a human. for now.
A million miles away. That’s how far all those other humans are away from me. I see them out my windshield. And they see me back. They can look, but they can’t touch. I’m like a goldfish. But you can’t flush me down a toilet.
“It’s slipping! It’s slipping!” The sailors were struggling to get it on their tiny boat.
“Who would leave something like this out here?”
“Maybe they just forgot it.”
“Maybe it didn’t fit down the toilet.”
The female corpse drops on the boat. The sailors give each other a “now what?” look.
The one sailor inspects the hands of the corpse.
“She has all her fingers.”
“Poor thing has probably never felt alive in her entire life.”
“So, what should we call her?”
They study her closely in an attempt to come up with a name.
A million and one miles away. I begin headbanging. There’s no music on. I imagine another world sitting shotgun listening through headphones to a song they’re somewhat ashamed to admit they like. They realize they should be headbanging, but they aren’t. They look at me and think, “that dude knows how to live.”