u/adforperu

It’s the darkest night since records began and an illuminated box hangs fifteen feet up in the evening’s misty gloom, its radiance divided into four, split by peeling white pine. Inside the box, a television paints the ceiling the hues of the ocean, and then of the forest, and then of fire. A faint drone of sirens, and violence, and smashed glass, and birdsong, and violins, and laughter, bleeds out of the room. Sat on the edge of a bed is you.

I have a letter for you and with your window ajar, I fold it into a crude paper aeroplane and arrow it towards the small opening. It glides for a moment before the wind catches it, flipping it sideways as it flutters and veers off course, disappearing into the night. Another letter, another plane. And another, and another. I fashion paper Spitfires, paper B-52s, paper 747s, paper Lancasters, until I find myself buried waist-deep in a makeshift boneyard of crumpled aircraft. You’re still sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the hair from the bristles of your brush. The television emits a brief flash of yellows and golds that expose the contours of your face.

I yearn to call out to you. I want to scream out but my tongue lays dormant on the floor of my mouth. I attempt to cross the garden toward the house, but my legs are drunk and dizzy. I fumble for my phone, hoping to text you, but the battery dies right there in my palm.

As the film reaches its end, your room is shrouded in darkness. Reflections of the cast and crew scroll up your body, across your face, and dissolve onto the back wall. You reach forward and turn off the television. But darling, please - don’t reach for the light.

And yet, you do, your hand reaching towards the switch, and just as your fingers are inches from the it, you hesitate as something outside snatches your attention. You squint into the abyss and I find myself squinting back.

And then - impossibly - a broad smile blooms across your face and it thrills me. You spring from the bed and push the window wide. your face illuminated by the misty half-moon. Your crimson lips part, ready to speak, your breath moistening in the crisp air, and you say to me:

Is that you, Kev?

Who’s Kev?

“Hey, let’s go in the wave pool” she said.
“What’s a wave pool?” he asked.
“The pool that simulates waves from a rough sea” she replied.
“But why?” he wondered aloud.

They descended the steps into the pool’s shallows, weaving through parents and children, until the water reached up to their shoulders. The collective anticipation seemed to thicken the deeper they went into the pool. The water was still, and everyone fixated on one end, watching and waiting for the fake surge of water to begin. At that moment, a shrill siren pierced the air and everyone braced, stiffening their bodies. The artificial waves were modest at first; everyone bouncing in unison as the water crawled across the pool, lightly smacking against the wall at the shallow end. The artificial waves began to intensify, growing larger and more insistent, crashing with increasing force, until something peculiar happened; the pool began to drain. The waves almost immediately came to a stop, and the water level dropped dramatically until every last drop was swallowed by the machinery. As the last remnants of the water were syphoned away, she remarked “How bizarre!.”

The machine let out a deep, mechanical gurgle before unleashing a towering artificial surge, a monstrous parody of nature, forty metres high. As it approached, she noticed its surreal cargo - artificial sun loungers, artificial lockers, artificial parasols, an artificial hot dog stand, all being carried on its crest. As the artificial wave crashed down upon them, they were both tossed around violently like mere rags in a washing machine. They both squeezed their eyes shut as the force of the water pulled them apart.

When she finally steadied and opened her eyes, she found herself suspended in an endless expanse of cerulean blue. Above her, danced a shoal of artificial sardines, circling, evading the clutches of artificial sea lions. The water around her teemed with synthetic sea creatures; artificial orcas, artificial manta-rays, artificial turtles that populated the blue around her. The lifeless bodies of pool-goers, who had been swept away moments before, drifted by her, split wires protruding from their chests and stomachs. Desperately she fought her way toward the surface, her heart pounding and her lungs burning, and found him there floating on the water, unmoving.

The next two weeks passed in a malaise. Sifting through photographs saved on multiple USB drives. Photographs from trips to Las Vegas and Dubai. Sorry for your loss e-cards flooded her inbox.

At the funeral, he lay in a casket in a church. The vicar spoke in a drone and she could barely make out the words, but he was motioning her to stand. She approached the casket, her footsteps heavy, and bent down beside it, her knees cracking, and instinctively knocked on the side - MDF. She stood and her gaze wandered to the mourners seated in rows, their faces stony and emotionless. She looked back at the casket and thought she might cry, but as she tried to summon her sadness, she realised her sorrow felt performative, almost staged. She had planned to speak of him without reading from notes, but as she looked from face to face she drew a blank, absent of genuine grief. “Crocodile tears” she heard a mourner say.

She took her phone from her pocket and typed beautiful eulogy for a dead husband into ChatGPT, and read the response word-for-word. As her speech came to a close, a sound startled her from outside. The rhythmic grind of machinery overpowered her final thoughts. Unperturbed, the rest of the mourners remained seated, their expressions blank. Stepping outside, she found a digger tearing through artificial turf, hastily preparing the ground for his final resting place. Four robots, reminiscent of those that deliver you miso soup and yakitori in a Japanese restaurant, carried the casket past her and carefully lowered it into the freshly dug earth. The digital displays of each robot flickered, a blink and smile flashing across their screens.

As the casket settled into its new home, she glanced skyward, and with only a thought, turned day into night. She conjured a sudden downpour, then reversed it. She made the sun rise, the ball of flames rapidly arcing up into the sky and slowing to a stop just above her. She wanted to quieten the chirping birds and the distant traffic on the main road, so she did with another thought. With a final reassuring smile, she looked down at the grave.

“Don’t worry, honey” she whispered. “None of this is real.”

Any suggestions where it would be good to view the eclipse on Wednesday? BBC suggests somewhere with an unobstructed view out west as it'll be close to sunsetting time by the time it's done

I don't suppose anyone knows what they'll be selling this year? The lack of cider or red wine (except near the food hall) was a little upsetting last year. I made do with Damm Lemon and Cava, but still....