The myFriend vibrates reassuringly, and the smooth electro-voice soothes me: “Do not worry, Jett. You are not alone. We are watching you. You matter to us.” It asks me to rate my Acute Loneliness, and with trembling fingers I press the bright red 8.
The rocks above Jasper. Elle had thought they’d just fallen. Rocks fall in the countryside as bits of construction material fall in the city, and Jasper’s death had seemed an accident at first. Then she’d found Lily. Then she’d found the photograph, the watcher above the bridge just where the rocks had been.
The day they found you the river was cold, slushy and grey and frosted at the edges. Snow hung in the air like time had stopped — hadn’t time stopped? — and the air was sharp in my mouth and lungs and it hurt to inhale, though that may have been the ache in my ribcage, and the sky was high and colorless and clear. An extent into nothingness.
In protests that erupted across the nation following this order, protestors repeated the phrase “Never Again.” Protestors scrawled it on signs, chanted it in airports and referenced it repeatedly online; “Never Again” became a plea for empathy ... While the message of empathy and allyship seeps out of the photo, this message was not what the phrase “Never Again” orginially meant.
I don’t know how big the flood that called Noah was, exactly. I mean, I guess it filled the whole world, which has got to be a hell of a lot of water. This, though, this felt like a call to build an arc if I’d ever heard one, or at least to get out there with the other fools who thought they were Noah, too.