It probably seemed like a good idea at the time. All those years ago, in the depraved, early days of the 21st century, it must have seemed like such a clever idea to them. To send a satellite into space carrying the messages of thousands of people, a satellite that would orbit the earth for five thousand years before returning. Stocked with the dreams and madness of a futile race, unwittingly eking out its final days. They must have thought we would be so grateful, poring over their messages as eagerly as they would have greeted messages from their primitive ancestors.
I grew angry, genuinely, with a sneeze today on the train. It was my own, and it rattled me wholly. It was as if I was smacked hard across the face. As if insulted, personally, and while ill-prepared with a clever retort. I muttered to myself fuuuck subsequently, and even spent some time dwelling upon its occurrence. But why, I wondered. What was I so mad at? Who?
They hate me up here…I know that. She’s the only woman on board and I’m fucking her. Of course, they hate me. They pretend it’s because of our lack of professionalism, but I know it’s jealousy. We tried to be discreet at first, but you try keeping secrets from three other people in a floating tin can.
Stealth while tailing the ignorant putz a safe distance away was difficult to retain with the sweat soaked tourists shoulder to shoulder seeking sand and sun, their stench chasing away the salt of the ocean. My sunglass covered eyes scanned beach combers to my right, the thrill seekers screams from the rollercoaster to my left a welcome sound.
The street ahead is a maelstrom of tear gas, smoke, and muzzle flashes. Shouts and screams are intermingled with pops from small arms and flash-bangs. People are running through the smoke, back-lit by burning vehicles and buildings. They look like ghosts passing through a fog. I’m thinking of a scene from Danté.