franklyn virtue

Franklyn Virtue is cursed. There's a room in the basement of the house his grandfather built that Franklyn Virtue must never leave. Off in the corner, away from the windows, away from the staircase, Franklyn Virtue constructed a treadmill. He can't remember a time when he wasn't in this room. He can't remember the time before he constructed the treadmill. Franklyn can't remember the time he used to spend outside, can't remember how the sun felt or how the wind smelled after it rained. Franklyn Virtue can't remember what he did with his days before he found out that his feet control time. All he knows is that if he isn't walking forward, if his feet aren't moving, one foot in front of the other, if he's not doing this at a normal pace, time doesn't move correctly. He doesn't know how he knows but he's certain that if he were to get off this treadmill, if he were to stop walking, even just long enough to make dinner or use the washroom, the entire world would stop spinning. Franklyn Virtue can do nothing but walk in place. He's been doing this his entire life.

In the basement of the house his grandfather built, Franklyn Virtue is sweating again. But the basement is cool and if Franklyn would just breathe a little slower, he'll soon stop. This happens when Franklyn starts thinking about his task. When he lets himself remember why he's on this treadmill, why he can't ever stop walking, how all of those people that he assumes are living their lives outside of the house his grandfather built would stop existing if he didn't do his duty, he starts to sweat. Once he lets his mind go, once he zones out to the tune of the treadmill turning and his feet forcing the conveyer to slow slightly every time they touch down, then he'll again forget the importance of his life and just do what he knows he needs to. But right now, Franklyn Virtue is sweating again.