Ends

The river is cold, there's a wind from the East. Your sneakers are new, they have that soft swing to them. It's the first time you run this stretch since the girl was dragged off the path and raped last week. You brace yourself. The bandshell where it happened is eerily illuminated in flood lights. Stage set for a show no one wants to see. You run past it alone. 

The world falls apart outside your window. At every turn abyss. Perhaps it was always the end of days. 

You should do something worthwhile, with yours.