Palm Prose # 3
Before the fog rose up and swallowed the entire village, Board President and Matriarch Zelda Zoomowski sat on her front porch smoked the first cigarette she'd put to her wrinkled, hairy lips in 40 years and sucked the smoke into her withered lungs. As she exhaled, the cracked pavement, the dilapidated house, the empty storefronts, and rusty grain mill disappeared. As she felt the last wisp of the Pall Mall leave her mouth, along with the rest of her, Zelda's final sensation was a smile of sweet resignation.