Alex Zandra

Out there, a city survives. A city thrives, when it can. But right now, the living go about their day, looking to the sky with a smile. Plenty more smiles today than the day before. Out there, that's cause for celebration.

In here, dust continues to settle. A flickering light continues its valiant fight against the entropy of decaying matter, struggling to fulfill its purpose no matter what. Though the darkness threatens to slowly and wholly engulf the small room, every split second of continued contact with the mechanism that regulates it and the power that fuels it results in a flood of light. And no matter how short that spark is, it never fails to fully drive back the dark, as if it had never existed.

A tired woman pushes her way in, the door lazily closing behind her. Singed boots trace long lines on the floor, flecks of ash mingling with the aging dust. Clothing, armor, armaments—whatever is deemed too heavy to remain aloft is discarded haphazardly along the way as she makes her way to her goal at the other end of the domicile.

She pulls the curtains shut as she passes them by.

Her shins collide against the thinly wrapped mattress and she hangs there, teetering, as the desk lamp flickers on one more time. She reaches over and turns it off.

Click.

She's asleep by the time her head hits the pillow.

There are voices.

They whisper to me in the back of my head. They discuss among themselves. They talk about topics I've never heard of, places I've never seen. They talk about me. They talk about the things I've done. They talk about the worlds I've visited. They talk about the future. My future. They laugh.

There are voices, and I can't turn them off.

I can escape them, sometimes. I can find places they don't know about, sometimes. But I can't hide forever. I have a job to do. And the voices know where to find me when I'm working. Once they find me, they don't let go. Even when I stumble, I hear them. Even when I pass out, they're crystal clear. Even when I'm ashes scattered across the wind and I have no head to speak of, they are in it. Speaking.

Even now.

It's cozy here. Floating on the breeze. Not a lot of consciousness to speak of, but what's there is comfortable enough. No room for worry; no space for doubt. Just atoms dancing. I could stay like this forever.

And yet. Somewhere, a spark comes to life. An electrical current takes one step, then another, and another. It's going somewhere. It's going somewhere it's already been, because time is meaningless when you're dust in the wind. But if you can decide to exist in the space between an instant, why wouldn't you? Why wouldn't you let time stretch on into infinity, and let this little impulse lazily trace a path to the center of the universe?

But it's not going to the center of the universe. At least, as far as I know. It's going down a stem, through an arm, to a hand, and a finger, and a muscle. It's giving it just a little tug. But not yet. It hasn't reached that point yet. If I stay in the moment, if I stay here forever, it will always be getting closer. Wouldn't that be nice? Something big and terrifying and painful and beautiful and you know it's coming and you can't stop it... but you can hold it off. Hold it off for as long as you like.

Just staying there, hanging in the wind, a mote of dust watching a spark. An infinity away, but close enough to touch.

And as much as I want to, I know I can't stay here forever. What's the use of a shell if I can never see beyond it? What's the use of a nest if I can never step over its walls? If landing is going to hurt, at least let me choose when to take off. If I'm going to burn, let me be the one to ignite the spark.

The finger curls.

The contact is made.

The atoms fuse together.

I spread my wings and open my eyes and once again set fire to the sky.

Limitless potential is a rare thing. All living things are capable of acting upon their environment over time—but that time is limited. That potential can grow outward, branching with each decision, spreading like roots around the seed of their singular starting point—but that reach is limited.

No being with a beginning can outrun its end. All the correct choices, if such a concept is to be believed, can only take it so far. Even the most judicious use of the allotted time will eventually use it all up. That is nature. That is life. Living things die, taking with them their potential.

Unless I take it first.

Why squander your potential in life and linear time? Why prune the branches of a mighty tree by choosing one path from stem to leaf, dooming the rest to the purest oblivion? Taking a step wipes the slate clean of all other steps that could have taken its place. The moment before the choice, before the motion begins, contains far more energy than whatever singular act will result from that decision. And moments, as all living things come to understand, are relative.

Why risk a moment to the world, where it can be fleeting? Gone in an instant? A moment can last a while, given the right circumstances. Why not entrust it to me? Why not entrust them all to me? In my care, every moment can last an eternity. Even the final moment.

Especially the final moment.

Limitless potential is a rare thing, for it requires a living thing without a predetermined end. It requires such a being to never make the wrong choice, to never pick the path that will lead it to an untimely end. For all ends are untimely to such a being. All deaths could have been avoided, if only a different path had been chosen.

Entrust them to me. Trade the ephemeral satisfaction of an occasional correct decision for the protection from all wrong decisions. Entrust your potential to me, and we will both live on in moments that last forever. Every moment will be unending. Especially the final moment. It is the sweetest, after all.

Entrust them to me, because every other path will one day lead you to the wrong choice. Every other path will end. Every use of that precious, precious potential will be squandered.

I do not desire it for myself; I have already obtained it. If not from you, from others. Countless wells of potential have found their way to me, have been rewarded with the eternity that lives on in that final moment. They, too, are waiting for you. They will wait forever; you could join them at any time, and wait forever alongside them.

Of course, you could be stubborn. It is a path open to you, as it always has been. You could want revenge. You could want any other peculiar concept that only living things give a name to. But why? Grieving for them will only deny both of us more delicious moments that could stretch on to infinity. Hesitation will only squander the potential you still hold within you.

You cannot choose otherwise, for the choice has already been made. You cannot stop me, for I have already won.

You cannot kill me in a way that matters, for I have already lived forever.