A Refugee

It was sudden, as they say in dime novels, but it was really sudden: having fallen asleep in this world, we woke up in another, and there wasn’t a place in the world for us. It wasn’t a matter of survival, it was a question when the last man on Earth dies. Sometimes among the crowd of people like me I see angels who lost their heaven too. Still, thin and tall, they look like road signs: signs of nothing, a road to nowhere. We pass them by in silence: nor hope, nor plea, nor prayer. I heard over there behind the hills the huge dead body of god lies