Fitting for the End-Times Ball

She learned before the age of eight

There was no time left for childhood--

Not with the Russians on the move

And the North Koreans working out the Bomb.

Since the Reckoning, she seized upon those moments of calm

That arose, sometimes, between the work.

But every day, they grew shorter, and farther apart,

While the Bible studies grew longer, and more ominous.

One night, after curfew, she woke her brother,

Whispering for him to join her.

She led him down to the clothing locker

Where, quiet as thieves, they struggled into leaden suits

And squeezed into their stifling gas masks.

They lost themselves, and danced with abandon,

Fogging up their face shields with muffled laughter.

Forgetting, for a while, where they were--and what the world had become.

Until a sad thought struck her like an elbow to the head:

She’d never enjoy a first kiss or be asked to the prom.

Breathless and sweaty, she winced back the tears,

Imagining her suit a lovely evening gown, and the mask a gleaming gold tiara.

For an instant, she even managed a faint smile,

Happy that the air inside didn’t smell like rubber anymore.