Hitch Death

A very short story inspired by Question Time.

In scientific terms, entropy is the perpetual spreading-out of particles in all directions of the universe, drifting slowly away from one another until the universe reaches a state called ‘Heat Death’ - this, essentially, means that all particles of the universe are an equal distance away from each other, no longer moving. And from then, nothing changes. No new particles are created from old ones meeting; no new stars or planets or moons. The universe becomes locked in constant apathy, content yet contemptuous, unwilling and unable to change. The entire dynamic, the flaring suns and hurtling comets, reduced to a wasteland of endless emptiness.

 

I’m not sure why I thought of this as I watched Peter Hitchens, political commentator and Daily Mail columnist, make his point on Question Time. I often joked that he looked like a Spitting Image-puppet of himself, as though someone had haphazardly pulled a skin over an upright hoover. But tonight, I found myself less inclined towards base satire. Tonight, I could only think of one word to describe him...entropic.

 

Late on Thursday night always struck me as an odd slot for Question Time: Thursdays are days of self-pity and no motivation; everyone’s tired, and sick of the week, but it’s still far enough away from Friday for the sweet procrastination of the weekend to be obscured. Thursday was a night when nobody cared.

 

So why choose it for a show of fiery debate?

 

Perhaps they wanted to avoid sparking any revolutions. Perhaps they reasoned discussing the issue of the hour at a time when Atlas simply couldn’t be bothered to shrug would be best. After all, no one really cared about politics these days, and we wouldn’t want anyone getting ideas above their station.

 

But the more I watched Peter Hitchens this night, the more that word circled around my head, round and round, like a carousel: “Entropy. Entropy. Entropy.” He spoke on globalisation and immigration - and about how they were of detriment to modern society - with no hint of passion or enthusiasm. His eyes seemed glassy, unfocused, and every word dripped with apathy. The camera cut to a man in the audience, nodding with agreement. He was old, grey-haired and lined, and his face was set in stone. He barely looked like a real person, but rather like an artist’s impression of...well, of late on a Thursday night.

 

I gazed at my dad, sat watching the panel with me. He had dark hair, skin darker than mine. He looks tired. Once upon a time, I’m told, he had long hair and a free spirit, and a keen sense of boyish fun. To all intents and purposes, he was an anarchist. But not any more. Now he seemed...tired. Entropic.

 

I thought about my day, about all the people who I spoke to and asked about their well-being, and about how little I cared for the answer they gave. I thought about my childhood, about how I cried at Revenge of the Sith and hated hearing people argue.

 

I bathed in my reflection for a moment, widening my thoughts. Entropy always increases in a closed system, and what is the human mind if not a closed system? Can we ever, truly, share how we feel? The perpetual rage that squatting on shoulders, that as soon as we tried to grasp, or channel, or communicate, it becomes diluted and allusive? I think I know why older people care less, why millions die every day and no one mourns, why every person, eventually, becomes Peter Hitchens. Because entropy always increases in a closed system. Because as we get older, we drift away from ourselves, from our hopes and loves. Because we’re all headed for Peter Hitchens - a Spitting Image-puppet of ourselves, content yet contemptuous, unwilling and unable to change. The Heat Death of our very souls.

 

Hitch Death.

 

I chuckled at my own pun.

 

Reviews

[florry]

An interesting and quirky slant on how we become detached. Well done, very enjoyable

[loom]

I enjoyed this muchly. Well written, amusing and interesting all at the same time. Thanks!