The space of a blink

     As I sat in my car after just starting it, I had that feeling where you walk into a room and forget where you're going. Temporary amnesia. You sit aloof and ponderous, briefly stuck in a state of idiotic bliss.  Exiting my womb, I came to the realization I had saliva in my mouth. I gathered it up and spat it right into the windshield. That brought me back to reality faster than an alarm yanking me from dreamland. The clear, new spit hung tight on the window, as I tried to wrap my simple mind around what just happened. I was unprepared for the mess I'd made so I pulled my coat sleeve up over my fist and wiped at it awkwardly. The angle of the window and the length of my jacket's arm made it difficult to get entirely, and so I disembarked with a new window slime and an appreciation for a clear view.

     I got to my cousin's house late. Thinking about how I might explain this lapse of thought to anyone who might encounter the result consumed what was left of my mental resources and caused me to drive past the turn for his house and 4 blocks further still until my body once again caught up to my brain and rectified the situation. For a while I contemplated not even going. A few seconds in the wrong direction and I was already caving in to doubt. Doubt was always on the edge of my thoughts, sliming up the perimeter and greasing the causeway. Then a monotonous hammer of infinitesimal inconvenience breaks down the fragile neural wall my brain aggravatingly just fixed. Even still, a wall several times rebuilt is as strong as it's most recent erection. This one was structurally defective.

     I decided not to go. I wouldn't even make up a lie. I parked and texted my cousin I wouldn't be over. Faced with a now overwhelming amount of free time, I pondered my options. I went with the old classic. Listen to music on my bed with the lights off. It was around 5 pm, but it was raining, so the natural shine creeping in the windows was few and gray. Concise beams of cloudy sun made pretty shapes that had never been made before. I got lost in the sounds of the chords and the rhythm of the light. Almost 3 hours had passed before the light disappeared entirely and left me in a deep shade.  The only light now was the LED glow of my phone. It was so drowningly dark and I loved it. Even the sound was darkened. I couldn't rightfully explain it but I felt at home in the darkness. Concealed, hidden, and safe. The deep blue artificial beep of my phone's glowing notification indicator briefly illuminated parts of my room to my focused eyes. I was a spy on a secret mission, deep in enemy territory, looking over my surroundings for strengths and weaknesses. I was a spectre surveying his shadow kingdom, in tune with the very essence of the air and connecting with it in an ethereal way. I was a young boy, lost and alone on a distant planet, with only a faint unfamiliar light to guide his way. I was a teenager sprawled out on his bed.

I remembered I had somewhere to be at this precise moment. I rolled over and closed my eyes.

Veilish and effete

There is a certain feeling you can get sometimes. It doesn't quite have it's own word yet. It's a bit of a niche word. I imagine Inuits or Germans or one of those cool cultures with words for all kinds of stuff we don't have words for have a word for it. Something so simple, so not-thought-of, but still so jarring and important to people. You've gone out all day; shopping, working, gallivanting through public places packed dense with people, then you get home to rest and you step in front of a mirror. And the whole time you had a spot of dirt on your cheek or a tuft of hair sticking up or piece of food in your teeth or any number of slightly embarrassing things that you wish you had been told about but hadn't. Then you begin to wonder. Were they just being polite and not wanting to fluster me? Had they not seen it? Maybe I'd gotten away with it all day. No, that can't be the case, it's a bit of a blunder. Of course they saw. Maybe they don't like me and it was a fun game to them to watch me walk around like a lost clown. And that is where your mind takes over and begins to ask questions it knows it will never get the answer to. If we had a word for that it would make the telling of this next part much easier.

Amber gets home from work and skips the bathroom entirely. The word we spoke about, this feeling, haunts her. Day in and day out she questions everyone around her. Their motives, their disposition, their resolve, all called in to question regularly. Not actively called into question, but in her mind, making it all the worse. And I suppose we don't have a word for this either, or maybe we do and I am just not as smart as I like to pretend, but there is another feeling that Amber has to deal with consistently that she cannot describe. Each day, after she comes home and notices herself in the mirror, questions run rampant through her mind for what seems like hours on end. Then after she finally calms down, after she finally regains her composure, she finds herself completely exhausted. Tired only from thought. The labors of cognition do not relent and are often more tiring than going for a run or lifting a dead body. There must be a word for that. What is the procedure for making new words? Eh, it matters not.

The reason Amber's case sticks out is because she has something on her face each day. Every single day of her life for years now. And nobody says a thing. Now this may not be wholly unusual. It may even be a common occurrence. But the substance of the disturbance is what makes Amber exhaust her mental capabilities. Maybe it's her pleasant demeanor, or maybe it's fear or something simple, but most people would have spoken up by now. Amber is different from most people though, in several ways. So each morning after she gets dressed, and does her makeup, and eats breakfast, and all that boring junk, she heads outside, and each day, people look directly at it and say nothing. And Amber questions things until she gets home. Maybe it's not there today. But she knows it is. And she steps in front of the mirror with her eyes closed. And she crossed her fingers and hopes that nothing is there, but deep down, she knows it will be. And when she opens her big blue eyes she is greeted with a blemish of otherworldly proportions. A horrific, pulsating, parasitic black sludge is splotched across her jaw.

From the corner of her mouth to her right ear and down to a part of her jaw weaves a sickening, tar-like glue. An abstract painting that was inspired by boiled oil and thrown on a bubbly canvas. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't grow, it just sits on her face and beats like a heart. Thumping and pumping and slowly heaving in and out. An unwelcome guest, at any rate.

Amber is running herself ragged trying to figure things out. Is it even real? Maybe she is having a mental breakdown? Surely someone would have said something by now. Surely a single person would have acknowledged such an unsightly mess of a face. Thus, here lies her dilemma. Dreading getting home every day because she knows her mind will place questions in front of her that she doesn't have answers for. She'll spend most of her free time pacing and wondering and not getting anywhere before she goes to sleep and wakes up the next day to do the same thing. It's a wonder she gets anything done in the first place.

Amber lost count of how long she has had this -thing- on her face. Does it even matter anymore? Not really, she surmises, and she steps out the door. It's been years now, she thinks, maybe it really doesn't matter. Nobody has said anything, so I shouldn't care. If it's not acknowledged then I can go on living normally, even with this eye-catching mess. She was thinking differently today and she didn't know why. But she didn't question it. Finally her heart was at rest. Something went off, something clicked in her that made her apprehension die down, made her fear roll away, made her days and nights productive. And this went on for a while. Amber was happy with things. Nobody said anything to her, and she didn't care. She became accustomed to having it, and likened it to an unsightly birthmark. I'll be all right after all, she thought. As it turns out, it doesn't matter at all, she thought.

A few days later Amber was jovially walking down the sidewalk. And by jovially I mean it. Overcoming a burden such as this was practically a windfall given to her directly by a God she didn't believe in, and it put a literal bounce in her step. So she goes on, bobbing down the sidewalk like some sort of cartoon character, and she passes two young men, two teenagers, who stare her down as she walks. She just smiles back and keeps on walking. Only teenagers can face situations like this with such brevity and clarity. One of them stops and turns to her after she has passed. “Hey lady!” He shouts to her, “You got some shit on your face!”

Reset Button

Day 1

I thought the end of the world would make me feel different. I'm surprised with how calm I am. Just this morning, an emergency news broadcast went out, informing us that NASA has detected an asteroid or a pair of asteroids or a super comet or something, headed directly for Earth. No way to stop it, no way to change it's course, we're just done. They've calculated it crash into us in 33 days. You think they'd notice something like that sooner. Or maybe they did and the people in charge just decided to tell us now. How awful of a situation would that be? Somewhere out there is someone or someones who think they know when it's best to tell everyone on the planet that they're going to die. Some group of assholes could have collectively decided that 33 days is the perfect amount of time to give everyone to come to grips with death. I'm not a scientist, but I'm pretty sure NASA can see storms happening on other planets, so I'm not about to submit to the fact that they just found out about this. Now that I mention NASA, I wonder why they didn't mention the space program on air. I guess it would be pandemonium. There we go again. The higher-ups, these super leaders decide who the best and brightest minds are. Who gets to try and escape on a spaceship and live out humanity's days plowing through space. I wonder who gets to go? Scientists? Farmers? Professors? Probably not. Definitely not airline pilots. I can't pilot them through space.

I suppose I should be more upset. But hopefully this will be my contribution. Hopefully. Hopefully I can be a time capsule for some future race. I can be a mark on history for some other race or species or... maybe even humans if someone does survive. One of the chosen ones can find my innermost thoughts on the destruction of humanity and I'll be a little bit bigger speck of dust than I am now. I wish I was a better writer. Anyway here goes.

I actually went to work today. Oh god I must have been one of five people in this city who went to work. Good thing I ride my bike though because the roads were jam packed. I initially asked myself where they were all going, but the first thing that popped into my head was family. If you're just some guy or girl, living in Tucumcari, New Mexico, you probably want to spend your last month with your family. I imagine that's a nice way to go. Huddled together on the couch, preparing for the end. Better than a long battle with cancer or alzheimers. Or getting stabbed. But it turns out a lot of people don't live with their families, so it was my job to get them there. Someone asked me when I was going to be with my family. I told him I don't have one. The silence was predictable. I am an only child and my parents died when I was 13. Drunk driver. My last serious girlfriend was 7 years ago and I have no idea or care where she is.

So I spent 22 hours flying planes. That's illegal. I wanted to feel like a hero, but I knew I wasn't. I just had nothing better to do. Besides, I already decided that I'm putting in my two weeks notice today. I think that would be funny.

Day 9

I found a gun in somebody's house about 4 miles away from my own. This, to me, brings up an important question. Who would care enough about their life to buy a gun, but not bring it with them when they vacate their home during the end times? I suppose they could have had an epiphany. "I don't need that gun anymore, darlin', we're all gonna be dead soon." I actually said that part out loud just now. I was acting it out as I jumped around on their king size bed. Not much better to do. This bed is darn comfortable though. I ate all the count chocula these kind folks had so I went back out on the road to find a new house to rummage around in. A surprising amount of people left town entirely. I am unsure now about my "family" theory. I was positive everyone wanted to be with their families in the end. Maybe they still do, but they don't want to be in Tucumcari. Like it matters where we are when we all get splattered by a meteor.

I went down to the TV station yesterday. Jim was still doing the news on a nightly basis! He would also go to the station early in the morning and do the morning show and then lunch stuff and basically be on TV all day for the few people left. What a guy. We became fast friends. We bonded over our common interests: Not wanting to die, being scared, not knowing a dang thing. He told me he was sure a bunch of people would live through this. Something about there being a slim chance, and that the space rock wouldn't straight up shatter the Earth into bits or anything. I told him we're about to be the dinosaurs of this age. Then I stomped around with my arms tucked in and made screechy growly noises. We broadcasted all of this. It was the first time I saw Jim smile since I visited him this morning. The last time I would see him smile, too. He wasn't broadcasting the next morning, so I went to the station. He was on the floor next to the table. The gun was still in his hand. There was a note next to him on clean, white paper. It just said "I'm sorry." It's okay Jim. See ya around, buddy.

Day 17

You can actually see it now. I was being adventurous and climbed a metal tower of some sort. I think it was an electric line tower or whatever you call them. I'm not really sure. They have that 'A' shape at the bottom, but look like big, metal cacti up top. Bunch of wire running across the top. Whatever. Anyway I was on top of one that was also on top of a big hill and I saw it. It's 16 days away still and I can see it! 16 days away. Jeez. That thing must be stinking massive. There is no way this journal is going to survive. Oh well. I'm going to keep writing in it for my own sanity. Whatever sanity I have left. Doesn't seem to be much. I sat on top of a metal tower today and shouted things. There was a fun echo. I sang a little bit. I spit off of it. I climbed down.

It must have been there for a few days now that I think about it. You probably could have seen it for a while, I just have been looking at other things than the sky. The sky is so boring anymore. It used to be fun to lay and dream and cloudgaze and hang out. Now I root through people's belongings and take their pictures for my idea. I figured I would grab as much stuff as I could and then find somewhere safe to put all of it in case I survived. We could all reconvene here eventually. Imagine the joy someone would find when they traveled back to Tucumcari and found me and I had a picture of their wife and kids playing in the yard. They'd go "I thought that was lost forever!" and I'd go "I thought you were lost forever!" and I'd hug them. We'd go over to my stores of beans. Beans would be the only thing left because I don't like them so I would just store them for others. I would have eaten all the good stuff by now because I like to eat and there isn't much to do now except eat. Seriously people left behind so much food. Enough that I will scatter it around someone's kitchen and make it look like a struggle took place. Then I'll put a couple sticks of asparagus behind my ear like a crazy person and kick the door open. I'd won the fake fight! I'd cock my licorice shotgun and fire skittles into the street. "I'm the best villain ever! The candyman!" But asparagus isn't candy, nobody would retort. "Shut uppa you face!" I turned into an Italian/New Jersey hybrid caricature and lobbed a gushers grenade at them. It was 5 packs of gushers wrapped up in fruit by the foot. "Stay offa my land, see!" I'd shout. I looked like a lunatic. Maybe I was.

Day 30

Uh. It's really hot. I don't know what's going on with this meteor thing. Sometimes I can see it, sometimes I can't. It's seriously over 100 ever day. I can't breathe outside sometimes. The air is so thick and sweaty it hurts to breathe. I have to wrap a cold towel around my face to travel outside and my skin hurts. Darn. This is ruining everything. Tucumcari was a virtual paradise for me now that all the inhabitants had gone. Anybody who was left now surely weren't leaving their house. Carly was going to stay inside and make sure her dog was cool. Her husband, Lane, too I guess, but she was obsessed with that dog. They were a newly married couple, each just 25 years old. I threw them a honeymoon party, even though they had been married about 8 months. They liked it, I think. The Candyman made an appearance. Nobody expected it. Nobody ever does. I saw them about 2 days ago, but they're probably fine. I'll have to make the rounds tonight when it cools off.

Cara was probably 90 years old. I spent a lot of time at her house because she's old, but she is so very slow. I might go over there now because it's going to be hotter tomorrow so I probably won't be able to move as much. There were only 2 women I found left in town so far and they both had C names. That's a crap, I said. Can't they change it. C'mon. That's all the c words I know. I've expertly honed my humor in these past few weeks. I'm funny now!

I'm no space expert or NASA scientist guy but I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be this hot. I mean even with a giant rock bearing down on us. Something is funky to me. It's outrageously hot. And everything is seemingly a red hue. Not like overbearing or anything but there is a tint in the sky. Like it's always the sunrise or sunset. Or something. Guess I'll never know. Add that to the list of things that I will never get an answer to.

There is a mansion in the ritzy part of town. It has a huge, finished basement. I told everyone we should bring as much as we can and want to it tomorrow and plan to finish our days there. It's no bunker, but it was the best I could find in the time I had. It's going to be a pain to move in the heat, but we've got to do it. I'm confident we can survive this thing. We have to. Someone has to survive. Dang it. I'm so worried these pages are going to burn. Why do I even want people to see this? I'm a terrible journal writer. You look at like Civil War journals and people talk about the generals and entire histories are extrapolated from them. I talk about the idle musings of my mind and the niceties of my hometown. The only town I've known. Nobody is going to care about Tucumcari after this thing hits. They're going to care about the crater where their face used to be. Ugh.

Time to wait for nightfall. I'm going to gather everyone around midnight so it's cooler and we can move to the house and get in our basement. Time is ticking.

Day 33

I'm writing this in the morning because I don't know if I'll have time to write later on. The day is here. We're all crowded up in our maniac mansion. The basement. There are several rooms down here and carpeting and beds and couches and TVs and stuff. It's actually pretty nice. This is almost nicer than my apartment. It's me, Tommy, Carly and Lane, Randy and Greg. I went over to Cara's house when we were all moving in. She wasn't moving. I put my finger under her nose and didn't feel breath. I picked her up and she didn't resist and hung limp over my arms. I took her outside and everyone saw. I didn't know what to do so I brought her. I don't know if it was the right thing but I needed to. I was just so angry. 3 days! She missed it by 3 days. Dang. It's okay Cara. You're still with us. I always wondered where her family was. I was going to ask her when we were holed up in our home together. Well, no matter. She can be my family now. Our family, if they all want. Night, grandma.

Lane brought over a bunch of radios and receivers and transponders. I don't know what any of them does or how to work them and neither does he. Tommy knows them quite well and he said he "set them up." No idea. Anyway that happened, so that's pretty cool. We're going to try to contact people or we can be contacted? I'm still not sure, but it's nice to have. Tommy did a great job. So we're all set up in our different rooms with different beds and everything and we're settled in. Now we wait. I'm pretty good at this, but I'm worried about everyone else. I'm pretty sure the world is supposed to be messed up really good after this, so even if this basement protects us, I don't know if we can go out there. There are gonna be like mega volcanoes or something. Dang I wish I was smarter. Reading this back over I sound so stupid. I rarely have any idea what I'm talking about. Some good that airline piloting did for me. 1 day of knowledge and 32 days of stupidly walking around an abandoned desert town. Dang it.

Well anyway, this is it. I don't think the basement is going to save us anyway. We've got food and heat and cold and shelter and pretty much all we need. We'll see. Hope is all we have left.

Goodnight everyone, I love you all.

..............

Day 1277

A voice came over the radio today. It came in halfway through a message and it had been sputtering and whirring but I'm sure of what I heard. "...mostly empty, but keep checking houses. We need to be sure. You know the drill. If you find a dead body, burn it. If you find a live one, make it dead. Over."

The Finder

Each footstep looked more foreign than the last. Boot over boot I trekked down the path; cold, brown dirt in the middle and rows of short, vibrant, dark green grass on either side. It was an incredible juxtaposition that I enjoyed looking at more than the crackling sky or the looming tree canopies. A conveyor belt of Earth passed before me as I gave myself the perception of a natural treadmill. When you walk in such a way, nothing or no one will bother you. So with my chin tucked into my chest, I walked.

Walking this way I often find myself in a particular situation. I finally lift my head and will be completely unable to find familiarity in my surroundings. Spinning and pivoting on my boot heels I absorb as much of my new environment as possible, breathing in the fresh new sights. Put simply, I get lost.

Eventuality is my creed, hoisted upon me by fate. For even though I wander without purpose or direction, I always stumble back to friendly territories. Maybe it is due to being so well traveled. After grounding my blind paths for so many years, it has become a challenge to find myself unaware of my location. Not a challenge I partake in, but one that pursues me.

And so, as I carved my way through what I could only guess was a shortcut for lazy animals, I overcame my involuntary challenge. My foot stopped short, mostly without my guidance, and I thanked it, for a murky purple puddle of liquid lay below it. It blended so evenly and smoothly with the terrain I didn't realize it was there until I was almost in it. I took a step back and assessed the area. A small lake, or a large puddle, or a newborn ocean lay flat in front of me. The color at first seemed purple, changing to brown and now a deep green, speckled with blues. The water was surrounded on all sides by steep rock mountain sides, climbing up and out of the puddle in every direction. The sky above was open and clear and looked as if it might swallow the whole world at any moment. A malevolent maw of some unknown cosmic entity, expressing mercy for the time being. It struck me as a wonderful thought. I quite briskly shook the thought from my mind and turned around. My memory told me I walked along a dirt path to get here, but my memory was being shown to be a liar and a fraud. Behind me lied only fog and cloud and endless landscape. I paced to the edge of the cliff, only a few feet away, and stared out. The air felt dull, but holding meaning. The whites of the fog affixed a mysterium upon the view, both filling me with a giddy child's enjoyment and a cautious adult's fear. It was pure feeling and a majestic void. I turned away from it.

Back at the water, I struggled to find my reflection. The lake seemed as if it was a thick paint one moment and a translucent silk the next. I could see fish flittering about in the water at times, and I only just now started to question the legitimacy of this water. I sat down at its edge and thought.

My thinking process was cut short when I looked to my right and noticed a man standing against the mountainside. His back was against the rocks and one leg was bent at the knee, foot flat against the stone behind him. His arms were crossed in front of him and he seemed to be looking at me and over me at the same time. We stood there for a long while. I was caught, dumbfounded, mouth agape and mind running wild, and this surprise guest looked at home and only just slightly sinister.

I turned away from him and back at the water. There have already been too many surprises today. I watched him adjust himself in my periphery. He clearly wanted me to talk, but I wasn't about to give in. My legs began to cramp as I sat there and so I stood. I struggled to my feet and looked around. It felt as if whole weeks have passed, but it might have been minutes. I was tired of thinking. I grew tired of second guessing myself, stumbling over questions which don't have answers and outcomes that differ so little. Twisting my body, I spun about face so my back was to the water. The time for thinking was over. Decisive action would take place once more.  I would get lost in the water. I spread my arms to my sides and fell back. I heard the stranger shout no loudly, but my eyes were closed and I was already set in motion. Water splashed around me, coating the dreamy sky in splashes of creativity. It felt cold and warm and wet and dry all together. An overload of senses turned my vision black.

When my vision returned I was laying flat-backed in a grassy field with a blue, cloudy sky overhead.  I was comfortable, so I laid there for a while and just stared at the shapes overhead.  I eventually sat up and realized I had no idea where I was.  The sky seemed more natural, the grass more earthen, the birds and bugs happier and energetic, the land less tainted.  But that was probably all in my head.  Standing up and stretching out in a wide, unnatural stance I glanced around but saw nothing in particular I liked.  I closed my eyes to succumb to the black, voluntarily this time, and spun around a bit.  I let my head drop down and when I reopened my eyes I saw only grass and dirt again.  There was a caterpillar on my boot.  I watched it as I stomped down the path.  It was green, purple, and unmoving.  One of my own.  I loved it.  We could get lost together.  So we did.