Our National Nightmare
(via synecdoche)
The old man tossed in bed and then expelled a frightful whooping cough. His pillow damp from the wetness of his brow. He turned over all the way in bed to face his grandson. The quiet one he never liked. “It…“
“What Grandpa?” asked the boy rushing to his side.
“…warn them. Must. Coming…” he said between shivers. The moon glowed a full silver through his attic window.
“Grandpa? Grandpa?” repeated the boy.
“It’s coming… SOON.” Grandpa slumped over. His heart had stopped. His eyes still full of warning.
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