It was a day like any other save for the reddish hue cast out of the sky. Someone described it as being a day for killers, but nobody believed them. Somebody described it as being a day for madmen and saints, but nobody believed them either.

And all because of the sky?

- - - - - - -

Wagner awoke with a stomach ache and for a moment he was certain that he’d vomit all over the place; but he hated vomiting more then almost anything . . . especially when it came out the nose. There was no way to get the sting out of there.

The feeling passed.

He rolled out of bed, letting his feet touch the ground; and there was a shudder. It was more than sickness, whatever in the hell that meant.

MORE THAN SICKNESS.

Wagner walked to his window and pulled back the drapes, but he was afraid to look at the sky. Instinctively, he knew there was something different about today. Maybe everything was changing because it couldn’t stay the same. Perhaps the world was going to explode before night came again. It might of even been that he was a fifteen year old boy with a finely tuned imagination.

Wagner wasn’t feeling well, and that was all. He’d a screwed up dream the night before . . . he only wished he could remember some of it.

"Wagner?"

He closed the drapes and answered his mother: "What?"

"It’s time to get ready for school."

"I don’t feel good," he explained.

Wagner’s mother came bursting through the door. Her hair was flat against her skull, and her eyes were flat too. A cup of coffee sloshed in her dry fingers. Wagner suddenly felt bad for her.

She felt Wagner’s head with her free hand and left it there a moment. "Well, your not warm," he said.

"But I don’t feel well."

"You don’t have a fever."

"I . . ." Wagner’s bottom lip trembled and he began to cry. "Something isn’t right," he explained, and he felt like he needed to throw up again.

"What do you mean?"

Wagner’s face went flush and he backed away from her.

"Wagner?"

His stomach felt real bad, and full, like it was ready to burst . . . and when Wagner puked it came out his nose just like he was afraid of.

"Oh no Wagner!" Cried his mother. "I’m sorry!"

Wagner was doubled up on the bed, his face a shade of green. He looked deep into the pile he’d made, perhaps looking for answers . . . some clue as to what might be wrong with him.

- - - - - - -

Wagner and his mother were watching One Life To Live when the newsbreak came on:

" . . . two juinors, Mick Garret and Ashton Riley, opened fire on a Oklahoma high lunchroom today, killing . . ."

But the broadcasts didn’t stop there.

" . . . a terrorist attack on New York City . . ."

" . . . car bomb in London . . ."

" . . . pandemonium . . . revolt . . ."

Wager puked all over the floor, getting much of it on his mother’s feet. She

had placed a crock pot beside him, but he’d forgotten that it was there.

"This is upsetting you," she said. There were tears in her eyes. She picked the remote off the arm of the couch and violently eradicated the onslaught of terror. She always new the world was getting worse, but this was unprecendented

"Mom," said Wagner. "I don’t want to die." There was blood around his mouth . . . and then he puked again: More blood . . . great big clots of it.

His mother became hysterical. "Come on!" She cried. "We’re taking you the doctor." Her face was flat and frightened, the eyes roiling beneath a sheen of dullness. "Come on!"

- - - - - - -

The sky opened up, and the world was dying. Those who believed in God got on their hands and knees hoping that it would be enough. Beasts skulked through the streets, their expressions wrought with fearsome anticipation. Strong alpha-men huddled in shadows, shivering. Women clung to their babies and cursed the universe. Everything was breaking open, and nothing would be the same. Most of them would die, their bones eventually twisting together in a finale of queer, human design. Saints would rule momentarily, but even they had to face facts.

- - - - - - -

"Mom. I had a dream that I killed you and dad."

"Not now Wagner. Now’s not the time."

"But I just remembered."

"Not now Wagner."

His mother clung to the wheel of the car as if it were the only thing keeping there. Here knuckles looked beached, as her nostrils flared darkly.

"What’s happening mom?"

She peered up at the sky . . . at the hole there. She wished they’d never moved to the city because the cities were gonna go first. What did Wagner say? He’d had a dream that . . . she had a splitting head ache. She was probably coming down with whatever Wagner had. Maybe she’d start puking blood too. We’re all going to die, and there’s nothing we can do about it. It started off just like every morning, but the sky . . . the fucking sky.

- - - - - - -

There was a man holding a sign in front of the doctor’s office. His face was darkness, like a hole . . . like the sky. THE END IS HERE, scrawled in woman’s lipstick.

Wagner’s mother looked behind the man. She hadn’t noticed that the doctor’s office was burning . . . that the world was on fire.

Holy fuck! Holy fire!

"Mom, I had a dream that . . ." Blood was collected at the corners of Wagner’s mouth. His eyes squirmed like oil in his starched face. He was possessed by the Devil himself. " . . . I killed . . ."

"Shut up Wagner!"

" . . . you . . ."

"Shut . . !"

" . . . and . . ."

" . . .up!

" . . . dad!"

They roared past the man with the sign, nearly hitting him . . . and the earth shuddered beneath them . . . shuddered over them.

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