Uncle Drew's Lysergic Backbrain Apocalypse (Slight Return)
Eventually, day came. I hid in the woods way up past the hotel, burying myself in a pile of dead leaves until the sun went down. I moved only at night.
You more or less know the rest. Uncle Drew kept crying until the hotel was submerged in the lake of his tears. Not long after that, the whole city went. I don’t need to bury myself under the leaves anymore…I’ve built a very stable and respectable lean-to.
I know I’ll have to move again at some point….that damned salty lake keeps growing with no end in sight. You learn to let go.
I wish I knew what happened to Candi…I never saw her after that night. I fear the worst.
C.F. Roberts is a writer, visual artist, videographer and antimusician living in Northwest Arkansas with his wife, writer Heather Drain and a small menagerie of animals. He published and edited SHOCKBOX: The Literary/Art Magazine with Teeth from 1991 to 1996. He sings lead for the rock band, the S.E. Apocalypse Krew while also commandeering his own industrial project, 90 Lb. Tumor. He most recent publication credits are in Fearless, Paraphilia, Pressure Press Presents, Crab Fat Literary Magazine, The Birds We Piled Loosely, Blue Collar Review, Corvus Review, Antique Children, and Guerilla Genesis Press. His book, The Meat Factory and Other Stories, is available from Alien Buddha Press.
