Short Fiction

Misanthropy from Entropy

By Christian Mueth (Writing as Benjamin Vale)

Day 0:

This is Cade Carver reporting.

I’m in my sleeping quarters for the night. It’s the last night before the launch. Despite my complaints about these cramped quarters, I have to admit I’m going to miss them. It’s been a long two years building up to this, and the routine has become strangely comforting.

I figured now was as good a time as any to start a new log. The old one was getting bloated, and I wanted a clean slate before my life completely changes. The Emerald Project is going to alter the world. I’m going to be the face of America. I need to be prepared.

I know I shouldn’t be using this chintzy voice recorder for this — the boys tried getting me to use one of their cameras. They want things “cutting edge”. But, that just doesn’t cut it, for me. What’s the point in operating a bulky camera, when my recorder and cassettes work just fine?

My mother once told me, “if you cut off your foot to make a shoe fit, you’re one step away from falling over.”

I think she was joking? I’m not.

I’m going to try taking the recorder and tapes in the containment unit with me. Hopefully I can sneak it by the scientists. My stash of tapes is hidden just outside the sterilization chamber. I should be able to grab it from there, before I enter the unit. Boyle won’t care, and our security will be too occupied with the press and equipment to bother double-checking me. It’ll work great!

But, the press… That’s something else I have on my mind. They’ve scrutinized the Emerald Project ever since I was brought on board.

I should be fine. Most journalists are good people, with a natural sense of... Good-nature. Some of them are a bit too curmudgeon for my tastes, but I think they’re going to be on my side tomorrow. The public is in support, even if the media is skeptical.

Huh. What else to talk about? Oh.

Earlier today, the team had me go through their protocols again. Nothing I haven’t done a million times. To be frank though, I underperformed compared to my personal best. The team told me it was good enough. Said it was just performance anxiety. Me? Not buying it. You don’t go through ten years of military service without having anxiety stamped out of you. Truth is, I didn’t try hard enough during training. Couldn’t have. I need to try harder. When I enter that containment unit tomorrow, I can’t give anything less than my best. Everybody is counting on me to get this right. Failure is no option.

On a lighter note, Dr. Boyle was ecstatic when he spoke to me today. Our nuclear reactor’s output is optimal, all the transistors are operating smoothly, the computers are computing, the wires are wiring — to be honest, I couldn’t follow him on everything that he told me. Dr. Boyle’s mind is far smarter than mine.

He… He’s cracked String Theory, apparently. He’s been using Seattle’s nuclear power plant to make doorways into a fifth dimension — a dimension beyond length, height depth, or time. So far, his doorways have been no bigger than the tip of a needle. But, he’s going to make a bigger one. Far bigger.

Apparently, we can use the fifth dimension to test for the origins of the universe or something. Though, more importantly, it’ll transform warfare as we know it. With the ability to send things into a fifth dimension, we could intercept missiles, erase armies, and even swallow nations whole.

All this power… And, I’ll be the first human to enter this dimension.

It sounds good to me. My only hang-up is that it almost feels like we’re playing God. Knowing the beginning of the universe is a lot. Maybe too much knowledge? My friends and folks told me as much. But, Dr. Boyle has made some good points: if we don’t secure this technology now, the Soviets might figure out its secret. America will be decimated, and our weapons will be useless to stop them. Besides, if this power is safe in the hands of anybody, it’s us.

Still, I can’t help but wonder what’ll happen when I’m hogtied in that capsule and shunted away. What will I see? Will I see anything? Will I even survive?

We haven’t been able to test any other animals, before this. The capsule needs to be manned from inside the fifth dimension for the experiment to work — otherwise, it won’t be able to open from the other side. Besides, it would’ve been hard to convince the American Government to fund a twenty-billion-dollar experiment for a guinea pig. They wanted a person as the face of their mission.

The boys in the lab have done their best to future proof things. There’s no telling how the laws… The laws of science might work in the fifth dimension. An artificial atmosphere was constructed for my capsule, to recycle oxygen and water supplies. It’s also outfitted with dozens of experimental pills, to provide me sustenance.

Dr. Boyle has told me a few “postulations” on what I might experience, but they’re not much beyond guesswork. Nobody really knows what’s going to happen, least of all, me. Boyle hopes to have me out of the dimension in an hour, but it might be a day.

He also warned me that an hour might feel like an eternity. I wasn’t too happy about that, but it is what it is.

I hope things work for the best.

But… Hope isn’t a small thing, isn’t it? When the lights go out and the sun goes down, hope is all we really have.

Day 1:

Cade Carver reporting.

Today has been an adrenaline rush.

At 5:00 sharp, my trainers rushed me to the reaction room.

Not sure what I was doing, still sleeping at 5:00... Dreaming, probably. I should’ve already been up. Though, in my defense: even Neil Armstrong needs rest.

Anyhow, it was a madhouse, getting down to that reactor. Scientists spilled out of every corner, every one of them running somewhere — everywhere. The whole place had gone chicken. I used to get lost, during chaos like that. Yet, this morning, there was something reaffirming about it all. This was it.

Once at the heart of the reactor, I noticed it was noisier than usual. It wasn’t the scientists, either. I turned around: outside the reactor’s windows were dozens of journalists and spectators.

I guess I knew that there would be a turnout — we’re changing the future. But, that? That many? I wasn’t expecting that.

Though, that wasn’t anything, in hindsight. While the medical crew was taking my blood samples, somebody bumped into me.

That somebody happened to be President Ronald Reagan.

He said something… Something like, “Hey there, Pilot Carver.” A grin was fixed to his face, perfect as pearls. His hand shot out. “I heard you were going to do a thing for me, today. Going to make America proud for me. Do this thing, and beat the Soviets. That true?”

Something like that.

I knew I had to say something, say something smart, but something I didn’t know was what something I should say. But, I knew I couldn’t just stand there. Not with the President staring me in the face, glowing like a lightning bug. In a snap, I took his hand and gave a firm, ”Yes, Mr. President, sir.”

Have to say, I didn’t do half bad.

The conversation picked up from there. The President discussed the specifics of my training routine, and then told me about a few potential future missions for me.

“Whatever you do, Mr. President,” I said, trying to stay steady, “make sure you don’t stick me underwater, in a submarine. If there’s one thing I hate, it's a submarine.”

We shared a laugh, and he went to talk with the science guys.

Yet, even with him gone, I couldn’t get past the fact that I, of all people, had the privilege of speaking with him.

The staff led me into a chamber, to slip on my containment suit. It was made of a real shiny latex that bearhugged me. Once it was smooching every inch of my skin, I put on my goggles and helmet — my helmet only being slightly better than the visor of a hazmat suit. Then, all the staff left. Fumes poured from vents in the chamber, and the sterilization process began.

Not sure how long I was there for. I’ve never been best at keeping track of time. This is extra true when my head is feeling chatty.

Let’s just say, my head has never felt chattier.

Dr Boyle came in when it was finished. He took his time looking me over. Immediately, my head carted me back to boot camp, where a drill sergeant’s eye scorched every inch of me. A huff pulled me back —Boyle was pulling a thin, blonde strand of hair from my shoulder.

“We somehow missed this,” he said, waving the hair under his thin mustache.

Couldn’t help but smile to myself. Wasn’t the only thing he missed. When I left the sterilization room, I put my hidden stash of recorders and cassettes in a pouch strapped to the back of my suit. The pouch is supposed to store extra batteries, in case of an emergency power outage in the capsule. But, I’ll never need to use the batteries. The Emerald Project has considered nearly every possibility.

After going from my stash, I went to a hangar above the main reactor. Computers lined the walls, towering to the ceiling. At the center of the room was a soda can of a containment capsule. Dr. Boyle patted me down, double checked my vitals, and then had me strapped me in. The staff ran to the corner of the room, and the capsule’s door slid over me. Peering through my window, I watched a trap-door collapse beneath my capsule. I descended, becoming suspended over the reactor chamber.

Since then, that’s where I’ve been sitting — just above a bushel of the reactor’s lasers. Dr. Boyle has been running like nuts, triple checking everything. He has a funny look I’ve never really seen before. It’s intense. Concerned.

Hopefully the crew can’t tell I’m talking into my recorder, up here. This capsule is sound proof, and my helmet obscures my mouth pretty well. But, if they can tell what I’m saying, I want to let them know: they can calm down a few notches. Matter of fact, they can’t just “can”: they need to calm down. That’s the only way I’ll be getting through this.

Anyhow, in a few minutes the capsule is set to put me in a state of hyper sleep. It’ll keep my metabolism low over the next hour, as I’m placed in the bubble. This is going to be one hell of a ride.

At least I know it’ll be more than worth it.

Cade Carver, signing out.

Cade Carver, signing back in.

I’m confused. Ecstatic, but confused.

My straps are off. I woke up a few minutes ago. At least, it feels like it was a few minutes ago... It’s impossible to tell. I guess this means the experiment was a success? Good thing — I was worried I was dead, for a bit there.

My memory is a bit fuzzy on what happened, since I last signed out. I remember things becoming mighty busy, down there. Some alarm went off. Dr. Boyle went into a frenzy, lips lashing at some of the crew. Couldn’t really tell what was being said — my capsule was sound-proof, after all, and somebody shut off my audio feed.

Whatever was said, it must’ve been bad. Dr. Boyle had some of the scientists taken away by security. Then, he went on with the experiment. The lasers started lasering, hitting my capsule. The lab went up in a sweltering flare. It gave a little tear, getting all paper-like. Then, things got real warbled. The capsule’s gas tubes activated, and I went unconscious.

How long have I been unconscious? Hard to say. I think it’s only been an hour. But, there’s no telling for sure.

Out my window, there’s a ton of empty. It reminds me of my pond in the winter, back home — murky, oily, cold.

Soft flecks float about. Things burst and swim to the back of my eye, then back into the empty. Below me, stars merge into a whirlpool. Are they stars? Or, are they something else? Can’t really tell.

I wish Dr. Boyle were here. But, he’s... out there. In the real world.

So odd to say that, now that I think about it. I’m still in the real world, aren’t I? I definitely don’t feel — not real. Is that the right word? Or, is it unreal? Not sure. Probably not.

Thankfully, I’m not completely cut off. Just on the edge of the empty, there’s this cut of light. I’m using my goggles to zoom in on it. Yes. I can make out something blurry. The lab? It looks like it’s been put in front of a funhouse mirror. Except, I’m having a hard time finding the fun.

Dr. Boyle is there. He’s slightly out of sorts. Papers are all over. Ash, too. The lasers used to push me in here are singed. Dozens of scientists are rushing by. I can’t really tell where to. What’s going on? It looks like the media is pressing against the glass walls to the lab. They’re trying to break in. They’re moving, frantic. Desperate.

Odd. I’m used to seeing more calm. Something must’ve happened. Hopefully they know I’m fine, and wide awake.

Wait — that’s right. I’m supposed to activate my capsule’s beam, to reopen the portal. Where has my head been at? It must be the air. Just a minute — if minutes count for anything, anymore.

Wow. This is — okay, that must... Yeah. Alright. There we go.

Well, might as well get the bad news out of the way first: my control panel had a power surge. It’s fizzled out on me. Good news is, I did a bit of tinkering and was able to make it kind of responsive. The return beam should be turning on, any moment here. Nothing to be worried about.

Huh — actually, more bad news. The beam hasn’t turned on. There’s smoke coming off the panel. I’m going to have to shut off the main power and initiate the PSM — Power Saving Mode.

If there’s one thing the Emerald Project needs to get better at, it’s acronyms.

And, apparently, control panels.

Okay, done with that. Everything is good now.

Except, it isn’t. At all. I’m watching the lab, and things have gotten worse. A computer in the back is in flames. The lights have gone out. People are falling over. What in the — wait — there’s a crack in the reactor. That's not right, is it? Dr. Boyle couldn’t have made a mistake, could he have?

The glass windows are breaking. People just jumped out, wearing gas masks — firefighters. They’re scooping up the President and rushing him out.

More firefighters came in. More people are being dragged out. Dr. Boyle, too. His eyes are bloodshot, and he’s — he’s… He tried to punch one of the firefighters.

I’ve never seen Dr. Boyle look like that. This is ugly. How could the experiment have gone so wrong?

Sorry — I went quiet for a while there, didn’t I? On the sunny side, at least everybody was evacuated alive. This might’ve been a catastrophe, but it worked out fine.

Everybody is fine.

Alright, I turned off my goggles. Can’t really bring myself to look up there anymore. I’d prefer to watch the empty, right now.

Feeling very tired, suddenly. I want to sleep. I need to sleep.

Cade Carver, signing out.

Day 4:

Cade Carver reporting.

Sorry for the absence. It’s been a few days at least, hasn’t it? Who am I kidding? It’s impossible to say.

I wish I could say I’ve been busy. I’d be lying. Nothing happens here, among nothing — the empty. But, at least this empty isn’t absolute. I see sparking particles, still. Once or twice, the capsule was even caught in a whirl of energy. Yet, all these flickers only flicker. My flickers of energy? Same case.

Motivation is hard to come by. The conditions here aren’t nice, putting it nicely. Food goes down sluggish, it goes out worse, and sleep is uneasy. I’ve tried all I can to find a way out of here. After a day straight of reworking the capsule’s systems to find the way, I started realizing there isn’t one. Sleep is my new occupation. That, and chatting — mainly with myself. When not, with Mr. Grimsby and his pals.

Heh. Gee… That must sound confusing. See, I’ve been trying to pass time by listening to old radio recordings I brought with me. It’s comforting to hear the tinny voices, talking about outdated world events and urging me on. I know they can’t hear me — but, when I’m talking, that never seems to cross my mind. They’re the closest things to human contact I have.

If this makes me crazy, so be it. But, I like to think we all need a rope to reality. Otherwise, it’s too easy to lose a sense of meaning. Feeling that now more than ever.

If I wasn’t, I probably wouldn’t have made this update. It would’ve felt wrong. The world needs more optimism than the reverse.

About an hour ago, I activated my goggles to peer through the slit in the empty. I saw Dr. Boyle. He was working in the lab, his face mortar. He tinkered with a few of the computers and reassembled a few loose bits of technology, before finally leaving the place. I’m not sure what he’s doing. Yet, I like to think he’s planning to break me out. Planning to make things better.

That better be what he’s doing.

Cade Caver, signing out.

Day 5:

Cade Carver reporting.

It’s been another day — guessing. Guess I don’t have many things to report. Yet, some things are better than no things.

Nothing should’ve made me felt as good as Dr. Boyle showing back up in the slit. But, I’m starting to think something is wrong with him. I’m used to seeing a pleasant, easygoing manner about him. Now? His clothes are disheveled, and an edge is in his eye. He’s had a few outbursts. I want to believe he has some wits about him, but I’m not so convinced. I half wonder if Boyle’s brain crawled out and his body is a living carcass.

I want to believe the best, anyhow. Still, I can’t ignore. I’ve been in here for a while and haven’t lost my grip yet. What excuse does Dr. Boyle have?

I keep listening to the tapes, but I’ve already eaten twenty hours of them. I only have ten hours left.

Oh well — I’m tired. Ready to pass out. Despite no time passing here, sleep makes passes at me faster than it should.

The old horizon will greet me soon. Boyle is hard at work, trying to get me out of here.

Cade Carver, signing out.

Good night.

Day 10:

Bad day. This has been a very bad day.

Sorry… Cade Carver reporting.

Dr. Boyle rebuilt his lasers and then reactivated them. Normally, I’d be pleased. Though, his reassembly sent a massive shockwave of energy into the empty. My pod was kicked back. I was slammed to the back. After getting my feet and my balance, I looked at the slit. Except, it was no longer a slit. It was a gaping hole.

I flailed my arms. I screamed. I beat at the windows. Boyle couldn’t have been less aware. A smile creased his face, before going decrepit. Distressed, he went to the back of his lab to toy with more wires.

The empty’s slit kept spreading, growing to massive proportions. Its film mapped across the nothing as a ghoulish gash. It hadn’t been until then that I’d noticed a gray tint to it. It isn’t quite the black-and-white in old movies. But, it’s close. The empty seems to sap its color away, flashes of neon perforating the slit’s edges.

Yet, enough with the talk about the slit. More disturbing was Boyle’s speed. After going to the back of the lab, his arms moved at twice their normal pace. At first, I thought it was merely from his urgency. It couldn’t have been. His pace didn’t stay doubled. It tripled.

It kept rolling from there, with him pinballing across the room.

Ever since, I’ve been watching. Right now, Boyle is still going. His face is relaxed. He has no idea. I should turn away and distract myself. Though, I’m mesmerized.

I want to help him — to enter the slit, and finally escape this abyss. The slit is close, and only comes closer as I speak. Though, I know I’m trapped. My capsule can’t move. I can’t leave.

I’ll just keep watching for now, waiting for Boyle to slow down.

Boy, I hope he gets me out of here.

Day 11:

Cade Carver reporting.

Boyle goes in and out of the lab more often, moving ever faster. Yet, he isn’t just moving fast. He’s… He’s aging fast, too. The frontline of his hair has retreated. A silver streak runs through. Age lines and crow-feet, which were once subtle wisps, have whipped deep into his skin.

I question whether he really is moving fast. What if I’m moving slower? What if the flow of time is damned up to me?

Damn it.

It’ll be okay. Boyle isn’t going to abandon me. He’s pushing himself to the limit, working tirelessly.

Besides, the world couldn’t have forgotten me. I’m the pioneer of another dimension. I’ve crossed a threshold no others have dared.

I’m going to hold out for them, because I know they’re holding out for me.

They must be.

Day 12:

Cade Carver reporting.

Is it wrong that I missed the feeling of grogginess this morning, while forcing down my breakfast?

I should’ve never left my last recording. So much has changed. The lab decayed, with moss and mold eating the walls away. Most of the plaster peeled, leaving exposed brick. The computers have blown or been replaced. Boyle doesn’t look so good, either. I swear he’s shrunk three inches in the past three hours. He moves with a hobble now, his posture has eroded to a hunch, and his face is haggard.

Wait — he’s… Oh god. Oh no. No!

He’s — he’s not getting up. Why isn’t he getting up? When will he…?

Dr. Boyle! You need to get up! Get up Boyle!

Get up!

Day 17:

Cade Carver.

Hi. It’s been awhile.

My food rations are dwindling. Only have about a week left. It’s fine. The slit in the empty grows. It’s mapped its way across my entire window. I just need it to get closer now.

It’ll be fine. I still have time to kill.

Speaking of killing time, outside of the empty? Time is dead.

It took half an hour before somebody eventually discovered Dr. Boyle. At least, half an hour for me. For the outside? It might’ve been half a year.

After that, I spent the better half of my day staring at the walls of the lab.

You don’t want to know the worse half.

I had the tapes to listen to, though. Besides — watching mold slowly eat up the lab was interesting, at least.

After another day, the lab was emptied by a construction crew. All the lab equipment that possibly could’ve saved me? Gone. Then, the crew brought in cranes and wrecking balls. Every crevice to the lab was defiled, deforming to dust.

It’s not all bad. I was at least given another change in scenery. Seattle’s skyline was opened to me — a silver band, specked with shimmering scrapers and streets.

At first, I thought the city’s glow was in my head — that it’d been too long since I’d last seen it. I soon realized how wrong I was. It hadn’t been too long.

I’d been too long. I was sitting still. The world was flying past me.

Since, I’ve watched buildings expand and stretch for the clouds. I’ve seen buildings expire and curdle. Streets have been torn up. New ones have been paved in their place. Old towers have been revamped or stamped out. Now, the city winks at me. Yet, it’s all an act.

As I speak, the empty’s slit yawns ever deeper. It must be taunting me, as it still hasn’t reached my capsule. I doubt it ever will.

People walk by. They erect monuments. They sit content. Then, they spit at their monuments. They adopt new systems. New technology. Their eyes turn from their structures, and into themselves.

Steps going heavy, their visits become sparser. They wither. New monuments are put in place of the ones once known, and another crowd of people comes with them. Cycle repeating, the days go awash.

The present is sand on the beach, constantly betraying itself for the whims of winds and waves.

Day 18:

If my grasp of time doesn’t fail me, I’ve been here for eighteen days. I’d say that’s nineteen days too many.

I finally destroyed the tapes I’ve been listening to — after weeks of being stuck with them, I couldn’t take it anymore. The voices were grating. My interest? Abating.

The outside remains oblivious to my existence. However, it’s for the best. The world faces oblivion.

Everything is in turmoil. Technology has progressed far beyond my grasp — I watched people go from staring into miniature televisions, to staring into goggles, to walking within holographic bubbles. Their utopia wasn’t to last.

Earth shook, the Sun shook with it, and the sky shifted red. In the distance, bits of the skyline fell. Admittedly, it gave me pause. Yet, it wasn’t as disturbing as what I’m watching right now.

Divorced from their bubbles, people look to the sky. Their bodies tremble. Their eyes go dusky. I wish I could say I don’t share their fear. However, I’m looking to the sky too. A fire blazes, but it’s not the Sun. I’d be pressed to call it a falling star, but a trail of fog tails its descent.

It’s drawing in. It disappeared. At least, I think it has. I must’ve lost it. I must’ve —

A light surges. The warmth of its glow seeps through the slit and into my chamber, brushing my skin. However, I — I’m shivering. Why am I shivering?

Hearth’s ash settles on Seattle, a fresh crater having gouged its heart. Rows of corpses line the ground. I’m trying to find a sign of life, somewhere. Though, I can hardly move. There’s hardly movement.

Time is still moving by. The bodies are already beginning to rot. A tank roves in, scooping the bodies and dragging them away. However, they aren’t American tanks. Their sides are branded with a terrible symbol.

The Soviets. They’ve taken Seattle.

The carnage has been swept away. New flags are raised. Buildings that only had holes in them are patched up. The buildings that aren’t patched are dispatched wholesale. People stream back in, taking the buildings. All their faces are foreign to the cheer I’ve known. An overall gloom overhauls their demeanor, docility resting on their faces.

Wait — one of them broke into a fight with another. Now, three. It’s a full-on riot.

Soldiers have come out to quell the riots. They’re gone. They soldiers have taken the threats away. Seattle sleeps easy once more.

Yet, is it really Seattle? I’m still watching it morph… But, it can’t be. Factories tear through the ground. People labor in front of me, anguished.

The Seattle I once knew? It’s been vanquished.

I suppose this is it. All along, I’ve thought myself trapped in here. However, they’re more trapped out there.

Day 19:

Seattle is deteriorating. Couldn’t say why if I tried. Though, the buildings have been all but torn away, with only a few stragglers straining for sky. The rest of Seattle is a barren plain, shrouded in smog and soot. I wish it was blasted by a missile one more time, so it could finally roll over dead. However, it’s stubborn. It refuses to fall. It won’t grant me mercy, instead choosing to torture me with its presence.

In most cities, people are born, they live, and they die. This hellscape skips a step and adds another. People are born, they die, and they die again.

I want to turn away, but I can hardly bring myself to. There’s a void in my chest, which only seems satisfied by observing the void of another. My hope is that there aren’t more cities like Seattle — cities overrun and overseen by despots. Seattle is a diseased corpse now, infecting anybody unfortunate enough to step in it. I thought America would’ve been strong enough to win. However, muscle is useless if the body is starved.

How America fell to the Soviets will always eat at me. Yet, maybe it was inevitable. Somebody at the top must’ve stopped caring. Then, they all did.

I guess that’s the function of life. People come, they go, and those they used to know forgo the leftover memories. None of us matter. If we did, I wouldn’t be in my current state of matter.

Wait… A week just flitted by. The Sun is eclipsed by something big. Is it the moon? It can’t be. It’s getting bigger.

People are running through the streets, their eyes wild. The military is nowhere to be found.

The blot isn’t getting bigger. It’s getting closer. And, it’s not a blot. It’s a rock. A big rock. A meteor.

It just met the Earth. I — I can’t believe it. The ground’s been grounded to a powder. Streets ripple. They’ve disappeared. They’re replaced by bedrock.

The empty’s slit stretches around my pod. Though, it still hasn’t reached me.

The rocky breach protrudes over the city. It steamrolls the clouds, expanding far beyond my scope of vision. The sky has practically disappeared. All I’ve ever known…

There’s not a person in sight. Not even an animal. Months seem to pass by, but there’s still nothing. Nothing, but stillness.

Snow fell just a second ago, then melted. Spring springs up, then withers to the winter weather once again. And again. A minute looks like years. Decades. Yet, Seattle remains empty.

Finally! Plants are growing on the rock. Except, they’re alien to me. They possess a darker shade of green. Some of them have already bloomed. They’ve already died. There are new ones. Now there aren’t.

Either way, the flowers are larger and thornier than I’m used to seeing. Their petals glare with harsh oranges and yellows. At night, the petals pucker like the lips of a rearing cat. Yet, there’s an undeniable allure. Part of me wants to reach out and touch them.

Another part wishes they’d left the rubble undisturbed.

Plants keep growing and dying. I’m not sure how many years have gone by, but no people have ventured to the crater. At this point, I’m wondering if years are still a thing people use

Worse yet, I wonder if there are there still people to use them.

Something rustled through the flowers. It’s —.

It’s not there anymore. It’s everywhere. That is, they’re everywhere. Beasts. They roam among the vegetation, and they’re noting like I’ve ever seen. Bone spurs spurt from the spine of one. Another has a coat of scales, and eyes that extend from its head on antennas. Still, there’s an especially grotesque creature writhing along the ground on its stomach, with a needle of a nose nosing it along. A black ooze flows beneath it — yet the ooze pales in comparison to the charred skin comprising its body. The closest I can liken the creature to is a mixture of a slug and a mosquito, but the size is unexplainable.

I can’t look. Its nose has punctured another animal. My head feels fuzzy.

The moment has fled. The monster is dead. Most of the beasts are, in fact. The longer I sit here, the more they shift and alter shape. Old ones go, new ones take their place. It all repeats, as a never ending flow.

I want it all to end though. I have nothing left but this recorder, and I’m running out of tape. Meanwhile, the world? It’s never going to run out. I’m trapped, left to watch eternity tap-dance for its own enjoyment. Not mine. What is mine? The bliss to exist…? It’s faded. Become trist. I can never touch the world. I can’t experience it for my own sake. My own sanity.

I’m only an observer, now.

The world is blind to me. It’s broken its bind with me.

Why can’t it just unwind with me?

Day 20:

The slit nearly breathes on the window to my capsule. I’ve considered breaking the window and jumping out, to try reuniting with reality. Yet, it’s probably still too far away. Besides: reality has become too harsh to face.

At the start of my day, wave after wave of species rose and fell. With these waves came droughts, floods, disease, earthquakes, hurricanes, and more asteroid strikes. I wish I could say I felt as threatened by the fifth asteroid impact as I did the first. Yet, I can’t. I’ve watched several species build up civilizations, only to become just as much a blip as humanity. Life climbs nature’s ladder, until nature forces it off. I sit complacent, only wondering why life ever thinks it could achieve anything beyond its nature.

Things live only to stop living. To pretend otherwise is to lie.

However, the world is more concerning than ever. The landscape ahead of me? It’s populated by creatures that broil with anger, and tear at each other’s throats out without compunction. At first glance, they’re no different than any of the other creatures I’ve seen. Centuries pass by, without them making a shift to their tendencies. However, they’re not nearly as brainless as normal creatures. Rather, they’re dressed in fine clothing. Their green and red faces possess intricate systems of opening and closing, as if for communication. They fight like animals but think like humans.

I know why they fight. The ground is patchier, flora fleeing. Cracks coat the soil, and thorns shoot through various plants and cacti. The Sun is swelling.

Just swell.

I never thought I’d say this, but… I’m more comforted by my prison than the idea of being free. At least my prison is warm, and full of food. It offers peace, in a world of despair.

Day 21:

My mother once told me, “We don’t even know what we don’t know.”

At least we know we don’t know it.

Life has finally evaporated from the Earth, dust taking over. I’d hoped life would’ve lasted longer… Maybe it could’ve found a way to continue somewhere beyond this planet. Though, I guess the secret of perpetual existence remains known only to me.

Then again, do I exist? I observe — that’s undeniable. Yet, I feel denied. I hunger to reach out and touch the world. To feel fresh air on my face. To sift the dust through my fingers. To have the Sun’s rays settle on my skin.

I’d give both my eyes to feel real again.

The Sun is a fat blister on the desert’s skin. Its rays penetrate everywhere, and everything. It’s inflating.

It keeps going. It settles into the soil. The soil sizzles, going molten. Everything is melting. I — I see red everywhere. It’s so bright. It’s overpowering.

Sorry… My body is shaking like mad. My muscles have gone weak. This is nothing — like — the Earth is gone. There’s no more ground. The Sun has taken up my entire field of vision.

I’m terrified. Petrified. But I’m numb. For some reason, none of this feels…

It’s not quite right.

Day 22:

The Sun is confetti.

It’s exploded everywhere. Massive chunks of plasma, the size of planets, whizzing by and then fizzling bye.

The entire solar system. Gone.

That’s that.

Ahead of me, the empty’s slit seems only a yard from my window. If I opened the capsule’s door and jumped through, maybe I could finally get back.

I don’t want to get back. There’s nothing to go back to. Everything I ever knew has been overturned. Moreover, time is overclocked. Already, stars are flickering out, like the headlights to my old pickup.

It was a nice truck. It got me around. Was pretty pretty, too. I miss it.

The consolation of the constellations has abandoned me. Maybe it’s all in my head, but it feels as though they’re all spreading apart.

It’s not in my head. I blinked a second ago, and half the universe blinked away with me. This isn’t right. The universe — it’s supposed to sandwich back in on itself. The Big… The Big Crunch, was it? Wasn’t that what Boyle said? That’s the order of it all. But, it hasn’t done that.

There was supposed to be order. A clean, well-oiled machine. God was supposed maintenance this all, wasn’t he? Play his part?

It’s apart. Darkness pervades everything. The brightness of reality that the slit once offered me has dimmed to nothing. The empty is better than it.

Countless years… Amounting to a dull null.

God.

God?

Guess it’s just you and me, at this point… So, might as well pop the question: why have you abandoned me? All I ever wanted to do was explore. To see things. The secrets. I wanted to push the limits. To test the boundaries. Did I really deserve this?

Am I out of my mind to wonder why chasing after your mind was so wrong?

I was wrong. I was wrong about you. You betrayed me! If you even cared, I wouldn’t have… You wouldn’t have made me wait, endlessly, for…

Wait. Something happened. The darkness has — I don’t know how to explain it. It’s folding into itself. Space has become an origami of white. It’s getting bigger. I can hardly see. It’s beautiful. Coming closer.

The walls to my capsule have been eaten up. My eyes — they burn. Might as well be melted.

But, I want to feel. I’m going in.

Cade Carver, signing out.

End