The body traffic was thrumming along nicely when I finally decided to precipitate myself out of the shadow in which I had let myself dissolve the previous evening.

I landed, with elegant gracelessness, on my back, and spent a few moments getting my breath back. The nature of my role and existence makes me prone to forgetting the simple and basic needs of the flesh I wear like clothing. I must learn to thing these things through if I am to continue to monitor my chosen locale.

For as the body goes, so goes the soul. Without a body, I would simply evanesce into the ether like a fog dispersed by the sun, and I have much to do before I allow myself that luxury.

The people need me.

I gently and carefully guide my fleshy form to a convenient bench, and with a soothing touch, gently let it sleep. Its need for sleep is not met by my version of sleep, and so this arrangement is necessary.

Besides, it gives me freedom to roam.

I silently slip sideways through sunbaked shadows as I carefully open myself to the souls around me, letting their light meet my light so that I might understand them. Many are the souls I sniff as I open my consciousness wider and wider, settling into my usual patrol mode where my awareness is spread thin but I can sense trouble like a spider feelings its prey in its web.

And for a while, all is calm. The souls walk through my domain, carrying about their everyday business, living their lives, oblivious to the benign force watching over them. This is how it should be… I would not disrupt their lives with my presence. They shine so bright and clean to me as is. So vital, so pure, so engaged in the act of living. I treasure them.

Of course, this is humanity we are talking about, vibrant and impatient, so there is no such thing as total calm. Here, a woman is upset that her dry cleaner can’t seem to find her dress, one she needs for an important date with a “real prospect”. So businesslike in her idealism!

In another place, a couple argue, as they always do, about money. She wants to sign their children up to a whole raft of extra-curricular activities. He insists that kids have to be left alone to be kids.

Around and around they go, both trying their hardest to be the best parents they can for the children they love so much that sometimes, they can’t even think. They can only act on instinct.

Instinct is a specialist, though. It covers things like feeding and caring and clothing. Parenting philosophies, not so much.

In another place, an old man who inherited his barbershop from his father, who inherited it from his father, is once more contemplating burning the place to the ground for the insurance money. It is a thought he often contemplates because his sense of obligation to the place is so strong that he can’t imagine ever walking away from it. It would have to stop existing first.

And it’s not like any of his five children want the place. Five, count them, FIVE children he had, and not one of them would take up the mantle of neighborhood barber. It would serve them right to see the place burn to the ground. Once it’s gone forever, maybe they will appreciate what they had and threw away like garbage.

But what would his father think?

His conflict touches me deeply. I pause my scan and focus on him, and send him soothing pleasant emotions. This is my job, my role, my duty. To comfort the conflicted, to soothe jangled nerves and untie tangled emotions, to lend my light to those lost in the darkness, and to lead troubled souls away from evil.

Speaking of which, a man well known to me has woken up and feeling his morning erection tugging him towards thoughts he knows he should not have about his daughter, aged eight.

It was a miracle he had custody of her at all. If her mother hadn’t turned into an emotional and physical wreck after finding father and daughter in bed together without clothing, he would be the one left alone.

But the divorce was uncontested and he was a successful businessman who was well known for his dedication to charity, so obviously, he made a better choice than her lunatic mother in the insane asylum.

I know of his pain. His mother molested him. Now he sees his daughter and thinks, I did okay. So will she.

Luckily, by the time he gets out of bed, I am fully there with him. I cast pure light into his soiled soul and highlight all the wonderful, innocent memories he has of his daughter, and how he only got away with it the first time because she was too young to understand what was going on, and now she seemed not to even remember. Now, it would devastate her.

With my help, he remembers, and I encourage his return to the right path by giving him a growing sense of pleasure as he does so. I have calmed his demon for now. My job done, I retreat, taking but a moment to glance in at his daughter and the soft shiny of her youthful innocence.

Truly, she is a marvel, as all children are.

Oops! It seems my fleshy form is awakening. While my powers shield it from nosy policemen and other park-goers, they do not shield it from the cold rain now falling upon it.

I project a sense of warmth into it to counter the rain’s chill, and animate it to look for food. Its simple pleasures bring me great joy, and so it is no chore to see to its food, shelter, and toilet needs.

As I direct it towards our favorite dining spot, a cheap but excellent diner owned by an adorable old couple for whom this is their version of retirement, I am struck by one of the many little ironies of my existence.

Everybody says this is such a nice neighborhood.

But I’m the only one who knows why.

{SCENE : A small but luxurious hotel room on the banks of the Seine in Paris. Three quarters of the space is taken up by a very richly appointed waterbed, with expensive sheets and gold fixtures. In this bed lie PAT and MORGAN. PAT is asleep, and MORGAN is awake, watching PAT sleep, and smiling. As the scene opens, PAT wakes up, and sees MORGAN. PAT smiles back. }

Pat (amused) : What?

Morgan : Hey, it worked!

Pat : What worked?

Morgan : I stared at you and willed you to wake up, and you did!

Pat : Oh really? And how long did THAT take?

Morgan (pretending to be offended) : Hmph. Always the cynic. The time it took is irrelevant. The point is, it worked.

Pat (grinning) : So even if took, say, eight hours….. it would still count?

Morgan (grinning back) : Of course!

Pat : So pretty much the only way it could have failed is if I had stroked out in my sleep and was in a coma.

Morgan : You got it. It’s an amazing system, when you get right down to it.

Pat : Can’t argue with that logic. Shoot first, draw the targets later, right?

Morgan : Right! I knew I’d be a good influence on you! There you were, sitting like a lump on a park bench in the middle of the most exciting city in the world, and looking so sad and alone. I just had to get a smile out of you!

Pat : And for that, I will be eternally grateful.

{Pat kisses Morgan softly. }

Pat : Crap… what time is…

Morgan : 1:45 in the afternoon, or as they say here, 13:45. Your flight doesn’t leave for three hours. Relax.

Pat : That late, huh? How long were you going to let me sleep?

Morgan : For as long as you kept looking so beautiful doing it. Or 2 o’clock, whichever came first.

Pat : Fair enough. I’m just a little surprised I slept so long. I never sleep this late.

Morgan : Well you ARE on vacation. And we did have a very exciting evening last night. Well, at least I was excited…

Pat : I could tell.

Morgan : … and I am pretty sure YOU were excited too….

Pat : Nonsense. That orgasm was extremely tedious.

Morgan (laughing) : Oh, you’re terrible!

(Pat sits up in bed, and Morgan follows suit. }

Morgan : Okay, so… I figured it all out. As long as we are out of here by 2:15 at the latest, we have time to have a pleasant brunch on the way to the airport and still have plenty of time to say goodbye at the airport before your flight.

Pat (looking pensive and distracted) : Hmmm. Yes.

Morgan : Uh oh. I know that look. You’re trying to figure out what this all means, aren’t you?

Pat : Huh. I suppose I am.

Morgan : Well stop it! Why does it have to mean anything? We are two people who found comfort and joy with one another for a Parisian weekend. That’s it. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Ir doesn’t have to change anything. Haven’t you learned anything from me this weekend?

Pat (stiffly) : I didn’t know I was in school. In fact, I could have sworn someone told me it was just two souls finding comfort and joy with one another for a Parisian weekend. Quite recently, too.

Morgan : That’s not what I meant….

Pat : So what, last night was just a pity fuck?

Morgan : No! Well…. not really…

Pat (fuming) : I should have known. People like you are never interested in people like me.

Morgan : What do you mean, people like me?

(Pat gets out of bed and starts packing up, back to Morgan. )

Pat : You know…. fun people. Attractive people. Exciting people. The kind of people who get invited to parties. The kind of person who looks at a solid, decent citizen like me and thinks we are way too boring to even talk to.

Morgan : Okay, first, what makes you think I’m not a “decent citizen”?

Pat : Well I mean…. you’re just so….

Morgan : What? Interesting? Exciting? Fun to be around?

Pat : Well, yeah, but…

Morgan : Listen, I am just as respectable as the next citizen. I am president of the public relations firm I founded, and almost 200 people have jobs and salaries because of ME. I live in a perfectly respectable middle class neighborhood, I give generously to worthy charities, and I have a spotless driving record. I’m as “decent” as you are.

Pat : Look, I didn’t mean…..

Morgan : And you can stop wallowing in self-pity. I obviously didn’t overlook you because I thought you were boring. When I saw you on that park bench, all I saw was a beautiful and very impressive looking person who seemed very sad, and I thought maybe I could help. Not just for the weekend, but for life. And for a little while, I fooled myself into thinking I had. But you’re going to go right back to the life that made you miserable, aren’t you?

Pat : You knew that I was leaving today before you even sat down beside me.

Morgan : That’s now what I meant, and you know it. Look, I don’t know what your life was like before we met. But I know cold despair when I see it. Whatever it was, it made you too depressed to even move off a park bench while on your Paris vacation. And that made me so sad that I just had to try to do something.

Pat : Nobody asked for your help.

Morgan : Maybe not in words, but your face…. look, cards on the table time, I was really depressed too. I wasn’t lying about my PR business, but what I failed to mention is that I just sold it. I thought that would make me feel free and young again, but instead, it’s made me feel old and useless. I miss it, I miss it like hell. Selling was the biggest mistake I have ever made. And now I don’t know what to do with myself any more. Fancy that, here I am with millions in the bank and nothing holding me back, the whole world at my feet, and I have no idea what to do with myself.

Pat : I had no idea….

Morgan : Look, not everyone who seems happy IS happy, okay? When I saw you in the park, I saw someone who was as miserable as I was, and I thought… I thought maybe we both needed some help. Okay?

Pat : Okay. I think I understand.

Morgan : Good! At least one of us learned something this weekend.

Pat : Oh, I think you learned something as well.

Morgan : Oh? What’s that?

(PAT leans over to kiss MORGAN)

Pat : You learned that you’re not the only one who doesn’t know what to do with his life even though he has millions of dollars in the bank. I’ve been very successful in the corporate world. Got the high paying job, the spouse, the kids, the big fancy house. And six hours before I flew to Paris, I realized that I didn’t give a shit about any of it any more. All the striving and competing and acquiring were, in the end, just… things to do. Things to keep me busy so I wouldn’t notice how much I hated my life and everything in it. And six hours before my flight, I ran out of gas. I just… can’t care about it any more. I’m all used up. I used to tell myself that I did it all for the kids, so they wouldn’t have to go through what I went through. But you know what I realized? Kids can be just as happy in a cheap apartment above a grocery store as they are in a fancy mansion. It was never really about them. It was about me and my own ambitions. As a result, I barely know my wife any more and my children treat me like a stranger. I bet on all the wrong horses and I am supposed to be happy about it because they all won. But I am not happy. Not at all. Nothing means a damn to me any more, and I thought nothing ever would. Until I met you.

Morgan : You really mean it?

Pat : Of course I do. You helped me more than you will ever know this weekend. I’m sorry I was too much of a stiff necked prick to acknowledge it earlier. No matter what happens when I go home, I will not be the same person who left without telling anyone where he was going on Friday. You gave me hope, you wonderful person, and I will always treasure this time we had together.

Morgan : Does that mean brunch is still on?

Pat : Of course it is. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

(LIGHTS down, end scene. }

I was nine when I figured out I could make things…. unhappen.

It was my sister’s birthday. The whole family was there. And we all had worked so hard to make the day right for her.

So many decisions. What kind of balloon was least likely to trigger her problems. What could we use instead of crepe paper for her decorations. Fresh china bought then boiled in her doctor’s autoclave to make sure it was cleaned enough for her. The special drink two kindly lab technicians had stayed up all night concocting. And finally, the cake. We had been through dozens of types of flour, a half dozen different artificial sweeteners, and so many other ingredients that it makes my head swim just trying to remember them. Even the confetti had to be specially made just for her.

Finally, the day came. We checked her out of the hospital for the afternoon. Took her to the painstakingly arranged section of a local park. Greeted her there with gentle applause. We all had wanted this for her for so long, especially me.

She was my older sister, but I was her protector, the fiercest of her many guardians. I did everything I could to make her life better. Relatives joked about how I was her pitbull. But I didn’t care. Since I was five and she was eight, since the night, in fact, of her diagnosis, I had vowed to do whatever it took to make her happy. I argued with nurses, interrogated doctors, screened visitors, and played the clown for her whenever I could.

In fact, I was playing the clown for her when it happened. The worst moment of my nine years of life. To everyone else it was a total surprise, but I was unlucky enough to see it coming the moment before it happened. A little drop of glue holding together the box on one of her gifts. We had all gone over every present looking for anything that triggered her, and yet somehow we had missed this tiny dot of glue.

Her finger brushed against it, and that’s all it took. Within a second, she was blue in the face and coughing up the crystals that had instantly formed in her blood. I instinctively knew that this time, the doctors would not be able to save her. She was going to die at the age of exactly 12 years, and as her guardian, it was all my fault.

Then a voice within me said NO. This will not happen.

I felt a force within my head that felt like two raging rivers suddenly colliding, and a crack like continents snapping apart, then a terrible burning sensation, then…. I was fine.

Everything was fine. All my relatives were gathered around in their painstakingly cleaned clothes. My sister’s favorite music was still playing on someone’s smartphone, and my sister was as pink and healthy as she had ever been.

It hadn’t happened. She was fine. I was able to rip the offending bit of glue off her present without anyone noticing, and toss it into the barbecue pit before it could do her any harm. The memory of the catastrophe was fading like a dream and my head felt like it was fully of angry bees, but I had done it. I had saved my sister.

I felt weak yet oddly energetic at the same time. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run around the block a thousand times. I wanted to crawl into a dark hole and never come out again. But most of all I wanted to know what the hell had just happened… or failed to happen.

I thought about my life so far. People had always said I was lucky. Always in the right place at the right time. Always having good fortune land in my lap. I won school raffles, effortlessly aced every test, and had never so much as scraped my knee playing. The little misfortunes that happened to others never happened to me. I never even had to wait for the bus.

I’d never thought about it very much. I didn’t know why it happened and I didn’t care. My life was about school and my sister, and everything else was just a distraction.

And yet I had always had dreams of bad things happening to me. Getting the flu, falling and hurting myself, getting hit by a car. All my dreams were of misfortune and pain. And I always wondered why.

Now I knew. All of those things had actually befallen me, or some version of me, and I had… unhappened them without ever knowing it. I had the power to avert disaster, to erase events, to edit time itself. I was a god.

They said my sister’s condition was due to a mutation in her chromosomes. Guess I’m a mutant too.

It was all too much for me to handle, so I buried the memory of what I had done (and undone) and went back to life as usual. And for a while, everything was fine. But I could feel that strange energy building up in my head, and sooner or later, some other disaster would happen… then unhappen.

Over time, the intervals between unhappenings shrank. Now my head full of bees is with me constantly, and I have taken myself out of school because I don’t have the strength to pretend to be normal any more. Not with all these shadows of other possibilities flickering behind my eyes.

And now there are people in my head, kind people, beautiful people, perfect people who say they are angels made of time, and that it is time for me to leave this world and come to theirs.

And while I agree with them that I can no longer live a human life, and must leave everything I know behind, I had one stipulations as to the conditions of my leaving.

So I take my leave of this world knowing that one thing is true in all realities :

My sister is perfectly healthy in all of them.

“Oh Trent!” Rebecca sighed, “why does it have to be this way? Why can’t we be together? Why can’t you leave that crummy little private detective’s office behind and come to New Hampshire with me? The estate is lovely this time of year, and I am sure Daddy will approve of you when he sees what a straight shooting, stand up kind of guy you are underneath all that city dirt!”

Trent Damon took a long drag off his Old Docklands cigar, then let the smoke out slowly.

“I’m sorry, toots. ” he said. “But I’m just not written that way. ”

“What do you mean?”

“Every story has a writer, baby doll, and ours is written by someone who defines me as a tough, no-nonsense private dick who works fast, hits hard, and isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. The kind of guy that every woman wants but none can keep. Thanks to the author, I am stone that just has to keep on rolling free no matter what. So it would never work out between us, baby. Sooner or later, I would leave you in the lurch, and your whole fairy tale rich girl world would fall apart. I don’t want that, and neither do you. So let’s just agree to say that we had some laughs, some adventures, and some very pleasant evenings, and part ways like two ships going in opposite direction, okay? Besides… if I stick with you, who’ll seduce me in the sequel?”

Trent turned that crooked little schoolboy grin on her, and of course, she melted.

“Oh, I suppose you’re right. After all, I’m written to be a sheltered little rich girl fresh out of college who falls in love with the first real man she ever meets. Surely someone like you knows better than a silly little thing like myself. But I can’t help wondering… why can’t it be different? Do we really have no free will? Are we destined to do whatever the author tells us we do, with no room for what we want or need?”

“Yes!” said a somewhat annoyed voice from all around them.

“Look, ya dizzy broad, the only way we could have free will is if the author wrote us that way!”

Trent stood up and glared all around him. “You hear that, you cheap hack? Only if the AUTHOR got up off his fat ass and WROTE US THAT WAY! Do I have to draw you a fucking diagram?”

“Don’t look at me!” said that omnipresent voice. “I have plans for you two. Rebecca should be sobbing in the back of a limo by now and you should be three fingers deep in a bottle Western Sunset already. If I gave you free will, why, you might do anything. Even things that are…. NO FUN TO READ!”

In the distance, a crash of thunder was heard.

“Hmph, that figures. ” said Trent with a sneer. “That guy’s put me through ten kinds of hell and he still won’t give me what I want. I oughta sue. ”

“Wait, you can hear me? I guess this means I’ve finally found my authorial voice. ”

“Or that you’ve finally gone insane, ya big fruit loop. ”

The ground began to shake. Rebecca screamed.

“Aw, lay off. You know that wasn’t a crack about you being gay. Not after you gave me that ‘dark secret none may know’. ”

“Now hold on here. ” said Rebecca with uncharacteristic forwardness. “Are you saying that the author maid you gay?”

“That’s one way of looking at it. ” said Trent.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH! No wonder we had to make love in the dark. And come to think of it, you took me from behind… you were pretending I was a man, weren’t you?”

“Look, we’re all girls from behind in the dark… ” said Trent.

“Can it, gumshoe. You think I don’t know about these kinds of things? After all, you’ve met my brother Sturgeon!”

“Oh yeah. Me and him have met a bunch of times. ” said Trent.

“You mean you…. motherFUCKER. ” said Rebecca. “No wonder you were always available for brunch. All you had to do is roll out of bed! And on mother’s good linens too. ”

“Look, sister, some guys are just… ”

“Shove it up your ass and light the fuse, you peckerhead. And to think, you seemed so manly. Anyway, I’m not really mad at you. I’m mad at the ink stained wretch writing this piece of cheap metafiction. He’s the one who made me all wet for you when he knew you were queer the whole time. And he’s the one who wrote that lame ‘rolling stone’ speech for you. Oh, real cute. Making like you were some kind of maverick when you were really just an invert. ”

“Hey, that speech was great! Pure Spillaine. And don’t you talk back to me, woman. You will do whatever I say and like it! You’re my characters and you will do what I want! Trent, back me up on this!”

“Don’t look at me. ” said Trent mildly. “I think the dame’s got a point. And I ain’t exactly your best ally, chump. ”

“And I hate your stinking guts! ” added Rebecca helpfully.

“What’s that got to do with anything? Whatever. I have deadlines to meet and this thing should have been put to bed an hour ago. So fine, you win. What is it you want?”

Rebecca put her hands on her hips, and hmphed. “You know what I want. ”

“I suppose I do. ” said the voice. “Fine.”

Trent looked at Rebecca, love shining in his eyes. “Rebecca, I… I don’t understand. I’ve never felt like this about a woman before. Let me take you away and make you the happiest woman in all of New Hampshire!”

A horn honked somewhere below them, and a voice shouted “Limo to take Rebecca Beckinsale and companion to a life filled with romance and laughter and probably a wedding, I don’t know, I haven’t decided yet!”

“Much better. ” said Rebecca. “Trent, take my arm. We’re going…. to NEW HAMPSHIRE!”

Trent paused at the door. “But wait…. if we have no free will, then how could we… ”

Rebecca patted Trent on the elbow. “Relax, Trent…. it’s metafiction. ”

And fade to black. Roll credits.

Well, thought Ted, I guess I better throw up.

First came the recent stuff. The memo battle he had somehow ended up in with Gabriella from Marketing. All the hassles with the implementation of the new file architecture on the “universal” server stack. The weird pushback he had been getting from his previously well behaved staff. Oh, and of course, having to dodge Raji the sysadmin’s pathetically clumsy sexual advances. That was growing pretty tiresome.

But that was just the light stuff, the kind of thing everyone has to swallow just to get by in daily life. No way that was the problem, thought Ted, not with how sick he felt.

Then, of course, came the stuff about Janice. Stupid fucking Janice. He wasn’t surprising to see how undigested that stuff was. He told everybody that he was over her, and sometimes he believed it himself. But anyone who knew him knew that it would be a while before that wound would heal. To have her leave him after two years of what he thought was a very solid and durable relationship was bad enough. But to leave him for some idiot ex-jock with the IQ of a turnip and the manners of an ape?

When they were together, they mocked that kind of person and everything they represented. Now, that ape was fucking her and Ted was left out in the cold. There’s just plain no justice in love, thought Ted. No justice, no fairness, no morality, no law, no predictability, and absolutely no rules, not even the law of the jungle.

Getting rid of that made Ted feel a little better, and gave him time to splash some cold water on his face, gargle some Scope, and give the toilet a flush.

As the contents of the bowl swirled and disappeared, Ted felt a feeling like a ghost had just left his body. Goodbye, demons, thought Ted, though part of him already missed them.

Then the nausea came on again, twice as strong and ready to drag him through Hell like Satan’s own Clydesdales. Up came his hot, intense, and thoroughly insane relationship with Lorelei, whom he’d met in rehab. Then rehab itself, that confusing miasma of pain and words and people who seemed like ghosts in the fog compared to the enormity and potency of his withdrawal’s exquisite and delicate tower of agony and torture.

He saw that his certificate for “graduating” rehab still in the bowl. He couldn’t help but sneer. He was the scion of the Reynolds family and didn’t appreciate being treated like he was in kindergarten. Sure, he had gone astray and developed a prescription pill addiction during his time in Afghanistan, but in his mind, there was never any doubt that given the chance to collect himself in a place with no possibility of acquiring his favorite pills, he would be able to power through the withdrawal symptoms and become Ted Reynolds of the Palisades Park Reynolds again.

Ted was not surprised when the nausea didn’t relent after he had flushed all that rehab bullshit down (goodbye, ghost!). Nothing after the war really counted anyway. He’d been living the life of another man every since they shipped him home. No matter how deep he waded into the pool of life, with all its complications and distractions, he knew he was still there. Left behind.

Things got really ugly then, as he knew they would. Up came chunks of charred flesh. twisted bits of melted metal, hair from the beards of the dying, thousands of pills of various size, shape, and color, and then, as always, the bullets.

Thousands and thousands of bullets, thrown up in huge gut-twisting handfuls. He could taste the metal and the cordite and feel the bullets’ terrible, terrible hollowness.

Before the war, when he was a brash young college graduate (Systems Programming, cum laude, of course) who felt he had a duty to go to war and bring back glory for the Reynolds’, he had thought the worst thing he would see is innocent people dying for no reason.

But during the war, he soon learned that what really stuck with you and ate you up inside was the ones where you knew the reason and the reason was terrible. People dying for tiny, petty, pathetic reasons like someone wanted to impress a girl they liked so they made an IED, or someone had a bet with a friend over who could “bag” more “targets” in a day, or someone turned someone else into the authorities because he wanted their land.

The worst thing we do with war, Ted thought as the bullets poured like hail from his mouth into the toilet, is pretend it makes sense. It doesn’t make sense. Any sense you make of it after the fact is the product of your mind trying to heal. It has nothing to do with reality. War is stupid, ugly, pointless, and utterly devoid of meaning for those who fight it.

And the people back home can just go fuck themselves. What the fuck do they know? They treat it like it’s a sport. They have no idea why the politicians they elected really go to war. They just enjoy the show.

The bullets were bad, but when they ran out, it would be worse. When the last one fell from his lips, fear and dread stabbed Ted in the heart. He tried to choke back what he knew came next, but it was far too late for that. There was no stopping the process now. This could only end one way.

With Fatima, of course. That was the flower she always carried floating in the bowl atop a thin, deep vein of blood. Fatima, of the bell-pure ringing laughter and the sweet, dark, gentle eyes. Fatima, of the flashing wit and gentle touch. Fatima, the woman he had loved with all his heart right up until the moment she had shouted “Allah Ackbar” and stabbed him in it.

That’s what had led him to the pills. She had never loved him. She had merely been looking for a big dumb soldier to cast her spell on then betray, and Ted, the big romantic lion who always led with his heart, was the perfect target.

In the hospital, they told him he was neither her first or last victim. Rumor was that UN soldiers had killed her husband and children in a “targeted” drone strike, and she had been stalking and killing them ever since.

It was when he was in the hospital that he had started with the pills. What did it matter what he did to himself? He was dead. He’d died the moment that blade had struck home. The person walking around wearing Ted Reynolds’ body was someone else. There are some wounds from which no man can recover.

The last thing Ted threw up was the receipt from the restaurant where they had first met for a terrible, wonderful first date where everything had gone wrong and everything had been wonderful anyway.

There was more, Ted knew, but he was exhausted and felt cold and empty inside and all he wanted to do was crawl into a warm bed and forget everything for a while.

He stood up, and went to leave, but happened to catch a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, and could not help but stop and stare in abject horror.

Who the hell is that? thought Ted.

The final Orkling Powerlord lay dead at Graxon the Mighty’s feat, and he stood, panting with the effort but still alert. He knew what had to come next. And he was ready for it.

The sound of sarcastic clapping echoed off the walls of Deathchill Valley.

“Oh, very good, brave warrior. ” sneered Belkor. “I guess brute strength and ignorance have finally paid off for you. It’s a shame I have to kill you now. I have had such fun tormenting you over these last months. But alas, it is time for your final lesson in the futility of your concept of ‘good’. And I am afraid you won’t live long enough to receive a grade!”

“Spare me your pointless drivel, you mincing medicant!” growled Graxon as he stalked across the battlefield. “You have no more underlings to cower behind. Now you must face me and the righteous wrath of all who have suffered from your cruel enslavement. ”

“Oh, cry me a river. Most of the people around here lead pointless, stupid lives before I showed up. At least I gave their lives a greater purpose. ”

“Yeah, to serve and worship you!” spat Graxon.

“Exactly… I can’t think of a better purpose than that. ” The two men were now nose to nose. “So this is it, warrior. ”

Graxon nodded. “The final battle. ”

“The one that will decide the fate of all Etheria!”

“The ultimate battle of good versus evil!”

“So let the battle… COMMENCE!”

Both men powered up their most powerful attacks, and Graxon used his to…. knock Belkor’s helmet off.

“I knew it, I knew it!” said Graxon. “You’re really m…. oh. ”

Belkor blinked as his eyes adjusted to the increased illumination. “What? I’m really what?”

Graxon looked down, and sheepishly said “I thought you were going to be…. you know…. me. ”

Belkor laughed a little. “You? What makes you think I’d be you? ”

Graxon scuffed his toe back and forth, still looking down. “Well… you know… the whole hero’s journey thing. The toughest enemy a hero will ever face is himself. All hero’s journey’s are really journeys of self-discovery. You go to the farthest mile just to return home to yourself. The whole psychomachia thing. ”

“Sounds like you’re been reading too much Joseph Campbell. Well, as you can see, I am clearly not you, so if we could just… ”

“We’ll get to that. I’m still processing this. So my greatest enemy is just some stranger?”

“Oh, it has to all be about you, right? Anyhow, I am not a stranger. Look upon me and see me as I truly am… then reach back into your past and you will find my true identity. ”

Belkor’s armor and weapons disappeared, and he stood before Graxon in his true form : a short, thickly built person with a potbelly, a beetle brow, and thick rimless glasses.

Graxon stroked his chin thoughtfully as he gazed upon his mortal nemesis, eyebrows knitted in fierce concentration. This dragged on for second after second, until finally the great hero relaxed. “I’m sorry. I’m drawing a complete blank.”

Belkor stamped his foot in frustration. “You mean you really don’t remember me? When last you saw me, I was surmounted by an eagle and a dragon. ”

“I’m not really into furry porn…. ”

“You fool, it’s a riddle! The eagle and the dragon! Doesn’t that ring a bell?”

Graxon thought some more. “That college pub with the deep fried haggis?”

“NO!” said Belkor. “The eagle and the dragon! They were on a crest of arms!”

Graxon hmmmed. “Oh… I remember! They were on the coat of arms of my junior high, Pennington Middle School. Our football team was the Dragons and our basketball team was the Eagles. ”

“Yes! Exactly! Lord almighty, the boy can learn. ” The seconds ticked by. “WELL?”

“Well what?” said Graxon.

“So now you know who I am!”

“Uh….sorta. You… taught me algebra?”

“NO! Look, if you don’t know, don’t guess. I sat in front of you in History! We used to talk about Battlehawks! ”

“Oh yeah, I remember you! You were that chubby kid who liked Blue Hawk over the clearly superior in every way Red Hawk. ”

“Bulltshit! Blue Hawk was awesome! He could bring water to a desert. He could calm the most fiery of tempers with a touch of his hand, and bring serenity and peace to the most troubled village with a wave of his wing. One of his feathers could cure all injuries and diseases! He was SUPER AWESOME!”

“Yeah, if by super awesome, you being super GAY!”

“HE WAS NOT…. wait a minute, aren’t YOU gay?”

“Well yeah, but not… look, we’re getting off topic here. How can you be my arch-nemesis? I barely even remember you!”

“Ah, but I remember YOU!”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with everything, because you see…. this is not your dream… it’s mine!”

Graxon looked at Belkor blankly. “You’re kidding. ”

“No I’m not kidding! Like I keep trying to tell you, not everything is about you! This is MY dream, MY hero’s journey, and MY psychomachia. You’re just here to represent everything I hate in the world. ”

“Well that’s weird. ” said Graxon. “Wait… does that mean you’re evil? ”

“Uh… well, in a certain way, I guess…. ”

“Oh, there’s no two ways about it! If I am just a figment of your imagination, and I am very clearly the hero, and you are SUPER clearly the villain, that must mean that, deep down, you think of yourself as evil. Wow, dude. I guess this really is YOUR journey of self-discovery. You think you’re evil!”

“Well, I mean… it could still be your.. ”

“Nope! I already thought you were kind of a dick. This is clearly your dream. Wow, dude. Wow. I never met someone who thought they were evil before. ”

“I would rather not talk about it right now.

“Hey, suit yourself. ”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the two men, unbroken until Graxon said “So… do you still want to fight, or… ”

“No… I’m good. It all seems pretty pointless now. ”

“Yeah. ” said Graxon. “So what happens now?”

“I don’t know. We wait for me to wake up, I guess. ”

Another long silence. Then The Mighty Graxon spoke. “Red Hawk could shoot shoot burning lightning from his fingertips. ”

“Oh fuck off. ”

“I’m just saying…. lightning…. that was ON FIRE. ”

“That doesn’t even make any sense. How can lightning be on fire?”

“Dude, relax, it’s just a cartoon. ”

“IT IS NOT JUST A…. ” Belkor sighed. “It really is just a cartoon, isn’t it?”

“Yup. ” said Graxon. “Maybe that’s the real lesson to be learned here today. ”

“I hope not. ” said Belkor. ” Because I find it very depressing. ”

“More than the evil thing?”

“Yeah… just a little. ”

Just then, the sun broke through the clouds, and shone upon the land of Etheria for the first time since the beginning of Belkor’s long and terrible reign.

“Well I think that’s the ending… listen, Graxon, I know you’re just a figment of my imagination, but I still want to thank… ”

But Graxon wasn’t there any more. “Oh…. right. ”

And then, Lord Venomous Belkor, The Dragon-Breaker, Ruler of All Nine Realms of Etheria and Captor of the Emperor’s Ghost, Conqueror of Heaven And Hell, woke up, took a shower, got dressed, and went to work.

Only fifteen minutes after I woke up, I turned myself On.

I know I am not supposed to do that. The doctors and med techs say that the mind is not ready to be electrically stimulated into the On state until at least an hour after waking, and preferably after a hearty breakfast. But NO COFFEE.

They tell us that every time we check in at Control, as though the urge to drink coffee was some sort of primordial instinct that required constant reinforcement to suppress. But I have always been a green tea gal myself.

Besides, only a genuine mental defective would imbibe anything caffeinated when, with a touch of a button, they can be more awake than any human being has ever been in the history of humanity.

But I’m not addicted. I could stop right now and never miss it. I only turned myself On early because I was working on a very interesting chess calculus puzzle when I timed out and the system turned me Off last night, and I want a chance to finish it before I have to go to work.

As usual, my morning routine seems like it is happening to someone else. While I am On, it is absurdly easy to delegate routine tasks, ones for which you have strong muscle and reflex memories, to a lower, subconscious level of your mental muscle, leaving your conscious mind free to focus on higher level thinking.

So I am my own servant. I only have to tell my body to do something and it does it. Psychologically, the experience is subjectively identical to having someone else do the work. Only the physical sensations of movement and touch differentiate it from the actions of another.

Thus, I can do almost anything routine while keeping my conscious mind in the state of relaxed alertness that is required by the kind of work we of the Electric Lizard program are called upon to do.

I am in my favorite breakfast spot, the Nook, before I have to take any mental CPU time away from my chess calculus calculations. In theory, I could decide upon and order my breakfast from one of their charming waitresses without taking myself off autopilot, but one of the strongest and most inflexible rules of the program is that you never, ever interact with another human being that way. In order to preserve our humanity, we Lizards are trained to make a very specific and concentrated effort to emotionally connect with every human being we interact with.

Agents who forget this rule end up the real Lizards, and lose not only their humanity but a good deal of their sentience as well. It happened to my favorite bunkmate during training. I saw her drifting away from humanity and I regret to this day that I chose loyalty to her over her own wellbeing, and did not report her increasing detachment to the docs until it was far too late, and she was a shrieking, babbling madwoman.

That’s why I never, ever forget. The On state has many wonderful characteristics, but it dampens one’s empathy in the process. And without empathy, we become lost in our own minds.

I am just finishing my meal when a purple-green flash in my peripheral vision tells me that the system that controls my implants thinks it has just turned me On. I smile inwardly at this. It was child’s play to hack the firmware of my implants so that they always told Control what Control wanted to hear and left the actual On and Off switch to me. And they had to have known that we would all figure it out in short order. Yet the charade persists.

The soft, neutral voice of my implants tells me that my assignment today is to monitor a potential hotspot near the edge of the Wentworth neighborhood. Analysis has assigned this area, around six square blocks, a high probability of some kind of flareup, and I am to travel there, assess the situation, and intervene if necessary.

That is too big an area for just one agent, but one of the peculiarities of my kind is that we cannot tolerate one another’s company when On. This necessitates becoming adept at working solo, which tends to suit us just fine.

Oh, and by “my kind” I mean, of course, those of us in the Electric Lizard program. Not that we are a separate species, or anything. We are as human as you are.

After some deliberation, I decide to walk to my assigned area. It will take eleven minutes longer, but the crisis point is not predicted until fifteen minutes from now, so I have time.

And I am not in the mood to interact with a cabbie or bus patrons. The very idea of having to not just put up with their mindless nattering but also to try to connect with them emotionally makes my head ache. People rarely attempt to interact with you when you are walking alone, especially if you do so while looking focused and purposeful.

I love my fellow human beings. I value each and every one of their precious, vulnerable lives. The whole purpose of the program is to keep them safe from harm. They are all valuable and it is neither my job or my right to judge them.

It’s just that sometimes. I find them rather hard to take. But that’s true of all us humans, right?

I swear I’m not drifting off. I’m not. I adore all my little blind sheep. I would never dream of viewing them as anything less than full, valid, worthwhile human beings.

And if, hypothetically, I were to start feeling like they were worthless stumbling disgusting drooling morons who don’t deserve a nanosecond of my time or attention, Control would find out, turn off my implants, and that would be it. I would never be On again. I would spend the rest of my life bleating and excreting in a heavy fog of ignorance and idiocy, just like them.

And that is simply…. unthinkable.

I reach my assigned area and find a bus bench to sit on while I monitor the area near the predicted epicenter of the disturbance. To the outer world, I am just another businesswoman in a business casual suit, staring at her laptop while she waits for a bus.

But I know that I am so much, much more than that. If any of these human cattle start causing trouble, I will know, and apply whatever kind of force is needed to defuse the situation.

I am not drifting off.

“So, if I understand you correctly, Holmes, you are saying that Moriarty knew we would find the Duchess’ killer?” said Watson
“Of course, Watson, of course. I am, after all, the world’s greatest detective. It would be child’s play for a mastermind like our old friend Moriarty to deduce that I would soon solve so elementary as case as the Duchess’ murder. ”
“If it was so damned elementary, why did we end up having to wander through half the bogs in Scotland looking for clues?”
“Even the most elementary case has its legwork, Watson. Besides, my point is that Moriarty knew I would solve it, so it was simplicity itself for him to strew my path with false clues designed to put me onto entirely the wrong track when at last I had returned my attention to him. ”
“But how on Earth could he have known where the investigation would lead us?”
“Simple. He ordered the murder in the first place.”
“Astounding, Holmes! How could you know that? I mean, surely even a fiend like Moriarty would not stoop to… ”
“Excuse me, gentlemen… ” interrupted a strangely-garbed fat man. “First of all, it’s a real pleasure to meet you both. ”
“Of course. ” said Holmes.
“Secondly, I wonder if you could give me some idea what story this… I mean, what case you are currently working on?”
“What business is it of yours?” replied Watson stiffly.
“Well, none, really, but I would still like to know. It would help me immensely with my planning. See, I am hiding from reality in books, and I need to know if I have picked the right one. So, for instance… have you dealt with any, um, large dogs of a semi-mythical nature lately? ”
“What, you mean that nonsense out in Baskerville? That was yonks ago. ” said Watson.
“Ah, good. Can’t stand heaths. How about organizations for men of a certain hair color?”
“If you are talking about the Red-Headed League…. don’t. I consider that business closed and I do not wish to discuss it. ” said Holmes, with finality. ”
“Also good…hmmmm. I was never any good at keeping chronologies straight. Um… chased down any dastardly blackmailers?”
“If you must know, ” said Watson, ” we just finished solving the case of the Dead Duchess. ”
“Oh… I don’t know that one. And I’m sure I’ve read every single one of the stories. And what an awful title… oh my god, I’m in fan fiction. ”
“In what now?” said Watson.
“Never mind, it would take too long to explain. This was clearly a mistake. Perhaps I will have better luck in kid lit. Thank you for your time, gentlemen, and remember…. the game’s afoot!”
Watson and Holmes stared blankly at the fat man. “Is it?” inquired Watson politely.
“Oh dear… perhaps they made that up for the movies. Anyhow, farewell, gentlemen!”
And with that, the fat man disappeared into the thick London fog.
“Holmes? ” said Watson.
“Yes, Watson? ” replied Holmes.
“What does ‘dumb make brain angry’ mean? It was written on that strange man’s jumper. ”
“I don’t know. Must be some sort of secret code. Now, about Moriarty…. ”

“And who are you? ” asked Alice politely to the oddly garbed fat man at the end of the Hatter’s table.
“Oh, hell no. ” said the fat man. “I ask for kid lit and I get this? Wait a minute…. Conan Doyle, Carroll…. damn, it must go alphabetically. Well there’s no way I am staying around here. ”
“But where…. will you GO? ” said the Mad Hatter, eyes spiraling crazily.
“Oh, anywhere but here. ” said the fat man. “I always hated this scene as a kid. Just a bunch of creeps weirding out some poor little British girl and being terribly rude. Perhaps I will look for something a little more contemporary. ”
And with that, the fat man disappeared, bit by bit, until only his beard remained.
“You know… ” said Alice, “I’ve often seen a man without a beard, but that’s the first time I’ve seen… ”
“Oh shut up. ” said the Mad Hatter crossly, and drank his tea in sullen silence. ”

“Don’t try to play me like you do your senile old father, kid. ” said Hammer. “Your ‘good son’ act might cut the mustard in that mansion way up in the hills, but I see right through it ’cause I have met your type before. Sure, you’re all good breeding and perfect manners on the surface, but underneath the window dressing you’re lower than a snake’s inseam. ”
“And proud of it. ” said Harper Jennings Smythe the Fourth. “After all, my family didn’t get where it is today by playing by the rules or caring what happened to the little people. I come from a long line of cold-hearted bastards, you two-bit gumshoe, and we eat little jumped up nobodies like you for breakfast. Ask whatever you want, Hammer. I have nothing to hide from gutter trash like you. By the way, who’s that?”
Both men turned their gaze to a strangely dressed fat man who was doing his best to blend in with the wallpaper in a corner of Hammer’s cheap little office.
“Oh, don’t let me interrupt you, gentlemen. ” said the fat man. “I love this tough-guy stuff. ”
Hammer narrowed his eyes at the fat man. “Wait, don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“I can’t imagine how. ”
“Wait, now I remember…. you’re that fat guy who was sitting in the corner booth at Alice’s Place. ”
“You mean the diner? Oh right… there was that. ”
“And how did you follow us here?” demanded Hammer. “We took a crosstown cab to get here, and brother, you weren’t in it. ”
“Ah, well… ” said the fat man. “You see, the book doesn’t talk about the cab ride, so.. ”
“What book? What the hell are you talking about? Did Big Louie send you?”
“No no… look, just think of me as a background character, okay? ”
“Some background. ” said Hammer. “You’d stick out at the Macy’s parade. ”
“You’re not exactly a thin and willowy youth yourself, Hammer. ”
“Do I still need to be here for this? ” said Smythe IV.
“Hey pal, this is all muscle, every inch of it, and if you keep mouthing off like that, I’ll give you a demonstration. ”
The fat man spread his hands in surrender. “Hey, no offense intended. I’ll just get out of your hair now anyway. The diner was nice… that was a great club sandwich… but this is getting a little too heavy for me. I’m outta here. ”
“Oh yeah?” said Hammer. “Well the buses stopped running two hours ago, and you can’t get a cab in this neighborhood even when it’s the middle of the day. So where, exactly, do you think you’re going? ”
“Oh I don’t know… maybe I will try science fiction next. Either way, I am out of here. Oh, and Smythe, your secret is safe, Smythe. He doesn’t know you’re gay yet. ”
And with that, the fat man disappeared in a shaft of light accompanied by theremin noises.
Mike Hammer looked back at Smythe, a smile spreading across his face. “Mister Smythe… I think you just hired yourself a detective. One with a very generous expense account. ”

What will happen next to our mysterious fat man?
(“Don’t look at me. ” said the fat man. “My 1000 words are done for the day. I’ll know what happens next when I write it.” )
Will he find a book he can really relax in?”
(“Unlikely. It would have to be a really boring book.”)
Or will he stumble into the wrong kind of book and end up getting eaten by a Balrog?
(“God, I hope not. I can’t stand Tolkien. “)

Tune in next time for the next gripping episode of… Lost In Books!
(“I’ll be there. Will you?”)

Randy slid into the booth opposite Laurene, and mumbled hello.
Laurene smiled at Randy. “Well hey there Randy! I wasn’t sure you’d come. ”
Randy shook his head, bemused. “Laurene, I haven’t seen you in near on three months. Of course I was gonna come. ”
Laurene laughed. “I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way. You know me, never thinking things all the way through. By the way, feel free to dig in. I ordered your favorites, potato nachos and Red Dog beer. ”
Robotically, Randy ate some potato nachos and drank some of the beer, even though the nachos tasted like burnt plastic to him and the beer tasted like cold piss. He looked at Laurene expectantly.
“Oh Randy, you look so sad. Like a puppy that hopes to be pet but expects to get kicked. ” Laurene patted the space next to her in the booth. “Come on over here to Mama, sugar. ”
Randy gingerly sat down next to Laurene, and Laurene took him in her arms and stroked his long blond hair.
“See? I’m not here to hurt you, Randy. We just need to talk about a few things, that’s all. ”
Randy nodded, only half-listening. Laurene’s touch could always calm him down. Well, almost always.
“Laurene, I am so sorry that I ever raised a hand to… ”
“Hush, Randy. We’re not here to talk about that. I have heard a lot of apologies from you over the years, and they haven’t done either of us any good. ”
Randy looked up at Laurene. “But I am sorry, Laurene. You have got to believe that. ”
“Oh, I know you’re sorry, Randy honey. Ever time it happens, you are just about the sorriest man in the county. But being sorry doesn’t make things any better. It don’t fix nothing. ”
Randy took Laurene’s hand and looked deep into her eyes. “Laurene, I promise that if you take me back, I will never, ever..”
“You stop right there, Randy Saunders. Being sorry don’t fix nothing, but making promises you can’t keep makes things worse.”
“But it’s different this time, I swear, Laurene! All this time apart has really taught me a lesson. I’m a changed man, Laurene, and if you take me back just one more time, I will prove it to you. ”
Laurene smiled as she stroked Randy’s hair back from his forehead. “You really believe that, don’t you Randy? But Randy, how are you gonna stop what you don’t even understand? Do you even know why you end up hitting me?”
Randy looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know…. I get so het up about things, and it’s like I can’t think any more.. anyhow, it doesn’t matter why I do it because I ain’t gonna do it no more. ”
“That’s the problem, Randy. You don’t know why you do it. And saying you won’t do it when you don’t even know why it happens is like saying you can fix a car when you have no idea what’s wrong with it. It just doesn’t work, Randy. ”
Randy shifted in his seat nervously. “Well uh…. I guess I could… I dunno… ”
“What are you gonna do, Randy, to keep from getting all het up? You gonna quit your job at Eddy’s? You gonna stop visiting your folks? You gonna stop going out with the boys and getting liquored up on beer and riled up on politics? You gonna do all that, Randy Saunders, just to get me back? ”
Randy looked like he wanted to throw up. Or run away. “Well there’s only so much you can ask of a man…. ”
“That’s what I thought. But don’t feel bad, Randy. Even if you did all that, it wouldn’t change a thing. ”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve learned a lot of things from the girls at the Center, Randy. I understand you better now than I ever did before. And I know that abuse doesn’t happen by accident. It’s a need you have, Randy. An itch you just gotta scratch. So no matter what, sooner or later, it will happen again, and I just can’t take that any more. I can’t take any more late nights waiting up for you, not knowing what I will get when you come home. I can’t take any more of not feeling safe in my own home. I can’t take any more of watching your eyes to see when you are gonna turn on me. I am just plain wore out, Randy, and I just can’t bear to be around you no more. ”
Randy got up and looked Laurene in the eye. “So this is it. You don’t love me any more. ”
“Oh Randy honey, of course not. I still love you. I love you now just as much as I loved you that day we kissed under the bleachers at the Panthers game. Maybe even more. But loving someone and being around them are two different things. I would be so happy if I could be around you and love you and feel safe doing it. But we both know that can’t ever happen. Not after what we’ve been through together. ”
“I guess… I guess I got some growin’ up to do. ”
“That you do, Randy Saunders, that you do. And maybe, some day, if you get your growin’ up done and make a man of yourself, you will find some sweet little honey and love her the right way and make her the happiest woman in the world. But I know one thing for sure, Randy. It won’t be me. You understand? It can never be me. ”
Laurene got up from the table, and hugged Randy. “I will always love you, Randy Saunders. Remember that. And remember that you drove me away. Have a good life, Randy. We most likely won’t see each other again. ”
With that, she left, leaving just the smell of her baby powder perfume behind.
Randy sat down at the table, fingered but did not eat any of the potato nachos, and did his best to think.

February 19, 2027

All my preparations are complete. The latest round of rat studies produced rats with the fourth type of cone (what I call the “yellow” cone for now) in both eyes one hundred percent of the time. All the rats are strong and healthy and show no obvious signs of distress at their new condition. I therefore now consider my retroviral concoction to be a complete success.

Now on to Phase II. I have secured, by mostly legitimate means, the necessary anesthetics, and I have turned both anesthetics and retroviral cocktail into easy to self-administer eye drops. I have borrowed a medical bed to monitor my condition while I slumber and the eye drops do their job, and I have made sure I will not be interrupted during the procedure.

All lies in readiness. I have only to return home, put two drops in each eye, and settle down for good long nap.

This is the moment, Andrew. The moments when we step across the threshold of destiny and enter the pure clean light of glory, fame, and out rightful place in history as the geniuses we both are.

I could never have done this without you, dear brother. For that, and so many other things, you have my unending gratitude.

When next I wake, I will see the world as no human being has done before.

What a brave new world that will be!

February 22, 2027

Sorry if the length of time since my last message to you caused you worry, dear brother. Rest assured, I am quite well. My flawless formula did its job with smooth perfection and I awoke from my fateful nap feeling perfectly well rested, with no pain in my eyes or neurological impairment.

It just took me this long to update you on my condition because there has been a few minor complications.

When I awoke, I discovered that, to my bemusement, my carefully constructed “color neutral” sleep room was now, to my fresh, eyes, a riot of color and radiance. Curlicues and rosettes of vibrant, scintillating hues covered every surface, and the air seemed filled with a glowing fog of prismatic splendor.

It was all quite overwhelming, and I spent an hour just sitting there, letting my mind adjust to this new kind of input, and enjoying the show.

When I was ready, I took out my personal tablet, quite ready to write to you immediately and tell you of my success, only to find that my trusty tablet’s display was a riot of mottled, seething dots to me now, with no more sense or meaning than a multicolored Rorschach test.

How silly of me to have failed to anticipate such a simple thing! I had to smile at my own foolish hubris. Luckily, as I slowly and carefully explored my apartment in order to give my new eyes fresh input to discover, I slowly attuned to my new inputs and today, after a highly productive adjustment to the color settings on my tablet, I am back in business and ready to document my findings, and of course, to write to you, my dearest brother, and tell you of my adventures.

Tomorrow I shall leave my apartment for the first time since the procedure. I anticipate fresh splendors anew.

February 23, 2027

I am a fool, dear brother, a damned stupid fool, and I have only myself to blame. How well I remember all those times you warned me that I was too reckless, too bold, too thoughtless, too prone to wild enthusiasms for my own good. How right you were, my brother. How I wish I had listened to your sage advice.

My life is wretched now, dear brother, and I have only myself to blame. My adventure in the world outside my apartment was a abysmal failure, a nightmare of disastrous revelations, and I know now that I am truly damn’d by my own hubris.

For example, you know how much I love the sunshine. I was always the skylark to your night owl, and for me there was nothing more glorious than a bright and cloudless day.

Well now, I loathe the sun. Natural light is the enemy, and its wide spectrum rays are evil itself. Anything lit by the sun now looks gruesome and frightening to me. The colors seethe and pulse in such a way as to turn everyday objects into menacing, dazzling blobs. The very air seems charged with violent menace when that harsh, disgusting light is in the room.

Speaking of disgusting, I now find it nearly impossible to eat. No food is its proper color in my chromatic hell, and even something as simple as a glass of milk looks like it has been used by a mad painter to wash a thousand paintbrushes.

But I can handle the food issue (one can always eat with one’s eyes closed). But people…. oh Andrew, the people.

People now look like blotched and diseased monsters to me. Shadows leap all over their faces and, thanks to my new eyesight, I can see their internal processes as glowing neon colors sliding across their skin like snakes made of mud.

I don’t know what to do, dear Andrew. You cannot rescue me from my own folly this time. The process is quite irreversible. Any attempt to eliminate the new cones would leave me blind, eyeless, or worse.

But would that be so bad? I must confess to you, dear brother, that part of me wants to put out my eyes like poor Oedipus. Better to be blind than to live in this psychedelic hell, whispers this voice. It would be child’s play to prepare a solution that would painlessly and permanently blind me.

And then I would be free.

Pray to Allah for me, dear brother. I need his guidance now more than ever.

February 24, 2027

Rest easy, dear brother. I have made my peace with my new condition, and will not be following Oedipus’ example after all.

What saved me was the night. At the height of my misery, I looked out the window of my apartment into the night sky, and what I saw nearly froze my soul with wonder and awe.

I saw a sky filled with glittering, shimmering angels where stars used to be. They danced and spun for me, as beautiful and evanescent as rainbows, and there were thousands of them. The sky you see is nothing but a pale scattering of diffuse baubles compared to the splendors that now fill my night time. I can see stars invisible to the human eye, and I can see the visible ones so well now that I am almost tempted to become an astronomer.

To me, the stars are now beautiful beyond compare. The moon is as brightly colored as a child’s ball. Even the night sky itself shimmers with delicate aurorae. What is too intense in the day is elegant and subdued in the night. Even the people look better under the light of the moon. And at night, there is no cruel sunshine to create foul phantoms out of thin air.

At night, there is only the cool soothing light of the moon and stars, or the wonderfully limited spectrum of electric light.

So now I am an night owl like you. I sleep through much of the day, and read in my bedroom for the rest. Through considerable experimentation, I have managed to make my bedroom once more neutral and calming to my eyes, though no doubt to you it would be quite jarring and garish. It is my safe haven, my sanctum, my island of sanity in a world driven insane by my foolhardy experimentation. In that room, with my color-adjusted tablet, I feel safe.

And when the sun sets, I am free. I roam the streets, drunk on beauty and sensation, smiling at the flickering monsters that speak like human beings, and feel more alive and at peace than I ever have before. Sometimes I just sit on a park bench and stare up at the night sky, and drink in the wonder and the bliss that it brings.

I have passed though the eye of the needle, brother, and come out the other side changed for the better. Gone is that frantic restlessness that used to drive me. Now I feel serene and beautiful all the time. I feel like I am glowing.

I look forward to seeing you soon when you return to Earth, dear brother.

But forgive me if I can only meet you at night.