Chapter Three

It doesn’t take weeks for the good word to spread. Two days later, as I’m sitting in the park and mulling over the beauty of a crumpled chocolate bar wrapper, I hear a voice I understand.

It’s been days since I could actually understand someone. The cars in the tunnel of human communication have been zipping by me far too quickly for comprehension. But today, today, I hear someone crying out in panic.

“Why won’t anyone listen to me? Hello? Hello? Please, pay attention! I don’t get it!”

My head wobbles to life, away from the wrapper, and I look up. There’s a girl across the park, a too-thin teen with black makeup and blanched skin. She’s definitely a Goth, though right now she’s dressed in a white tank top and jogging pants. She’s not even wearing shoes. I guess I can’t comment on that, though, since my own toes have been bared to the sun for hours.

The other patrons of the park, few in number, are backing away from the girl. They look frightened and confused. Given the ruckus the girl is making, I can’t blame anyone. They probably hear her grunting and growling. That’s all that comes out of my own mouth whenever I try to talk. Or that’s all they hear, anyway, because they’re moving too fast to understand my slow, melodic philosophy.

Chapter Two

So how do you share something nobody wants to hear?

I’m no great student of history. Most of my time in school was either spent fiddling with computers or hitting on girls. Whenever History class came lumbering along I ignored the teacher. The past is passed, as they say. Why look to what has been when you should focus on what is, or what’s to come?

Now, though, I regret my short-sightedness. True, I never could have seen my radical new philosophy coming, but even a bit of help from the great scholars of the ages would be nice. How does a nobody with a message become a sage with a cause?

I could go the religious route. My dad did, twenty-something years ago, when he agreed to let a pair of Jehovah’s Witnesses into our house. The whole family converted the next day. I don’t remember how they got into his head, but my dad was always a highly suggestible guy anyway, so maybe their method isn’t airtight.

I could try and be an enlightened dictator, and force my dogma on the masses. Not the nicest path, I know – Adolf Hitler certainly doesn’t enjoy worldwide popularity these days, and I’d never call him ‘enlightened’ – but pushing the truth on people may be best. I don’t think I’ll get listeners unless they’re made to see the truth.

But don’t you need an army for that? I don’t have an army. Hrm.

Chapter One

I’ve spent a lot of time, lately, feeling sorry for other people.

I’m not sure why. I never used to care so much. You wouldn’t blame me if you were in my position, either: I work the IT desk at a college. I have to deal with whiny assholes all the time, seldom receiving any thanks or praise for my work. As part of the customer service industry, I’ve learned to tune out the feelings of others and focus on the job.

But now… now I can’t help but care. My heart is bursting with emotion for everyone. What the hell happened?

It all started on Tuesday. Some preachy Philosophy student had dropped his laptop on my support desk, demanding I fix the thing. Nothing new, that – I have to coax dozens of laptops back to life every day. Whether I’m successful or not I feel the same: happy. Happy, because some time has passed, bringing me a little bit closer to clocking out. Focus on happy thoughts in-between, like going to the cottage or something.