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Apocalypse Always

I’m scared, and I’m desperate, and I’m fine.

Alex Gabriel
Nov 14, 2016 · 5 min read
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On November 8, we lost a world that was made up partly of illusion, partly of work and partly of hope.

It’s summer 2002. I’ve just turned eleven, and because it’ll be another year before my mum has her own car, we’re being driven somewhere by her best friend, whose niece is in the back with me and whose tape deck is stocked with contemporary Christian music. The niece is younger than I am, and at some point she asks if I know what my job is yet. I haven’t given it much thought. ‘My job,’ she says, ‘is to bring children into the holy spirit.’

Novembering

A month long tug of war with writer’s block.

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