On the road to Cicada The Teacher took a big drink of water, but it didn’t satisfy his thirst. He thirsted for something more. Ever since he saw it in a strange vision that day when the bright orange nuclear clouds erupted over that shitty little town in Illinois, he yearned for that city under the dome below the three-pointed mountain. He even saw the image of the cicada. It had taken the better part of a year, but tonight, they would reach the place he prophesied. By morning Cicada would be his. It’d been a difficult journey. He guzzled some more water and continued the trudge forward with several hundred of his finest warriors. Each step along this deserted road brought them closer to the end of their long journey. His mind wandered to what had brought him to this point: his early preaching, the crowds of followers, the miraculous healings, the visions, the end of the world and then the arduous trip to Colorado with over two thousand people.
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