The City of Nowhere

The City of Nowhere has a population of lots of people, all of whom live and do things on days of the week. The day is just lively enough, and the night is pleasantly quiet. Whenever the clouds bring rain, they do so from 4:00pm to roughly 6:20pm. The sunshine afterward dries the sidewalk so no one gets their shoes wet. Nobody’s work day is interrupted by discussing the weather. There’s simply no need. Similarly, there’s no real need to go to work, either, but it’s what you’re supposed to do when you grow up, so you do it without ever asking why.

Mr. Nobody has recently received a promotion. He now is tasked with tapping a keyboard attached to one of the many workplace computers. His cubicle’s only decoration is the gray paint, a stark difference from the off-white paint that coats everything else. It’s a welcome change from the norm--not that he’d ever talk about it. He must be determined not to let it distract him, however. 

At 6:30, a buzzer rings, and everyone issues a polite “See you tomorrow” before they exit the premises in a single file line. The other buildings on the way home are only for show, though not too showy. Mr. Nobody walks exactly 365 steps until he reaches the bus station. A few of his coworkers are sat on the bench, engrossed in the newspaper that never changes. Mr. Nobody has never read it. 

The bus arrives. The driver’s seat, like always, is empty. Everyone steps inside and takes a seat. Mr. Nobody wonders whose voice it is that announces NEXT STOP, NOTHING STREET. PLEASE REMAIN SEATED FOR THE TRIP. As he looks out the window at the empty city, Mr. Nothing wonders if there will be anything different for dinner tonight.

Nothing Street is a neighborhood. Each one boasts two square patches of grass free of any pesky weeds or flowers on each side of the walkway. He wipes his shoes at the welcome mat. The familiar smell of meatloaf, green beans, and rice tickles his nose. Mrs. Nobody is busy in the kitchen. As she removes the meal from the oven, Mr. Nobody spots something on the counter.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“It’s a cactus,” she replies. “Ms. Someday at the edge of town gave it to me. It looks pretty, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” he says cautiously, “but no one else has a cactus.”

“Ms. Someday does. Maybe she’s given one to other people. She said it doesn't need much water to thrive. Do you think this is a good spot for it? I like it over here. I never thought something so out of place would be such a good decoration.” Mrs. Nobody taps her finger against one of the spines. She winces, but her smile stays, as if she’s excited to hurt herself so stupidly. “How was work today?”

“The same.”

He sits at the table. Mrs. Nobody dumps his portion on his plate. The juices from the green beans stain the rice. He decides not to say anything. She sits in the chair across from him and scoops the meatloaf and rice onto her fork.

“Dear, are you happy?” she asks. “Is this a good life?”

For some reason, his hesitance makes him feel anxious. “Well, sure. It’s a fine life.”

“But is it good?”

“Objectively,” he says. “The rain doesn't stay too long, and the bus never runs late. Why wouldn’t it be good? It’s never bad, after all.”

“Before we met, I was taught that nothing bad ever happens in Heaven. That’s what makes it Heaven. But nothing good ever happens, either. That’s what Hell is like, I thought. So what would you call this?”

What a question it is. I suppose she isn’t expecting an answer, he thinks. He simply nods in thought. That’s enough for her. They continue to eat in silence. Every so often, Mr. Nobody casts a glance at the cactus. Against the rest of the home, it sticks out like a sore thumb. A very pretty sore thumb.

“The newspaper is there if you want to read it,” Mrs. Nobody says as she takes his plate. “You should at least pick it up before it collects dust.”

“Is it the same as the one by the bus station?” He walks to the sofa beside the fireplace. The newspaper sits squarely in the middle of the end table. Mr. Nobody hovers his hand over it.

“See for yourself.” She sets the dishes in the sink. “Maybe you’ll find something interesting. Maybe not.”

Might as well, he thinks. He picks it up, his eyes following each letter meticulously. He flips through the pages faster and faster. It’s all the same. Written on every line of every column of every page is:

IT WAS A FINE DAY TODAY, YESTERDAY, AND TOMORROW.

Mr. Nobody dumps the paper back onto the table. Mrs. Nobody moves to correct its position, but Mr. Nobody waves his hand dismissively.

“You know, I think the cactus would look lovely on the windowsill,” he says.

Flash Issue 11