Chapter Four: DEATH

I can feel it building up in the air. Like a storm, exactly like a storm, except there is no way to predict where the lightning will strike or when or what will happen when it does. In fact, there may be no lightning at all. I can feel it building up in the air with no release in sight, suffocating me with portentousness, with ominous feelings. Like this is the END of the WORLD and EVERYTHING is going to BREAK DOWN into CHAOS. All of the BUILDINGS and STREETS and CARS and AIRPLANES will BREAK DOWN and people will FALL out of the SKY like DROPS of RAIN and

What am I saying? Why do I get like this? Is the conspiracy trying to make me insane or do I know about the conspiracy because I am insane? Where do I draw the line? How do I know certain things are real and certain things are not?

I have never seen the conspiracy at work. They perform their actions, work their miracles, behind everyone's backs, in the secret corners of the Earth. Not in alleyways, but in the offshoots of alleyways, in the hidden spaces no one knows.

But I have seen DEATH. DEATH is something different. DEATH is not a part of the conspiracy. DEATH is the only thing outside of the conspiracy, outside of everything.

As I walked to my car, after work, I saw DEATH.

She had fingers like knives.