The Lasts Issue
Fact and Fiction
Here we are at the last issue of 2021! And what better way to celebrate than with an issue of lasts?
Though this is by no means the last issue of Quick as a Flash, there will be a one-week break (no more, no less!) in order to create some buffer issues and make sure I’m delivering in terms of quality. So we will have our first issue of 2022 on January 11th. I’m already looking forward to it!
But let’s focus on the present, for now. Please enjoy the Lasts issue!
The Sparks
The Latest
The new environmental report has only one graphic: a big brown smear.
“Are they saying the proverbial shit has hit the fan?”
“Definitely.”
“It’s a lazy way to go about it.”
“I disagree. We’re limited on time. Better to go home early and hug your loved ones. It could be the last.”
Mint Chocolate
Tonya choked on her tainted food. “Why?” she uttered, foam flowing from her mouth.
“Why indeed,” her sister Sarina replied. “Why would someone eat from the last tin of brownies that were for the bake sale? Why did I feel the need to put out decoy brownies filled with toothpaste?”
A Lack of Parental Supervision
She phoned one of those so-called psychic friends as a child and was told she’d die soon. So for twenty years, every experience had to have meaning, for it could be her last. Kobe beef or lobster for every dinner. Tearful goodbyes in every conversation. It was truly exhausting.
Cake
“This is my last slice of cake before the diet starts.”
“That so?”
“Yeah, each slice is a carb bomb in my gut. I’ll never lose weight at this rate.”
“Maybe. But isn’t that trading belly fat for the weight of self-imposed obligation? Couldn’t balance be the key?”
Little Ones
The embers of the fire glowed, lighting the world one last time. It had a good run, catching the eye of those that dared look. It burned. It glistened in the night. It flickered. It died out. But tomorrow (and next week and next year…), there would be another to take its place.
The Flash
Plane Travels
“Traveling between planes of existence is easy,” Mark said. His ruddy face was ablaze, and since he didn’t embarrass easily, you knew that alcohol was the culprit.
He called you out of the blue, asking if you could come over to talk. You took this as a good sign. He was finally coming out of the funk he had been in.
No… not funk. Tricia had died just barely two years ago. It made sense for Mark to still be mourning. There was no time frame for these things. But the downward spiral? The backlash at the offer of help? That all needed to go.
This talk of having traveled between dimensions was definitely outside your friendship jurisdiction. Every word sent hope leaking out the soles of your feet. The cool autumn air blew goosebumps across your skin.
Someone needed to get him back into grief counseling.
"The first time was an accident," he said. "I'd been opening a package, and one wrong move with the box cutter meant I'd pierced a hole into the fabric of reality."
You tilted your head and watched his eyes gleam with more life than you’d seen in a while. You actually wanted to buy it until you got another whiff of his breath, toppling all possible suspension of disbelief.
"It was fascinating. But within minutes, the tear healed itself, and I wasn’t sure what I saw anymore." He paused, saw your hesitation, and sat back, grabbing the napkin sitting under his glass of lemonade. Nervously, he tore away at it. You wondered if his drink was spiked. Yours tasted normal. Refreshing, even. Probably Tricia's recipe. A tiny glass of sunshine.
Tell me more, you found yourself saying. Keeping him talking, even about absurdities, was a good thing, right?
He offered a tight smile. "So I tried going about my day like nothing had happened. But then I didn't get a wink of sleep that night, and in the morning, I finally gave up and tried to make another hole. I replicated the movements with my knife. Nothing. The universe was gaslighting me."
You hummed, encouraging him to continue. Let’s allow this to run its course, you thought.
“I got frustrated and just started slashing. I’d even knocked over Betsy in my excitement. Thankfully I managed to repot her later. Succulents are tougher than people, I swear.
"Anyway, I thought about how useless I'd been feeling without Tricia, and I guess that did it. One of my cuts went through, and I sliced a deep gash into another world. It sounds and feels like you're cutting through paper. Can you imagine? The only thing separating entire universes is a paper barrier? That and a lack of anyone trying to get through, I guess."
You take another sip of lemonade.
“So I cut some more. It’s big enough to be a window. And, like a dumbass, I climb through. Crossed over like fifty dimensions. Barely made it back. Had to get myself into the hospital.”
You remembered that day. Mrs. Forrest had called you, talking about a panic attack and self-inflicted wounds.
"Crossing dimensions is like mountain climbing. You have to acclimate yourself and start small. I had dimension-zoomed when I only should have hopped."
You stared at Mark's ear. You couldn’t make eye contact anymore. You flipped through your mental Rolodex, determining who you needed to call to help stage an intervention. As his mother, Mrs. Forrest surely had the authority to get him checked in. Jess would want to be involved too.
"So next time, I hopped over to the nearest dimension. Very similar to our Earth. Found myself in some counter-Japan in the middle of winter. Being me, I dropped my knife and didn't have the local money." He leaned forward. "Do you know how hard it was to cross that language barrier and get a decent meal? Almost as hard as using chopsticks to get back home."
You remembered dropping off ramen for him when he refused to eat the hospital food. His glassy-eyed catatonic state still haunted you.
"I experimented at home since then. I managed to get farther each time. Got to do some crazy shit over the last month. I held an elephant in the palm of my hand, did yoga with a treefolk, and even danced with the dorai during their fertility festival."
You almost asked who the dorai were. You barely caught yourself.
"My favorite was visiting the Omera Beach dimension. They had this Ferris wheel that plunged you into the ocean. The cabins are sealed and entirely made of glass. All that sealife—it was like a different dimension within a dimension.
"Saw lots of jellyfish down there. Tricia, the weirdo, loved them. Wish she could’ve seen them. That's why I keep going out there. If other dimensions have their own versions of Japan and jellies, one might have a Tricia. One that doesn't have a Mark yet."
Your heart tightened. You breathe Mark's name, but he looked at you with such hope for approval that any words begging him to stop—to listen to himself—seized in your throat. He seemed to take your utterance as sympathy and simpered in return.
"I know it sounds crazy, but it's what I have left. Maybe I can get her to come with me, or I stay with her? I know it wouldn't be the same person, but I'd take a pink-haired, brown-eyed Tricia over nobody at all.”
Unable to take it any longer, you stood. You don’t remember what excuse you made up. You thanked Mark for his hospitality. On your way home, you started typing up a group text.
Mrs. Forrest called you the next day to inform you that Mark was gone. You listened to her stilted sobs, offering what words of comfort you could muster.
And in the end, you didn't need to know how Mark left. All you hoped was that he was with Tricia, wherever he was.