The scene could only be described as a swarm of people. Midge studied the swarm that seemed to be circling something in the center of its mass. She noticed a figure emerging from the mass. It was a tall, beautiful woman standing at the center of the storm of people.
Weston lay in the floor gasping for breath. A dark figure stood over him swinging a piece of paper back and forth while saying something that Weston couldn't quite make out. Blood trickled down the side of Weston's face. A head injury? Probably. Weston recalled stuffing the lab report in his pocket then putting on his coat ready to leave the lab. After that, there was nothing.
Something caught his eye. It was one of Marshall's doodles. He would draw pictures of bugs on lab reports, a practice that neither the boss or Weston liked. This picture was nearly identical to the Cicada that hung in the shadowbox. It was spread across the left margin and looked to be painstakingly drawn down to the pin stuck through the middle of the dead Cicada. Under Marshall's artwork were the words, "Call Midge!"
Feet planted firmly on a rock, I was standing in the middle of gently flowing creek in my grandmother’s back yard. Click title to read more.
“Mom, there’s something wrong.” The alarm in my tone caught her attention. Before I could go further, I saw the mass diving toward the street. “Run.” That’s all I could say before a hellish nightmare descended on the crowd.
The flip side of this dystopian trend includes a gravitation toward hope, strength of spirit, love of our fellow man, and taking on a more optimistic view of the world around us despite the negativity that we are assaulted by.