Ghosts in the Sun

I don't remember the end.

They say it was blackness.

Flames.

Screaming.

Death.

They say that when the smoke cleared, all those still breathing turned wild from the sight of the scorched, mangled corpses. They say we ran to the cold, broken shells of our loved ones and tried to beat them conscious as if their internal fire hadn't flickered out.

Those of us left formed a cult in what used to be California and went madder than rabid dogs.

We began eating the sooty bodies from lack of food, fighting and killing each other over garbage. We plundered and raped and murdered, losing sight of humanity.

Then, he came.

They say he found the it when he stumbled upon puddles of spilled radioactive waste; the chemicals running together and mixing to form a miracle.

The drug that makes us feel nothing.

“A blessing from God,” they call it.

I don't believe in God.

I believe in gods.

They're the real ones who saved us.