Week 52 - Alive. Still. Years Later.

Alive. Still. Years Later.

Matthew Ryan Fischer

The switch wasn’t supposed to be turned off. There was a very neat and clean sign that very clearly stated this fact. But nobody liked to read signs or pay attention to such things, and people really liked flipping switches. It was almost like an instinct or something. Like touching the emergency brake while driving. Or reaching out and wondering just how hot the oven really was. The sign wasn’t a deterrent at all. It was an invitation. And more importantly, it was a recipe for disaster.

Some might question the overall purpose of having the switch at all. Not bad to question such things. But people love backups and contingency plans and accounting for all possibilities. And one never knows. So there was a switch. It just ran contrary to the human tendency of things, that’s all. If you build the switch, someone was eventually going to flip it. Eventually. And then? Then, there would be no going back.

For one moment, things were frozen. Then there was a rumble and a flash and then the eruption. It happened so quickly there was no time for perception at all. Things were there and then they weren’t.

The world ended. It was quite the surprise for all those not expecting it. But they didn’t have long to bemoan. They didn’t have time at all. Time was over. Time was gone. The universe collapsed.

...but then again, things were always beginning. Just as often as things are ending. Collapse. Beginnings. Endings. Reboots. Revelations. It all sort of worked out in the end. Like a loop. Or one of those crazy eights. Parallel structure, things working in tandem. Some might call that balance. Some might call that planned. Or fate. Or kismet. Or karma. Or something similar to any of those things. In the end it all worked out alright enough, no matter what it was called.

Over an infinity of choices and possibilities, one little setback like one little universe collapsing wasn’t really that much of a setback at all. Schrödinger’s cat and all that. No matter what there were always other possibilities. Time and space were beginning and ending all the time. It turned out that one blip wasn’t noticed at all in the grand scheme of things. One blip is nothing. Not where the halls of infinity are concerned.

What mattered was the point of divergence. The split. The choice. Not even so much what choice was made, but that there was a choice possible. That was the necessary component that made it all work. One simple thing. That’s all it took. One simple thing and a million different possibilities.

He was a thief. Just a moment. Just a little bit. A stolen moment. A stolen world. A stolen bit of anything and everything. A chance to claim something and rebuild or reuse it anywhere and anytime. He took little parts away, and put them somewhere else.

One second of space-time was hardly going to be missed anyway. Space-time didn’t care. The universe wouldn’t care. It would blur and blend like everything else and smooth itself away. A stolen detail and people would think it was their bad memory. Details grow fuzzy. That’s what they’re supposed to do. He just nudged them along.

The boring parts were the best. There was an endlessness of heart and soul in all the boring parts, the parts that people took for granted. The smiles, the glances, the yawns. All the plain and boring parts and yet that was what people missed. That was what felt like home. That was what felt like life. A grand moment was fleeting and never had the comfort of a soft couch or a warm blanket. A moment of lust or passion paled in comparison to companionship. The boring parts, and not a moment more.

Ella called his name. But it was the wrong name. Or maybe he was the wrong man. Or both. She didn’t get to find out.

Adam made an impassioned speech. She was the only thing that ever mattered to him.

“You make me feel young again. You make me feel alive. I think of you every day. I want to see you every day. I want to be a better person. I want to be a better man. I want to tell you all these things.”

He let her walk by, without saying a word.

If only it hadn’t snowed, Michael could have gotten there in time. The snow was expected. The amount was not. There weren’t enough plows. The roads were closed overnight. His father died alone in the hospital because nature didn’t care about his plans.

There wasn’t another song. Rachel was sure she had put more money in the jukebox. She was sure there was one more song. She was sure she would have more time. She was swaying to the music, nursing her beer and was certain that he saw her. She was certain he was swaying to the music too, that it was a real connection and they had something in common in an uncommon universe and that one simple connection would see them through.

But the music stopped and by the time she had regrouped and developed a new plan, he was gone.

She never learned his name.

The man tried. But then failed. The feeling of disappointment would last forever and he always remembered and promised himself he would try again. But instead he was simply bound to die someday.

The last message didn’t go through. No one answered the text in time.

Blood ran down. Too much blood was lost. The body was on the floor.

Someone would come. Someone would find them. But they wouldn’t know what had happened or what it meant.

Maybe it was better not to always think.

The sun didn’t rise the next day.

Crawling out of the ocean, thinking about all that could be or could happen. The future was open and vast and infinite. Unless of course things didn’t work out. Unless things only got worse. Unless there was no purpose to anything and no reason for trying. If that were the case, then there really would be no reason for the struggle, for the attempt. It was soul-crushing before there was such a thing as a soul.

One foot out of the ocean; maybe it was just easier to turn back around.

The universe blinked. The pulse of possibility rippled out, broken and fractured until it dissipated into a million different likelihoods. Chance had its way and the darkness wasn’t for long.

There was always something else just around the corner, even it was the unexpected or improbable.