Botanica Blues Read Online Free PDF Page A

fucking cars and move!” I scream. I honk my horn. “Move, you stupid fucks!” I turn and see a Catholic priest, staring at me from the sidewalk. I yell at him. “Make them move, damn you!” He looks at me sadly. I groan at him and roll up my window.
    I can’t be the only one who sees it. That has to be why they’re all staring, at the crack in the sky, the mouth. They all have to hear it. The wind is its terrible breathing, erratic and hot. The stench is from the sky, not the smoke. It’s not burning debris and bodies, it’s the reek of a place within, a place that is terrible and chews with broken teeth, with blazing hot stars. I lay down across my seat. They have to see it. I think of Martin, I see the hole in the sky. I find my gun in my hands. Cold and hard, mechanic. Ordered.
    Through the windows of my car, pressing through the glass I hear the pandemonium. People are screaming. I hear them. Some are calling out. It’s only adding to the chaos. I hate it. I can see people walking past my car. Out the windshield I see the cloud, still steadily rising. The mouth is leering at me.
    The gun is in my hands. I pull back the hammer.
    I see my phone. I consider texting Yang or someone but what would I write?
    I tumble off the seat as something hits my car hard from behind, tossing me forward onto the floor. Something slides out from under the seat. It’s the library books.
    I’m the only one who has these books in the city. I know what’s going on. I know.
    The gun is hot in my hand now. The pages fall open. Someone is banging on my car door in a way that makes no sense. The symbols with their strange geometry at the bottom of my car.
    My phone starts to ring. It’s face down so I can’t see who it is. Someone is screaming through the window.
    The cruel smile in the sky is laughing now, the smoke plume rising up into it. The wind mixes with screams.
    The phone rings again.
    Fists beat on my windows. Sirens shriek in the distance.
    The page lies open.
    Chaos.
    I bring the gun to my head.
    The symbols are there. Burned into the land.
    The mouth in the sky gapes wider, devouring its sacrificial smoke.
    The people are crying. Martin’s words ring in my ears.
    I put my finger on the trigger.
    I see the face of the priest in the window.
    The symbol on the page is there.
    Chaos.
    I squeeze the trigger.