Apocalypse Soon

 S  till reading, reading and waiting, waiting.

The more I read the more complicated it gets. Good. Because it is complicated. If it were simple, I would be suspicious.

I have to go back to what bacteria are—and how to kill them.

I was walking to the store and looking around me. I saw the grass, the trees, the road, the buildings, the people, and I suddenly saw it all with new eyes. As if I had new bacteria-seeing sensors—you know, like that chemical luminol, that can see blood traces even after they've been cleaned.

And I imagined a green blanket over the entire scene—a blanket of just bacteria, trillions upon trillions of them, occupying every conceivable space . . . dying by the trillion, expanding by the trillion in one colossal, pulsating mass . . . seething and glowing around living things, sparse and feeble on inanimate surfaces, like the walls of buildings.

Then, I come home and look at my cat, Kai, and imagine a glowing, furry mass of quadrillions of Bacterioides, Firmicutes and Prevotella, all patiently swarming and doing their fuzzy little bacterial jobs.

Our tiny overlords. All living and loving in perfect harmony.

Kai, through my new eyes. He leaves a glowing trail everywhere he goes . . .