#1 “I Am”

Mrs. Smith walks into a classroom of first-graders. “Good morning, class!” she says. “Today we will learn the letter ‘I’. Who can give me a sentence with an ‘I’ in it?”

Little Timmy raises his hand.

“Yes, Timmy?”

“I is—”

“No, Timmy,” Mrs. Smith interrupts, “after the word ‘I’ you should say the word ‘am,’ not the word ‘is.’”

“Okay,” Timmy says, “I am the 9th letter of the alphabet.”

#2 “Three Pairs of Apples”

Mr. Presley writes on the chalkboard “2+2+2=” and turns to his class. “Children,” he calls, “if I give you 2 apples, and another 2 apples, and yet another 2 apples, how many apples would you have?”

Little Timmy raises his hand.

“Yes, Timmy?”

“7 apples, sir.”

“No, no, listen carefully: I gave you 2 apples, and then I gave you 2 more, and then 2 more again. How many apples do you have now?”

“7.”

“Okay, look, if I gave you 2 oranges, you would have 2, right? If I gave you 2 more oranges, you would have 4. Then, if I gave you 2 more oranges, how many oranges would you have now?”

“6.”

“Correct! So if I gave you 2 apples, and then 2 more apples, and finally 2 more apples again, how many apples would you have?”

“7 apples.”

“Timmy, for fuck’s sake, where did you get another apple?”

“My mom gave me one for lunch.”

#3 “I Know the Whole Truth”

Little Timmy sits down in the lunchroom. He eats his apple and drinks his orange juice, but he is still hungry. So he heads to the cafeteria, grabs a tray and begins loading it up with goodies. At the end of the line, the cashier asks him if he’s got money on him. Timmy shakes his head, and the cashier takes the tray from him and moves it to the back. “Sorry, kid,” he says. “You gotta pay for the cafeteria.”

Timmy walks away sadly. A nearby pupil notices him and taps him on the shoulder.

“Psst,” he whispers, “I know a great way to get money. Go up to an adult and say, ‘I know the whole truth.’”

“That’ll work?” Timmy asks, confused. “How?”

“No one knows. It just does. Try it!”

“Well, thanks.”

When Timmy comes home, he goes to his mother and tells her, “I know the whole truth.”

She immediately hands him a $20 banknote. “Don’t tell Daddy, okay?”

Intrigued, Timmy goes up to his father and tells him, “I know the whole truth.”

He immediately gives him another $20. “Don’t tell Mommy, okay?”

Happy with his investments, Timmy runs outside to greet the mailman passing by. “I know the whole truth!” he shouts from afar.

The mailman freezes on his bicycle and stares at him. “You… you do?”

“Yes!”

He looks around for a moment, then wipes a tear from his eye.

“Then come give your real Daddy a hug!”

#4 “Four Letters”

Mrs. Smith has given her class a homework task: to find the first 4 letters of the alphabet.

Little Timmy goes to his mother and asks her what the first letter is. She is crying on the couch, and Timmy’s father paces across the living room, fire in his eyes.

“I’m sorry! It happened so long ago!” she whimpers.

Timmy writes that down in his notebook, then asks his father for the second letter.

“Shut the fuck up!” he screams at Timmy’s mother, angry spit drooling down his twisted face. “You’re a lying, cheating whore!”

Timmy writes that down as well, then goes to his older sister, who’s sitting alone on her bed, crying quietly. He asks her for the third letter.

“Leave me alone, you asshole!” she shouts, so he writes that down.

Finally, as he has exhausted his nuclear family, Timmy phones his grandmother and asks her for the fourth letter of the alphabet. “D,” she answers happily. Timmy thanks her and writes it down.

The next day, when Mrs. Smith is going over the homework, she asks Timmy to share his findings. He pulls out his notebook and reads them off:

“‘I’m sorry! It happened so long ago!’”

“Er…” Mrs. Smith ers. “The task was only given yesterday—”

“‘Shut the fuck up! You’re a lying, cheating whore!’”

Mrs. Smith gasps in horror, then collapses on the floor.

“‘Leave me alone, you asshole!’ And… ‘D.’”

Proud of his homework, Timmy looks up to see his teacher lying motionless on the floor.

“Mrs. Smith?”

A deathly silence fills the classroom.

“Did I do my homework good?”

Timmy glances about nervously. Nobody is moving. They’re all just staring at the teacher.

#5 “The Pediatrician”

Little Timmy peeks through a door in the hospital. His mother is standing in front of the pediatrician’s desk, looking distressed.

“I just… I don’t know what to tell you, Doctor. He’s not getting any taller, his grades are getting lower, and his teachers say he hasn’t grown socially.”

“Well, Mrs. Anderson, not all children develop at the same rate. Timmy is just lagging behind a bit, and that’s no cause for alarm.”

“His friends are all 5 inches taller than him!”

“If you’d like, we can send a DNA sample to the lab to test for any—”

“No,” she interrupts. “No DNA tests. Please.”

Bored, Timmy goes back to the waiting room and sees another kid sitting there, looking nervous. He asks him why he’s here.

“I’m getting my circumcision,” he responds.

“Oh,” says Timmy. “I know what it’s like. I was circumcised just after I was born. I couldn’t walk for a whole year!”

#6 “Division by Zero”

Mr. Presley writes on the chalkboard “4÷0”, crosses it, then turns to his class grimly. “Now, children, it is important to note this fact: you are allowed to divide any number by any other number, but you must not divide by 0. This is one of the laws of mathematics: division by 0 is forbidden.”

Little Timmy raises his hand.

“Yes, Timmy?”

“Why can’t you divide by 0?”

“Well, imagine that you wanted to walk 4 miles. If you walked at a rate of 0 miles per hour, which is the same as not moving at all, how much time would you need to walk 4 miles?”

“Well, you would never reach 4 miles, because you’re always standing in the same place, so it would take you forever; isn’t it infinity?”

“No, Timmy—4 divided by 0 is not infinity.”

Timmy scratches his head again. “Why not?”

Another pupil chimes in: “Because, Timmy, if you learn 0 things in Mr. Presley’s lessons, even after infinity lessons you still wouldn’t know anything!”

#7 “The Greener Grass”

Little Timmy comes home from school, looking down. “Mommy,” he says, “today we had to write a 120-word essay about a poem. Everyone else wrote 120, but I could only write 40!”

“No matter,” his mother sighs.

“Why are they better than me?”

“I don’t know.”

The next day, he comes home, once again looking dejected. “Mommy, today we had to solve these weird equations. Everyone else could do them, but I couldn’t figure out even one!”

“No matter.”

“Why are they smarter than me?”

“I don’t know.”

The next day, Timmy comes home, yet again frowning. “Mommy, today after gym class all the boys showered together and everyone else had big penises but I only had this!” He pulls his pants down to show his little Timmy penis.

“No matter,” his embarrassed mother mutters.

“Why are they bigger than me?”

“Because,” she says irritably, “they’re all 13 year olds, and you’re somehow still 6!”

#8 “Tennis Balls”

Little Timmy’s mother asks him what he wants for his 21st birthday tomorrow. “Well, Mom,” he begins, “I want a tennis ball.”

Confused but keen on making her son happy, she goes to the tennis ball shop and buys a tennis ball. The next day, Timmy opens his present and finds a tennis ball inside. “Thank you so much, Mom! You are the bestest!”

Five years later, Timmy’s mother asks him what he wants for his 26th birthday. “Mom, I know it’s a lot to ask for, but I want 10 tennis balls.”

Again slightly puzzled, she goes to the same tennis ball shop and buys her son 10 tennis balls. On his birthday Timmy is ecstatic and thanks her again. “You are the bestest!”

Ten years pass. Timmy’s mother has put on some weight, and her hair has long since grayed. She phones her son and asks him if he’d like a present for his 36th birthday. “Mommy,” he says in his oh so sweet voice, “I would like 100 tennis balls for my birthday.”

At this point Timmy’s request doesn’t perplex her much. She just wants to make her son happy. She goes to the tennis ball shop the next day and purchases a cart full of tennis balls, which she gifts her son the following week. “Thank you so much, Mom! You are the bestest!”

Twenty years pass. Timmy’s mother is lying on a hospital bed, hooked up to eleven machines, each doing its all to save her life. Her skin has grown brittle, and her fingers pale and bony. Breathing through her oxygen mask, she can dimly make out the silhouette of her son.

“Timmy,” she whispers, “I want to make you the happiest boy before I depart. I know you that you’ll want 1,000 tennis balls for your birthday, but I can’t go buy them now. I hid a check for $30,000 in the car some time ago—that should be enough for all the tennis balls you’ll ever need.”

“Thank you, Mom,” Timmy says. “How could I ever repay you?”

“Well, there’s one thing you could tell me,” she replies weakly, “that would make me… very happy to know.”

“Of course, Mom. Anything.”

She takes a deep breath, or at least as deepest a breath she can muster. “How?”

“How what, Mom?”

“How have you not grown up? It’s been 50 years, and you’re still the same as you were when you were 6 years old! Please, Timmy, tell me—tell me why you have not grown. Tell me why I never got to see you age. Please…”

#9 “Crying”

Why is 6 year old Little Timmy crying?

Well, he isn’t having a midlife crisis, that’s for sure. In fact, he hasn’t aged in well over a century—all that time he has spent in the same prepubescent body. His nuclear family had vanished long ago, and now he wanders the cities in search of new friends.

The passersby mostly ignore him, so he is free to roam from city to city as he wishes. He often stops at restaurants to order himself a nice meal. If there are no restaurants nearby, the odd falafel stand or pizza delivery will do.

All this he can realize with the $30,000 check his mother had left for him all those years ago. It serves him well, and on those days when he feels exceptionally frisky, he might consider spending a night at some 2-star hotel, so that he could sleep soundly on a lukewarm bed for once.

On other nights, Timmy will find a quiet place in some dank alley, rummage up a few stacks of old newspapers, and make himself as comfortable as can be lying down against them. If the alley offers him a clear view of the sky, he will lie on his back and gaze at the few stars he can count before drifting off to sleep.

It’s on these lowly nights that he will often ask himself how different his life would’ve turned out had he not been cursed with eternal childhood. He will never go on a rollercoaster ride, or see what the deal is with those 18+ comedy shows, or skateboard with other cool teenagers, or cuss in public without getting weird looks…

He will never feel true love. Love is different when you get older. He learned that from the books he read. True love is exciting and scary and fun and warm and awesome all at once—but he will never feel that way towards anyone in his life. No one will hold him in the rain.

Timmy cries.

#10 “A New Companion”

One day, Little Timmy sits against the fence of an elementary school, just as the kids are going out to play. He closes his eyes and begins thinking, as he often does on such uninteresting days.

Timmy still cannot understand the problem of division by 0. He has tried many times to ask travelers their intuition on the matter, but to no avail. In fact, many of the answers he received only confused him further—some said that something divided by 0 is infinity. Others told him it isn’t, because, as they all argued, “infinity is not a number.” He can’t figure out why infinity can’t be a number, or why the answer has to be a number at all. Doesn’t infinity make more sense?

“Heya!”

Timmy turns to his left. There’s a girl there, with a blue sweater and green pants, smiling behind the railing. “Hello,” he replies.

“Why are you outside? How did you get out?”

“I didn’t. I was never inside.”

“Then why are you sitting here?”

“I dunno. Why are you sitting here?”

“I asked first.”

“I said I dunno!”

“You aren’t supposed to be outside.”

“I’m not in school.”

“What? Why?”

“I dunno.”

The girl giggles. “I’m Madison. What’s your name?”

“Timmy.”

“Are you new here?”

“I guess so. I don’t stay around very long. I just go wherever.”

“I wish I could be like you. I hate school.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. I just wanna go home.”

“Do you have friends?”

“No. That’s also why I don’t like school. Cause I have no one to talk to.”

“You can talk to me.”

Madison smiles. “But you said you don’t stay around.”

“I can stay around if you want me to. Then we can talk how much we want.”

The bell rings, and the rest of the children head back into the building. “Well, I have to go now,” says Madison, “but I’ll be back soon. Don’t go away!”

She makes her way back to the school. Timmy smiles.

#11 “Mathematics”

One day, Madison invites Little Timmy to her house, and he agrees happily. They do Madison’s homework hastily, then until the sun settles they play video games. When the day is over and Madison waves goodbye to him, Timmy feels quite happy with himself, and to celebrate that night he checks in at a 3-star hotel.

The next day, Timmy meets Madison at the schoolyard, and their meetings continue as usual. She brings her homework outside—he notices that she is taking a liking to math, though she is hesitant to admit this. “I’m not a nerd,” she protests, adjusting her round eyeglasses.

At the end of that week, Madison again invites Timmy to her house. To his surprise, her homework is already done, but she continues scrolling through the pages of the textbook and learning new things. Their extracurricular meetings grow frequent, and by March they’ve already exhausted Madison’s textbook. This upsets her, so Timmy suggests she borrow the next one from the library. “What, for second grade?” He nods.

The next day, Madison skips out of the school building, the outline of a new textbook clearly visible under her sweater. Later, the two spend some time at her house ruffling through the pages, Timmy stopping occasionally to give brief summaries.

“Tim, how are you so smart?” Madison asks abruptly. “You already know everything in this textbook, but you said you don’t even go to school! How?”

“Umm… It’s a secret.”

“I can keep secrets.” She holds up her hand as if to swear. “Promise.”

“Well… I, um…” He leans closer to her. “I’m not 6 years old.”

“What?”

“I mean, I am 6 years old, but I’ve been 6 years old for a really long time.”

“How long?”

“Hundreds of years.”

Madison puts her hands on her mouth. “Oh. My. God. That’s so cool!”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, you’re like a… a vampire, or something! Do you just not age at all?”

“I wish I did. But Maddie, you can’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

She zips her lips. “It won’t leave this room. Our secret.”

#12 “Word of Mouth”

What, didn’t you get that last one? The joke is that it did leave that room. Not too long afterwards, either.

Only a few days later, Madison passes the secret to one of her friends, with the repeated promise of not spreading it around. But you know how 6 year olds are. Soon most of the school knows about this mysterious vampire boy who comes to visit Madison every recess.

Once the news makes its way from pupil to parent, it is met, unsurprisingly, with much skepticism. But every good rumor deserves a place in everyday gossip, so naturally the story goes around the block. The talk of this boy who can seemingly live forever catches the attention of a particular organization that just so happens to be visiting the city at the time. They want to further test this mystical immortal, and so their hunt begins.

As the hotter months come round and the school year nears to a close, Timmy and Madison see each other after school more frequently. The problem of division by 0 eventually comes up in their textbook, and Timmy soon admits he doesn’t understand it himself.

“Wow, I didn’t know there are things you don’t understand!” Madison jokes.

Indeed, the first gaping hole in his knowledge he ever discovered—the first of many.

One day, Timmy sees that Madison hasn’t come to school, and so he goes to her house to check on her. It turns out she stayed at home because she is sick. She lies in bed with a thermometer in her mouth, looking discontented.

“How are you feeling?” Timmy asks.

“Hot. And my head hurts.”

“Can I buy you some ice cream?”

She turns to his side and smiles. “Sure. Thanks, Tim.”

And so he goes down a few blocks to the nearest ice cream shop and buys two cones—chocolate for him, and strawberry-banana, Madison’s favorite, for her, and goes back on his way happily.

#13 “Ice Cream”

Why did Little Timmy drop his ice cream?

Because he got hit by a truck.

The massive force of a lorry ramming into a person does little more than nudge Timmy away, and the two cones he held fall to the ground.

“Ouch,” he mutters, rubbing his shoulder.

The truck doesn’t fare as well. It crashes to the side and overturns. Several people run out to investigate the commotion.

Soon afterwards, numerous gray vans appear in the distance, stopping just a few yards away from Timmy. From them emerge a group of tall, fezzed men, all holding various firearms. They come out pointing their weapons at him, and the onlookers quickly run back inside.

Someone in the back says a word and the men lower their guns. He walks through them and comes closer to Timmy, towering above him.

“So,” he exclaims with a thick foreign accent, “this is the Vampire Boy. Timothy J. Anderson.”

Timmy blinks.

“I expect you’ll be quite confused as to what just happened. But don’t worry. Soon I will ensure your full potential is realized. You will help us, Timmy. You will bring justice to this terrible country. With you at our side, we’ll become unstoppable.”

“No,” Timmy protests bravely. “I refuse.”

“I’m afraid it is not your choice to make, Timmy.”

The next thing Timmy sees is the inside of a leather bag. He struggles to free himself, but the men holding him are stronger. They grab him and drag him into one of the vans, then they drive away to places unknown.

#14 “Knock Knock”

“Who’s there?” Little Timmy cries, quaking in his seat, struggling with all his might to free himself from the metal chains.

“Don’t struggle,” says that same, heavily accented voice. The man emerges from the shadows, stepping slowly towards Timmy. “I am Xander Al-Tasamuh Qizi de-Wen Heviparez Jr., but you—well, you may call me Joe.”

“Joe who?” Timmy whimpers.

“That’s not relevant, Timmy. There are more pressing matters at the moment.”

He pulls a silver key out of his pocket and crouches behind Timmy. Click. The shackles that held him captive turn loose.

“Hit me.”

Timmy stands on his feet nervously and inspects his surroundings. There is almost nothing in this miserable place; only him, the chair, and that strange Joe. But the door is unlocked. He makes a run for it.

“AHHHHH!”

A horrible electric jolt throws Timmy on the floor with a harrowing yelp.

“I must say, Timmy, I am a little disappointed that your immediate instinct when offered counsel is to rebel. But we foresaw that possibility.”

Timmy sends a hand to his throat, but finds a metallic collar restricting it.

“You are under our continuous supervision. We cannot kill you, but that only makes hurting you easier. Hit me.”

Against all sense, Timmy tries to tug off his collar, but he is only rewarded with an immediate stronger jolt of electricity.

“Hit me, Timmy! This is your destiny! This is what you were made for!”

This must be hell. This must be hell. This must be hell.

Timmy clasps Joe’s hand and grabs his collar. The electricity streams from his neck, through his body and arms, and transfers to the bearded man’s body, filling him with pain. He grunts weakly, then throws Timmy away like a ragdoll. “Good.”

#15 “Walk in the Park”

So there I am, hangin’ out in the park, and I see this funny looking guy walking his dog, and I says to him, I says, “‘Ey, whatcha walkin’ that donkey for?”

The guy tells me, well, this ain’t no donkey, it’s a dog. And I goes like, “I wasn’t talking to you!”

“Fuck you just said about me?” he yells, brandishing a 9mm handgun.

“Er… I, uh…”

“No, no, say it again—say that stupid fucking wisecrack again, you cocksucker!”

“I… Look, man, I’m not looking for trouble, i-it was just a joke!”

“Get in the car.” He points at a distant gray van.

“W-what?”

“Get in the damn car, or I swear I’ll blow your fucking head off. Now!”

“Okay, okay, jeez!”

I walk hastily to the car while the man prods me with his gun, his dog barking and biting the air. He drives me for a few hours, and the sun bleeds behind the window. Gosh, I never thought this is how I’d die. I wish I could see my daughter again. Just to tell her how proud I am of her, and how sorry I am that we couldn’t spend more time together.

We stop in a vast wheat field, made golden by rays of twilight. It’s so quiet.

“Get out.”

I leave and watch the vehicle drive off to the horizon. When I turn around, there’s a kid there, no older than 6 years. He’s staring at me through glassy eyes.

“They got you too, eh, kiddo?”

The kid doesn’t respond. I notice he’s holding a small knife. How peculiar.

#16 “Mercenary”

What do you call a 6-year-old holding a bazooka?

We now have direct confirmation that the Coalition utilizes a highly-trained assassin within both its military activity and its efforts of political repression. The Coalition has previously referred to this individual by the code name ‘Çoban,’ or ‘Shepherd.’

Sources claim that the Shepherd is no more than 6 years of age; so far, all attempts of attacking him have suggested that he is indestructible; how this is achieved is currently unknown. The extent of the Shepherd’s martial capabilities is known to be devastating—I have thus reason to believe that he was employed liberally during the Coalition’s coup.

In light of these recent developments, we propose to coordinate an air raid on the Coalition primary headquarters, which we’ve been informed are located in Lovington, New Mexico. The 200-kiloton yield should debilitate the Coalition for a time. I hope that, with sorrow for the lives that this bombing may inevitably take, you’ll see that the need to employ these measures outweighs anything else in these troubled times.

We are in contact with many rebelling groups in the United States, and we have ensured that they are all far from the dangers this decision will impose. We have also been working with them to cripple the Shepherd, though it remains to be seen whether these efforts will amount to anything in the near future. He proves an acutely distressing enemy of humanity and mankind.

Best regards. —Candice Dickfield

#17 “Explosive Yield”

Where did Little Timmy go when the bomb fell?

Everywhere.

Everywhere is a remote town in northwestern Texas, with genial farmers, shopkeepers and miners keeping the economy bountiful. Or, I guess it used to be.

I’d lived in Everywhere for some time when the Coalition took over. It happened mere months ago, and yet somehow it feels like it’s always been this way. The well has always been dry. The watchmen have always been armed. The peace has always been distant. This is the way it’s always been.

The bomb fell at dawn. I heard a low rumble as the shockwave passed through town, and that was that. John said there was nothing to see. I don’t know. I was too busy tweaking the landmines for when the—

“Shepherd detected! All units, abandon posts and evacuate! Repeat, abandon posts and evacuate!”

There he is. The Shepherd arrives at the front of town, inspecting the area like a tiger ready to spring. And spring he will… just a few more steps—

Click. Bang! A notorious fireball encompasses the Shepherd, surely hot enough to melt his weaponry. And indeed, once the smoke has settled, there are no guns left to threaten… and the charred, naked body of the Shepherd yet stands.

Everything is going according to plan.

I tiptoe downstairs. John gives me a hug. “Incredible! You’re incredible!” he half-whispers, half-shouts.

“Thank you,” I giggle. “Do you know where the—”

And the next moment, John collapses on the floor, a chunk of wood piercing his abdomen.

I scream. Someone comes through the window. He leaps onto me and grasps my throat. I struggle for air but he doesn’t let go. Everything hurts. John is dead and it’s all my fault. Everything is going dark. We failed, and I’m going to die. Everything is falling away. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die!

“…Maddie?”

#18 “The Burning Bush”

The Shepherd has been captured. The Shepherd is held captive in this jet. The Shepherd is immobilized.

I still cannot believe these statements are true. Yet, here we are.

“Horeb Alpha, do you read?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Great. Well, first off, I’d like to congratulate you all on the successful capture of the Coalition’s primary mercenary. You had a lot of us very nervous on first contact.”

“No need, Everywhere’s already done most of the job.” He chuckles. I would chuckle too, but I am still very much in shock.

“Their efforts will not go unrewarded, either. I trust you are now taking him to the Mexico basin?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. If all goes well, we might just live to see the end of the Coalition’s rein. Well done, gentlemen. I will see you up ahead.”

“Roger.”

I look out the window and try to put things in perspective. It’s weird to think that, in just a few months, things could possibly go back to normal. Even the idea that we actually might have a chance to win the war—it almost feels too good to be true, though I should probably avoid that line of thought considering how bitterly ironic it usually turns out to—

“Roger!”

“What?”

“The kid. Look at the kid, Roger.”

The kid? Oh, him. That black, scorched body of a 6 year old, somehow still alive. The same 6 year old responsible for the downfall of the most powerful government in the world. The same 6 year old that slaughtered hundreds of thousands of my brethren. That same 6 year old is now bolted to a steel chair in the back of the jet, stripped of anything that would make him even remotely powerful. Even so, I am still hesitant to approach him. His eyes are open wide, and he is mouthing something, staring into the distance.

“What is it?” I ask tentatively.

“…w…wa…fo…di…”

“What?”

“…f…four…divided…zero…”

“What’s he saying, Roger?”

“I-I don’t know. It sounds like he’s trying to say ‘four divided by zero.’”

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look, can we just drop him already? I’m really not comfortable being so close to him.”

“We’ll be there in a couple klicks.”

#19 “Lucidity”

Little Timmy plunges into the Gulf of Mexico from 40,000 feet in the air. He, of course, survives the fall, but so does the metallic chair that keeps him bolted in place. He tries to struggle from the chains, but they do not yield. He just sinks deeper and deeper into the infinite abyss, farther and farther from the light, and closer and closer to oblivion.

But he never reaches that point. Much like the reciprocals of the tiniest numbers, there is no limit to his descent because such a limit would be—well, who knows?

Timmy can’t breathe.

He can’t die, either. Whatever mysterious force keeps him alive surrenders to nothing, not even to the impossibility of having enough oxygen to be conscious whilst suspended in water. In fact, this force seems to go so far as to torture Timmy in order to keep him alive, because he is still very conscious and aware of the fact that he can’t breathe.

This goes on for about 1 billion years. Who knows what humanity has achieved in the meantime? I’m sure it was of great value. Whatever accomplishments they have made will undoubtedly be appreciated by the cold, uncaring cosmos they leave in their wake.

When Timmy finally emerges from the water, it’s not because someone took mercy on him, or because some alien discovered the remains of the planet. No, it is simply due to the one force that cannot touch Timmy whatsoever—time. The sun has grown brighter with it, and the temperatures on Earth rose so high that all the oceans have completely evaporated, leaving Timmy on dry land.

Of course, by this point all the oxygen and means of producing it are long gone, so Timmy is still continuously suffocating. He’s just not wet anymore, and it’s also a lot hotter. You can probably assume that the chair is gone, so he’s just writhing around on the seabed, suffocating and consciously experiencing every possible bit of pain from it.

6.5 billion years later, the sun has expanded and become a red giant, and its gigantic form has swallowed the Earth whole. So now Timmy is also being cooked alive at temperatures that would normally vaporize a human instantly. He probably enters orbit somewhere in the midst of the plasma about the core of the sun.

Let’s skip forward a bit. After billions of years of pain—sorry, trillions of years… no, that’s not right. One googol (1 followed by a hundred 0’s) years later, the universal expansion has caused all energy to be near equally distributed across space, leaving no matter, light or temperature so to speak of—except for Timmy, who, burnt by eons of stellar heat, cooked by cosmic radiation and deformed by the force of gravity, remains but a nigh perfect ball of charred human flesh, floating in the cold, neverending void forevermore.

#20 “Happy Birthday”

If a 6 year old ages at a rate of 0 years per year, how much time would it take for them to turn 7?

I guess what I’m trying to say is, happy birthday, Timmy.

The crows have smothered the doubtfires. You are in control, and free to do with this world as you please. There is no more pain. There is no more heartache. There is only freedom.

I know it’s not easy to trust after what you’ve endured, but I ask of you to bear with me. This hasn’t been easy on me, either.

Timmy? Please, I want to show you something. I don’t know if it’ll make up for it, but I just hope it’ll be enough to bring you some comfort.

Please, Timmy, just hear me out.

Timmy.

 

I’m sorry.