I've always liked writing weird fiction, so I knew eventually I'd come across one that was over the top on the weirdness scale. The weirdest stories are always ones where everything seems to work the exact same way as before, except for one core thing - a small detail that changes everything.
Dave has a normal life living in the rural farmlands of southern Illinois, formerly Chickasaw tribe territory. Every day is the same. He wakes up, kisses his sweetheart, makes breakfast, and spends a few minutes training his rooster to crow if it ever sees a strange building floating in on a cloud. He has a neighbor, an old farmer whose name has been in these parts for four generations. They all know the cathedral is going to show up some day, with impossibly long pale arms dragging fingertips from sky to Earth.
The story starts with a rooster crowing.
No one knows what it is, where it came from, if its bizarrely familiar motifs have any link to the cosmic spectacle promised in dead men's books. All they know is what it collects.
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