Illirin pushed the heavy tinted glass door and stepped inside. He immediately felt a muffled hum that seemed to vibrate from beneath the floor. The sight of the space caught him completely off guard: instead of a bustling lobby filled with bright posters and pleasant background music, he found himself in a small room with matte metallic walls and rows of chairs lined up against them.

   "Excuse me," he murmured softly, though no one paid him the slightest attention. 

   He stepped back outside to double-check the sign on the door. It read: "Input Data Processing."

   Gathering his courage, Illirin pushed the door open a second time. This time, his footsteps sounded more confident. Even so, he self-consciously walked along the wall and slid onto the edge of an empty chair. The seat felt cold and hard, and the hum from beneath the floor seemed to grow even louder.

   The visitor to his left was muttering something to himself, scribbling notes in the margins of a notepad.

   "Is it your first time?" Illirin asked timidly.

   "Yeah," the stranger replied without looking up from his work. "They say if the script gets approved, it’ll launch in the next cycle. But I still don't believe they actually read them..."

   "Oh, they read them," a sweet creature to Illirin's right chimed in confidently, adjusting the blue hood on her head. "And very thoroughly, too."

   "Illirin Txaron!" a tall figure in a gray jacket suddenly announced, appearing near the entrance as if out of thin air. 

   Illirin involuntarily straightened up in his seat.

   "Your ID number is confirmed. Follow me," the same low, flat, emotionless voice added. 

   Txaron hurried after the gray jacket toward a door labeled 407, which slid open with a soft hiss. This office turned out to be spacious, featuring a panoramic window that overlooked a metropolis of skyscrapers. Behind a massive desk sat a lady in a tight-fitting gown made of dark fabric that sparkled with microscopic glints as she moved, resembling a starry night sky.

   "Have a seat, please!" she said with a strained smile. 

   Her tone was impeccably polite yet so detached that Illirin instantly felt like an unwelcome guest, interrupting her from far more important matters.

   "Tell me about your work," the lady continued. "Does it contain absurd situations?"

   "Yes, there are a few," Txaron clarified.

   "That is important!"

   "Of course, I understand."

   "No global catastrophes?"

   "Certainly not. Just global warming."

   "A shift to a warmer climate? Splendid! Are you a novice author?"

   "Yes," Illirin answered shyly, nervously smoothing the edge of his sleeve.

   "Perfect. We are looking for fresh ideas, a novel scriptwriting perspective. Hand your work over," the lady said, extending a hand with long nails.

   Txaron leaned forward, rising from his seat to pass his printed manuscript across the wide desk. From this angle, he caught a glimpse of an adjacent room, where dozens of huge screens flickered in the semi-darkness. Various scenes flashed across them, showcasing fragments of unfamiliar lives.

   “Is that them?” Illirin nodded toward the screens in awe. 

   “Who is ‘them’?” the lady in the starry gown asked back coldly.

   “The people!”

   She pretended not to hear and merely kept leafing through the pages of the manuscript.

   "What about military action?" Txaron suddenly inquired.

   "Acceptable! Encouraged, even! You know, visually it looks quite spectacular. We need drama. After all, would you watch a movie where everyone is absolutely and endlessly happy?"

   "I suppose... no."

   "Exactly. No one would. We need drive. But, I repeat, within normal parameters! Let's not push it to an apocalypse," she laughed hoarsely, her long, piercing gaze locking onto Txaron.

   He noticed her vertical pupils and, unable to maintain eye contact, hastily looked away.

   "Are you nervous?"

   "A little... Why is it so cold in here?" Illirin glanced sideways at the digital thermostat, which showed +25 °C. He shivered and mechanically resumed fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket.

   "It cannot be higher. This is a laboratory with high-precision equipment," the lady snapped, not looking up from the manuscript.

   "I get it," he whispered, rubbing the rough, pearlescent skin of his chilly hands.

   "Now, then... First, we will sign the non-disclosure agreements. We pay 0.5 dramilies per character. Alternatively, we can offer a one-year video feed subscription package. You can choose whichever suits you best. And, as a third option, instead of payment, you can become a direct observer. We only grant this privilege to our finest authors."

   "An observer?" Txaron echoed ecstatically. "Oh, without a doubt, I’d love to take a look!" he exclaimed, his eyes burning with a violet fire.

   "Ah-ha! Everyone wants to look! And watching their reactions to the events you wrote in your very own script – well, that's priceless! But first, let's sign the documents," she laughed again, lightly slapping her hand onto the desk so that her long nails clicked sharply against the wooden surface.

   Illirin forced a weak chuckle to please her. "You know, this has been my dream since childhood..."

   "I bet it has! And now you’ll be able to go there and watch the plot unfold yourself, from the front row, so to speak."

   "It’s not dangerous, is it?"

   "One hundred percent safe. Even if you are spotted, nobody over there bothers to seriously investigate. Eyewitnesses are just dismissed as crackpots. You might get caught on camera, but it's usually such low-quality footage that nothing can be made out.

   "But what if the military gets involved?" Illirin pressed on.

   "Our vehicles can alter speed instantly – from a dead stop to a faster-than-light leap in a fraction of a second – while also possessing a protective force field that leaves them completely impervious to their weaponry. In any case, at the slightest hint of danger, you will be immediately recalled to our dimension and return home."

   "Understood, thank you."

   "Vildars, you've got to take a look at this – it's been ages since I read such utter nonsense!" the lady called out, turning toward the room with the screens. 

   First, the assistant’s smiling head popped out from around the corner, followed by his hand giving a thumbs-up. 

   "Yup, trash and absurdity: the ultimate trends now. That’s what sells!" the head replied. 

    "It's an absolute masterpiece! I'm certain we can quickly transcode this script and launch it straight into simulation!"  

   "That’s a plan, let’s do it," the assistant agreed.

   "Anything else?" the lady addressed Txaron once more.

   "Excuse me, I heard that special permits are required to be an observer?"

   "Oh, don't worry about that, it's quite simple nowadays. We'll issue you a pass to Earth," she said, giving a double-eyed wink while her other three eyes remained perfectly still. "Well, congratulations, you are now an observer!" 

   She rose from behind the desk and solemnly extended her hand. Their rough palms met for a brief second, and Illirin felt cold, almost icy bumps on the lady’s skin.

The sunrise looked emerald, filtered through the thick smog that hung over Crystalfall. 

Edd sipped coffee from a metal canteen as his horse-led wagon rolled down the highway. The extinguishing crystal-powered lights above heralded daytime’s arrival.

An auto-wagon pulled past him, its exhaust fogging the air behind it. The machine cut him off, forcing him to pull back hard on the reins. He fumbled his open canteen onto the leather bench. 

“Son of a bitch.” 

He picked up the canteen—some coffee yet remained inside. He screwed on the canteen’s cap and cleaned the spillage off the bench with an old rag.

“Sorry, Velvet. Damn machines have no manners.” 

Edd flicked the reins, and Velvet picked up speed.

“You won’t have to deal with them anymore after today,” he said. 

Today would be Velvet’s last day running a route. She’d been his partner for twelve years. He’d had a few good horses, but none with a temperament as terrific as hers. 

It might be one of his last trips, too. 

He veered off the highway and down a ramp towards Harrow’s Belly. The route took him through a few industrial areas where he’d drop off goods: machine parts, medical supplies, textiles. He’d already memorized the list. 

The first stop would be at Hank’s Reliable Mechanical. Edd was running a little late, so he took a shortcut.

Velvet could maneuver the back roads of the Belly easier than any auto-wagon. The machines might save companies money, but he argued he could still do it faster. That was the union’s argument, too, before the Crystal Company had bought most of the union reps. Those who didn’t have a price showed up to work one day with a new injury and a new opinion. 

The Grossheim Wagoneering Co. was one of the last companies using horse-drawn wagons, and Edd might be one of the last wagoneers.

“Morning, Hank,” he called to the mechanic. 

Hank put down a hammer and wiped his hands clean with a rag. “Right on time.” He’d been banging out a dent in a Crystal Company auto-wagon. 

“How’s business?” 

“Pretty good.” He slapped the auto-wagon's steel body. “These things break down so often that I’m always busy. I barely have time to service regular folk’s cars anymore.”

Hank didn’t ask Edd the same. He usually would. 

A rusted-spotted automaton whirred to life and stomped out of the garage. It began to unload the crates of metal parts from the wagon. 

“Today’s Velvet’s last day,” Edd said, hopping down from his seat. He handed Hank a receipt. 

The mechanic scribbled his name. “I wish I could say the same. Oh, that reminds me—wait here.” He went back to the garage. 

The automaton took the last crate from the wagon and stopped next to Edd. Two exhausts jutted from its back, fuming with green smoke. It turned its head to Edd with a creak—glowing green eyes meeting his own. Edd gave a nervous wave. Its eyes pulsed, then the automaton turned back and continued into the garage. 

Hank returned holding a red apple.

“They teach those things to think yet?” Edd asked. 

“Not that I’ve heard of. They gave me one for taking up a contract with them. It’s an older model, but it sure helps around the shop.” Hank handed the apple to Velvet, who accepted it happily. “Call it a retirement present.” 

“I’ll take one of those, too.”

The men shared a laugh. Edd prepared himself for Hank’s deathgrip handshake and met it adeptly.

“Always a pleasure, Edd.”

“See you again soon,” Edd said, knowing it might not be true. 

#

Edd turned out onto a narrow side street and then cut across a busy two-way road, picking a gap between the traffic. He could always count on Velvet to make it safely. 

A wagoneer from Lightfoot Logistics, a rival company, stopped his horse to let Edd cross. 

“Thanks, Darrel,” he called in passing. 

Darrel’s nod and grunt would be as much kindness as Edd would get. Darrel’s horse whinnied at Velvet. 

Harrow’s Belly had changed much since Edd started as a wagoneer’s assistant thirty years ago. The air was cleaner back then. He couldn’t stand the smell of the crystal-gas exhaust that now filled the air. He’d developed a cough that he felt was related. All the doctors he’d visited disagreed. 

People had changed, too. More unkind and cold, like the technology that replaced them. 

An auto-wagon wouldn’t remember your kid’s birthday or get help when you were having a heart attack. It’d just keep on driving.

Edd’s next stop was a medical clinic. He never enjoyed making deliveries here because the doc had a soft spot for treating people with The Glow. Edd had sympathy for their affliction, but didn’t want to risk catching it, no matter how many times the doc told him he couldn’t. 

A pale purple light illuminated the privacy curtains hanging in the clinic’s windows. The light came from the treatment they used: a cocktail blended with crystal light that was supposed to help slow the disease. Edd guessed that the wood crates he carried held the cocktail. He could hear glass clinking with each step. 

He rang the bell. 

A minute later, the doctor half-opened the door—a thin man in a too-big coat. “You can leave the crates right there. I’m a bit occupied at the moment.”

Edd noticed a green substance on his sleeves and hands. Groans and coughing came from inside the clinic. 

“No problem, doc.”

He put down the crate, thinking it’d be nice if he had an automaton. His knees ached. 

Velvet neighed at him from the street. He laughed and went over to stroke her muzzle.

“Just one more stop, girl.”

His knees hurt a little less, but his stomach growled. 

“Maybe we’ll take a lunch break first.”

Edd knew of a diner in the area that he’d been to a few times. The owners were Redbrighton immigrants, and their food was consistently good. Their teenage daughter loved caring for Velvet while Edd ate. 

He crossed under a bridge where a train sped overhead, jammed with people. The loud rattling didn’t faze Velvet. 

He passed by some broken-down cars and an overturned auto-wagon that looked stripped bare. An apartment building had its windows boarded up. A few scrappy kids observed him from an alleyway, then ran into the darkness. 

“This area’s really changed,” he told Velvet. Now that he thought about it, it’d been at least five years since he’d been on the route that brought him through here. “I hope the diner’s still open.”

It was.

The name wasn’t the same. 

He parked his wagon and tied Velvet to a lamppost. “I’ll bring you something good. Promise.”

The windows looked dirty. It seemed like no one was eating inside. Strange, he thought, given it was lunchtime. 

A bell rang as he entered. He waited for a server to greet him. “Hello? You open?”

A man in a grease-stained apron pushed through a set of squeaky doors and leaned over the counter. “You’re here to eat?” he asked, flexing a metal prosthetic hand.

What an odd question, Edd thought, then said, “That’s the plan. Any specials?”

The man looked Edd up and down. “Fried fish sandwich. Three silver. Comes with a baked potato.”

It didn’t sound great, but the price was right. 

“Sounds good to me.”

The man nodded. “Sit wherever. I’ll get it started.”

Edd took in the empty diner. “What happened to the Lantices?” Edd had hoped to catch up.

The man paused for a moment. His metal hand whirred as it tightened. He shrugged. “Doesn’t ring a bell,” he said, then went back into the kitchen. The doors swung shut behind him. 

Edd found a table near the window where he could see Velvet. A few neighborhood kids took an interest in her, stroking her soft mane. 

He remembered sitting in a place like this with Lenny, the old-timer who taught him everything he knew. It had to have been almost twenty-five years ago. 

“There are two things you need to know, Ned,” Lenny had told him with a mouthful of lemon cake. Edd never corrected him. “The best places to eat,” Lenny wagged his finger with each word, “and never make an easy job easier.”

Without Lenny, Edd would’ve probably—definitely gotten fired. One day, when Edd didn’t report to the depot, the old man showed up at his house and dragged him to work. 

“The amount of trouble he got me out of,” Edd laughed to himself. Not long after he became a wagoneer, the company laid off all its assistants, so Edd never had a chance to pay Lenny’s kindness forward. 

But his mentor was a gritty old bastard, too. He’d been a soldier in the Expansion War when Crystalfall annexed Redbright, Tassleton, and Greathale. Lenny never brought up the war much, but he did like to talk about his father’s stories of the city before the crystal fell from the heavens. 

“This place was just a bunch of farms,” Lenny would start the story Edd had heard many times. “No cars, no trains. Just a man and his horse riding under endless stars.”

Lenny died a year before the first auto-wagon hit the streets—about ten years ago. You can’t see the stars from Harrow’s Belly these days.

The kitchen doors swung open. 

The man brought him his food on a white plate. The fried fish had a nice golden color, and the baked potato had a dollop of butter melting inside. 

“Looks great,” Edd said.

The man nodded and went back into the kitchen.

Edd finished the meal and left a decent tip. The food was good, but the server was a little curt.

The man returned to collect the dirty plates.

“Do you have any apples? I’d like a few for my horse.” Edd inclined his head out the window. 

The man cracked a small grin. “I might have a few.” He went into the kitchen for a moment and brought out a small bag of apples. “She’s a beautiful horse.”

“The old owners had a daughter. She used to love feeding her.”

The man looked solemnly outside at the kids admiring Velvet. “The Lantices sold the business to me two years ago. They moved back to Redbright.”

“That’s a shame. Really nice family. Do you know how their daughter’s doing?”

The man wiped down the table. “The Glow got her.”

“Oh.” Edd didn’t want to know any more. “I’m sorry.”

The man put down the bag of apples and pocketed Edd’s silver. “I hope she likes them.”

Edd left the diner and walked to Velvet with an apple in his hand. The kids noticed him and scattered. One girl dressed in black remained. 

“Would you like to feed her?”

The girl beamed at him. 

Edd handed her an apple. “Just hold it up to her mouth.”

The girl raised the apple cautiously. Velvet nibbled at the girl’s hand. She giggled as the horse chewed. 

“I think Velvet likes you,” Edd said.

“Come on, Sara,” a boy called out to her. 

The girl frowned. “Goodbye, Velvet,” she said with a wave and then chased her friends into an alley. 

Edd untied Velvet, then hopped into the wagon. He shook his canteen, happy to find he had some coffee left. He sipped the last of it, hoping it’d get him through the day. Lenny’s canteen kept it nice and hot. 

“Alright, let’s go,” Edd said, snapping the reins.

The last stop was a clothing fabrication factory. They’d ordered expensive cloth from Tassleton. The factory’s tailors would make marvelous dresses with plans to sell them in boutiques all over the Heights. Edd had seen the dresses on a model once—very…

An auto-wagon struck Velvet.

The horse went down hard and thrashed in agony on the pavement. Velvet’s screams didn’t register right away. When Edd realized what had happened, he leaped from his wagon and briefly chased the auto-wagon.

“Stop! Fucking stop! Come back here!” he yelled before it sped off into the distance. 

He turned back to Velvet. 

The horse tried to get up, but couldn’t. She stayed recumbent. 

Velvet looked at him, her beautiful eyelashes above amber eyes. Her breathing was heavy and nervous. 

Edd caressed her muzzle, then assessed her injuries. Her leg looked mangled. 

One of Lenny’s last lessons entered his mind. 

“Listen, Edd, no one thinks it’ll happen to them,” his mentor had said, navigating a tight back road. “You’re on a good run, the day’s going smooth, and then bam!” Lenny clapped his hands together. “Your horse goes down. Maybe another wagon, maybe a pothole. You take one look—and you know they ain’t getting back up.”

That’s when Lenny gave him one last gift: a sharp pickaxe, and his last bit of wisdom: how to use it.

Edd tried to shake the thought from his head. He looked at the injury again, closed his eyes, and turned away.

He went to the wagon, grabbed the heavy pickaxe from under the leather bench, and returned to Velvet, remembering the old man’s instructions…

“You make an X from the ears to the eyes.”

Edd traced the lines on Velvet’s head slowly with his finger. 

“The soft spot of the skull is in the middle.”

Edd marked the intersection in his mind.

“That’s where the brain is. Look them in the eye, tell them you love them, then swing hard; don’t hesitate.”

The pickaxe drove clean into Velvet’s skull. The horse twitched and then stopped. She wasn’t breathing anymore.

Edd pulled the tool out and tossed it aside. It clanged on the pavement.

He fell to his knees.

Cars drove around him, honking. A few bystanders looked at him in horror.

He looked at his shaking hands.

“I… I’ve got to make a report. I can’t leave her here like this.”

Edd’s knees hurt as he forced himself up.

He stared into Velvet’s eyes one last time.

No one stopped him as he walked away. He apologized as he passed the small crowd. They parted for him like he had The Glow. He felt nothing.

#

Edd took a train from Hanimoy Street Station. 

The conductor came by. Either because he was in uniform or from the look on his face, the man didn’t bother him for a ticket and kept walking.

He got off at Thresher’s Circle, walked to the delivery depot, then went into the owner’s office.

“What are you doing back so soon?” Mr. Grossheim Jr. asked from his tufted leather chair. The room smelled of cigar smoke.

“I need to make a report, sir,” Edd said.

“A report? You know I don’t handle that, Edd. Talk to Benji. He’ll—”

“Velvet’s dead, Mr. Grossheim.”

His boss blinked. “Wait, what?”

“She got hit by an auto-wagon. She’s still in the middle of Hanimoy Street with the wagon. I had to euthanize her.”

The office fell silent. Edd could hear the assistant’s typewriter clacking.

Mr. Grossheim cleared his throat. “I’ll get someone on it right away, Edd. We’ll make sure we get everything back.”

Edd nodded, then turned to leave.

“Hey, Edd,” his boss called. “Why don’t you go home early? You look like you could use the rest.”

Edd nodded and then took his boss’s advice.

He slept little, and when he did, he dreamed of Velvet, watching himself like a spectator within a crowd. They jeered at him.

“Murderer!”

“He’s not a murderer; he’s just doing what he has to,” he whispered.

“How could you?”

“What else can he do?” he asked.

No one answered.

He woke up just before he watched Velvet die again and went to work early.

Edd found his wagon at the depot where it normally was, and one of Mr. Grossheim’s managers waited there for him.

“Morning, Eddy,” said Benji. “Sorry to hear about yesterday.”

“Thanks.”

Benji turned to the wagon. “We found it looted—not a big surprise. Looking at your delivery log, only the textiles were stolen. Don’t worry, though; our insurance will probably cover it.”

Edd nodded. “That’s good.” He looked into the wagon’s front seat. Lenny’s coffee canteen was gone, too.

“Also, Mr. Grossheim wants to see you in his office. Nothing bad, but I wouldn’t keep him waiting. He’s got those leeches from the Crystal Company in there with him.”

“Thanks.”

Edd shook Benji’s hand and then went up to the office.

Mr. Grossheim’s secretary had him wait in the hallway. 

He overheard the end of a conversation through the door.

“We’ll discuss the acquisition next week. It’s been a pleasure, Jon.” Strange to hear Mr. Grossheim’s name, Edd thought.

Two well-dressed men with green crystal lapel pins exited and passed him without looking. 

The secretary waved him in.

Inside the office, Mr. Grossheim had his face buried in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. Edd knocked on the open door. “Mr. Grossheim?”

His boss sat upright. “Edd, come in, take a seat.”

Edd sat down in one of the two pleated yellow chairs in front of Mr. Grossheim.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright.”

“That’s good.” Mr. Grossheim turned to take a small urn off the shelf behind him and put it on his desk. “For you.”

Edd swallowed hard. He gazed at the urn, the image of his pickaxe driving into Velvet’s skull playing back in his mind; the clang of metal on pavement; the girl in black who watched him do it. He closed his eyes and took a breath.

“Thank you,” he said. Edd took the urn.

His boss puffed his cigar and blew out a cloud of smoke. “I know how close you wagoneers get to your horses. It’s the least I could do.” He tapped his ashes onto the floor.

Mr. Grossheim said, “I’m sure you’d like to get back to work, but there’s a problem. We don’t have another horse to give you. The city won’t let us buy any more.”

“So what does that mean?”

Mr. Grossheim sat back in his chair.

“I talked to the C.C. about your accident. Someone who saw the whole thing made a report, so they’re willing to compensate you for the damages if you agree to say nothing about the auto-wagon.”

Edd hadn’t even thought of that.

“They’re buying out your pension, too.”

“You’re forcing me to retire?”

“I’m not forcing you to do anything, Edd, but I can’t promise the offer will be here if you stay.” Mr. Grossheim picked up a piece of paper on his desk. “You’ll get the full amount upfront plus compensation for your horse.” Mr. Grossheim pushed the paper over to Edd, wet with two signatures.

Edd eyed through the terms. His heart skipped. 

“Two hundred thousand?”

He checked the commas and zeroes a few times. Two hundred thousand silver. 

“That’s right.” His boss offered him an onyx and gold pen. “All you have to do is sign.”

Edd looked at the blank space waiting for his signature.

He took the pen. 

It was heavy. 

#

Edd’s new farm was an hour’s drive south of Crystalfall—not far enough to escape the smog entirely, but his cough wasn’t as bad here. 

You could still see the city’s tall, glowing green skeleton on the flat horizon. 

His neighbors kept to themselves. He’d wave, they’d wave back. That was it. 

They enjoyed the quiet, too. 

He leaned on a plank fence, sipped coffee from a new canteen, and watched the two stallions he bought run across the paddock where he’d buried Velvet’s ashes under a heavy stone.

On a clear night, he’d swear that maybe he could see a star or two.

bits. glittering. shiny bits on slick white.

“glass.” “floor.” bits of glass on floor. me lying down. why lying down? am sleep? am crawl? get up, slooowww. hear self say “Uhhhhnnnnhhhh.”

   look round. big. big place. slick floors, stretching away. in middle, open space. many levels. floors below, floors above. fake pond. real tree. moving stairs. many rooms with signs say “Sale.” “Twenty-five percent off.” “New for Spring.” all over, more glass.

i put hand to head. head hurt.

also, us. many us. some standing. some getting up, saying “Uhhhhnnnhhhh.”

it event.

now remember. us here for event. i part of event. they part of event. event starting? event over?

not know.

why event? try remember.

something like… want. feel want. us all hungry for something. 

  but what?

there. smeared on railing: red. dark. sticky. on floor, too. i pull my hand away from head and look. skin gray. but also red. on knuckles. under nails. seeing red, something in me shake. sides of face pull back. now remember: happy. red make happy. this what want? think maybe—

loud crash. big pieces of glass falling on floor, exploding into little bits. look up. up, up, up. to top of place. skylight. big hole. raining bits. sky beyond: gray. smoke. smell.

  now us all getting up, moving together toward moving stairs. all going “Uhhhhnnnnhh,” like it hurt walk. look others. try understand. what happening. what want.

  this one in front: wear “suit.” gray. arms torn. red on collar. this suit for “deal.” “board meeting.” “ROI.” he want these things? his mouth hang open, eyes blank. 

  this one behind: all blue. blue skin. blue clothes. different kind of suit. what called? ah! called “scrubs.” for work by sick. we sick? no. just hungry.

this one beside: wear “dungarees.” “hard hat.” belt with “hammer.” stumble onto stairs, holding head. look confuse. much red on neck. stuck through neck (what word? ah! yes) “screwdriver.” feel face twitch again. screwdriver through neck… funny? remember funny. but is it still—

stairs end. almost fall. catch self and shuffle ahead, toward big windows. big hole in glass. us climbing through, leaving building. it not have what we want anymore. maybe had before, but not have now.

lurch out onto gray broken ground. “sidewalk.” ahead: “street.” much happen on street. much cars, turned wrong ways, smashed into buildings, doors open. much sound. shouting, horns, “car alarm.” much smoke. and also—many, many, many. coming out cars, coming out buildings, coming out ground, out “subway.” crouching. running. lying down. but now see—most of these not same as us. all “them” look different, somehow. skin less gray. clothes less torn. they part of event? they part of different event?

this one, holding onto post: his eyes… look want. look like want no more event.

but… us came here for event. why? why why why. try remember. try understand.

this one: white dress. married dress. face color of sky. hold dead flowers. look this way. look that way. where her person married to? gone?

this one: lady with big round belly. tiny gray hand coming out of belly (this funny? ha ha?). water come from eyes and run through red on face.

this one: black dress. man dress. “cassock.” X-shaped necklace. face green with X-shape red scar. hands press together. mouth open. try make sound. sound of—

screams.

i hear screams, coming from over there. woman standing over small body. child body. all red.

i look my hands: red. this red make me happy, before.

i look at red on child. that red… 

  bad. make throat lurch, stomach shrink, face tremble. make want weep. make want scream. make want look at sky and shout—

“Hey! You think this is funny?!?”

  over there. a man. one of “them.” standing on hood of car, liquid spilling from eyes, face mad.

  “Dressed the way you all are? You think this is funny? Some sort of fucking game?”

   he looking at me?

“This is real! It’s really—"

   now he choke, like he have screwdriver through neck. but he not have. just choke. when words finally come, they come high and broken.

“Happening! Oh god! It’s really happening! And you fucking DARE make f—”

BOOM!!!

him, them, us: all look down street. bits flying and so much gray, billowing up and coming down fast. we all turn and move. i try also go fast but cannot. feet slowwww, like not remember how.

“Uhhhhnnnnhhhh.”

(remember!)

“Uhhhhnnnnhhhh.”

(please remember! how go fast!)

“UhhhhnnnnhhHHHHH! ArrrggghHHH!”

big step, big stumble. arms reaching out, ahead, for something to help—

BOOM!!! 

dark.

whooooOOOOO whooooOOOO whooooOOOO.

loud. shaking. me lying down, and everything shake.

i open eyes. small place. white walls. boxes bolted to walls. windows on fronts of boxes. inside: “bandage.” “oxygen.” “AED.”

“—mostly cleared the area. What a fuckin’ nightmare,” hear someone say.

“Gonna be a double overtime kind of night,” hear other someone say.

“Uhhhhnnnnhhh,” hear self say.

“This one’s awake,” first someone say. “Sir? Sir. Okay. Yeah, you can sit up if you want. Slooowwww. Let us help you.”

“Uhhhnnnhhh.” sit up. see man. he wear type of suit. dark blue. “uniform.” letters on chest. one side say “EMT.” other side say “FDNY.” also woman, wearing same kind suit.

behind, lying on stretcher, another “us.” this one: also wear uniform. brown. red band on arm with “X” with little feet. bad. green face with small black mustache.

this one… ha?

think maybe was ha before, but now maybe… not so much.

or maybe was never ha.

(you think this is funny? dressed the way you are?)

“Sir, can you tell us your name?”

   EMT look at me. i look down at self. also wear suit. funny suit. orange and green stripe suit. big shoes. floppy collar. red all over. hear self say “Clown?”

man frown. say to woman, “Still in shock.” say to me “How many fingers am I holding up?”

hear self say, “Four.”

“Good. Can you tell me what day it is?”

day? 

  it day of event. feel pockets of clown suit. one have “money” and “identification.” (name: Doug Silliman) other pocket have crumpled paper. i give it to EMT. he get sticky red on hand. make face. mutter “Fuckin’ fake blood.” lady EMT smirk. man EMT wipe hand on pants, read out loud: “Gotham Zombie Crawl.” look partner, say “That explains it. If it’s not the goddamn drunk Santas, it’s some other ridiculous shit.”

“Gotham what now?” lady EMT say.

“Care to explain? Ah…” he glance at my ID, “Mr. Silliman?”

“it event,” i say. sound bad. do better. “It, ah, theatrical event. You know… costumes? Makeup? I my own. I did my own. Makeup, that is. My girlfriend Tina helped sew… Tina! Oh, god, is she ok?” 

“The attack was confined to midtown. Was Tina in the area?”

“Area? Ummm… was she? Area. Place. Big place. Stores. Escalators. Like in that movie… what was it… Dawn of the… Oh! Dead. Tina hates it. Too much… too much, um, gross… too much violent… too much red. She not… she doesn’t like it, so… no? No! Thank god…”

“Okay, okay. Take it easy. Your speech is a little confused. That’s not unusual, after a big shock. Just rest. The words will come back.” he looks at his partner, mouths trauma.

 she’s still smirking. she points at the other guy. “Can you explain him?”

 no. i can’t. right on cue, he extends an arm, goes “ArrrghhhHH!” 

 she frowns, clears her throat. “A bit ironic, isn’t it, scheduling your little zombie crawl on the same day as a Level One emergency Event? And of all the places to be today. Can you explain the, ah, point? When you do this, what is it that you want?” 

my face feels hot as I begin, “Want? us want, um, that is, we want…”

words shamble back into my head, slow at first, then faster. want. what we want? that is… What do we want? we want to feel, amid a daily barrage of horrors, multiplying, one spawning the next, a horde of numbing news items and dismaying developments. to feel, despite it all: solidarity. joy. even the despair we fail to utter. a Shape. we want shape… We attempt to give a shape to these feelings by making ourselves up to look like zombies. look. look this one. you can see it, here. and more: to give shape to this other thing approaching, felt but not seen, or maybe just not recognized, at least not in its entirety. a larger something. a looming disaster of brain rotting proportions. also, control. we can’t control what’s happening, but maybe by giving it expression… How is this all just occurring to me now? somehow, i never really thought about any of this before, but now, sitting in this ambulance, siren wailing, wheels bouncing over pulverized pavement, clarity descends rapidly, almost painfully. it’s not just ironic, this aligning of events. it’s symbolic. but i don’t say any of this to her. instead, i just say

“We just wanted to have fun. You know, lighten shit up. With everything going on?”

“Mmmm,” she says.

outside: another BOOOOM!!!

arg! pain. sharp. it lances through my head and the window of clarity slams shut. pain so bad it scrambles my thoughts, my words. owwww. uhhhhnhhhh! arrrrghhhh! head hurt! hurt bad!

it Event.

Event now.

Event forever?