What if this world is not what we’ve thought? What if we are the gods and write worlds into being? That it is our task on this plane to write those others. Our stories and the trials that we’ve faced here are for the inspiration of the worlds we might make. What if, in the end, we joined the worlds we created? What if this is our true fate? I wish for such a fate, and this is one such world I wish for. 

James was tired. Exhausted to the bone, he cracked an eye to look at the smartphone on his mattress. The world news came in from the device stating that the pandemic was still ongoing. The options had been exhausted for managing public safety now that corporations had started losing money. Forced back to work as people continued to die by a government too mired in politics to guard the people they were sworn to represent. Faith in the Lord will see us through was the mantra that kept being reported and it had long since stopped hurting his mind to think of how weak that excuse was. 

We knew and did nothing. Then we all knew more and did the bare minimum. Then it wouldn’t go away and powerful people lost money. Then the powerful stole money for public health and nothing happened. The public got bored and decided that those who had been worth saving were worth sacrificing to stop the boredom. Or was it the perceived lost money? Both probably. Excuses like being old, weak, or just unwanted were all the justifications the fellow man needed to abandon and justified the deaths of hundreds, then thousands, then hundreds of thousands, and now millions. It wasn’t entirely the public fault though. The constant misinformation told an easy-to-understand story that helped the masses find the answers that were wanted. Yet here we are, stating there's nothing more to do but look to our leaders who lead us here. 

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

James closed his eyes and choked the thoughts off. Nothing would come of seeing these things and gritting his teeth as the next alarm went off telling him his job was waiting for him. The subtle nattering began. Why was he wasting morning not working when he could be working? Slowly pushing up he couldn’t help the hiss of familiar pain. Only a 7 today, he thought as he swiped the alarm off before tilting his head and the pain ratcheted up. He huffed through the new agony and tried to anchor some thought. These new hurts terrified him. 

The chronic hurt in his gut was a labor of years to the point that he had been able to think around the pain like one focusing on a conversation in a room full of muttered talking in his mind. The pain was ever-present but by now an old friend that he’s learned to work around. 

The new pain was an entirely different story. He knew it had been a fluke when the car hit him, but that didn’t make the broken bones or road rash hurt less. If anything, it was more concerning that the broken bones had barely phased him. He’d become jaded to physical pains but the hit & run brought new emotional pains as he tried to go about regular life while handy capped. The emotional turmoil of barely being able to do simple tasks and being bombarded with new medical bills while he could barely function was trying in new ways. The lack of useful pain management drugs only barely registered in light of his need to work off the new debts. The murmur in his head he’d consigned the pain to was now a crowd talking at normal volume. His concentration was needed for every task and he tired easier than before.