(Hour 15) 12.30pm-13.30pm. PROMPT, The End. Poem set during the apocalypse.

the rules are there are no rules

We gotta get away
We don’t know what they want
You say they might be able to help
But we don’t know that
We can never know that again

Stella’s right
I don’t know what trust means
How can I? Hope can she?
We’ve only just met.

Yes I see the irony
Saying we shouldn’t do
What we two did only a few hours ago
But that felt diff/

sudden noise — wild fury — the man’s back
— he has a shot gun — pointed at us
demands the ute — Stella is screaming
I feel like crying — don’t know what to do

Put the gun down, I plead
At least point it away from us.
If I give you the keys, will you let us go?
One of you maybe.

He looks at Stella.
I know his thoughts.

Okay okay I say
I’m just putting my hands
in my pocket to get the keys

& then you’ll let us go.
Sure, sure.
I know he’s lying. We all do.

Hurl the keys as far as I can — away
from us — over his head — he turns
to chase — grab Stella — drag her
toward the ute — get in, get in
— but the keys/ she begins
My house keys, let’s go.

Thankfully despite the chaos
I get the key in the lock
Start it swiftly & head south
All the while fearing
Shattering glass, exploding rubber
Or even a flaming fireball
(We’ve all seen Hollywood)

We’re away. We almost laugh/
Two booms. Quick succession.
Silence. Two hearts beat.
The ute seems unscathed.
We drive on.

Neither of us speak for many miles

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