Could Be



Charles T. McGrath



The marvels of spring resonating throughout, he sat in the porch swing inhaling the fragrant scent of maturing lilacs in between drags off of a cigarette, “Ah,” he surrendered, “life is good.”

After a moment, eyes closed, he heard the unmistaken drone sound of a mosquito. And then silence.  Detecting the insect foraging through his bare forearm, the hunt began, and when all movement stopped he instinctively swatted the insect smashing the critter into a hairy grave.  Yes, life is good.

Fifty-two years later he died. Mysteriously he came before the center of a vast empire, where seated upon a throne, ruled a gigantic mosquito an omnipotent God; who damned the miscreant to eternity in an ocean of fragrant lilacs inhabited by endless flights of thirsty mosquitoes. 



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