Black blood is raining from the sky. The heavens have fallen, and mankind will soon turn to ash. Those are the old sayings that my grandmother used to tell me as a child. Before she was diagnosed with dementia at the age of 73, the locals in the town of Waterville believed my grandmother was some form of psychic, capable of communicating with the dead, and seeing violent catastrophes which have yet to occur. 'Visions' she called them. Visions of future events, events which will shake and rattle the entirety of the human race. It was truly quite pathetic, having an entire town believe an old woman's crooked tales of death and destruction. Even the priest believed her stories, and when my grandmother was proven to be clinically insane with a mental illness, the priest couldn't live with the fact that his 'prophet' was nothing more than a crazy old bat with a twisted imagination. So, rather than live in an upside-down world, he tied a rope around his neck, and hung himself from the cross located on the roof of the church. He died instantly. Short Story - Issue #1 False Prophets