Even the winds are dashed to bits by what comes.

I guess she was too busy eating moist grapes from a plastic baggie to notice the destruction of the entire world that was going on right before her eyes. All she knew was the seedless wonder that was enrapturing her taste buds. Perhaps if she held one in her open mouth, on her tongue, with the sun's rays shining to the top of it, she could make half a raisin. Or perhaps she would run out and begin to notice what was going on around her. Everyone running and crying and calling names. Names. Naming names that no longer had relevance. There was simply the person next to you, friend or foe. The squirrels still danced for her though. They still knew the spirit of fun. She imagined how she would play with them if she was a squirrel. Her tail would be quite bushy and swift. The breeze would run through it and straighten it out, while she would flick it to make a singular pattern in the wind.

She would also tell her boyfriend to do the dishes. Where has he been the last few days? Why hasn't he called. He knows of the destruction of the world, and he is preparing himself accordingly. He cannot dote too much on her these days. But she is not an idiot. She just doesn't know yet. She will. She will help a great many people, and will know just what to do. She has courage in times of crisis that outstrips all reason or necessity. She will find that man in the bar, huddling and crooning for drinks, and tell him to go home and visit with his wife. Things are so temporary, and imagine if he did not do what was in his heart. If he did not give the care he ought to. If he stopped looking after his own troubles. If he looked outside himself. Looked with wonder, then he would find something.

It's never too late.