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Behind a rusty dumpster, beneath a wet limp sheet of cardboard, Dexter contemplated the Apocalypse. There would be no fire, no brimstone, no seven seals or winged dragons, just a clean open forum for group discussion, bringing all of the people of the world together for frank interaction and sharing of ideas. That was the only way it could be reasonably expected to work. Dexter scribbled his revelation on a scrap of paper with a short blunt grease pencil. He surveyed his prose, pleased with its clarity and power.
The rain started to drip through the cardboard, so he folded the paper into a little triangle and stuffed it in his pants. It would be safe there from prying eyes. He poked his head out from the cardboard to see if Dixie were coming. The wet filthy street was empty. Dixie was supposed to bring a bottle of wine, since Dexter had bought the last one, but she had been gone for hours. Dexter began to lose hope of Dixie holding up her end of the bargain.
Hark! A light came from above and the skies cleared. The rain stopped and Dexter sat up with a start. He reached in his pants, desperately trying to find paper he had written on. It had slipped down his leg, so he stood and shook his foot until it fell out by his ankle. He picked it up off the wet ground, sat back down, unfolded the paper and began to read. "And the skies will clear and the heavens will open. A voice will bellow from above."
"Dexter, Dexter!" a voice bellowed from above.
"Yes, Lord. I am here," said Dexter, trembling with fear of the Almighty.
"Lord? You fuck head. It's me!" Dixie stood before him with a bottle of wine. "Now move yer keister and let me sit down."
Dexter moved over and they shared the wine.
"This wine is holy, though," thought Dexter. But it wasn't holy; it was just cheap.
Date Written: December 09, 2002
Author: Ewan Snow
Average Vote: 3