...and we heard a loud snap. Five, maybe six crackles and then a lightning bolt shot out. A mountain fell down and some wept. Most just died.
We hated it, all of us. (All that was left of me.)
It screamed and all the birds died.
Looking up, I had an epiphany: I am the air that I breathe.
I swatted at the gnats and locust rain. My eyes stung and died and my face became red.
Thoughts rot away when you die.
I'm not signing anything.