World Enough and Time
By J.M. Snyder
This is the way the world ends. With
salt.
It falls from an overcast sky the color of
tarnished steel. Not in blizzards, and not all at once. It started
sometime in the early spring as a fine, steady sprinkle that stung
when it fell, like dust settling around you. I lie awake at night
and hear it, insidious and deadly, like so much sand blowing
against the window.
It gets in the air conditioner and burns out
the motor. It rusts car engines and bridges and buildings. It fills
the lakes and streams and rivers until fish float belly up, dead
and buoyed in briny water. It drifts into curbs and alleyways, and
everywhere you walk, you feel it crunch beneath your feet. It gets
in your hair. It gets in your food. It gets in your clothes and you
