The screen is blank. A cursor flashes back at Connor’s increasingly lifeless face, mocking him. Mocking his lifestyle choices, mocking his terrible hair, mocking his increasingly lifeless face.
“You are immortal,” he was told. “You will live forever.” This was quite impressive news to take in. To be told that one would never die is like releasing a pressure valve. Time stops, in an instant, suddenly an intangible force. The man drank a cup of tea, and sat in a chair for a long while, and thought about how he would move forward with this impressive news. He got nowhere fast. The tea grew cold, and the chair began to sink.
Kiko liked the smell of disinfectant.
Over and over he turned. Stars wheeled, not overhead, but everywhere, and Private First Class Fredriks wondered where he’d heard that saying before. Wheeled overhead. He’d heard it everywhere, he supposed.