Stealing Wildflowers

149 words published on September 3rd

Then I remember why I’m there. I break the glass. I walk into the library. High ceilings and long, morning windows. Everything is made of wood. Tobacco clings to oversized chairs.

I find three books about Rocky Mountain wildflowers and I take them. Behind a desk, I find a librarian’s journal.

I thumb through the pages; pressed flowers fall out. The petals fall apart as they hit the table. That’s pretty funny, right? What a coincidence. Rocky Mountain wildflowers.

I take the journal too, because now it’s mine. That always happens after a good thumbing.

Outside the streets are empty. Dew on the trees. Dew on the grass. Everybody’s gone somewhere. And I had a hunch, you know. A hunch that the world emptied out while I was in there. That’s all it takes: 20 minutes. You get to have hunches like that when it’s the end of the world.