by Jeremy Warach
Smoke and unearthly fumes rose from the hole in the ground which hadn't been there moments before. The man stood, mouth agape, eyes wide and unblinking. He took tiny, halting steps closer to the new crater in his backyard. The smell of brimstone assaulted his nose and made his eyes burn and tear.
The August meteor shower, the Perseids, occurred every year, as it has for many centuries. This night he stayed awake to watch it. A fun diversion, an accomplishment to add to his list; he would never climb Mt. Everest or swim across the English Channel, but he could watch the Perseids. A lawn chair, a bottle of fine whiskey, and some Charlie Parker on the headphones kept him company while he awaited the show.
And when it came, it was spectacular. He knew not to expect more than one or two fleeting streaks of light across the sky per minute, but this year saw a heavy rain of space rocks. At its peak, one would appear every few seconds, originating from a spot in the northeastern sky and flashing in a random direction, a thin white line like someone slicing the sky open with a scalpel and, for just a moment, letting through the radiance from outside the universe, before the wound in the heavens healed itself, again showing only its black, star-jeweled skin.
