I'm so bored, scrolling and reading one book after another, in my room and in cafés in Skala’s port. As for finding a table in the evening, forget it. The shopkeepers keep everything for the Christians.
In desperation I buy a dozen postcards. I ♥ Patmos. It’s been so long since I’ve written anything, I don’t remember what one writes on a card. I start copying, by hand, passages from the Revelation of John. When I run out of friends and acquaintances, I move on to ministries, TV channels, organizations, public figures. I keep going, buy more cards, until I’ve copied out the entire text of the Revelation.
The clerk at the post office in Skala is sullen; she doesn’t even say hello.
Three days later, on the ferry to Athens, a television plays without sound: “WATER BY RATIONING FROM CHRISTMAS,” “GREEK POST OFFICES CLOSE TODAY.” Maybe my postcards will never arrive, and my little, calligraphic Apocalypse might be cancelled.
Back home in Cape Town, I scroll through news alerts. Freak storms. Waters turning strange colours. Fish dying in numbers that look almost intentional. The scientists say climate change. The theologians aren't so sure. A three-headed black goat was born in Cyprus, which could mean a lot or nothing.
Today I received a postcard by a courier. It is from the now-jobless postwoman from Skala saying she sent all the postcards before the Post Office closed for good. She loves my handwriting. The card shows a sunset over Patmos.
Petros is a medical epidemiologist, poet, and writer based in Cape Town. He holds an MA in Creative Writing. His poetry and prose, in Greek and English, have appeared in literary journals. His poetry collection volcanoed/ηφαιστειωθής was published in 2025 (Thraca/Botsotso).
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