Memphis Fast Fiction Home
08.01.2011
sludge
Eric Tate

They had laughed at me when I warned them that the river might one day come to life and kill them all. My boss told every one that I had relapsed with my alcoholism.

They had revoked my tenure when I said that the chemicals from modern life might cause unforeseen chemical reactions with the million year old organic matter in the river bed.

They had threatened to institutionalize me when I’d tried to prove that the harmonics from cargo jet engines could stimulate unpredictable, and possibly violent activity in silt-laden water.

They had arrested me when I chained myself across the bridge, in an attempt to stave off the impending doom caused by the vibrating bridge supports.

But, as that giant pseudopod of sludge rose up from the middle of the river this day, I couldn’t help but cackle madly to myself.

My cackle was cut short but a rather obvious, and thus even more painful, realization.

I had predicted all of this, but missed one key detail.

I had forgotten that I still lived here. And that I, and all of my things, would shortly be crushed under a billion tons of mud.

I hated being right.

Memphis Note:
Memphis sits on the bluff above the Mississippi River, the largest river in North America, and one of the biggest in the world. It is a huge, titanic thing that’ll kill you with out even realizing it (just ask Jeff Buckley), but it’s also the reason Memphis first got set up as a cargo port back in the 1800s.

0 Comments »

No comments yet.

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Leave a comment