see. Your vision goes behind it all.”

What happened isn’t a gift, I don’t think. But maybe it’s not entirely a curse. I’m not blind, just uncomfortable. I tried eye drops. They didn’t help.

I need lunch.