Burning fire. Houses and buildings crumbling to the ground. Smoke. Smoke. I can’t breath, it’s so thick. I hear gun fire, it’s everywhere, echoing through the streets like fireworks on the fourth of July, but it’s not the fourth of July, this is… the end.

Randell sat, his back against the brick wall, knees tightly tucked in against his chest. The headaches were common after he had these visions, but he never had them during the day like this, never, they only came at night, mostly when he was tired, but they were not dreams. That he knew. There were… visions from the future, he feared.

His grandfather had always said that he was psychic, that he could see things in the future, horrible things, but people never took him seriously, Randell never did. After all, he was spouting his none sense while strapped into a safety chair in his own private room at the local loony house. Maybe he wasn’t so crazy after all.

“Hey mister,” a voice called as Randell sat there, still in the fetal position, a hand gentle nudging him.

Randell looked up and opened his eyes, the sudden brightness caused a sharp pain to stab into his head.

“Got a dollar,” the man asked, leaning over him, holding out a hand covered in dirt and filth. 

Randell shook his head and coughed.

“Can you smell it too?” The bum asked, standing up straight and looking both ways down the street.

“Smell what?” Randell said, doing his best to look back up towards the man.

“The smoke. The smoke. It’s coming, not long now, no sir-ee, not long at all.” He continued as he looked up at the towering building rising over head. “You sure you ain’t got a dollar, mister. I ain’t going to lie, I need a drink.”

Randell stood up and reached into his pocket for a dollar. “What did you mean about the smoke, and… and… and the ‘it not being long now?'”

The bum took the dollar from Randell’s hand, holding it’s ends in both hands, looking at the face of George Washington like it was the face of Jesus come to save him.

“What did you mean by it!” Randell snapped, shaking the mans scrawny shoulders.

“You know. I can see it in your eyes. I can see that you can see. You know, you know…”

‘No, I don’t know. Tell me.” Randell asked as the man folded the dollar and put it in his inside coat pocket.

“The end of the world. The fire, the brimstone. All this you see,” he reached his hands up towards the buildings, looking across the alleyway from one to the other as he walked, “will come crumbling down, the end comith, the end comith…”

*Here is yet another story that has been floating around up in the ‘ol noggin’ for a while, just never new what to do with it. So here it is, at least what I have thus far.