Everyone Hurts by Richard Dinges, Jr.

Stitches in foreheads and bruised egos, the TV screams, until I cannot separate the news from the movie. Crowds demand blood from the blood sucker behind the podium with stars pinned to his shoulders and medals stamped on his chest. Mouths turn to gaping wounds. Eagles with clipped wings perched in dead trees grow new feathers. Everyone waits for the next attack, black columns of smoke. The pillar reaches into the sky with blunt black fingers and leads to the future at the edge of the horizon where the sun should rise into a red pool so bright it blinds those who look too close. I wonder when we can ride the smoke high enough to see where blue sky will begin again.

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