Erin Christenson

The heavens part in a golden ray of light, bathing the horrid pits of the earth, mud lathered over the people’s backs, broken and sore, penniless and doomed to die without know what it was all for, bathing over the dying trees and blackened oceans, corpse upon corpse beginning to glow with the light provided by the heavens almighty touch, everything on earth looked to the sky, thier savior was here, whether they be to perish or save them, for a riddance of the earth could be enough to satisfy the poisoned life we sit contempt with. All eyes, at once looked at the great figure in the sky, coming to be salvation, to be a guardian, to be a healer, for the broken world. The people went silent, except for one man, the bravest in the world, who managed to muster but two words in his awe, and he muttered under his breath, “It’s Shaq.”