Keyhole Vista

A free, all-inclusive resort paradise is built to accommodate the stress caused by the up-and-coming end of days, whose purpose becomes challenged over time.

Thirteen months had passed since the world first learned of its demise. Specifically, by means of a ten-mile wide asteroid named 433 Eros which would -- upon impact with the surface -- wipe out the entirety of the planet. The thought was indeed harrowing; an unavoidable, inescapable, instantaneous end to human history without the benefit of post-apocalyptic civilizations to carry on our legacies. There would be no extravaganza, no horrible post-calamity holocaust to deal with, and no survivors squeezing blood from stones to get by. Everything would just be gone in a blink. Imagine that! Some would call it a merciful ending, perhaps a deserved one. Truthfully, I wasn’t too bothered by it either. But believe me, the rest of the world sure was. So what was their solution to the up-and-coming end of days? Well, unfortunately I’d come to know the answer far too well.

For the past month I’d been holed up in “mankind’s last refuge”, as they so aptly christened it. The place encompassed about… a couple hundred square acres of land? All of it indoors too. After all, they didn’t want anyone to be distracted by the breathtaking natural beauty of northern Greenland; that's right, as a response to the indisputable up-and-coming end of days, they decided to build the biggest all-inclusive international resort paradise in the world tucked neatly inside the beautiful arctic fjords of Scandinavia, only to erect a fully-enclosed supercomplex to wall its guests off from it. And to top it off, the suits behind the whole deal couldn't help but slap on a wishy-washy corporate name to top it all off: “Zion International Resort: Mankind’s Last Refuge!” It was the best joke I could never laugh at-- in good conscience. Not to mention the big-headedness of it. I hailed from the actual world-famous Zion National Park down in Utah (the one everyone thinks of when they hear "Zion"?) as a former Park Ranger, so seeing the namesake defiled this way was some form of sacrilege... or something. In truth, my reaction had more to do with humoring the bitter irony of it all rather than some sort of blood-oath to the Rangers. 

Okay, so I might have called myself a Ranger (and sometimes still do in reminiscence) but the truth was that I wasn't really what you'd call "Ranger material". Really I was only in charge of lower-level work, like marking off paths and lightly scolding trespassing teenagers and tourists when they'd overstep them, though I still technically had the title of a regular Park Ranger. But there was a different reason why I signed up; back then, nature is really what helped me cope with the rough patches of married life. I’d always feel more at ease surrounded by it, not having to think of the trials and throes of nuclear life. Plus, being a Ranger was a good way to pass the time. I only came home every couple months or so. But I’d since retired, now a divorced forty-something year old guy with no real passion in life other than… my former tolerance of tour-guiding and path-marking. So in hindsight I guess I didn’t really have anything going for me anymore. But boy, if I was gonna stay in this resort for the last few months of my life, I’d sure need to come up with something to do. So one afternoon I planned to mull it all over behind the counter of one of the multitude of international themed bars at the resort, sipping away at a shoddy ‘margarita-in-a-coconut’. There I intermittently pondered my future prospects, lazily swishing the drink in my hand while side-eyeing the overdressed bartender. Maybe I’d become a sommelier; for starters, I could tell this margarita sucked. Serving it in a coconut decidedly didn't make it any better.

So, why did I even come here to begin with? I wasn’t happy back at home, I knew that much. Sloane and the kids were a handful, and when I realized I couldn’t make myself care enough about their problems, we parted ways; I decided that it was the best for us all. But that alone wasn’t much reason to spend the rest of my life in this huge, overly embellished promised land. I guess I thought if I came here, I could find happiness away from my usual life. Correction, my therapist thought I could find happiness away from my usual life. When I arrived I briefly considered consulting one of the in-house psychiatrists to schedule some sessions, before I realized they’d probably just tell me to turn around and go right back to where I came from. 

So I turned the question and rationale over in my head once again, as I left the Hawaiian-style wood counter of the Tropical Tiki Bar which was dressed in the poor depiction of a sultry pink sunset. The whole damn place reeked of shiny plasticity in an over-the-top playground kind of way, and the Tiki Bar was no different. I only picked it because the acidic color choices were a refreshingly manic change of pace. As I departed, a small beep emitted from my E-Band telling me I’d paid 10.99 for my drink-- on instinct I tried to rip the stupid thing from my wrist and stomp it to bits.

Maybe it was ridiculous to think I’d be happier in a swanky ditch like this; everything from the fake foliage and hills to the pseudo-ornate pathways and ramps were overly saturated in various shades of green and light browns, resorting to brushed metal for footpaths in a flamboyantly tone-deaf and contrived manner which only served to get more on my nerves. They clearly tried to make it seem like the “outside” areas of the resort looked as convincing as possible, but no matter how much fake nylon grass and wood-paneled palm trees they planted, nothing would even come close to the real thing. 

The one saving grace in my opinion was the fully-immersive real time day/night cycle, dimming the simulated sunlight above at night to paint a pretty believable replica of the true starlit purple-black sky (though it baffled me that they didn’t just leave the roof open; perhaps they didn’t want people noticing the bright streak of 433 Eros in the sky plummeting towards its inevitable destination). Right now it was a pale cloudless blue that I actually found to be a little uplifting. They even found a way to mimic the gentle cooling breeze of the tropics, though I theorize it was just a very well implemented ventilation system hidden within the aforementioned fake trees. Okay so maybe it was a bit harsh to call the place a pigeonhole or a ditch, but that didn’t change the fact that it was nothing but a knock-off. Maybe I should’ve just stayed on the actual Zion grounds so I wouldn’t have to complain so much.

As I reluctantly took in my artificial surroundings, my mind began to wander, my eyes following suit. I started to notice the spread-out milling congregations of people, all trying to distract themselves from their inevitable deaths by yammering on about how much fun they're having on their all-inclusive vacations. There were more foreigners here than you could ever hope to meet in one lifetime; half the time I couldn’t even hear myself think while being bombarded by twenty different languages I didn’t even know existed. Then again, everyone in their own way was a foreigner to a place like this. 

Something else that bothered me was the staggering population of children, all shapes and sizes, all laughing and playing and dragging their folks in tow -- I mean, it made sense for families to come to this resort, but did their young ones even know why they were here? Were they simply lured by the prospect of a never-ending vacation? What would Max and Tessa think? Honestly, I didn’t care about other families’ bratty tots, they weren’t my problem! My own kids were a different story. I gave custody of the two to Sloane; she’d take care of them way better than I ever could hope to, but that didn’t keep me from thinking about them from time to time. I knew I wasn’t happy here, but they’d probably beg to differ considering how much fun they had in Orlando back when. But right now I had my hands plenty full with Duck, the little rascal. BIG rascal. Oh, I really hoped he was done growing at this point. Speaking of which, where did I leave him again…? 

There's too many dog parks in this damn tourist booby-trap. Too much of everything in this damn tourist booby-trap. Too many places to go grab a bite (albeit of all varying cuisines), too many places to get a massage/manicure, too many seedy casinos, too many culturally themed bars, too many places to go watch a movie that’s probably going to be terrible anyway, and too many places to play mindless, repetitive VR/AR/MR games... It didn’t help when every storefront was just as plasticky and clinical-looking as the foliage that surrounded it. Neon lit signs with bubbly fonts that changed languages periodically, horrifying animated holo-mascots dancing for the entertainment of potential customers, free samples of practically every commodity for sale--anything to draw in the lucrative pocketbooks of their target demographic. 

Practically more than half the entire resort was set up like this: The supercomplex was partitioned off into four sectors, two major living areas (one for the elderly/the families and one for the single/couple parties) and two entirely for entertainment and refreshments. Despite it being roughly an even split, the aggregation was suffocating -- it’s like stepping out your quiet suburban neighborhood in the morning and being immediately bombarded by the bustling crowds of Times Square. The place was beyond packed with literally everything you could ever imagine (except the news, thankfully). And for some people that probably sounded like heaven, which I guess explained the extraordinarily congested overpopulation. But for a middle-aged guy like myself, I’d rather just curl up somewhere and read a tourist guide to the Milford Sound in New Zealand and just imagine being on a real vacation instead. And the sad part was that I probably could spent my time like that if I didn’t feel the need to stretch my legs and go somewhere so often.

It’d become habit to take Duck on a lot more walks than usual recently, mostly through the less crowded areas of the resort like the southern district of the “Families/Elderly” sector which was allocated for the older retirees. Matter of fact, I should’ve been living there if I wasn’t 20 years short of the mean retirement age. They had huge open golf fields and midday naptimes and everything (now that sounded like a good time to me). I’d heard quite a few people -- usually on the younger side --mockingly call the neighborhood the “Fossil Ground”. How dare they! I’d met quite a few older people that were really friendly and even offered some great life advice while I passed through the district on my walks with Duck. Mostly on how I could turn my life around and such. Which would’ve been more helpful if the world wasn’t ending in three months, but hey. It made me miss my parents. So screw the juveniles who made fun of those poor old folks. The world's going to end, we have bigger things to worry about! I guess it just goes to show that even when your existence and everything you’ve ever known and loved is threatened by an apocalyptic demise, some people still bother to make the time and scrounge up the spite to poke fun at others.

After some more semi-aimless wandering I eventually pause in front of the Wagging Tail, one of the more popular dog parks in the supercomplex, hoping to find Duck making trouble for everyone again. He was the last tangible tie to my family that I had, and in some ways I think that was the reason I loved him so much. I gave him the love I couldn’t place in my wife and kids, the love he deserved for being by my side through it all. He was the best friend I could ever ask for. That said, he didn’t get along too well with anyone that wasn’t me, and I was hoping he would learn to behave and socialize if he stayed at these parks for enough time. Maybe make a few friends of his own, live a life of his own. The whole works. Wait, no. No puppies. I tried to distance myself from the horrifying thought by entering the building with impetus, approaching the aptly bone-shaped front desk and drummed on the counter a few times to get the lady’s attention.  

“Hey. My name is Franklin Arborn. I’m here to pick up my German shepherd, uh... Duck.” The young receptionist lady gave me an odd look through unkempt brown bangs, briefly turning her eyes away from her fullglass computer screen that was oddly brimming with lines of code. When she took note of my proximity she quickly turned the monitor away a bit as if adjusting her viewing angle.

“Duck? This is a dog park, sir. We don’t accommodate members of the Anatidae family.” I resisted the urge to groan, lean in, and then laugh obnoxiously loud in her face so she knew her witticism was greatly appreciated. 

“Duck is the name of my dog, ma'am.” She produced a wry smile and leaned forward on her palm.

“That’s an interesting name. Why not Goose? Or Swan?”

“Look, ma'am, I’ve had a long day. I’m just here to get my dog. I really don’t want to have to deal with this,” I pleaded flatly. In response she shrugged her shoulders and relaxed back into her chair, returning to rattling away on her keyboard.

“Sure. His tag is #23. You should be able to authenticate your ownership using your E-Band next door and pick him up through the gate, I just unlocked the entrance for you.” I mumbled a brief thanks under my breath while taking note her name tag so I knew to avoid her if I ever came back: ‘Katie’. Messy brown hair, overalls, small, annoying. Not to mention the words "M.L.R. Study Improvements" tilting her cryptic batch of code, legible through the back of her fullglass screen.

It looked like Duck had learned some manners while I was away, meaning he hadn’t started any fights or anything like that. I was notified of this by one of the caretakers who was strangely over-observant of him. Probably because he knew what he was capable of. I felt a surge of pride in my chest as I left through the pen and back out towards the front desk with Duck in tow, making sure the comfort-leash I bought was securely fastened so he wouldn’t assault anyone on the way out. But maybe it was about time to graduate from leashes; my boy was finally growing up! I whistled a chipper tune as I approached Katie, whose eyes I felt on me as I passed.

“Hey there, find him okay?” Her tone was oddly sincere; maybe I scared her away before by being a prude.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” I flashed the leash handle in my hand and tried my best to smile, which resulted in not much more than a flat line. Katie leaned over the desk, and a wondrous child-like grin spread on her face when she laid eyes on my furry companion.

“Aww, is that Duck? He’s a real handsome one, isn’t he? Look at those rugged good looks!” She stepped away from the desk and rounded it to approach. I instinctively winced in anticipation of her face being torn off, but Duck seemed to be oddly friendly with her; his tail began to wag ever so slightly and his panting quickened as she scratched him along the dark fur on his back and around his ears while carrying that same warm smile. It’s the first time I really took notice of her as a person rather than a sarcastic-AI receptionist. “Who’s a good boy? Who is? You are!”

“He’s never been good around strangers. What’s your deal?” She didn’t meet my bewildered stare as she replied, Duck seemingly melting into her touch.

“Take a look around. I work at a dog park. It’s kind of a job requirement to be good with ‘em, misbehavers and death-machines included.” I scratched my head, wondering why that hadn’t occurred to me earlier.

“Don’t you have to, uh… let them get used to you first? This is your first time meeting him, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. But once they spend enough time around the caretakers and the other guys in the pen, they usually soften up a bit. But you’re well behaved, aren’t you? Atta boy!” She seemed to get distracted mid-sentence when Duck enthusiastically licked her chin. He’d never licked my chin.

“Well… we should be going. Got a lot on the agenda and such.” I tried to pull Duck away from her a little, and Katie finally took the time to meet eye contact as she rose with her hands on her hips.

“What could you possibly have on your plate? This place isn’t really accommodative of agendas.” I took about three seconds to formulate a plausible bluff but gave up when I realized there was hardly a point.

“Yeah. You’re right. I'm just being jealous.” She laughed heartily at that. I took the time to bring up something else that was on my mind. “Hey, what was with the uh... lines of code on your monitor earlier? Sorry, I couldn’t help but notice.” She seemed a little surprised by my inquiry, shifting her weight on her feet as if in consideration of the answer.

“Oh. Well, I was a software engineer before coming to work here. This is kind of just a part-time thing I do. You know, to afford all those fancy dinners before the world ends and everything.” I felt a little bad for her, pinching pennies in the last few months of human existence. But then I began to wonder why people would even volunteer to be in the workforce for a supposedly luxury resort like this; I mean, most places like the arcades had automated vendors that substituted the need for human labor, but establishments that needed a personal touch somehow scoped out willing workers in the midst of the pre-apocalypse. I almost pushed the query before I realized that might’ve been a bit too direct.

“Right. Well, don’t kill yourself over your work. We have a big space rock hurling towards us for that.” She chuckled nervously, twirling her locks a bit. It looked like she wanted to say something else but held it back. I took it as a cue to leave.

As I reach the front door, she finally pipes up. “Hey. Bring Duck back around sometime, I’d like to see him again.” I give her an improved smile this time, and leave without another word.

I didn’t really trust her. But, truth be told, that didn’t stop me from longing for some kind of companionship. It had been that way ever since I first arrived; it was surprisingly easy to fall prey to loneliness despite the constant flux of just about every inkling of artificial or non-artificial life in Zion. For a moment a scene of Sloane and the kids played in my mind again, and I wondered if I’d just be a little bit more content in their presence. Right now, in the midst of a thinly populated afternoon, even that sounded good. It was a familiar feeling; I’d spent many dark starlit nights in the meadows of Zion surrounded by the restless bustling of Mother Nature, and somehow still felt like the last man on Earth. Why did I feel so alone back then? There was nowhere in the world I could’ve been that was less lonely. The grass, the trees, the cliffsides and the air all teemed with life since the beginning of history - hell, that was the whole reason it was deemed a wildlife sanctuary - and yet it was as if my own existence was the only thing that was truly real. Maybe I felt so alone because to me, it was.

I'm distracted from my reflections as my gaze is pulled toward the melting horizon, the artificial sky turning a calming lavender in the wake of night-- though a sliver of the sun was still yet peeking above an equally artificial horizon. My grip on Duck’s leash loosened a bit, and I decided to take a seat by the path on one of the psuedo-wooden benches for a little while. As if brought upon by the gentle breeze, a wistful thought passed my mind; maybe I should call Sloane.

The next four months came and went in a similarly lethargic fashion.

I hadn’t paid much attention to any measurement of time because I couldn’t find it in any way important enough, so the news of it being last week leading up to the end came to me as a tepid surprise. When I strolled through the Four Corner Plaza (the famous and somehow familiar centerpiece of the four sectors) to head down for lunch this morning, I’d noticed the formerly bustling population buzzing about the helix-shaped staircase leading up through the levels of the resort had quelled significantly, as if they too had only now heard the news. Of course, that wasn’t the case; it had been this way for a while now, I wasn’t sure how long exactly but I hadn’t taken any real notice of it before today. The atmosphere of the whole resort simply felt far more hollow than it did when I first arrived. Nothing seemed as saturated, nothing seemed as lively; it was like someone forgot to turn on one of the big overhead stage lights of a play, casting an uncomfortable darkness over the usual, albeit excessive radiance. But it wasn’t the result of a depressed stint following Eros’ contact with us in a week. No, it was as if nobody cared about the grounds themselves anymore. Trash and old toys littered the formerly product-like nylon grass fields as a feature of this neglect. 

People burned themselves out on happiness and now they had nothing else to turn to. It became pavlovian, habitual to feel enthusiastic about the idea of the resort. Being here, being free from worry and reality. Though, I couldn’t really be sure of that-- I didn’t know whether I was right or if it was my own bitter cognitive biases tainting my perception of the truth. Yet I still let it get to me, because before I was at least able to play off people’s vitality in place of my own. But now that the actual real life end-of-days was approaching at an alarming rate, it felt difficult to continue ignoring what was really at stake. What reality really was. In this place, nothing seemed real; the people, the food, the entertainment, the setting, it was all done in the image of what it was actually supposed to be. 

I tried to push aside those familiar sentiments as I waited for Katie to arrive for lunch at the Angus Sandwich Shack. At least she’d picked a good place; we had been eating together every so often over the past few weeks, probably due to a mutual loneliness that culminated in us platonically meeting up one time after I checked Duck in at the Wagging Tail. I’d gotten to know a bit more about her while keeping my own personal history to a minimum. Though, it didn’t seem to bother her all that much. She was the type to go on and on about seemingly insignificant things, like what time her complementary yoga lessons started and what kind of dogzillas she needed to teach manners to on that given day. It was nice to hear someone else rant about life for once.   

“Hey! Frankie! Wait long?” I finally hear Katie pipe up from the doorway as she stepped out onto the relatively populated balcony where I sat. I picked the spot closest to the edge for the best possible view - it was a popular seat after all, so for once I couldn’t pass it up. 

“Yeah, I did. Was it that hard to get here on time?” She shrugged a bit as she took a seat opposite me. “And for the last time, it’s Franklin. Not Frankie.”

“Nope. Frankie. Katie and Frankie. And, unlike you, I’m a working member of society. Is that not a good enough reason?” I was instantly reminded that there was no getting by this woman without having to engage in a round of verbal fisticuffs. I decided to concede by sighing and leaning on the metal railing of the balcony, looking out onto the plastic vistas. Katie was a good deal younger than me; she’d recently graduated college and had been hired by one of the big tech giants, I didn’t know which one, but apparently it was based on merit alone. It was certainly impressive - at that age, I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life. I had a degree in English that I wanted to throw in the garbage and light on fire. But I didn’t tell her that. “Hey. What’s up?” She suddenly broke through my silent contemplation with an upbeat curiosity.

“Huh?”

“You just seem a bit out of it. I dunno. I’m not that good at reading people, sorry if I was being presumptuous.”

“No, no. It’s nothing. Thanks for asking, though.” I smiled a little, and began to search for a topic of conversation as I mulled over the menu. “How’s your project going?”

“Oh. You mean...”

“The one you were talking about last time. The thing about making improvements to some kind of user experience for your company.” I tried to ignore a rising shame following the pitiful generalizations I was only barely able to muster.

“Oh yeah! Yeah, it’s going… um, good. I guess. It’s hard to get enough feedback to make improvements that really matter in times like these, you know?” I could tell she was distilling it for my sake. I felt my cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“Well, doesn’t it depend on who you’re asking? Does it have to be really specific or can it apply to a larger audience?” 

“Larger audience for sure. But… people don’t really use the site that much anymore, is what I meant.” Katie was typically very withdrawn when she talked about her work. Was she just being humble or was it actually embarrassing to talk about? I tried to think back to the first time we met, to what it had through the back of her monitor. 

“Hmm. What was the name of the site, again?” I asked. She groaned in response to my failing memory.

“I told you already! I’m not gonna repeat myself.” I continued to search my memories. Did she? I couldn’t quite remember that she had ever mentioned it. I decided to not press the issue, deciding to play along for the sake of her confidentiality. But in my gut, I couldn’t help but feel like she was involved in far more than she was letting on.

“Oh yeah. You did. Whoops.” She released a breath, almost a sigh.

“You know, something has been on my mind for a while. Past couple of weeks. Doesn’t it seem to you like people are kind of losing interest in this place? Like… I dunno, like people just don’t really care as much as they used to. And I’m wondering if the resort just isn’t making them as happy as it did back when it first opened.” Her inquiry loosened the bottleneck of ideas I’d accumulated over the past day, though strangely it seemed she’d only asked for that very reason.

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that, too.” I sat back, put the menu down, and tried to find a way to phrase my muddled thoughts. “My theory is that, people feel closed off from reality. I mean, this place makes it feel like you have no reason to leave, so people don’t. It’s supposedly perfect because there’s no fear, no danger, and no asteroid. It’s like a funhouse prison. After awhile you’re going to find that using the same bouncy-castle over and over gets boring, and you want to go to an actual castle. You see what I’m saying?” I quickly reconsidered my analogy, realizing how little it pertained to my actual point. “No… scratch that. What I mean is, this place wants people to just focus on being happy, nothing else. It wants you to believe that happiness is all there is, and that’s all that should matter. I mean, why else would they close everyone off from the real world like this? They want you just to focus on Zion. On forgetting reality, on forgetting Eros. And being happy all the time gets tiring, you know? You lose the depth and complexity that comes with life. You can’t have happiness without sadness, and I think that’s something people have realized.” I stopped for a moment to consider how much of what I’d said was what I actually believed. I wasn’t sure how to continue, because I had lost my train of thought. Katie only sat there in silence, maybe thinking about what I’d said. Or wondering how much more idiotic my theories could possibly get. “I... think that’s how I feel too,” I finally muster.

After many more moments of uncomfortable silence, she finally spoke up. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right. I think you have a good reason to believe that.” I wasn’t sure how to reply to her oddly conclusive statement, so I just sat there silently waiting for her to continue. She just smiled at me. “Let’s order some food, yeah? I’m starving!” I nodded slowly, noticing the twinkle of something new in her eyes. Maybe it was of realization, of acceptance. Or of the birth of new ideas and optimism. Or maybe not. All I knew was that for once, I couldn’t be sure what would come next.

The next morning I awoke to a strange feeling. For one, the rays of fabricated sunshine that cut through the blinds appeared starker than usual, perhaps due to my angle to the LED-simulated sun. Duck seemed more upbeat, raring to go on an earlier-than-usual morning walk coupled with a few barks for good measure. And although it was quiet, it was as if the resort had been imbued with an old energy-- I thought for once that my outlook on life had improved ever so slightly just because I’d gotten used to the usual sullen atmosphere. Any good day was a day that I thought should be appreciated in the wake of total annihilation. So I took Duck down through the early dawnlight suburban streets of the southern district, before a booming announcement over the loudspeakers shattered the serene ambience of the resort that I’d somehow grown to appreciate. What was said sent me into a temporary moment of freefall-- yet, at the same time I felt no surprise.

“BREAKING NEWS: THE WORLD-ENDING ASTEROID THAT WAS PREVIOUSLY SET ON A COLLISION COURSE WITH THE EARTH, 433 EROS, HAS ALLEGEDLY BEEN DESTROYED IN HIGH EARTH ORBIT AND WILL NO LONGER POSE A SIGNIFICANT THREAT TO THE PLANET. MORE UPDATES WILL FOLLOW SHORTLY.” 

As the announcer finished, leaving ripples of the revelation to die out and sending the world back into a steady silence, I took a moment to breathe in the clinical, recycled air of the Zion resort. It was exactly the same as it was the day I arrived. I mean, why wouldn’t it be? But for some reason, I was expecting it to feel different. Just like I was expecting the formerly hypothetical and seemingly absurd announcement that the world wouldn’t be ending after all would make me feel better. Not just about being given more time, but about myself, and about the choices I’ve made in my life. But it hadn’t. My mind wandered back to Katie, to Sloane, to Max and Tessa. I wondered how they wanted to deal with the uneasy ambiguity of an uncharted future. I couldn’t be sure what they felt, just like how I couldn’t be sure what I felt. 

While the world began to bustle to life around me, awoken with a reanimated vigor, I tried to convince myself to feel the same way. I tried to feel optimistic about being given another chance to lead a life that I could be proud of. I began to hear the cheers and celebration of people old and young alike, chasing the morning air down the streets dressed in immodest clothing and ecstatic smiles regardless of whether they could run or not. I became enveloped by the crowds, feeling a hand clamp down on my shoulder as I met the eyes of an elderly man who smiled without either dentures or a care in the world. I smiled back at him. Although I kept struggling to reconcile with this overwhelming doubt, the rest of the masses seemingly weren’t - their palpable excitement of a new day embraced me warmly, as if they now knew what lay ahead of them. But I wondered that if beneath their visage, they too strode on with uncertainty.

Author's Note

Final revision posted 10/26/20.