Posted on
May 26, 2010 by
Jersey Devil Press
Matt Rosen
It was a virus, they said. Some kind of new flu, they told us. Idiots. They were all idiots.
It’s been hundreds of years since I last gazed upon a person. At least it feels like hundreds of years. I have no way of telling time, and as it happens, time has no way of telling me.
Did I tell you about the virus? A new flu, they said. Nothing to worry about, just wash your hands and try not to puke on anyone. It seemed simple enough at the time.
But the virus changed people. It changed me. Each case was slightly different. There were people flying, bursting into flames, turning invisible, you name it.
It was random. It was messy. There were no heroes, only villains and misunderstandings. It was as if, overnight, millions of new one-man nations had emerged, all with the power to end life on earth. The most modest dispute could end in the death of hundreds or thousands of people. What at first seemed so magical and dumbfounding quickly became the norm, and that kind of standard lead to strange tribal warfare on a scale never imagined, both in terms of the size of the gangs and the amount of tribes themselves.
All things considered, I didn’t get a bad card. I seem to be able to heal from all wounds. As far as I know, I cannot die. I have since learned that my body can adapt to live in the most uninhabitable environments. I don’t even know if I age anymore.
I knew two others who got the same card I did, my sister’s boyfriend, and a local painter. If I had known we were all going to end up in space, I might have tried to befriend them. I might have tried to be near them, to be with them when it happened. Hindsight is always so clear. Too clear.
In the beginning I didn’t use my ability for anything. I wasn’t an active person before I gained the ability, and for all the things the ability changed, it did not change my sedentary lifestyle. Of course, I was still aware of the perks. I didn’t get hangnails and when I stubbed my toe it didn’t even hurt. Still, I spent most of the time watching television and surfing the Internet. I was quite handsome you know, before the virus creamed the cheese, I did fairly well with the ladies. But in this new world, powers were the latest thing, and my power wasn’t sexy enough.
Eventually a group of common-minded scoundrels decided to thrust every person, animal, insect and jellybean on the entire planet into the cosmos. I think so, anyway. It all happened so fast. I saw men, women, children, goats, dogs, mice all shot into the air without warning. Well, maybe some warning. We had all heard the rumors. They wanted the planet for themselves. I can’t say that I blame them.
All I had with me at the time was the jeans I was wearing and a pencil in my pocket, and those were the only objects I had with me for a long time. They kept me busy in all kinds of ways; one has to be creative when spending an eternity alone in space.
One night I accidentally let go of the pencil. I never saw it again. Part of me wonders if I let it go on purpose.
I still have the pants.
I have to assume there are others like me floating around out here, but I haven’t seen them. I haven’t seen anyone in a long time.
Sometimes I have the misfortune of being in the path of a sun. In my earlier days I would try desperately to swim out of the path. It never worked. It took a lot of failed attempts before I gave up on space swimming.
Sometimes I get hit with rocks and other space debris, which I use to find quite annoying, but these days I must admit it is kind of entertaining. It is how I position myself when I make contact with these objects that provides my only real system of navigation. I have become a fine sailor of the stars, but alas, I am a sailor without a map.
Sometimes I see dark shapes in the distance. Crafts, perhaps. I hope so. They pop up now and again; it’s been that way for a while, though I have no way of calculating how long. Every day I hope for them to make contact. Maybe they think I don’t want to be bothered. I’d imagine there aren’t a lot of hitchhikers in this galaxy, contrary to the book. Probably just as well. I still have the virus.
One day I hope I will come across another pencil and maybe a piece of paper or two. But I know that is asking a lot. I would draw a picture of hills and happy trees like that bearded man on television who seems to be latched onto my only remaining memories of life on earth.
I like the quiet though. The quiet is the best part.
MATT ROSEN was born in Upstate New York. He currently resides in Southern California where he spends his time floating around in hot air balloons.
