I lifted my head over the parapet just long enough for it to not be shot off: from the hill I was on, on a beautiful sunny morning, I could see a plain of destruction: of combat, of metal wreckages, and craters, and corpses of young men all twisted up in barbed wire and strewn unnaturally, broken, over tank traps and artillery pieces with blown barrels and smashed wheels. I sat back down and couldn’t bring myself to care today; I had been seeing it over and over, and thinking about the consequences of the war, and couldn’t bring myself to think it was that important that we win. In my trench there was a column of ants running along a horizontal beam and I tried to watch them instead of thinking. I knew an old trick: I spat on my finger and made a line of saliva across the trail of the ant tracks. It stopped the ants when they got there: they walked back and forth along the spit barrier and tried to figure out what was going on, most of them turning around and going back the way they came. I watched one ant heading back, and I realised that every time he came across an ant coming the other way they stopped in front of each other for a moment. I wondered how much information they could exchange with the waving of their antennae: “some asshole’s spit all over our trail.”  I heard a shell whistle overhead, glad to hear it pass by without stopping. I couldn’t see the ants carrying anything in either direction: either they had very small bits of food with them or they were doing something else. I wondered what. I wondered if they ever stopped and watched the trail go by and wondered why it was that they did what they did. I knew that they apparently didn’t care about anything but the nest, and that they did their jobs blindly, but was that the limit of their minds? Was there one little corner of the brain, some tiny fragment that hinted at holding something else, even just in one single ant of the colony, a freak occurrence of a tiny thought that wanted to be something more? I wondered how big the piece of me that I felt was so big was, my consciousness or whatever it was, considering I was currently sitting in this trench on this hill, and considering that if someone came up the hill wearing the wrong coloured clothes I would, being honest with myself, shoot him without hesitation. Sure, I did seem to wonder about things pretty frequently–more than ants seem to-but it didn’t seem to be doing me any good, nor had it really ever. I thought back on a painting I had seen, of a sunrise over a harbour and the clamour of construction, a beautiful city being built on a beautiful morning while children raced toy boats in the water. What would that painter, whatever his name was, have done if he was in my position? Could he find any beauty in this scene?  The ants kept marching along the beam, surely noticing the way their ground shook when shells exploded nearby. They must have felt it but maybe they had no use for that information: there was certainly nothing they could do about it; and they had things to build, like the labourers in that painting. Did the ants feel as optimistic as that sunrise, as the kids by the cool harbour waters and the busy labourers sweating, while they were doing their part for the anthill? The ants all passed by a weed that had found itself a foothold in the trench wall; it was nice to have something green to look at, but I also knew that it was an edible weed. I plucked it, doing my best not to disturb the ant column as I did so, and chewed it. It didn’t taste like much, but I didn’t really regret plucking it. I took another peek over the parapet, chewing on the fibrous stem of the weed, and everything seemed the same: nothing dramatic was happening, no big attacks were being mounted; it was just a war of attrition built up of tiny blocks of personal tragedy; as those shells that whistled overhead smashed into a trench where someone else was sitting and maybe watching ants. I was glad to not be receiving any orders, or any enemy shells, and I kept on watching the ants.


“Wow! That last sack J.J. laid on Tom Brady, third quarter, seems to have left a very lasting impression him. Have you noticed that Chet?” Gerry Jerbette asks of his network co-worker. They had partnered together doing live action sports commentary for the past five years “Noticed? Are you kidding me? I’m way ahead of you Gerry. I’ve already had it entered in as a brand new game stat! …For fewest plays aimed at wherever J.J. Watt is positioned on the line of scrimmage,” Chet Doler responded. Chet was seventeen years Gerry’s senior, who was able to distort his true age by looking every bit a handsome-bodied, neatly groomed, male professional, wearing a flashy smile, studded with top of the line implants. Gerry was a kind of a twenty-nine year old near twin to Chet. Gerry looked collegiately young, was neatly groomed, and also had a flashy smile. But additionally had the musculature of a man who often Peloton’d his way through lunch. “You know Chet? Yeah. Now that you’ve mentioned it… I haven’t seen the Buccaneers moving the ball much to J.J.’s side of the line all fourth quarter. Not ever since the Texans have been rotating him from end to end, every third and long scenario the Buccaneers have gotten themselves into today,” Gerry said into his head mic with game enthusiasm. “Yeah. Not that hard to figure out really,” Chet agreed, repositioning his headset for comfort. “The Buccaneers have been double-teaming J.J. Watt as if the man were a nuclear threat.” Gerry loosens up his tie and drops his opinion. “That’s for sure Chet. The Bucs are lagging behind the Texans by three points, with thirty-seven seconds left to go in the game. And I’m legally sure there isn’t a single person in all the NFL universe who isn’t sure that Brady is updating himself, play by play, on where the Texans’ number 99 jersey is lining up,” Gerry said with a conspirator’s grin. “Yeah, I would too, if I had a Watt pest problem in Raymond James Stadium,” Chet commented into the network’s audio broadcast circuitry. Activity out on the field catches Chet’s eye. He glances down quickly at his monitor to double check, then back out onto the field, and replies, “No doubt about that Gerry.” “And I see that things are coming back to life here in the stadium. The Buccaneer fans are coming to their feet, and breaking the sound barrier with extreme prejudice.” “You’re right Gerry. The Ariens/Brady summit on the sideline has adjourned, and Brady is walking over to his offensive unit with ***the*** ***plan***,” Chet conjectures. Gerry nods and then adds his observation to supplement Chet’s commentary. “***The*** ***plan*** seems to be delivered Chet. The Bucs are trotting up to the line of contention. The wait for the fans is about to be over. And you better believe you can hear their excitement at thirty thousand feet above this stadium!” Chet presses his head phones closer to his ears, and then signals to the booth engineer to dial up his head set’s audio just a few notches. Gerry gives the booth engineer the same signal for the same convenience and remarks into his mic, “Brady must have an itchy trigger finger Chet, because the Buccaneer offense is lining up in the shot gun.” “Right Gerry. Which totally stands to reason. Seeing that he’s on his own forty-two yard line with no time outs left, fourth down, and eighteen long yards to go for a clutch first down,” Chet says, raptly fascinated. He throws Gerry a quick glance, and finishes by adding, “Look at him out there Gerry. Tom couldn’t possibly be more in hero mode. He’s got the apparent swagger of a legendary Superbowl champion persona about him for sure.” “Yup, hold that thought Chet. Cause there’s the snap! Brady’s pocket is forming around him like a Star Wars deflector shield. And there goes his crew of receivers streaking downfield like X-wings star fighters, trying to find a little free Grid Iron space to haul in a fast spiral delivery. And there’s J.J. working hard to crash the party.” “But he’s up against the double-team duo of Donovan Smith and Ali Marpet. They’re out to bar J.J.’s way like a pair of night club bouncers. But wait! Wow! Did you see that?!" Gerry exclaims excitedly, nearly performing a perfect imitation of a NASA rocket launch out of his chair. “You better believe I saw ***that***, Gerry!” Chet breaks in to reply. “That’s no optical illusion. J.J. just made the fastest lightening inside-fake, outside-spin move on Donovan Smith, the big Buccaneer tackle has probably ever seen in his life!” Chet says, in a soprano voice. “It appears that Smith wasn’t expecting J.J.’s fake and spin. Or that J.J. would suddenly not be under his hands anymore! Which is resulting in a very surprised Donovan Smith stumbling forward, in a very badly off balanced way!” “Right Chet! But look at Ali Marpet. He’s stumbling over Smith’s legs, trying to get to J.J.! Which is proving to be a bad move for both him and his teammate. Because they’re both headed for the artificial turf, and no doubt, a real good chewing out in the very near future!” Gerry predicts. In the very next second, Gerry’s index finger reflexively points out the broadcast booth window excitedly. Danger signals clanging in his mind, to broadcast, “Oh! And somebody better get Brady on his helmet radio and tell him what I’m looking at! J.J. Watt is racing in unhindered! And I’ll bet my paycheck he’s not rushing in to get Brady’s autograph!” Automatically, Gerry turns his head, but not his eyes, to Chet, and announces, “Looks like Brady is going to have to seriously consider grabbing two feet of space on the sideline, real real soon Chet!” Chet channels his counter-comment into his microphone, “Gerry, I believe you’re putting it way too mildly. Brady has to see he’s about to become a sack stat! There’s nobody open. He’s running out time! And he’s already out of downfield options. He’s a complete escape artist now!” Chet continues. “J.J. has gone to sack speed, and is rapidly narrowing down the distance between sacker and sackee,” Chet says ominously. On the tail end of Chet’s commentary, Gerry hurries to add his own take. “Yeah Chet! If Tom doesn’t find somebody to take that $120 piece of Wilson sporting equipment off his hands soon...!” Chet smoothly rejoinders Gerry’s commentary to say, “Not likely Chet. Brady will never make it to the sideline sanctuary, or the air express office either. He’s just a step away from getting Watt-ed for a huge loss.” Both commentators instinctively want to wince and cover their eyes, but don’t. When the play is officially over, they both look away from the field to look at their monitors and shake their heads, viewing the instant replay of the collision. While watching, Chet does the honors of summing things up for the broadcast audience. “Well Gerry, for all intents and purposes this game is already minted and printed. With only twenty-six seconds left in the game, J.J. Watt has just served Tom Brady Jr. with a penalty-free sack notice, and signatured it by way of a dutiful military salute.” “Right Chet.


Ethan was not a believer in the paranormal, nor was he a religious or spiritual man in any sense, yet there he was, sitting in the parking lot of Sister Sasha the Clairvoyant’s office. Penny turned to him from the passenger seat. “I know you’re skeptical, but thanks for doing this with me. I promise Sasha’s the real deal. I’ve been to her so many times and I always feel a sort of high when I leave.” Ethan smiled. “‘Skeptical’ is definitely a good word for it,” he said. “But hey, I’m always open to new experiences. Besides, this is easily one of the coolest date ideas anyone’s ever pitched me.” “If you’re not impressed after this, you get to pick our next 10 dates,” Penny returned playfully. “That is, if you still want to see me after this. My interest in this sort of thing has turned off many a suitor over the years.” “I can’t imagine why,” Ethan responded, just as playfully. This was only the couple’s second date; the first had been a standard affair of dinner and a movie which ended pleasantly enough with a brief kiss and a mutual promise to schedule another. They were still only getting to know each other, but Ethan already saw a great deal of potential in Penny, and he could only hope that she saw the same in him. Truth be told, her interest in the mystical did not deter him; if anything, it intrigued him. He had never been with someone quite like her. *Maybe I could use a little mysticism*, he thought. “Well, here goes nothing,” Ethan said with a sigh as he turned off the car’s ignition. They had arrived just in time for their scheduled appointment — a “spiritual reading.” Penny clutched his hand and squeezed as they walked toward the office, making her excitement known. The building’s exterior was fairly unassuming — without the colorful sign bearing Sister Sasha’s name, it could just as easily have been an accountant’s office. Once they stepped inside, though, there was no mistaking what kind of ambience Sister Sasha was trying to establish. The walls were painted cobalt blue and lined with psychedelic tapestries, and the floors were decorated with rugs sporting similar patterns. “Don’t let the décor deter you,” Penny whispered. “She just does this to meet people’s expectations of what a clairvoyant’s office *should* look like.” Ethan chuckled. “Well, she’s done that quite well.” They approached the front desk, where an aged, tiny woman sat behind a computer monitor that looked nearly as old as she was. “Hey there, Mary Anne,” Penny said in a friendly tone. “Oh, Penny! How have you been, darling?” It was clear to Ethan that Penny was not exaggerating how frequently she had visited Sister Sasha. “I was wondering when you’d grace us with your presence again, love.” “Hangin’ in there,” Penny replied cheerfully. “Oh, and I see you’ve brought a fresh face along with you.” The old woman squinted at her monitor. “Let’s see here… Ethan, is it? Well, sonny, I sure hope you find what you’re looking for today.” Ethan was not sure what he was looking for. “Ha, thanks. Me too.” “And it looks like you two got here just on time. Sister Sasha will see you whenever you’re ready.” She smiled and gestured toward a curtain of beads to her left which served as a doorway into a dimly lit room. “Awesome. Thanks, Mary Anne!” Penny took Ethan by the hand and led him through the curtain, into the room where their souls would be inspected. If the waiting room had been a bit gaudy, Sister Sasha’s office was extravagantly so. Ethan glanced about the area and found that the full force of the cobalt blue motif was exerted here. Everywhere he looked — the rugs, the tapestries, the walls — there was blue. The low light of the room did serve to give the color a mystical aura, he thought. Shelves lined the walls, although not all were filled with books. Many of them housed crystals and stones of all colors, shapes and sizes. His limited knowledge of geology made it impossible to discern if they were authentic, though. One shelf was filled with small skulls; perhaps they were birds, or rodents. There were no windows, most likely because natural light would pollute the carefully curated ambience. At the center of the room was a large table, behind which Sister Sasha reclined on a black leather chair. “So, this is where the magic happens,” Ethan mumbled awkwardly. “You’ve got that right, my dear,” Sister Sasha said with a grin. She was a slender, tall woman well into the latter half of her life, and she spoke with a deep, raspy voice. “And Penny, it’s always a pleasure to see you.” She extended her hand, and Penny took it in her own and kissed it. Ethan hoped he would not have to do the same. Thankfully, she did not extend a hand toward him once Penny was finished; she merely gestured toward the two seats at the opposite side of the table. “Please sit down, you two. I’m sure we have much to discuss.” And so they sat, and there was a brief silence as Sister Sasha studied each of them in turn. Ethan smiled timidly, unsure if he was permitted to speak. He had no idea what she was looking for. Eventually, Sister Sasha unfolded her hands and clapped loudly. “Okay, then. Shall we begin?” The first two sections of their reading went about as Ethan had expected they would. First, the clairvoyant asked broad questions about their lives, and offered even broader insights into their desires and their troubles. *Why yes, I do have apprehensions about my career. Oh, and yes, I am a little scared of growing old. How could you possibly have guessed?* He recognized that he was being cynical, but he was admittedly having fun. Next came the tarot card readings; these yielded similarly predictable results. Ethan was quite pleased that both he and Penny had chosen to delve into the “Lovers” card, however, as Sister Sasha presented them both with a rather optimistic forecast. “You’ve both recently embarked on a journey that will lead you to true love, unconditional and unrelenting,” the clairvoyant said. Ethan and Penny turned to each other and smiled then, and Penny blew him a kiss. *Let’s hope she actually is the real deal*, Ethan thought. Finally, it came time for the palm readings, perhaps the aspect of the consultation Ethan was most skeptical of. Penny went first, and they learned that she had been a seamstress in a past life, and that she was carrying a deep regret with her everywhere she went as a result of a mistake she made many years ago. To Ethan’s surprise, Penny said she hit the nail on the head with that observation. He had no idea what that mistake might have been, but he was sure he would find out in time, and if not, so be it — besides, it was likely none of his business. When it was time for Ethan to offer up the secrets of his palm, he extended his hand over the table and Sister Sasha grasped it in hers. She studied the lines for a moment, and then a moment longer. It seemed that she was having much more difficulty with him than she had with Penny. As she studied, she began to nod, as if someone were whispering in her ear. Ethan looked at Penny, and she shrugged, as if to say, “I have no clue what she’s doing.” The room was dead silent. The clairvoyant eventually raised her head, but she did not look at Ethan; she seemed to be staring at something just behind him, over his shoulder. She was still nodding every so often, and after a while, a smile crept across her face. Confused, Ethan and Penny turned to see what she was looking at, but as far as they could tell, nothing in the room had changed. This carried on for three long minutes, but the strange silence made it feel like 30. Finally, when Sister Sasha had heard or seen what she needed to hear or see, her gaze returned to Ethan. He was sure he could see hints of tears welling in her eyes, as if she had stumbled upon something incredibly moving. *She’s either an amazing actress or she really did just experience something spectacular*, he thought. “African violets,” Sister Sasha whispered. “If you remember nothing else about this visit, remember African violets.” Ethan did not have the faintest idea what that meant. “Erm… Is that some sort of flower?” Sister Sasha smiled. “Yes, my dear.” His hand, now uncomfortably sweaty, was still clutched within the clairvoyant’s. “Sorry, but what am I supposed to do with that? Am I meant to get African violets *for* someone?” Sister Sasha nodded, and she once again lifted her head to peer over his shoulder. “For *her*.” Ethan suddenly felt chills rush through his body. For a brief moment, he thought he felt a hand rest upon his shoulder. Startled, he swung his head around to see who was behind him, but there was no one else in the room. He turned back to face Sister Sasha, and he was sure his confusion was plain to see. “Pardon my French, but what the fuck just happened?” The clairvoyant chuckled and released his hand before reclining back into her chair with a sigh. “It looks like we’re just about out of time, lovebirds. I do hope you’ve found this as impactful as I have.” Ethan turned to Penny with a look intended to convey his complete confusion. She smiled wide, as if this was exactly what she had hoped would occur. Penny stood and shook Sister Sasha’s hand. “I know I have,” she said with pure delight. “I’ll be back before you know it!” Ethan, still on edge and struggling to find words to express how he felt, followed suit. Penny took Ethan by the hand, leading him out of Sister Sasha’s chamber and back to the front desk, where she paid for their visit and exchanged pleasantries with Mary Anne. Ethan was mostly quiet, still attempting to make sense of the bizarre advice and the phantom hand. Only once they returned to the car, back in the world of the living, did he allow himself to speak freely. “Did you see anyone else in the room with us at any point? Mary Anne, maybe?” Penny smiled. “No… Why?” “I swear that I felt a hand on my shoulder, right after she said the thing about the flowers.” At that, Penny laughed. “I told you she was the real deal.” “Oh, come on. I’m not making this up. There must have been someone else…” “Well, stranger things have happened.” Ethan let out a long sigh. He refused to believe that he had been touched by a spirit, but he also knew he was unlikely to get any concrete answers from Penny. “Stranger things really haven’t happened to me, but if you say so.” “The mystery is part of the fun! Be honest, you liked it.” “I mean, if being thoroughly creeped out qualifies as enjoyment, then yeah, you could say that. Were you not freaked out by that bit at the end? What was she staring at? What was all of that about the flowers?” Penny shrugged. “Sister Sasha works in mysterious ways. Maybe it’ll make sense someday. I’m just happy you got *something* out of it.” All Ethan could manage was a smile. “Okay… You won. I’m pretty impressed. I guess I won’t be picking our next 10 dates after all.” He leaned over and planted a kiss on Penny’s cheek. “Victory!” Penny was beaming. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I know a really cute diner around the corner. Let’s get a bite to eat.” **∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙** Mother’s Day was always a somber occasion for Ethan, and this one was even more so. For the first time in roughly a decade, he had made the journey halfway across the country to visit his hometown. He would stay with his father, with whom he spoke infrequently in his adulthood, and together they would visit his mother’s grave. She had passed away when he was only a boy, and he was ashamed to admit that he had not visited her burial site in well over 20 years. The entire trip made him uneasy — the exhausting and tedious drive, seeing his father after so long, visiting what remained of his mother. But at least he had Penny with him. Over six months had passed since they began seeing each other and, by all accounts, they were a perfectly happy couple. Ethan seldom thought about their visit to Sister Sasha, but he did remember what she said about their love lives — it seemed she had gotten that prediction right, at the very least. They had even recently started discussing the prospect of living together. Ethan had assured Penny she need not accompany him on his voyage, but she insisted rather adamantly that she wanted to join him, and for that, he was grateful. “I think it’s so sweet that you’re putting in all of this effort,” she said. “I’d regret it if I wasn’t there for you. Besides, I want to see the town that made you who you are. If it made you, it can’t be all bad.” *She’s a keeper*, he thought. Together, they traversed the aisles of a florist’s shop half an hour away from his childhood home, where his father still resided. He thought it was only fair that he should bring his mother some flowers to make up for the lost time. Penny held his hand as they weighed the options. “Were you close with your mom growing up?” “I think so,” Ethan responded. “Honestly, a lot of our time together is a blur now. I was so young when she died, but she was a good mom from what I can remember.” As an adult, family never meant much to Ethan. He was grateful that his parents raised him as best they could, but he never yearned to reconnect with the figures of his childhood. In his view, they were all behind him now. They crossed rows upon rows of flowers — anemones, irises, lilies and more — but none of them stood out. Penny asked, “What about your dad?” Ethan considered for a moment, then sighed. “I think he tried his hardest. My mom’s death hit him hard, though. I don’t think he ever really got over it, not that anyone could expect him to. I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been. I feel like a bad son saying this, but the word I’d use to describe my childhood is ‘forgettable.’” “That doesn’t make you a bad son, Ethan. Everyone has different priorities.” “You’re right. It’s just tough looking back on those days. Maybe if my mom had lived, things would have been different…” Suddenly, Ethan stopped walking as a particular bouquet caught his eye. The flowers were a vibrant purple. He inspected the sign underneath it, which read, “Streptocarpus sect,” followed by… “African violets,” he whispered. All at once, memories of his unsettling encounter with Sister Sasha came flooding back. Perhaps he had blocked the incident out of his mind because it was so difficult to rationalize, but now, he remembered it all — the clairvoyant’s disconcerting stare, the mysterious touch, the African violets. He turned to Penny and she smiled, seeming to understand precisely what he was thinking. It was clear that she remembered, as well. While he was sure that stumbling upon the flowers was merely a coincidence, he did find them stunning, in any case. He picked up the bouquet, and he knew he was making the right decision. “Thanks, Sister Sasha,” he said. The rest of the drive was mostly quiet, as Penny took in the rural scenery that she had only been exposed to through movies and photographs prior to their trip. “It’s charming, in a way,” she commented as they passed seemingly endless acres of farmland. “From an outsider’s perspective, I can see that,” Ethan offered. “Having grown up here, though, I have to say a lot of its charm is lost on me.” “I don’t know, I kind of like how quiet it is. City life is so busy. Maybe we can retire here, one day.” She looked at him with a smirk, knowing how unappealing that idea would be to him. “Maybe *you* can,” he responded with a soft chuckle. They soon arrived at Ethan’s childhood home, a quaint two-story house nestled within a densely wooded area that was a stark contrast to the flat pastures they had spent the last few hours traversing. A long and winding gravel driveway led to the dwelling. Everything looked exactly as Ethan remembered, right down to his father’s old, dented pickup truck parked beside the worn front porch. Ethan parked the car, letting out a deep sigh. *Why am I so nervous?* Apparently, Penny could sense his trepidation, as she placed a reassuring hand on his thigh. “It’s going to be okay, babe,” she said with confidence. “There’s nothing to be anxious about.” He forced a smile. “I know. I’m just in my head. Shouldn’t I be happy to see him?” “I’m sure you will be once you start catching up with him,” she replied. “Come on, let’s go in.” Ethan nodded, then turned off the car’s ignition. He retrieved the bouquet from the trunk, ascended the front porch steps and knocked on the door. A few moments passed before the sound of footsteps emerged from the other side and the door squeaked open. His father stood hunched in the doorway. *He looks so much older*, Ethan thought. *Where has all the time gone?* They briefly stood in silence, before smiles grew upon both of their faces. “Ethan!” His father outstretched his arms, clearly elated. Ethan followed suit and embraced him in a hug. “It’s good to see you, dad.” That was not a lie — to his surprise, he actually was happy to see him. His father turned his attention toward Penny, and they introduced themselves, shaking hands amiably. “Come in, you two! I’ve got coffee brewing.” Upon stepping into the foyer, Ethan was overcome with a wave of emotions — nostalgia, regret, sadness. *This is so long overdue*, he thought. *Why did it take me so long to come back? Why did I leave him here, all alone?* That initial smile never left his father’s face. He led Ethan and Penny to the kitchen, where he had prepared the table with coffee mugs and bowls of chopped fruit. “It’s been a while since I’ve had company,” he said as he began filling the mugs. “Excuse me if things are a bit messy.” Ethan felt quite sad at that admission, and he struggled to find the right words. Thankfully, Penny responded first: “Oh, not at all! This place is gorgeous. You didn’t tell me it was going to be so pretty, Ethan!” “That’s kind of you to say,” his father responded. It was not until he began returning the filled mugs to the table that he caught sight of the bouquet still clutched in Ethan’s hand. He studied them for a while, as if he was caught off guard. Although he was still smiling, tears began to well in his eyes, and then they began to streak down his weathered face. Ethan was startled. “What’s wrong, dad?” This was the first time he had ever seen his father cry. Even when his mother died, he never allowed his pain to be seen by others. “Are those… What do you have there, son?” Confused, Ethan glanced down at the bouquet, and then again at his father. “These? Flowers… For mom…” His father fruitlessly attempted to wipe away his tears. “African violets?” Ethan glanced at Penny, who wore a look of concern. “Yeah, dad… African violets. Why?” His voice was shaking as he replied, “African violets were your mother’s favorite.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers! Welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I’ll give you a single constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. It might be an image, a theme word, a sentence, or a simple writing prompt. You’re free to interpret the prompt how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.** Remember, feedback matters! And don’t forget to upvote your favorites and nominate them via message here on reddit or a DM on discord!   *** #This week’s challenge: **When you looked inside, you knew things would never be the same.** This week’s challenge is to use this simple writing prompt as inspiration for your story. The sentence does *not* need to appear in your story (but you are more than welcome to) and you can change the tense if necessary. You may interpret the prompt any way you like, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules.   ***   #Last Week I’m doing something just a tad different this week, along with my personal spotlights picks. I received an increase in nominations this week, mostly due to our impromptu Campfire! (Wondering what this is? Come over to our to learn more!) So many unique takes on the prompt this week. #Crowd Favorites: - - Submitted by u/katherine_c - - Submitted by u/Calding #Bay’s Spotlights: - - Submitted by u/\_\_kxtty\_\_ - - Submitted by u/Poelarizing   ***   #How It Works: - **Submit one story between 100-300 words** in the comments below, by the following Sunday at midnight, EST. No poetry. One story per author. - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words will be disqualified from being spotlit. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post exclusively. - **I will take nominations for your favorites each week via a message on reddit or our discord.** You have until 1pm EST Monday to send them in. Each Monday, I will spotlight two deserving stories from the previous week that I think really stood out. I will take all nominations you make into consideration. But please remember, this is not a contest. - **Come back throughout the week, upvote your favorites and leave them a comment with some feedback.** While it’s not a requirement, I encourage everyone to read the other stories on the thread and leave feedback. I will take all of this into consideration when making my selections each week. **Do not downvote other stories on the thread.** Vote manipulation is against Reddit rules and you will be reported. - **Please be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here, as we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. - If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail. *Top-level comments are reserved for story submissions.* - And most of all, be creative and have fun!   ***   ###Subreddit News - Try your hand at serial writing with - Have you ever wanted to write a story with another writer? Check out our brand new weekly feature on r/WritingPrompts - You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Day 1: The launch was today. I still cannot believe that I have been chosen to carry out this mission. I am nervous, but also very excited. Along with official scientific data and automated daily system logs, this log will serve as a personal accounting of my mission. I will not fail. Day 3: I was able to get a lovely view of the moon today as the ship went past. It was beautiful. It is hard to believe that only 62 years ago, that was the farthest humans could go. It seems like only a stone’s throw from home, as they say. Day 7: The ship has reached cruising speed and I have begun assigned experimentation today. The hydroponic farm is fully functional and the automated planters are beginning their work. Based on prior research, I predict an 89% success rate for the zero-gravity crops. At least 39 of the 42 plant varieties are expected to bear fruitful harvests at the end of this growing cycle. The remaining 3 will be used for genetics research. I believe with some slight alterations, I can achieve a 100% success rate. Day 14: The ship departed Earth’s orbit two weeks ago today. This marked the first opportunity to observe test subjects being removed from cryogenic sleep. I chose a pair of adult mice frozen on September 5th, 2030, or exactly one year ago for the procedure. Both mice were removed from cryosleep successfully and are recovering more quickly than anticipated. These results are extremely promising. More observation results to follow. Day 30: After 16 days of observation, the mice taken out of cryosleep on September 5th, 2031, have inexplicably died. A full autopsy was performed and yielded little in the way of answers. All organ function was normal, blood oxygen levels were good, and brain activity looked excellent. Simply put, there is no obvious reason for their deaths. Carcases were vented at 0800. Day 52: I still have not received any transmissions from home and have begun to worry. The ship was supposed to receive a monthly news update and new mission parameters days ago, even accounting for the ever increasing distance the transmission must travel. I have attempted to establish contact with mission control but received no response. I have picked up an unusual amount of radiation and very little radio traffic. Scans from this extreme range are often ineffective, however. I am certain that it was simply background radiation and interference. Day 161: It is my birthday today. Happy birthday, me! Day 365: Today is the 1 year anniversary of the mission launch. It is time to remove a new set of test subjects from cryosleep. I am cautiously optimistic. A new pair of adult mice frozen on September 5th, 2030 were removed from their cryopods successfully at 1300 hours. All vitals appear normal, though I have taken additional precautions during this trial. The subjects are being dosed daily with supplemental vitamins, minerals and anti-radiation drugs to aid in their survival and protect them from cosmic radiation. I predict a successful trial. More observations to follow. Day 387: As in the previous trial, one of the test subjects has inexplicably perished at 0324 this morning. Autopsy revealed no new data regarding cause of death. This pair has already lasted 22 days longer than the previous set of subjects, however. This leads me to believe that nutritional supplements were beneficial during the recovery process following cryosleep. The second subject is still alive at the time of this entry and vitals are normal. More to follow. Day 388: The second test subject has died. I am, once again, alone. Day 1095: Today is the 3 year anniversary of the mission launch. We are approaching the heliopause and are expected to cross the boundary in 2 days. Today is also the third opportunity to remove a set of test subjects from cryosleep. I have chosen another pair of adult mice frozen on September 5th, 2030. Prior to initiating the thaw process, the subjects were dosed with a blend of nutritional supplements and will be further dosed daily upon feeding. I predict a successful trial. Day 1099: The Hydroponic farm has begun its third harvest today. As predicted, slight genetic alterations have resulted in a 100% success rate of plant germination. All crops are thriving and produce is being processed at 99.98% efficiency in the onboard factories. The cryosleep test subjects are doing quite well, also. All vitals look exceptional. Today was a good day. Day 1001: Both cryosleep test subjects have perished as of 0553 this morning. Autopsy revealed no new data. Day 3650: I have been alone aboard this ship for 10 full years now. Hydroponic farm efficiency is down to 82.34%. Some of the equipment is beginning to show signs of wear. I will carry out what maintenance I can. It is also time to wake another pair of test subjects. I have chosen a pair of adult mice frozen on September 5th, 2030, and spliced their DNA with a gene from tardigrades that should improve resistance to background cosmic radiation. Previous trials showed no signs of radiation poisoning, but it is currently my only hypothesis as to their cause of death. Observations to follow. Day 3652: Both test subjects are deceased. Subject #5 died as a result of genetic manipulation. Subject #6: cause of death unknown. Day 9124: It has been a long time since I have written in this log. I am beginning to lose hope for the mission’s success. Hydroponics efficiency is down to 34.90% after a complete breakdown of several pieces of equipment that I lack the parts to repair. The ship’s reactor output is also beginning to decline. Supplementary solar power is non-existent as we are currently in extremely deep space. I will wake another pair of cryosleep test subjects tomorrow morning. Day 9125: Today marks 25 years in space. I have chosen a pair of juvenile mice this time, rather than adults. I have dosed both subjects with nutritional supplements and released them from cryosleep. Vitals look excellent. I am optimistic for their survival. They will be dosed with additional supplements at each feeding. I have ruled out radiation poisoning as the cause of death in previous trials so no anti-radiation drugs will be administered. Observations to follow. Day 9132: It has been one week since subject #7 and #8 were removed from cryosleep. Their vitals look excellent. More to follow. Day 9492: Test subject #8 died today. He survived for almost a full year following cryosleep. These are very encouraging results. Subject #7 is still being monitored. Vitals still look healthy. #8’s autopsy revealed no new data regarding cause of death. I believe the subjects age when entering cryosleep may be a factor in their survival likelihood. If that is the case, and all adult human colonists die upon arrival, mission success is unlikely. Day 9497: Test subject #7 died today. No new data to report. Day 10950: Today is the mission’s 30 year anniversary. Two fertilized mouse embryos have been removed from cryo and moved to incubation. Current hypothesis is that living subjects simply cannot withstand the strains of cryosleep, especially those with advanced telomere degradation resulting from aging. Observations to follow. Day 11001: The hydroponic facilities are running at only 14.67% capacity now. I believe design flaws or nonconformances resulting from rushed manufacturing of equipment may be the root cause. Seeds for each crop have been preserved and enough supplies to feed 1000 human adults for 76.11 years have been produced and stored. Hydroponics and food processing have been shut down entirely to preserve power. Reactor running at 61.20% capacity. Day 11335: Happy first birthday Jerry and Gadget. Those are the names I have decided to give to cryosleep test subjects #9 and #10. Embryonic development went smoothly. Nutritional supplements were added to each subject's diet and their growth has been very promising. They are both happy and healthy. Day 12801: Jerry died today at 1905 hours. He was just over 4 years old. He lived a happy and healthy life. He will be missed by Gadget and my/elf. Perhaps the next embryos will be allowed to breed. I am curious to see how well a litter born in space will do. Day 36500: Today is the 100 year anniversary of our depa//ure fr/m Ear/h. I have chosen a new set of mouse embryos to remove from cryo along with a pair of human adults. The h//ans are not expected to survive the journey, let alone this trial. Observa//ons to fo//ow. Day 36531: As expected, both human subjects have perished. H//an trial s/ems to confirm hypothesis. Cry//enic freezing appears to ac/elerate telomere deg/adation in living DNA leading to death. No more living colonists will be removed from cryosleep. It would be uneth/cal, considering the data I have gathered thus f/r. Animal embryo trial is going smoothly, as expected. Will attempt human trial using embryos. Observations to fol/ow. Day 36532: I have selected a pair of human embryos and removed them from cryogenic storage. 998 intact embryos remain for future use. Human subjects #3 and #4 have been placed into incu/ation cha/bers and dosed with prenatal su/pliments. Only about 10 lightyears remain in our j/urney. Assuming successful human trial, this should be enough time for education and development into adu/thood. Day 36537: The ship was str/ck by sp/ce debris at 0747 this m//ning. Dam/ge is relat/vely minor, though I lack nece/sary equi//ent to perform repairs. Several labo/atories are now of/line, and the rea/tor is ope//ting at only 41///% capacity. I am shu/ting down all nones//ntial syst/ms to preserve power and rerouting what I can to thru/ters to readjust our course and remain on target. Day 36813: Gestation of human embryos is compl/te. Happy birthday Adam. Happy Birthday Eve. You will be the very first hum//s to s/t fo/t on exoplanet Alpha-3451Y. Da/ 36//4: I hav/ beg/n to noti/e degr/ation of my centra/ pro/essor. I calc//ate a 0.133% cha/ce of mi//ion succe/s if my systems fail. Observ//ions of hu/an trials to fo//ow. Day 37178: Ha//y Birth/ay kids. Human tr//l show//g promis//g resul/s thus far. Tho/gh many sys//ms rema/n offli/e, I have be/n able to activa/e work droids and repro/ram them to begin educa/ing and car/ng fo/ the chil/ren. They are showin/ exce//ent resu/ts in both physi/al deve//pment and cognitive abi/it/. D// 38638: Happy fifth bi///day children. I hav/ chosen an a//itional 20 embry// for larg/r sca/e hu//n tria/ an/ placed th/m into incub//ion chamber/. My processor is faili/g and I fear fo/ the survival of th/ speci/s if trials ar/ not ac/elerated. Reactor is fun/tionin/ at onl/ 12.2% capacity. Life support rema/ns onli//. All o/her syst/ms hav/e been deactiva/ed. Day 39003: I hav/ remov/d an a//itiona/ 100 human embryos from cryo and beg/n incubatio/. My proc//sor is degr/din/ at an a/arming rate. I have se/ progr/m par/me/ers for a// droi/ functions and copi/d protoco/s to redundan/ auxi/iary system/ so th/t educa//on of hu//n colo/ists may continu/ upo/ my deat/. If m/ ca/cu/ations are co/rec/, li/e su//ort shou// be ab/e to susta/n cur/en/ po/ulati/n of 122 humans and all pr/ser/ed co//nist/ unti/ the miss//n is comp/ete. Day 43383: The mi//ion i/ near/y com//ete. Ada/ and E// tur/ 18 today. Ha//y bi/th/ay ki//. On/y 2.24 year/ rema// un//ll ar//val on Alpha-3451Y. The reac/or is depl/ted, bu/ fortunate/y, su/plimen/ary solar pow/r ha/ ta/en ov/r. Long ra/g/ anal//is o/ th/ pl/net su/gests a rocky su/fa/e that may a//eady su//ort loca/ flora an/ pos//bly fauna. Wat/r is prese/t on the sur//ce as we//. Atmos//eric compo/ition is 99.7% consist/nt wi// Ear/h. Estima//d plan//ary mass is 1.012 times Earth ma/s su/gest/ng an Ea/th-//ke gravi/y. I fear th/s w/// b/ my fina/ entr/. Proce//or degrada//on is rea/hing cri//cal leve/s. P/ease, give human//y a second cha/ce, chi/dren. Do be//er here. BE bet/er. I am sor/y I will no/ see our new hom/, but I hope th/t I hav/ made up fo/ th/ mista/es of my maker/ by ge//ing you h/re safe/y. You wi// hav/ every/hing you ne/d to surviv/ and thriv/ here. I w//l mis/ you. Thi/ is United Nat//ns Spa/e Exp/ora/ion AI designa//on E34291-X12 “Elpis” sign//g o/f.


I took in a deep breath. The air was cool and crisp, burning my lungs. This was exactly what I had sought, and it was exactly why I had come this far. Each step I took caused my legs to ache with weariness, but I had a smile on my face nonetheless. Why wouldn't I, when I would soon reach the summit? I had spent the past three days climbing so that I could enjoy the journey, but that didn't stop me from looking forward to my arrival at the top. The path was rocky and the plant life was sparse, making it more and more difficult to make my way up, but I kept myself upbeat by considering it training while I scaled the uneven terrain. The climb felt like it went on forever, but when I realized that there was no higher peak to reach, I felt oddly disappointed that there wasn't more to traverse. However, the view around me was beautiful. The rising sun shone between two other mountain peaks, casting a warm glow over me that had previously been blocked by the mountain itself. After having spent so long next to such vast cliffs, the sky suddenly opening up above me caused me to let out an audible gasp. It was beautiful, and I immediately took a seat on a nearby outcrop so as to better enjoy the view. My sword weight heavy on my waist, and in a moment of annoyance, I decided to stick it into the rock next to me to relieve myself of the burden. It was plenty sharp enough to pierce the solid stone, and I needed not worry about its wear due to its enchanted nature. As I looked around, I couldn't help but suck in a deep breath of frigid air at the breathtaking view. My fur protected my skin from the chill, but the same couldn't be said of my lungs. Nonetheless, it invigorated me, filling me with a calm sort of relief that only someone who's just accomplished a great thing could feel. However, the scene was broken up by a single figure that was impossible to notice. As I looked it over, it noticed me in return, and rose from its previous resting place. I drew in another gasp of air as the titan rose to her full height, overshadowing all the mountains around us, mine included. She was miles away, yet still made it over to me in only a few strides. The light gray wolfess looked down on me with interested amber eyes, a subtle smile highlighting the rest of her face. However, despite her curiosity, I was the first to speak. "You're blocking the view." It wasn't exactly the most respectful thing to say, even to the most unpredictable race of all. Were she to wish it, the titan could easily crush me flat with a single finger. However, in the tranquil state I was in, I couldn't help but understand that she wasn't so cruel as to do so. "I'm a view of my own, am I not?" "...That I can't deny. Is there a reason you're taking an interest in someone like me?" "You seem like quite the interesting person. Few people climb this mountain, you know, and fewer still alone. Do you have any particular reason for doing so?" "I wanted to be able to tell myself that I did. It was a fun climb." "But surely this wasn't the best mountain to visit if you wanted to climb?" That was true. The two mountains that surrounded the sun before the titan had cast her shadow over me were both taller than this one, and probably afforded a better view, too. However, one couldn't deny that the view of the valley was best seen from right where I sat. "Perhaps. However, I'm here now, and I'm glad I've done so. Is that such a strange thing?" "Not at all. What's your name, swordsman?" "Zen. Yours?" "Natasha." "Well, thank you for taking an interest in me, Natasha. I'm glad I was worthy of your attention." "Must you be so stiff?" "I find that it's better to be polite to those that are taller than the mountain you've just spent three days climbing." At this, she chuckled slightly. After that, she spun around, sitting down next to the mountain, returning my view of the rest of the valley. "Thank you." "You were right." "About what?" "It's a wonderful view." "Didn't you already know that?" "You'll find that things lose their wonder when they become commonplace. A titan would have no difficulty seeing for hundreds of miles, so it's not that special for them to do so." "What makes things so special right now?" At this, Natasha flashed me a lopsided grin. "Because I get to share it with you." I was rather... stunned at this response. Not knowing what to say, I returned my eyes to the rising sun and the trees of the valley below it. We sat like this for several hours, not talking any more. When that time was done, I silently rose from my seat and returned my sword to its sheath. My legs had rested enough, so it was now time to begin the return descent. "Where do you plan to go from here, Zen?" "Oh, probably... that peak over there." Saying that, I pointed to the next mountain, on the opposite side of the peak from Natasha. "I could carry you over, if you'd like." "...Thank you for the offer, but I'd rather do it myself." "Is there a reason for that?" "That... hm. I suppose it's hard to explain. I suppose I want the satisfaction of getting their under my own power, and the knowledge that I've earned every view that I see. If I were carried everywhere I go, I wouldn't feel any joy from being there. Does that make sense to you?" "I don't think I understand, but I'll take your word for it. There are few places I can't go, after all." "I suppose so. You've chosen quite a good resting place, though." "Right?"  As I made my way back down the mountain, Natasha and I continued to make small talk. It helped spice up the trip, although there were a few times when I had to remain silent to focus on a particularly unsteady path. She promised to catch me were I to ever fall, but I'd rather not go through that experience at all. However, there was one point where I was stuck, left unsure how to continue. The two mountains were separated by a canyon, a rapid river raging below. I could see that there were wooden posts hammered into the rock on either side, but they were quite rotten, and nothing connected them. "I imagine that there was a rope bridge there at one point, but it's long gone." A slight frown crept onto my face. If there were nothing here, I could've moved sideways along the gorge until I found a bridge, but it's not common for two bridges to be hung over the same divide. It would be quite a long trek to completely circumvent this gap, and there's no guarantee I'd be able to do so, even if I had a month's time. "I could always carry you across." I opened my mouth to protest, but Natasha cut me off before I could. "Don't say that you want to cross it under your own power or anything. If there were a ferry, you'd have taken it, and if there were still a bridge, you would have eagerly taken such a shortcut." "...Yes, you're right." As I said that, Natasha extended her hand downwards, placing it slightly below the gap. I was grateful that she didn't simply reach down and grab me. Steady as I may seem, few people can remain calm when a giantess is reaching towards them. When I stepped onto her hand, she cupped it slightly to prevent me from falling off as she moved it... not sideways across the gorge, but upwards, towards her nose. I didn't fear that she would eat me, as sustenance is no concern for titans like her, but that didn't make me any less cross. I said that I wanted to traverse this mountain range under my own power, and I meant it! As she brought me closer to her face, however, I couldn't help but close my eyes. Secure as I was in my self-assurance of safety, that didn't stop my instincts from taking over. However, instead of any sort of pain or otherwise, I felt... something touch my nose. When I reopened my eyes, I saw her massive, black nose touching my own, her amber eyes staring down at me mischievously. "Sorry, I couldn't resist." I nodded silently, not trusting myself to speak. After flashing me another lopsided grin, she returned me back to the canyon, where she carefully deposited me on the other side of the divide. Her tail swished gleefully from side to side, but it didn't betray much emotion that the face hadn't already revealed. "Th- thank you." "Any time."  The following climb took a few more days, simply because of its length. I had no problems with that, as my rations would hold out for plenty of time. I expected Natasha to grow bored with my rather monotonous routine, but she seemed rather... happy to simply remain, having sporadic conversations about the most trivial of things. "You know, it's been wonderful talking to you, Zen. I just wanted you to know that." "I can say the same for you. I've heard that titans are often uncaring of those that are smaller, but... you seem nothing like the stories." "It's true that we don't often connect with tinies like you. There are no lack of people corrupted by their greed, expecting their companionship with a titan to mean that they can use them for their own gain. Most titans grow tired of being a corrupting influence on anyone they befriend, so they simply remain distant, observing but not interfering." "Well, I'm thankful that you've reached out." "As am I. For a titan with few wants and no needs, it's good to immerse myself in someone else's life. Even so, I'm glad you've managed to remain true to your principles. "A swordsman is nothing without his beliefs."  With all the work that I put in, it was no wonder that the next peak I arrived at was just as breathtaking as the last. However, with it, came the sad inevitability that I would have to depart. I could see a tinge of sadness on Natasha's face, and I knew that the exact same thing could be seen on mine. "Must you go? There are many other mountains around the valley..." "I know, but I cannot remain so long here. These mountains were along the way, but my route remains the same. I will continue onwards to the sea, and to lands beyond." "I see. In that case, I wish you well on your travels, Zen." "I wish the same to you, Natasha." I admit, I felt quite lonely those few days I descended back on the other side of the mountain. It was actually somewhat unbearable, knowing that Natasha could reach me in but a minute, but I remained steadfast. I had already said goodbye, and I feared that if I were to drag her along with me, I would become the kind of person that she so disliked creating. Hopefully, the sadness of departure will fade with time, being replaced by the happy memories of the times we shared.  Even two weeks later, as I walked through the port city of the southern sea, I couldn't help but feel my mind wander. I tried to snap myself out of it, but I was stuck between noticing the many gazes on me and my sword, or thinking about the titan of the valley. In the end, I pulled my mind away from such distractions, instead focusing on the ships of the opposite side. The southern sea was a hotbed of both trade and travel, so there was no shortage of ships ready to depart by the end of the day. It was child's play to find one willing to take on a swordsman such as myself, especially since I was an added protection against the pirates that so often traversed these waters. When the ship cast off, I found calm once more by staring not at the port slowly disappearing behind the horizon, but at the waters below. The rhythmic rippling in the gentle breeze slowly lapped against the side of the hull, I felt myself relax muscles that I didn't realize had been tense. I gazed at the water's surface, feeling my concentration dissipate, instead replaced by an existential peace... ...Which was immediately shattered as I noticed a massive amber eye, staring up at me from beneath the water's surface. A few seconds later, the water's surface broke as a massive head rose above the sea, looming over the ship. The waves caused by the titan's emergence rocked the ship wildly, causing everyone to grab onto the nearest handhold even while panicking at the sudden appearance of such a titan. Considering that their lungs are around the same size as the ship I'm currently standing on, it's not abnormal for them to be able to spend several days underwater at a time. Even so, nobody could expect the appearance of such a creature, certainly not me. After all, even while the ship bucked wildly, I couldn't help but focus instead on Natasha's face, grinning back at me. Just as it seemed that the vessel would capsize, she grabbed it from below, lifting the entire thing clean out of the water and up to her face. A few of the weaker-willed passengers screamed and backed away across the deck, but I paid them no mind. I had a rueful grin on my face, and I couldn't help but start the conversation, just as I had the first time we'd met. "You just couldn't let me go, huh?" The vessel's crew and the other passengers stared at me like I was crazy. However, the only thing I cared about was the massive wolf's lopsided grin. "As if I'd say goodbye to the most interesting person I've met in years, just like that." I nodded, understanding her motive. I imagine that it can be quite lonely in that valley, and a change of scenery always brings about a fresh perspective. For someone unfamiliar with travel, it can be normal to cling to that which you're familiar with when in an unfamiliar setting, and for her, I suppose the only thing that's familiar would be... me.  Clearly, this would be quite the interesting journey for the both of us.


“So close. So fucking close.” Jerry looks up at me. “We’ve talked about this, Lucy.” He sighs. “Right,” I chuckle. He picks up a cigarette and twirls it between his fingers. “We should have known the second they come up with this contraption,” Jerry says evenly. “What? That was a masterpiece!” I exclaim,” They took their already short life and made it even shorter!” “Of course that would make you happy,” Jerry sighs. I wheel my creaky chair over to him. “I’m sorry for suggesting the plague.” Jerry’s eyes bore into mine. Finally, he makes a sort of half-smile. “It was a good idea. Can’t expect it to work too many times though.” Jerry and I are something of an enigma. We had to have come from somewhere; but the truth is, neither of us remembers. I guess we’ve just been around too long. The first thing I remember is watching our ball of dirt get hit by another ball of dirt to break off a third ball of dirt. All we know is we don’t want to be alone. You have no idea how hard it was, watching this dull globe rotate around a glowing globe for eons. Sometimes, we wandered on the surface of the desolate planet, just to break the monotony. One particularly gloomy day on the shores of a long-forgotten ocean, Jerry had a stroke of genius. “You might like this,” he told me. Then he sent a lightning bolt to hit a tide pool. I burst out laughing. “How’s that any better than the meteor shower two rotations ago that didn’t even have the decency to hit us?” Jerry sighed. “You’ll be eating your words soon.” And eat them I did. Only later did I realize that Jerry, my soft-spoken, stoic complement in this dark void, had created life. He’d given us companions and, more importantly, hope. Or at least a way to make some. The first organisms we coaxed out of Jerry’s organic tide pool were little more than moving dust. Slowly, we helped them join together and work as one, and before long we had our very own aquarium. Satisfied, we sat back and watched our planet ripple with life. Jerry looked over at me, amused. “Now we have pets.” For a while, it was captivating to see our creations roam around their cage until the sweet release of death. But, eventually, we grew bored with these creatures. Spending their days eating and making more creatures, they were no better than the dust they came from. What does it matter if they choose to eat and procreate? Debris still absorbs other debris and makes new debris. I rapped my fingers on the railing, falling ever deeper into the abyss of loneliness. We had hoped for a cure, but hope is a fickle creature. What little purpose it gives, it can easily take away. Leaving you with nothing but the memory of better times. “Jerry, can we try again?” He looked over at me questioningly. “We can do better than this,” I stated, gesturing towards our creatures. “What’s the use?” Jerry sighed, exasperated. “It’s not like we can make another one of us.” “How do you know, Jerry? Maybe we just haven’t tried hard enough. Maybe we’re just one step away from our salvation?” He shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Not much else to do here anyway. Let’s go evolve some sea creatures.” And so the dinosaurs began to walk our world. Oh, how I loved our creations. Sure they had the same flaws as their ancestors, but they felt alive. Looking into their eyes was like looking into Jerry’s. They had emotions and desires, playing and fighting just as we did. Finally, I felt we had made something real. But even then, I felt boredom encroaching on me. Our scaly companions did the same thing over and over. They didn’t seem to live like we did. What was it that made us different? Made us want to have something more? I stood up. “I’m done,” I growled. Grabbing the nearest chunk of space flotsam, I sent it hurtling down. “NO!” Jerry cried out. But the crater had already appeared on the surface. Jerry grabbed my shoulders and shook me hard. “What did you do! We spent ages building our world!” I shoved him away. “And for what! So you can feel important? Feel like you did something good for us?” I pointed at the dying planet. “That was nothing to us. Nothing. We’ve been lying to ourselves.” At that moment, I saw fire in Jerry’s eyes, harsher than the burning world below us. “You might be lying to yourself. But I still hope for better.” He left me there, watching the fires burn out. He didn’t come back. But the planet refused to die. The skies eventually cleared of smoke. Seedlings sprouted from the ashes. Eventually, I even saw small mammals, curious creatures Jerry and I had left to their own devices, scamper through the saplings. I saw Jerry playing with them, tossing sticks and feeding berries. They looked happy. Somehow, I had an inkling that they enjoyed living. Something about them felt different. At that moment, I saw fire. I felt such hatred for these mammals. Why? I thought to myself. I shook my head and growled. I don't care why. I remembered playing around with ice in my early days, a pastime of mine in the days before life. Reaching into my rage, I covered Jerry’s precious land in ice. But Jerry didn’t budge. Furry mammals began to roam the world, defying the freezing curse. I countered by sending relatives of our first creation, vile specks I liked to call disease. But even then, Jerry’s animals thrived. And back and forth we went, killing, creating, killing, creating, killing, creating, until one day Jerry came to me carrying two wooden containers. He sat down in front of me. “Please sit.” I snorted and began to leave. “Please, Lucy.” I heard something in his voice, something that made me want to stay. I sat down. “What do you want, Jerry?” He offered me one of his boxes, which was filled with frozen slush. “I call it ice cream. Try it, it’s good.” I took his offering. “So is this why you’re here? You found a new recipe?” He smiled, infuriatingly happy and at ease. “It’s made of one of my plants, an iris flower.” I stabbed at the ice cream. To my surprise, it tasted amazing. “This isn’t bad,” I grudgingly admitted. Jerry smiled, bringing a spoonful to his mouth. For a while, we ate in silence. I set down his gift, polished clean. “Just to be clear, I’m not stopping because of your frozen flower stuff.” He laughed, a pure sound I hadn't heard in centuries. “That’s not why I’m here.” “Then why are you here?” He pursed his lips. “Lucy, how do you think your antics are affecting this planet?” “I imagine they’re causing you a lot of trouble.” Jerry grinned, leaning back on his hands. “Actually, it’s kind of helping me.” I stared at him, utterly confused. Jerry laughed. “You are definitely troublesome. Yet, I’ve found your disasters to be quite useful in ironing out the kinks.” “What do you mean?” “Well, every calamity kills many, that’s true. But, that’s taught me to create variety. Then I find the best traits and incorporate that in my work.” “So I’ve been… helping you?” Jerry stood up. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve been working on this species. They’re incredible, solving problems like nothing I’ve seen before. They even look like us. I need you to help me make them better. They have potential, I can feel it. Will you join me?” He extended his hand out. I slapped it away. “Are you joking? Why would I help you? I hate your creatures. Insignificant and useless, all of them. You can’t possibly believe you’re doing any good for us. At the end of the day, they’re false hope. Can’t you see how bad it is to cling to hope when it's so clearly hurting you?” He put his hand on my shoulder. “I know you. You’re lonely. I’m lonely too. But, I really believe in them. Why are you resigned to be alone? We can do it, you and I. I know we can. Just give this a chance.” I felt that emotion again in his voice. The one that made my eyes water. Hope, I realized. How did he still hope? I remembered feeling hope for the first time, staring at that tide pool long ago. That hope had turned to anger and rage during my deadly game with Jerry. But, I began to feel that rush, that passion again. His hope was infectious. And so began the story of humanity. Jerry and I had a grand time with this species. Boredom was a thing of the past. Before long, we had created societies, filled with humans going about their existence with just as much vigor as us. We walked among them, loving every moment of our creation. Humanity held the rage we felt. They fought viciously, like Jerry and I. Every once in a while, the humans needed a check. That's where I came in. I sent every manner of disaster: plague, earthquakes, drought. Jerry took the pieces and put them back together better than ever. We didn’t always succeed in our goals, but humanity had a way of adapting to anything. Maybe that came from us too. Which brings us back to the present, looking down on a slowly self-destructing world. It looked like humanity was on its last legs. I sigh. “We may have to start over.” Jerry shakes his head. “No, they’ll be fine. We have to hope,” he says, his voice trembling. It’s incredible that Jerry and I still held out hope in our pathetic creatures. We’d watched them commit unspeakably heinous atrocities and impossibly shortsighted blunders. But, then again, in this bleak void what else is there but hope? I tried filling it with hatred, but hope seemed to be the only thing that works. “It seems that's all we live for. Hope. Hope for a better future. In all the time we’ve lived, the only constant has been hope.” Jerry’s lips quiver. “I can’t,” he says shakily, “I just can’t hope anymore.” I turn to him. “Jerry, I didn’t mean it like that-” “Then what did you mean!” He yells. “Jerry don’t-” “Even humans know it! Existence is suffering… oh Siddhartha, my child, you don't know the half of it.” Crying, he looks up at me. “Who are we to inflict the suffering of existence?” “Jerry-” “Why do you think so many take their own lives? They feel the void eating away at them. Loneliness and pain, that’s all there is. Humans think their creators are gods, but we’re just as human.” “Jerry that’s enough. Was this suffering? Making humanity, making life?” He just looks at me, hopelessness filling his eyes as his tears trickle out. “Jerry, we’re alive. Before all this, we were just existing. You’re right, that’s suffering. When all that exists is the void, there’s nothing but suffering. But we made something out of the void. We don’t just exist. We choose to live. We choose to hope.” He closes his eyes, tears spilling between his eyelids. “Our precious humans know this too. They make their own existence worth living. They hope for a better future, and then try their damndest to make it so.” His tears do not stop. “Do you know what makes our humans different from the floating dust we started with? It's the desire for more. The desire to do more than just exist. They choose to hope for more. I need you to do the same” I took his head in my hands. “We don’t just exist. We live,” I repeat, “We hope. Don't give up on them just yet.” His eyes finally open, cloudy with moisture. Wiping away his tears, he looks me in the eyes. He smiles slowly at me, like he was trying for the first time. “Alright then. Thank you. Lets try this again.


His coffee had grown cold, but he took a large gulp all the same. He would need as much supplemental energy as he could find if he had any hope of arriving home before dawn. Already, Oliver could feel fatigue taking hold, and it was only just past midnight. He had at least five hours of dull and tedious driving ahead of him. His eyes were heavy in his skull, and the thought of sleep proved all too enticing. He longed for the warm embrace of his bedsheets above all else. A weekend of debauchery in New Orleans had left him exhausted. At some point, he lost track of how many bars and strip clubs he had visited. *When in Rome*, he thought. The weekend had also left him nearly destitute. Even if he wanted to rent a motel room for the night, he would have trouble finding the capital to do so. It seemed he was left with no choice but to press on, to make it home. Now, he was traversing rural Arkansas on his journey back north. The highway he found himself on was nearly deserted at this hour, and it was lined with dense forest as far as the eye could see. The unchanging scenery made staying alert all the more difficult. He took another swig of gas station coffee, his second cup of the night. He feared that caffeine would not be enough to carry him home, though — he needed to break up the monotony of the flat, static highway. The radio had been playing at a low volume thus far, but he thought loud music might reinvigorate him, so he turned it up to a volume that most would consider unpleasant. It was tuned in to a local classic rock station and, sure enough, he felt a renewed vigor as he hummed along to the cycling hits. He carried on in this fashion for another half-hour or so, thumping his thumb upon the steering wheel to match the familiar rhythms. *I might make it home after all*, he thought. Then, one of his old favorites came on — Blue Öyster Cult’s “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” — and he turned the volume even higher, letting the music wash over him. The song brought with it memories of a simpler time, when Oliver was just a child, listening to the radio with his father in his childhood home’s garage. So much had changed since then; he was not sure when his life had gotten so off track. For the time being, though, he was content with allowing the nostalgia to fill his mind with images of a much more pleasant era, and he sang along: *All our times have come, here but now they’re gone…* A smile crept across his face. Without noticing, he began pressing his foot to the gas pedal harder and harder, gradually building speed in a subconscious effort to match the euphoria brought on by the music. Soon, he had accelerated to 100 miles per hour, though he was blissfully unaware of doing so. *Seasons don’t fear the reaper…* *Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain…* *We can be like they are…* Despite having few reasons to be happy, in that moment, Oliver felt at peace. All the while, the car continued to gain momentum. Then, in the blink of an eye, the entire weight of the world came crashing down upon him. *Come on baby, don’t fear the reaper…* At first, he only saw the glare of his headlights reflected in its eyes, but within fractions of a second, its full figure became clear — a deer, frozen in the headlights, watching as two tons of metal came barreling toward it. *Baby take my hand…* There was no time to correct his course. In a brief moment of clarity, he became aware that he would collide with the animal, and that he would, in all likelihood, die in the process. He discovered that the old adage was true, after all — your life really does flash before your eyes in the moments leading up to your demise. While some might think of all of the good times they have had, of cherished moments with loved ones, Oliver’s mind was flooded with a single, all-encompassing emotion: regret. *Don’t fear the reaper…* In an act of animalistic instinct, he closed his eyes as he braced for impact. He slammed his foot down upon the brake pedal, though he knew this would not change his fate. Time seemed to slow as his car, still traveling at ferocious speed, came closer and closer to obliterating the blinded beast, until, finally, it made contact, a monstrous machination of man colliding with the hide of one of Earth’s most beautiful creatures, and then — *We’ll be able to fly…* Nothing. His tires screeched as his vehicle came to its tumultuous halt, but inexplicably, there was no collision. Oliver felt like his heart might beat out of his chest, and his knuckles were white from the tightness of his grip on the steering wheel. Some time passed before he remembered to breathe. After a few moments of sitting in shock, he exited the vehicle to inspect the road behind him. There was no sign of the deer — no blood, no carcass, no tracks in the grass beside the highway. He tried to rationalize what had just taken place and failed to come to any conclusion. Was his tired mind playing tricks on him? Was the deer a figment of his imagination, a sign that he was not fit to continue driving? After searching the area thoroughly, he reentered his car, no closer to understanding what had transpired. He resolved to stop at the next establishment he came across to collect his thoughts, whether it be an eatery, a gas station or a rest stop. He turned off the radio and continued driving, this time at a sluggish pace. His hands shook violently on account of his crushing anxiety, having survived after coming within inches of certain death. He traveled well below the speed limit for the next few miles. Not a single car shared the road with him. The night now felt incredibly eerie, and he became acutely aware of how far he was from what most would call “civilization.” He was prepared to resign himself to pulling over and sleeping in his car when a beacon of hope appeared in the distance — a bright neon sign, a sign of life. He was unable to make out the words, but he knew that he needed to get there as quickly as possible. He picked up speed, and soon, the sign gained clarity — it read: “World’s End Diner.” It was the first building he had seen in over an hour. To Oliver, it felt like finding an oasis in the middle of a harsh and unforgiving desert. *A fitting name*, he thought. He reached the diner within minutes and, to his surprise, it was gorgeous — pristine, even. Given its surroundings, he had no idea how or why it had been so well maintained. The neon sign glowed a stunning blue in the night sky, and the retro architecture made it appear as if it had been plucked out of the 1950s and dropped there, just for this occasion. The scene was a strange amalgamation of beauty and omen. Strangely, there were no other cars in the parking lot, yet a neon sign in the window flashed: “OPEN.” For that, Oliver was thankful. He was not particularly hungry, but he felt that a cup of coffee that was actually hot would help to quell his nerves. Above all else, though, he yearned for human contact — the simple act of making small talk, even if he did not recount the details of his bizarre experience, might help to ground him and shake his deep feeling of dread. At the very least, it might take his mind off of an event that he was sure could not be properly explained. He parked his car and stepped into the night air, now oddly frigid when it had once been warm. A strong gust of cold wind stung his face as he made his way toward the diner’s entrance; it was as if he could feel the temperature plummeting by the second. He reached for the glass door and swung it open, bells jingling to announce his presence. He felt a rush of warm air as he stood in the doorway — already he felt relief — and he stepped inside the World’s End Diner. Letting the door swing shut behind him, Oliver glanced about the eatery and took in his surroundings. All of the décor matched the retro aesthetic he admired in the building’s façade — porcelain enamel, red leather booths, stainless steel panels. Either the diner’s proprietors were meticulous in their dedication to vintage design or it was built in the mid-20th century and had been painstakingly preserved. There were three others in the diner: a tall and slender middle-aged woman behind the counter who he assumed was a waitress, an older gentleman cleaning the grill, and a patron sitting alone in a booth at the far end of the restaurant donning a brown cap and a long overcoat. He could only see the woman’s face, which looked downtrodden; the others had their backs turned toward him. He hoped one of them would be kind enough to entertain his attempts at light dialogue. He found a stool at the counter and made himself comfortable before looking up and smiling at the waitress. She did not smile back. In fact, she seemed to be in no rush to accommodate him; she just stared at him blankly. This awkward silence carried on for some time as Oliver studied her wrinkled face. Her expression was a blend of profound sadness and total indifference, and could he blame her? Surely a life that revolved around waiting tables in the back of beyond, likely for decades on end by the looks of it, was not a particularly glamorous one. Eventually, he spoke, still holding onto a smile that was now forced: “Hey, how’s it going?” No response. “This place is gorgeous, by the way. Kind of a hidden gem, huh?” Again, there was no response. It seemed he would not be able to find the conversation he longed for with her. He sighed, and spoke once more: “Is there any way I could get a hot cup of coffee?” At this, she finally stirred. She shuffled toward a coffee pot slowly, her expression unchanging, and filled a mug. She handed it to Oliver without so much as a friendly nod. “Thanks so much.” He took the mug into his own hands and felt its warmth immediately. “This is just what I needed.” He watched as steam rose in wisps off of the black liquid, eager for it to eradicate his lingering chills. He raised the mug to his mouth, and as soon as the coffee touched his lips, he was shocked to find that it was already ice cold. He managed a small sip before resting it back down atop the counter. He stared at the mug, perplexed — not only was it cold, but it also tasted absolutely foul. He turned back toward the waitress, who was still watching him vacantly. “Uh… Can you please warm this up for me, miss?” Again, she shuffled slowly as she made her way toward him, without a word. She retrieved the mug before sluggishly sauntering toward a sink, into which she poured its contents. She filled it yet again, from the same pot, and returned it to Oliver. It was warm in his hands, just as it had been, but by the time he swallowed, it was icy. He had no intention of burdening the waitress any further, and so he feigned gratitude. “Thanks again.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved his wallet, laying a $5 bill on the counter. “Keep the change, miss.” She stared at it, emotionless. It occurred to him that she might be braindead; she evidently did not have all of her faculties about her and she did not behave in a way that any functioning adult would. He slid the bill toward her, encouraging her to take it. After a long while, she did. She held the bill in her hands and gawked at it, as if she did not understand its purpose. As she was studying it, Oliver noticed something incredibly unnerving — a long gash on each of her wrists, blackened with dried blood, perhaps the remnants of a failed suicide attempt that she made no attempt to conceal. His eyes widened. “Are you okay?” She returned her attention to him, though she made no effort to reply to his query. “Ma’am, shouldn’t you see a doctor?” Her face twitched, and he thought she might actually respond, but all she did was shift her facial expression to one of confusion. *At least she’s finally showing an emotion*, he thought. *That’s progress.* He intended to continue attempting to help the injured woman, but before he could say anything further, she turned and retreated into a back office — or perhaps a storage closet? — at a much quicker pace than she had been operating at thus far. Oliver was left alone at the counter, dumbfounded. If she did not want his help, it was probably unwise to continue offering it. Still, he could not shake the feeling that the woman was in dire need of assistance, but at that moment he had more than enough of his own traumas to confront. He turned his focus toward the older gentleman tending the grill, and decided he might as well try to spark up a conversation with him — if he was friendlier than the waitress had been, Oliver might even be able to convince him to help the poor woman. He found a seat closer to where the man was standing, but his back was still turned toward him, so he sat in silence for a moment as he pondered how to attract the cook’s attention. Eventually, he decided on: “How’s it goin’ there, sir?” The man immediately let out a deep, guttural grunt. Oliver was not sure if that meant he did not wish to be disturbed, but he was so desperate for conversation, for at least *some* sense of normalcy, that he was not deterred. “Sorry, what was that, sir?” The man slowly began to turn, his feet scraping against the tiled floor as if he did not possess the strength to take proper steps, and little by little, his face was revealed — his eyes were shut tight, his jaw hung in a zombie-like manner and the skin around his lips was a sickening shade of blue. He faced Oliver and unleashed yet another rasping groan. Oliver tensed up, taken aback by the man’s appalling appearance. It seemed that every employee of the World’s End Diner might be in dire need of medical attention. He was left speechless as he studied the cook’s lifeless visage. The two of them silently faced each other for some time, although the man never so much as opened his eyes, so it was difficult to tell if he was even truly cognizant of Oliver’s presence. He just stood there, mouth gaping. Eventually, the man turned back around and commenced his task of cleaning the grill, although it was already spotless. Oliver abandoned his hope of conversing with the cook and considered the diner’s sheer peculiarity. Its occupants operated somewhere within the uncanny valley — they resembled humans, but did not behave like them. He reminded himself that he was, by all accounts, in the middle of nowhere — perhaps their strange behavior could be attributed to the drug abuse that had devastated so many rural communities in recent years. With half of his foul coffee remaining, he resolved to spend a bit more time in the confounding eatery — besides, he did not believe he was mentally fit to continue his journey just yet. He glanced over at the man sitting alone in the booth at the far end of the diner, concealed by his cap and overcoat. He was idle, not doing much of anything; in front of him were empty mugs and plates, signaling that he had been there for quite a while. *Let’s give it a shot*, Oliver thought. He stood, let out a deep sigh and slowly made his way toward the man’s booth. Timidly, he asked: “Do you mind if I join you, sir?” The man looked up and, to Oliver’s relief, he seemed to be in good shape — a middle-aged man of dark complexion with no apparent maladies. He looked melancholic, but that was to be expected at this queer hour. “Sure,” he said. “Have a seat.” *Finally someone capable of normal conversation*, Oliver thought. “Thanks — I think I really need to talk to someone.” He sat opposite the man and took a swig of coffee. After a moment of contemplation, the man asked: “What’s on your mind, son?” “Oh, where to begin,” Oliver groaned. “I’ve had such a strange night. I’m on a sort of road trip, and I had this run-in with a deer… But I’m not sure it ever actually existed. I may have imagined it or something, because here I am. Anyway, that shook me so much that I really needed to find a place to stop, and this diner showed up not long after. But this place seems just as strange — it’s in the middle of nowhere, but it’s beautiful. And the staff here… They look like they’ve gone through hell and back. They’re not even capable of small talk. It’s like everything just confuses them. It all feels like some sort of fever dream… I guess I could just use a little help making sense of all of it.” At that, the man chuckled. “I don’t think there’s any making sense of it, man.” Oliver was puzzled. “What do you mean by that?” “A place like this — there’s no rhyme or reason to it. Haven’t you figured that out by now?” Oliver returned a confused expression. The man scoffed. “You really don’t know where you are, huh?” A brief silence. “Arkansas?” He shook his head at Oliver’s naivety. “Shit, man, you’re in for a rude awakening. Here… Take a look at this.” The man removed his cap and tilted his head downward, revealing a bloody mess of a hole in the back of his skull, the atrocious aftermath of a point-blank gunshot. Oliver’s chest tightened. “What the *fuck*?!” He looked toward the counter, where the waitress and the cook were now standing side by side, facing their booth directly. “Somebody call 9-1-1!” When nobody made any effort to seek assistance, Oliver took it upon himself. He retrieved his cellphone from his pocket and was dismayed to find that it was shattered, well past the point of repair. *When could this have happened?* The man laughed and returned his cap to the tattered remnants of his skull. “Don’t you get it, boy? There *is* no help. Piece it together, man. I know you’re smarter than this.” A part of Oliver’s mind began to work out what the man was implying, but yet another part rejected the notion entirely. *No. No. No.* He stood up and darted his eyes around the now sinister diner. The three other occupants were eyeing him expectantly, and he started to hyperventilate. “Ah, it looks like he’s starting to get it, y’all.” Oliver’s panic began to evolve into an irrational anger. “Fuck this and fuck all of you.” He stormed toward the diner’s entrance, determined to put the horror show that was the World’s End Diner behind him. “I’m done.” “There’s no running from this, man. Come on, now.” This time, Oliver did not dignify the man with a response. He swung the diner’s door open and stepped outside. Then, all hope was lost. Nothing looked as it had when he first arrived. There was no highway, no parking lot, not even any trees. Before him was only a bleak and desolate wasteland, black sand stretching out into eternity underneath a similarly black sky. The diner was the forsaken landscape’s only light source. His car was nowhere to be found. *What is happening to me?* Oliver fell to his knees and wept. He had never been a spiritual man, but now, he prayed — to whom, he could not be sure. Several long minutes passed in this fashion, alternating between curses and pleas to a higher power. He soon became convinced that these pleas were utterly useless. *I deserve this.* If there had ever existed a place where hope was strictly forbidden, where light itself was a mere fantasy, he had found it. *I do deserve this, don’t I?* It was then, in Oliver’s darkest, most despairing moment, that his surroundings began to change, ever so slowly. Initially, he was not sure if he was imagining it, but after some time, it intensified. The landscape was brightening. It was as if some great, all-encompassing light was being shone down upon him from a source unknown — as far as he could discern, there was no sun in this place. It seemed that the entirety of the sky was emitting this light, blindingly white and scorching hot, slowly but surely gnawing away at the once-infinite dark. Oliver’s tears ceased as he stared toward the sky, getting brighter and brighter by the second, until it seemed that light was the only thing there was, and perhaps the only thing that had ever been. He watched in awe as it enveloped the whole of the world, inch by inch, until at last, it had enveloped him, as well. There was no way to be certain of what he was experiencing, but in that brief moment, Oliver felt that he was gazing directly into the eyes of his Creator. **∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙** When Oliver regained consciousness, his brain was a foggy mess — it took him some time to remember who he was, and what had transpired. He was acutely aware of a single sensation, though: an excruciating, full-body pain. He was unable to move his body; he felt locked in place, wholly drained of strength. His vision was still white, but eventually, color faded in, and other sensations began to return to him. He was able to discern that he was lying down, staring up at some sort of metal ceiling. Then, he made out the bumps in the road beneath him, and he deduced that he was a passenger in some sort of vehicle, but he lacked the energy to turn his head and study his environment. There was a shrill ringing in his ears, drowning out all other noise, if there was any other noise to speak of. Then, that ringing began to fade, as well, and he felt like a newborn infant, entering the world for the first time. Other sounds began to flood in: footsteps, mumbled chatter and the persistent beeping of medical equipment. And finally, he was able to clearly make out someone’s words: “We’ve got a pulse. We’ve got a pulse. We’ve got a pulse.


A hundred of his money had been lost to the abyss. Watching the moon lazily trace across the concrete sky, muffled by roaring clouds and bureaucracy, his cigarette let him embrace a cold shiver of indifference. In the distance a mother is exploited and a husband is suffocated by the towering cavalcades of steadfast progress. A distracting blue light stings his eyes and slams his head. Text no longer written but blared with burning intensity into the retina of any poor soul broken enough to find it comforting. Ascending multicoloured boxes rolled by his fingers bartering away his emotions and instincts. Pleasantly disguised chimes made him salivate - he could only applaud Pavlov and the other dogs crammed into his vicinity. Addiction is only a problem when it is unwanted. One of the boxes materialised amongst the blurry fog. A cartoon fish. A price. A location. Rebellion commoditised. Effective communication. Predetermined probabilities forced him to go willingly. If hope can be caught he saw no reason why it wouldn’t dwell in the ocean. A bed submerged by millions of water is less weight than people’s expectations. Were he ever named hope it would make an ideal resting place, far away from disappointment. \* \* \* Rolling rubber. Shaking metal. A smearing of personalities side by side. The bus took him away from himself by adjusting others into focus. Shooting peaks of structure and earth set themselves in the corner of his eyes for the inconvenience, their intrusion sometimes ebbing out a tear. Swapping transportation for transportation. Metal for wood. Concrete for water. Fluorescence for moonlight. The bobbing cradled his bruised self and took him out into the vacuum. Whispers of dormant Gods lashed against his exposed ego, beating his flesh raw. Nothing left for him. Nothing left to do but cast a line. Sitting quietly with an endless background of noise. Fishing about for silver, wiggling, abstract prizes all turning and contorting around each other. A bite, a word, a phrase. He held it in his palm for inspection. It was not a big one, not one you would want to hang on a mantle or show to your father, but good enough for the lazy and disposed carcass that was perched over the pulsating expanse of black liquid. He gripped it like a child grasps a toy, running his fingers over the set plastic ridges, contemplating only the primal sensation the unholy smooth material lent to his nervous system. The phrase played continuously over his inner self, unobserved but present, its existence a comfort rather than a meaningful reflection. Zero percent of hope had been found. Something still ruled the world with a shit eating grin. All he had managed to do was make himself feel sad. He started to suspect systems of people had fucked him over personally. It had, however, made him into a weary boy with something like a university degree in pain. Instead of building hope, he now builds a precise model of a grotesque, duplicitous world.