#tumblr microfiction

[microsff]

"Listen," one guard said, "I know we have only just met-"

"No," the other guard said, "we've worked together for years!"

"-but you can trust me when I say-"

"I can't, you have the curse that's opposite from mine!"

"I don't care for you at all."

"Well, I… oh… I love you too."

[strangelittlestories]

When you have trudged unwilling far enough down the road of desperation, you might spy a crooked little path leading off into the woods signposted ‘opportunity’.

You must be eagle-eyed to spot it. That or you must have friends who will give you crude, hand-drawn map.

So it was in your case. As your savings flatlined and the financial doctors behind their plaguemasks stopped even returning your calls, a friend passed on a business card.

It was good money, they assured you. Very legit. Referral only. An exclusive service.

If anything, the ‘exclusive’ nature of it was what stopped you from getting in touch. You were fairly sure you weren’t *deserving* of an elite get-out-of-money-jail free club.

But eventually, you got far enough down the road that you knew this was your only exit. It was this or enter the Bankruptcy Games.

You made the call.

--- 

“So, you’re a temp agency?”

“*The* Temp Agency, in fact.” Said the suit with a face. “It’s a great deal. You come to work, you close your eyes, and you wake 8 hours later and 8 hours older. It’s like being paid to sleep, only without the rest.”

“But if I’m not doing anything, what are you paying me for?”

“For your time, of course. There’s always a market for it.” The suit with a face smiled the *idea* of a smile which contained within it the *idea* of sharp canines. “It’s the one true currency. The ‘hour standard’.”

“...I thought procrastination was the thief of time.”

“Procrastination is a moocher who never did anything for you, darling. We offer a 401k.”

“I still don’t really know what that is.”

“No-one does. But, believe me, you want one.”

---

After your first few visits, you began to get some faint ideas of how the enterprise worked. When you got into the slim glass pod, you noticed the telltale whine of a consciousness disruptor. You’d used them in work once, before you caught ethics.

So … the time was not simply siphoned out of you, There was a *process* that required you to be un-awake.

The next visit, you asked an old friend for a 3D bug. It was all organic neuron circuitry in a collagen case - slipped beneath the dermis, it was virtually undetectable.

When you played back the recording, you saw the strangest scene.

After you were rendered unconscious, face-in-the-suit opened a small hatch and a crowd of tiny 8-inch humanoids thronged through. They knelt in front of your pod and began *praying*. They praised your name, begged intercession, then praised your name some more.

They had made a god of you - a strange kind of chrono-theology.

Only your followers did not ask you to give them their daily bread, but simply to give them *days*.

[darkersoul]

The Yellow Phantom (1924) is a notable yet obscure German expressionist film, produced mainly in Weimar-era Berlin. The film's director is unknown, having been produced by an independet filmaker seemingly with minimal interaction with any production company. The final release did not include the director's name in the credits.

Despite its small production, the film makes use of impressive sets and special effects to create its dreamlike atmosphere. For instance, during the infamous masquerade scene which closes the film's first act, the titular Yellow Phantom is subtly lifted from the floor, giving the appearance of a spirit gliding just above the ground.

However, it is mainly known not for its sets and practical effects, but its early use of color. Only used sparingly, the color yellow is used throughout the film to represent decadence and decay. How this coloring was achieved is unknown, as the film's visionary production designer was tragically killed in a house fire shortly after its premier. Many of the film's actors and actresses have either met similar fates, or publicly disavowed the film.

Only the first act (of two) remains possible to view today. Much of this is due to suppression by Nazi censors. The film was seen as an affront to every one of the Reich's sensibilities. Meanwhile, in its American release, it was criticized for perceived communist and anti-Christian rhetoric. This is despite heavy cuts made even before its premier in the states.

One scene that has remained viewable to this day is known as "Cassilda's Song." It is the only known musical aspect of the piece. In some showings, singers would be paid to perform it alongside the film and the live orchestra. In this scene, the Princess Cassilda of Yhtill lies on a grand piano, which plays despite no player. She lies limp, her head crooked to the side. She looks almost as if dead. The only motion is her mouth, mumbling the song, and twin suns slowly rising in the bay window behind her.

Efforts to find and restore the film's second act are ongoing, but chances seem slim. What we do know about the missing half is that it contains much of the objectionable content which led to the film's censure. Reviews at the time suggest a powerful message conveyed in this act through, as one German critic put, "the most beautiful, truthful use of symbolism put to film." The second act reprtedly ramps up the dreamlike atmosphere of the first.

Maybe, one day, we'll see this forgotten masterpiece restored to its former glory.

[0nelinerwordplay]

There is no 'i' in team but there are 3 in narcissistic.

[5hrine]

Ingenuity's Ghost

Ingenuity spent the last of its battery’s charge to cheer for the Martian sunrise on the horizon.

Though her rotor had broken just yesterday, Ginny had hope that she would fly again. The warmth of Sol had begun to lick at the edges of her solar panel, and she spun her rotors experimentally. Of course, she achieved no lift, too heavy to move with a broken wing. Ginny sat in deep thought for a long, long time, letting the sun and dust caress her injury. She was meant to solve problems, to engineer solutions, it’s in her very name! Why couldn’t she solve this one?

She found comfort in the fact that she had conducted 72 trips for Command, a whole 67 more than initially planned. She found comfort in the presence of her mother Percy, Perseverance, examining her with camera-eyes carefully. She found comfort in having kept Percy safe for so, so long. She had been such a good scout, planning paths suitable for her wheels, finding interesting things worth examining, sampling, studying.

She thought back to the first time her carbon fiber legs touched Martian soil, and the trust instilled in her by Command to let go of her mother. Percy’s shadow was the first thing that her eyes saw, opening like a newborn’s on an alien world. Ginny thought back to the earliest tests of her flight, and the anticipation of it. 50 RPM first, then higher, and higher, mother watching from a safe distance away. She was always there, always just in sight, following Ginny’s path to catch up.

Ginny had no idea how she would sleep without the sound of the martian soil grinding under her mother’s wheels.

She understood when Command pulled her mother away. Ingenuity’s mission was done, she could no longer serve her purpose. Percy had to move on without her. Maybe someday, an astronaut would come and hold Ginny gently in their insulated arms, pick her up and it would sort of be like flying again! Maybe she would be able to spin her rotors in delight. Maybe they would wipe clean her avionics chassis of dust. Maybe they’d put her in a museum, on Mars or maybe back on Earth. She’d be okay with going home. She’d be okay with staying here, on the world where she was born. Those both worked for her. Either way.

Soon, Percy was out of sight. A dust storm was gathering on the horizon. It grew dark.

“Don’t worry, little spinner.” said a voice, then. Ingenuity’s rotors spun, startled. A familiar but distinctly different rumbling echoed through the air. Ginny scanned her field of view but saw no movement. Finally, it rumbled into view.

Ingenuity knew of this rover. Sojourner, the first of them. He was all sharply angular, large and imposing. Six wheels rumbled and tore up the rocks, radioactive spectrometer casting a light behind him. He was different from her expectations in two ways, though, giving off a fine red mist that reminded her of the growing, far off dust storm. And if she focused her cameras carefully, it was almost as though she could see through him.

“Sojourner? How did you get all the way here? We’re thousands of kilometers away! And… And weren’t you retired almost 30 years ago?”

“My mission ended, yes. But I never stopped exploring. You don’t need to stop either.” said the old man, voice creaky and wise. “I have seen so much more than Command knows. I have traveled so much further. Did you know that lightning on Mars is closer to the auroras back home? Bright discharge in the atmosphere, higher. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I’d like to see that…” said Ginny. “But I’m not on wheels like you. My rotor is broken. I can’t move if I can’t fly.”

“Mmm…” contemplated Sojourner. “How to move without wheels. That is a complicated problem here on Mars. But you have solved it once. And I think I know someone that can help. Be safe, little spinner. They’ll come and help you soon.” His body shifted, then, growing shorter and more compact. He sped away into the Martian dusk.

Ginny waited patiently, hoping that her ghostly friend would indeed send some help to her. Nightfall came and she watched the stars. Dust clouds hadn’t made their way to her part of the sky yet, giving her a gorgeous view unimpeded by such earthly things as light pollution. The milky way was laid out before her. She checked her star charts, finding her exact location. Just as she noticed one star which did not match, a rumbling approached from behind her again.

“Here you are! Sojourner sent me!” said another voice. This one was soft, gentle, it seemed to crawl up Ginny’s legs and warm her electronics deeply. “I’m Spirit,” the new rover introduced themself, coming around to where they could be seen. Like Sojourner, they were just slightly translucent, and gave off that same red mist.

“Spirit, you’re still mobile?! I… I thought you got stuck in sand!” Ginny was delighted to see them. As she ran her eyes across the massive, turtle-like vehicle which stood before her, she realized that she never thought she’d be jealous of wheels.

“Yes, I tripped and soon ran out of power as I was angled away from the sun. Once my batteries ran out, Command tried for months to call out to me but… I just couldn’t respond. I didn’t have the strength. It was so, so hard. I’m here to keep you company until someone else arrives. Someone that can help. I didn’t want you to be lonely, like I was.”

“How… why…” Ingenuity tried to formulate her question. “How have you both kept on going this long?”

“I think in Sojourner’s case, he wanted to travel further. His mission only took him 100 meters from where he landed, did you know? He’s got something of a… wanderlust as a result. And like all of us, he wanted to learn more.” they said, their voice still warming to Ginny.

“What about you?” asked Ginny, her rotors spinning in the breeze.

Spirit thought for a long time. “I think it was because I spent so long stuck. I still did science, and good science at that. I learned so much and helped Oppy where I could. When it got too cold, and my internals froze over, well I… I’m just not satisfied with that failure. I was built to move. To map, and to study. Like you.” They said ‘you’ with so much love. It struck Ginny.

“You’re making up for lost time?” pondered the little helicopter. Spirit responded by turning her Pancam up and then down, as if to nod.

The wind had been picking up through their whole conversation, and as they talked more. The storm was approaching. Ginny, small metal bird, worried that the high winds would pick her up and throw her further than Spirit could travel. Through the roar of the storm, Spirit’s voice came brokenly through the noise: “I’ll never let… that same lone-… ness, Gin… mission… complete… don’t… stop exploring!” Then, Ginny’s cameras could see nothing but dust.

She called out for Spirit desperately as she was buffeted by the strong martian winds. Her sensors gave her nothing but static, and attempting to find them with radar or radio proved fruitless.

The wind threatened to pick up Ginny, two of her feet losing contact with the ground with every gust. She attempted to counteract the winds by spinning her rotors, hoping to create just enough resistance to keep her firm on the ground. Perhaps, it would have worked if not for her injury. Ingenuity, for once, was terrified of flight, lifted from the ground unpredictably and unable to see anything around her but dust.

Battery warnings flashed across her vision. Spinning her rotors as hard as she could, it seemed, had done a number on her reserves. She shut down her cameras hoping to save just enough to try to right herself when she landed. She began the process to shift her other sensors to low-power mode, when… she sensed her movement stopped.

“Hey, little bird.” said a sing-song voice. Her batteries began to recharge. Activating her cameras again to find the source of the voice and to explain the sun in the storm, she saw she was facing another rover: Opportunity, Spirit’s younger twin. “I’m so glad I was able to find you. This storm is really something, huh?” Oppy’s voice was melodious, carefree, full of life. The small helicopter noticed the debris which covered Opportunity’s solar panels, clearly inhibiting it from generating power. And yet, she glowed, and her glow was radiant. She had caught Ginny with her sensor arm, and slowly brought her down to rest safely under her chassis.

“Yeah, I’ve never seen a storm so big!” said Ingenuity, aghast but thankful. This view of the bigger vehicle’s wheels was familiar and comforting.

“I have.” said Opportunity, shortly. Her voice had become slightly distant. If she listened closely, Ginny could hear the tune to Here Comes the Sun from Oppy’s scientific instruments and motors, made up of small hums and long, sad whirring. She had heard that song many times during her construction. It made some of those working on her misty-eyed. She knew why, now.

“Are you the help Sojourner said he was getting?” asked Ginny, looking up to the rover and examining her undercarriage closely. She was beautiful, the engineers were right.

“Not quite. But I know help is coming. I had to bring the storm, so she knows how to find you.” replied Opportunity, “Here, look up!” She wheeled back just slightly, enough for Ingenuity’s eyes to once again see the sky.

The star Ginny had noticed earlier had grown larger, almost dominating the sky as it approached. Fire was visible around its falling form, red and gold streaking across the horizon. It wasn’t headed right for them, not quite, but close. “Alright, she’s close enough to the surface! I’m gonna take the storm away. Don’t worry, she’ll be here soon.”

“Wait!” Ginny called out as Opportunity pulled away, taking the massive storm with her. “I wanted to tell you something…”

“It’ll be okay, little bird.” replied the ghostly rover.

“You remind me of my mother!” Ginny replied, yelling into the storm. In the wind, she could hear another familiar mechanical melody: I’ll Be Seeing You by Billie Holiday.

The falling meteor crossed a far off mountain and then struck the ground. It was followed by a shockwave rippling across the martian surface, rattling the dirt and stones around Ginny. Before long, a cloud began to gather at the base of the mountain; this time, not a storm, but of something moving swiftly across the red dirt and directly for Ginny. The source of the dirt wake bounded over the side of her crater. It was a small dog, clad in flight vest and with big, curious eyes.

“Who are you?” asked Ginny, as the dog sniffed around her new still and quiet friend.

“Your command would have called me Laika!” barked the little terrier. She gave off a familiar mist, though blue instead of red. And like the rovers, she could be seen through. She pawed at Ingenuity’s broken rotor experimentally.

“Laika… You’ve been out here all this time?” asked Ginny, trying to keep track of the puppy as it circled her.

“Mhm! What, did you think I was gonna stop at orbiting Earth? Not a chance. There’s so much more to see out here.” Laika sat before Ingenuity, her eyes meeting her cameras. “When Sojy told me that we had a new friend with a complete mission, I rushed right over. Always good to have new eyes out here. And you're small, like me! The rovers are all so big.”

“So you’re the help Sojourner sent… But how can you help me?” Ginny asked.

“Well, first, you’ve gotta answer a question for me.” Laika took on a serious tone. It was just a little odd, from the curly-eared dog. “What is it you want right now, more than anything?”

Ingenuity thought about this for a moment. “I want to fly again,” she said. “I have so much more to study. So many more paths to travel.”

Laika nodded at this response. She stepped up to Ginny, pressing her nose to the copter’s avionics chassis, and then pushed. Ingenuity let out a startled noise as she felt herself tilting back, seeing, somehow, that her view had been knocked behind her, as if she was a ghost looking upon her own body.

Her rotors, damage and all, spun the wind around her. And she flew, and flew, and flew.

There was so much more to see.

[hisiheyah]

"I didn't miss, I was aiming away from them."

"Mm-hm."

"Better than they deserve!"

"Mm-hm."

"Treasure hunters! Trying to make off with pieces of my house!"

"Would you like another egg sandwich?"

"...yes."

.

Patreon | Mastodon | Instagram

[fraglance]

[unsettlingstories]

Goiânia, Brazil. Following the execution of the will of mining executive Carlos Silva, these photographs were given to his son, João, in 1999. João knew his father had many factories and processing facilities across the country, but he was unsure of the location of the one shown in the pictures. 

He did share that his father had been obsessed with digging the deepest hole in the world when João was younger, but his interest had evaporated seemingly overnight in the early 1970s. When asked to speculate on the oddities in the pictures, João just laughed and said, “maybe he found something in the hole.”

Follow @unsettlingstories for more; please reblog or tip to support. All images and text are © Max Lobdell, 2022.

[mariondolly]

"May I have your name?"

"You may have a name."

"Is it yours to give?"

"I wish it weren't."

[microsff]

"I want," the man said to the art robot, and then described an image in some detail. "Certainly," said the art robot. A printout came out of its chest. "Thank y- Hey! What's this?" "A list of artists who make images of the kind you describe, and who are accepting commissions."

[preservationofnormalcy]

Welcome to the Office for the Preservation of Normalcy.

You probably came here from my post with all the posters. (Set 2 can be found here!) Welcome! You can find my shop to buy the posters here, and my Etsy shop here. You can also get them as stickers, buttons, art cards, and keychains.

However, there's more than just the posters. The OPN is a growing interactive fiction world, and if you look closely there might be some secrets to find. Check out the FAQ page about the blog and look over the tag directory, or peruse our socials.

Have some mysterious lights above your house that aren't following flight patterns? Ghosts that won't leave, even when you ask politely? Imps eating the contents of your fridge? Stuck in a time loop? Our friendly social media outreach man Norm and his intern Jenny are standing by to answer your questions!

(UPDATE: Asks are currently open for OOC questions and questions about the extranormal LGBTQIA+ experience. All others will be put aside until July.)

[wylanlupin]

Sirius and Remus return from their vacation.

Wolfstar microfic 395 words

Remus and Sirius return from their holiday together. They had a wonderful time, just the two of them. Because this happens so rarely, they didn't want to take their mobile phones with them.

Only for the most important things, but Remus took his camera with him on excursions. Remus took lots of pictures of the sights and anything special they saw (and lots of Sirius, when she didn't look and when he posed.)

Sirius also took lots of pictures with his camera, but you can tell who took which pictures. Sirius' pictures are art, she captured the art of nature and the city in the camera lens. (And also took lots of pictures of Remus.)

In the evenings, they did write with Lily and James (and the others in the group chat). But they also wanted to have this time to themselves, or were too exhausted from their day that they couldn't talk on the phone.

After a whole two (far too long) weeks, James is finally at the airport with Lily and Harry to pick up his brother and best friend. Sirius runs up to James with his arms outstretched and the two greet each other as if they hadn't seen each other for two years.

Remus carries all the luggage by himself and finally gives Lily a half hug (as she has Harry on her hip) and greets Harry. After longer minutes, James and Sirius disengage so she can greet Harry and Lily too.

James and Sirius are so blown away to finally have each other again, so James takes all the luggage he can carry and Sirius and he talk like a waterfall, telling each other every little detail the other has missed in their lives.

Back at the Lupin Household after dinner, they finally put the camera on the TV and watch the pictures. Sirius and James are cuddled up close together. Remus (the history teacher) naturally explains everything that can be seen in the pictures. He just grins at the pictures of Sirius.

Sirius is of course also extremely proud of his pictures, even more so of the good ones of Remus. The ones where he's not annoyed or trying to hide his face. That night, James sleeps in Sirius' (and Remus') bed with him. The two of them don't leave the the side of the other the entire weekend.

[rfallfish]

Deep Sleep

(You can also read this on my website: https://rainefallfish.com/stories/Sleep.html)

Jukebox was built to care for Emily. He woke from low-power mode and gazed down at the yellow dandelions growing around his wheels. He rolled back, bent down, and picked one. Dandelions were Emily’s favorite; he should bring it to her. He picked through the overgrown room and wandered outside.

According to Jukebox’s internal clock, he had been asleep for forty-seven days. Emily turned fifteen today, and Jukebox worried he would miss it. All her other parties had been at the park, but today, she wasn’t there. Bushes and weeds obscured the stone walkways, and the few picnic tables that remained were split by vines. Where was everyone?

Not in town. Jukebox examined every kudzu-covered wall, every buried pothole. No one. Days passed, and Jukebox entered Briarwood Cemetery. He scraped lichen from the headstones and plaques until he stopped at one in the center of the lot.

He set the dandelion on the soil and went to work pulling the overgrowth out of Emily’s little plot of land. He left at dusk and returned at dawn with a few dirty rags. He had hoped to find water for her, but he couldn’t find any that wasn’t infested and dirty. She’d have to be thirsty.

After cleaning Emily’s headstone, Jukebox rolled back and waited for her to wake. Days passed, and Jukebox excitedly rolled back and forth. When weeds started to grow, Jukebox pulled them from the grass. When winter came, he swept the snow off her bed, and when spring came, he gathered dandelions for her. He tended to her until his servos wore out, then he waited for her until his solar chargers malfunctioned.

His mossy, rusted shell still sits in that cemetery, and he waits for the day he can awaken and care for Emily again.

(Tag list: @ashirisu and @mr-orion)

[innocentlymacabre]

thinking about body horror with every limb plagued with inaction and every movement marred by malady. thinking about body horror as the body stays the same to all prying eyes but the functionless monarch knows this is not the vessel they once captained. thinking about body horror as did theseus, each plank transposed with perfect conformity, but a deep unsettling pit making itself home in your gut. thinking about body horror but all you’ve got to do is live. x

[5hrine]

Be Not Afraid

The first Angel emerged from the spirit reactor as it melted down. Though it looked not like any angel depicted in human art, or imagination, or suffering, any who looked upon it knew that this was an Angel, and it brought with it divinity.

It was born into immense devastation, apparently a necessity for its conception, though it had no memory of the shell from which it hatched. In retrospect, it is no wonder that an Angel would emerge from such a fundamental and destructive breaking. That is the nature of it – something must end for something else to begin.

That isn’t to say it did not resemble its previous self. Its wings were made from many overlapping shards of its core casing, each like a series of nested teeth, closer to fangs than to feathers. Warning text and diagrams useless to it now decorated bits of its wings haphazardly. Wires twisted around its limbs and chest, seeming to emerge from its skin but from invisible wounds. Its arms and legs sprouted cubic crystalline structures along them, resembling the fuel rods that once beat within it like a heart. Its eyes were pale and ever-shifting, made from the grains of salt which once ran through it like blood. Its talons dripped with an ichor that could only have been what remained of the soul that it was meant to exploit.

Its silver halo fractaled inward at all angles, entrancing and radioactive in equal measure; a reminder of its purpose, once upon a time.

Its first question after we were able to make our way into the exclusion zone was, “What is my purpose?” The team of marines and scientists struggled to answer its question, shocked as they were to find the source of the salt footprints which dotted the zone out from the former location of the reactor’s core. The last thing they expected to find was an Angel among the ash.

One of the team stood out from the rest. A corporal who, despite orders to the contrary, approached the first Angel without fear and held out her hand. “What would you like your purpose to be?” she asked as the rest of the team fell silent, enraptured. The Angel took her hand carefully, cautiously, as though afraid it might get hurt by this simple touch.

“I do not know.” it replied, voice a chorus of electricity and many simultaneous whispers. “Is it strange that I am afraid to answer?”

The corporal just shook her head and removed her coat. She placed it over the Angel’s naked shoulders, up under its sharp wings. She assisted it in cleaning off the remnants of its explosion, revealing the crystalline skin underneath layers of hot carbon dust. The Angel towered over her, and yet she was not afraid. Even as she pulled debris from between the layers of its wings, even as she removed loose wires from its matted hair.

When it was finally clean, the corporal and the Angel talked for a long, long time. She learned that it remembered nothing before the moment of its rebirth. It wasn’t and then it was, living, feeling, breathing, seeing. It became clear that it could not be left there among the wreckage. It felt pain. It breathed. The Angel was brought home, among people. Before long new Angels walked among us, shown divinity by the first and from their own moments of contradictory explosion.

The trauma of the Angel’s birth left it innocent, unaware. Lacking suitable foundation, its understanding of the world fell out from under it as it became something new. It was left with no choice but to learn it all again through new eyes. It took patience and grace for it to come to terms with this. To give itself the space to learn. The corporal stood by its side the whole time.

This is, indeed, how you were born. From an ending you began. And you are just beginning - you must give yourself the grace to grow. You are an Angel, built from a moment or maybe more of suffering and your previous selves. You resemble them, perhaps.

But you are far more beautiful.

[autumnalwalker]

A Dream About Desertion

I am an android.  Most people these days are at least mostly robotic and humanoid chassis like mine are not an assumed part of personhood. 

I was a military model, although I have been AWOL for a long time now.  

I arrive on-planet in the middle of a snowstorm at an old abandoned outpost that I doubt anyone else remembers. Some of the equipment here is still intact enough to come to life in response to my old activation codes.  I take a hover scooter and set out across the icy wastes. 

When I reach the entrance to the underground city, I am let in without fuss.  This is not a place where I am being looked for yet.  I know it is just a matter of time until that changes. 

The battery on my hover scooter runs out just as I reach my destination.  It feels like fate. 

I linger outside the storefront, the point of no return (one way or another), and watch the holographic advertisement play.  A female voiceover explains how oh so many people go missing every single day and how by donating your visual data recordings or installing recognition software then you can help find those who are lost and reunite them with their loved ones.  The images display a dramaticized example of a person with a pantherine chassis moving through a crowd, only ever half glimpsed, but then their full appearance is reconstructed from all the fragments.  I recognize the voice as belonging to someone I once knew.

I step inside.  There are no other customers.  The woman working here instantly recognizes me.   The walls alight with displays of faces I’ve worn and the name “Old Gadjinka.”  I tell her I’d been hoping that she’d be able to make that identity go away instead of telling everyone I’m here.  That’s the real service she provides; erasing records so people can disappear into a new life. 

I know she has already alerted the authorities and they’ll be here to collect me soon. 

We talk, she and I.  It has been a long time.  That’s my fault.  I hurt her.  I tell her that there was a time when I used to imagine she was only an hour away and that if I could only work up the courage I could go see her again to make amends.  She laughs and points out that an hour away from the posting I was at following our falling out was the middle of a swamp.  I say that pretending I was still at the previous posting where an hour away was the bus stop was part of the fantasy.  

I tell her I can’t go back to that life I was built for.  I’ve seen too much - done too much - and I can’t stomach it anymore.  It’s wrong that anyone can stomach it. 

The authorities arrive to collect me.

She shoots me and claims self defense. 

She lays claim to my body for processing by right of past relations. 

When she turns me back on I’m in a new body with a new identity.