Please don’t label me some kind of spiritualist weirdo or hippie when I tell you this: the blockage to my third eye chakra has been extricated. I walked here in the middle of the night because I needed to be sure. I needed to be here to wait for her. I needed to stand here, on the coast, to see.
I would say to heed this warning–but I fear it might be too late:
The world will end today.
A fact that only I know.
Verified by a vision: a precognition.
Today’s the day the sun explodes.
There will be no indication or variation to how you begin your day; the same nondescript mediocrity from the moment that you wake. Once it happens, you won’t know it has happened right away; you’ll have to wait for a little less than 8 and a half minutes. This is how long it takes for light from the sun to make its way to earth. This is how long after it will be before you to see the hot-white light of destruction and a new dawn with no hope of rebirth.
8:20.
The dream begins on the beach. It’s reoccurring and I’ve seen it play out countless times throughout my life. Before me, a frail woman stands in the sand, casually cradling a cigarette in her smallish hand as she looks out onto the water. The bones in her insubstantial fingers are long and thin, just as the cigarette too is thin and long. She is hunched over but her head is high and alert. Her long neck, bendy and unnatural, curving like a swans, furls out in the shape of an S while the rest of her is hunched and lumped with advanced age pressing constantly down on her so that the weight on her back causes a miraculous hump that dreams of inevitable collapse. Her skin is brown and weathered; like worn leather, a handbag, that has a load of rocks within and yet is somehow inexplicably as thin as tissue paper. She dreams of her end as she remembers where she did begin and wishes for someone to come to her—someone or something to save her from her cage of pain–from her decaying body and her joints of stone. Her frame is gaunt and though she’s mere skin and bones, her potbelly that protrudes, that aspect alone of a life well lived exists in direct defiance and contradiction to the thing the rest of her is. The gales of the sea-breeze press her orange-and-yellow-flowered sundress, shuddering and snapping it on the wind, silhouetting her crooked shape and whipping at her snakelike nape. To-and-fro, before and behind, it dances as though it is possessed of it’s own mind and has taken many drugs to warp itself into a wicked, whipping, wild frenzy that beats to no observable beat and no observable signature of time. This ravaged frame, all havocked boney limbs and pendulously sagging tits that this woman has over the years became. She stands upon legs so delicate and birdlike–I find myself surprised they support her at all. Two little twigs standing firm against the winds of a squall.
Shielding her eyes from the sunshine, she slowly opens her mouth. I’m standing behind, but instinctively I am aware that were I able to walk around to her front, the eyes staring up at the sun would be nothing but empty sockets filled with vacant, blackness. Opaque and nothing. Her mouth too is a yawning opening, uncrowded by teeth or tongue and filled with void alone. Minutes pass around us and she stands, unmoving and statuesque, except for her snapping dress. After an inordinate amount of time staring upwards, her mouth begins opening further and further; unhinged and gaping in an impossibly snakelike fashion—an ever widening hole of abyssal nothingness—this all the while accompanied by the tribalistic chaotic dance of her whipping dress. She begins to claw at the tissue-paper, her skin, shredding it and revealing the sinew within. It tears along with her dress to ribbons that move whip-like on the wind. All of it is flowing out behind her then, snapping in the salty zephyr, just before the thing begins.
This happens today. You can believe me or not. Won’t matter soon.
The pills they gave me were what did it. Made the blockage. The chakra is open now. I’m sorry I had to kill that man. That guard who worked overnights. He was always nice to me. Please tell his wife and children that I’m sorry but it was necessary. I needed to be free. I needed to be clear. I needed to see.
I needed to be here to wait for her. I needed to stand here, on the coast, to see. I walked here in the middle of the night because I needed to be sure that I was awake.
This is not just a crazy thing the doctors say I believe.
This is awakening.
This is no dream.
Am I awake?
Are you?
I’ve been watching her skin and sundress flutter in flaming ribbons behind her for about 8 minutes now.
I have seen her too. It happens soon.