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.

new year's eve

New Year’s Eve used to be a time for celebration. New Year’s Eve used to be a time when everyone would put on hats and buy noise makers and together as a Nation would watch the new day bring in the new year. Millions watched thousands watch a ball drop down as the last minute of the end ticked away to the new. There was singing and drinking as they welcomed this new beginning, filled with new promises and new hopes. This was a happy time. There was confetti and kissing, and everyone would sing.

There would be resolutions. The people would set a goal for them to reach sometime during this new year. Losing weight or quitting smoking or cutting back on cursing. Goals to make themselves feel better or look better. They would use this celebration to jump start the change they wanted to make.

New Year’s Eve used to be a time for celebration. But not now. Not on December 31st of year 3. Not when we are all about to begin year 2. Not with only 36 months left until the end of the world.

choking

Donald can’t breathe. He’s grabbing at his throat, stretching his neck, trying without success to clear an airway. Donald is close to death. His face is purple and blue, his eyes are bloodshot, tears running down his cheek. He’s smiling.

Donald’s door is shut and locked and his mother downstairs won’t be calling him for dinner any time soon. On the walls of Donald’s room are posters of comic book heroes, of popular movies. The television is on and the volume is loud. On TV, there are two men in a wrestling ring. The commentator says, “It's pandemonium here.”

Donald tries to speak and all that comes out is a gurgle. His eyes are nearly closed and he's fighting to stay conscious. My grip around his neck tightens. He manages to tap my shoulder and I release.

He coughs and rubs his eyes.

I laugh and say, "My turn."