Date: CT2-5875/11/16

I woke up determined.

I wasn't always this death-chasing headcase. I wasn't always mopey and depressed and down on just about everything. I felt that way at times, sure, but plenty of people did. Serrah's Dusk had done this to me - Serrah had done this to me - and I woke, in part, hating her for it.

Zed conjured me some pancakes for breakfast and as I sat down with them I made an executive decision: I had to stop being so damn pathetic. Grief earned me nothing and obsessing over things I couldn't control is what got me into this hole, it certainly wasn't going to get me out of it. I felt awful, but it didn't matter, I wasn't going to give in. I wasn't going to do what Serrah did to me - what she did to herself and to all those who cared about her. I wouldn't do that. Never. I wouldn't do it. I wouldn't. I wouldn't. I...

Well.

Never say never, right?

Okay, so, the Brand New Attitude wasn't entirely working out, but I had made progress. I was consciously examining and restructuring my thoughts, striving to feel better, to be better. Still, it's not like this positive development was some feat of strength on my part, it was simply something I had to do. I was meeting Lex today and, from what I'd seen of her, it wasn't going to be easy. She was at her nadir, or close to it, and at the brink of collapse. It would do no good for either of us if I were right there with her.

Zach was still sleeping while I ate, so I tapped the nearby console and zapped the Cube's most recent batch of what could sneeringly be referred to as 'news' over to my display. This particular source ran columns and opinion pieces just as newspapers had done in days of old, but it was nothing more than a poor facsimile. Everybody who read it, and all who worked on it, knew that. Still, they kept the facade going week after week, and why not? It was something to do and, in truth, that's all most of us were really searching for.

Today the reports spanned from a treatise on the Death to think pieces on classic philosophy and art. After that were some suggestions and advertisements for activities and interest groups throughout the Cube, and even a few words on some 'new art'. Following that, as usual, came alternatives and advice for those considering suicide or an early Dusk. It would hardly have been of note, but accompanying it was perhaps the most newsworthy part of the entire publication: the latest figures and projections of declining population. Suicide, Dusking included, had been the leading cause of death for an extremely long time. In and of itself this was simply a fact of life for a post-need, post-scarcity society such as ours, but there was a problem here: the average age of taking one's own life had been dropping steadily since the early years of CT1.

At the inception of the cube the life expectancy for a human was over two-hundred-and-eighty. Today's report confirmed it had now fallen below one-hundred-and-eighty. This had been predicted, known and was essentially predetermined, but there it was as fact in front of me and it felt like a tragedy.

As crushing as it was, the only effect it had on me was prompting a sort of dull throbbing at the back of my skull. At a certain point tragedy that has been folded in on itself again and again becomes little more than gray, unfelt void. I couldn't care about all of it as much as it deserved all of the time, it simply wasn't possible.

And that was it, that was all the 'news' had to offer. No progress, no innovation, nothing truly new. There was only stillness, and decay, just as there had been from the moment I was born. Endless nothing stacked on top of nothing, fading into nothing.

The truth was simple: science and society had come to their natural conclusions. We were done, basically. We had solved the equations, wrote the epics and sang the songs. We had beat the universe and been beaten by it. All that was left for us to do was try and enjoy ourselves. That was the purpose of the Cube: an eternal hedonistic cruise for all of humanity. Do as you wish without limit, wherever, whenever. Sounds incredible, right?

Well, it is.

Until it's not.

It's just...

No.

Maybe.

I mean, it's not just me, I know that, but what do you think?

Doesn't it terrify you? I mean, at least a little?

Doesn't it nag at you knowing there's no need for new thought and no reason for new art other than for it to be ignored, offered pity or, at absolute best, treated as a novel distraction by an odd few? Does it not spark a certain sense of listlessness knowing that humanity has reached its limits and can never surpass them? Here we are at the end of time, history over and done with, and doesn't it feel to you at all like we're being robbed of what it means to be human?

You could alter yourself, deceive yourself, live in a simulation and believe that there is more to see and do than there really is, but there isn't, it's all illusion, isn't it? I mean, really, what's the point?

Some days I'd want to let go of it all. I'd wonder if that would make me happy: suicide, becoming nothing more than another statistic to process for the daily news.

But that's just so me, isn't it? So typically 'Eliot'. As if I could ever be more than a statistic. Nobody could. Not any more. This was predicted, known, essentially predetermined.

So that was it in all its naked, awful glory: the Malaise. The understanding that all of this is for nothing more than self-gratification, that life has lost any purpose it may once have had, that there is no future and, in fact, all that's left to come is more of the same again and again from now until there's nothing left. It's an awful, devouring apathy, a crushing dread, an invasive lethargy. It's all of that and more. And it's nothing. It's nothing at all.

It had me, it was a part of me - it was a part of many, many people - but experiencing it together didn't make it any easier, in fact it often made it worse. It took Serrah from me and, I was now convinced, it wouldn't be long until it had taken Lex too.

For all my dark, introspective pessimism, I was far from the worst case out there. In fact, when I wasn't so firmly in my feelings I could be pretty fun; I could have a good time or at least fool myself into believing I was having one which, I reasoned, was pretty much the same thing. I enjoyed a bit of reckless hedonism, good sex, skydiving and games, swimming with sharks, experiencing great art and generally doing whatever the hell I felt like. Well, often I defaulted to what Zachary or my friends wanted to do, moving with the current whichever way it flowed. Regardless, I made the best I could of life, most of the time. A lot of the time.

Serrah was dead and, yeah, it made me want to pull out my fur and scream and cry and stab myself in the heart over and over again with a rusty knife but-

But what?

...

But my plan was that I'd stop being so pathetic and I'd keep going. What else could I do? Other than the obvious. And I wasn't going to do that. I wasn't. Never. Not ever. I wasn't. I...

You get the idea.

My tenacity had got me through over forty years so far. I wanted to last at least two-hundred before I met my end, if for no other reason than to prove that I could do it. Giving into these depressive bouts of adolescence would do me no favors and I knew that. Serrah was dead, and all I could do was hold my head up and power through, there truly was nothing else for it.

Zachary emerged from the bedroom stretching, yawning, wearing nothing but his collar and a sly grin. He wagged his tail and nodded at me. “Nice outfit."

I looked down to find that I was even more naked than him.

“Yeah, yeah. You wish I wore it all the time, right?"

“You know me so well."

He sat beside me and kissed my cheek. I turned and smooched his nose. He kissed my lips.

I smiled.

“So," He said, a certain sense of uneasiness about him. “How are you feeling today my love?"

“Better," I told him.

It wasn't quite a lie. It wasn't quite the truth either.

---

The cat morph in the mirror was trying their best.

They buttoned up their searingly white shirt and pulled a face that was meant to be an assured grin, but landed closer to a gaunt grimace. Quickly giving up on that idea, they settled on a neutral stare. It worked out okay.

Serrah was dead and they weren't going to pretend that she wasn't. They weren't going to forget her. They weren't going to ignore their grief or pretend that they hadn't lost a huge part of what made them whole, they certainly had. But they weren't going to let that define them. If they did, they'd be no better than her. And they were better than her. They had to be.

They pulled on some dark pants and, no, what was this? A business meeting? They stripped back down to their underwear and instead selected a somewhat-less-searingly white shift dress to wear, plain and unrevealing, but not quite so stuffy. It took them some effort to get on, their tail making the task considerably more complex than it otherwise would've been, but they managed it. The mirror agreed with them: this was a better look.

They had found of late that a touch of dissociation could make certain things a little easier. When Eliot didn't have to be Eliot, they didn't have to be anything at all, and they found some comfort in that. But it couldn't last. It wasn't a charade I ever kept up for long, the reasons for which, I'm sure, are obvious.

Zachary had left to meet his close friend Denn and, doubtlessly, get up to something debaucherous. He knew I had plans, and that I needed space, so made no argument to stick around. I had been in communication with Lex and arranged to meet at her place shortly. Seeing her was going to be tough, but I was up to it. Of course I was, I well and truly had to be.

I had my system administer a low-level relaxant to assist in concentration, but I didn't take any sort of mood stabilizer or euphoria inducer. A false veneer of positivity wouldn't help anybody. I was sad. Lex was too. Going in beaming and high wouldn't do any favors. I straightened my dress and patted it down then, taking a deep breath, I transported to Lex's.

I materialized in a massive room of white marble and flowing curtains set against huge windows that looked out at rolling hills, intertwining streams and a bright orange, cloudless sky. Lex was swimming in a pool that dominated the center of the room, practicing backstroke at a leisurely pace, when she noticed me and lifted herself out. She indicated some poolside loungers with a nod of her head and went to make herself comfortable on one. I approached and stood over her.

Water dripped from her pale skin and formed her dark hair into wet clumps. She told Zed to dry her off and a warmth permeated the room as a heated breeze descended on her. In a matter of seconds she was dry and her hair had puffed back into its natural lengthy waves.

“Hey baby," she said, finally. She was smiling and, somehow, the expression didn't seem forced. I wasn't expecting that. “Are you holding up alright?"

“Better," I say. Not truth. Not lie. “How about you?"

“Better," she mimicked, nodding. She indicated for me to recline on the lounger beside her. I relented, settling on the furniture. She twisted onto her side, pushing her head up with a hand, and ran her eyes over my body. “I'm sorry for compounding your stress yesterday. You have more than enough to deal with already, I shouldn't have added my unstable ass to your list of concerns."

“I appreciate the sentiment, Lex, but you don't have to apologize. You're important to me, I'm not going to abandon you just because I'm busy, or sad."

Her smile faltered, then reasserted itself.

“I'll always be in awe of your strength Eliot," she said. I nodded, not knowing how to respond. “So, I'm curious - and if you don't want to talk about it, please don't - but did you interface with her Mind?"

I nodded again. She said nothing, just kept staring at me. I was frozen. I recalled yesterday, watching tears stream down her face, her voice ragged. She was perched on the precipice. I couldn't let her fall.

I thawed, and sat up.

“I used it," I admitted, the words sounding stiff and strange coming from my mouth. “I talked to her. Or her afterimage, at least. She, uh, wanted to make sure I'd be okay without her." Lex nodded, listening intently. “But, I don't know, it feels more like pity than kindness."

Lex thought for some time before responding.

“Serrah was in an impossible position," she said. “She couldn't go on living, but she couldn't bear to leave you. This was her compromise. I truly don't believe it was pity that motivated her, but maybe it wasn't kindness either."

“Then what was it?"

Lex brought herself up to a sitting position, mirroring me, and shrugged. She gazed into the distance with an odd stare and for once I had absolutely no idea what she was thinking.

“Desperation, I'd say," she sighed, then smiled and looked right at me. “But that's only a guess."

I buried myself in thought, letting abstractions protect me from reality. Maybe Lex was right. Maybe Serrah felt cornered, as if she were in a no-win scenario. Maybe this outcome was simply the best she could come up with. She left me her Mind because she loved me. She gave up her life because that wasn't enough. I wasn't enough. Nor was Paloma. Truth is, no matter what you use to fill a void, there will always be more void left to fill.

“Part of me hates her," I admitted, my whole reason for being there - to provide Lex with emotional support - having been flipped on its head.

“I don't blame you," she said, brushing hair out of her eyes and blinking. “I think I'd feel the same."

“The rest of me loves her more than I can say."

Lex simply nodded. She understood, and that comforted me, if only a little. I couldn't get the image of her from the day before, distraught and unfocused, out of my head. She seemed so solid and stable today. What happened?

“Hey, do you want to go out and do something together babe?" She asked, breaking the silence. “You know, get our minds on something else?"

“Maybe soon," I said, forcing a smile. We lapsed back into silence as I struggled to put my thoughts in order, but that didn't last long. I knew saying something had to be better than letting the conversation die, so I just went ahead and started speaking. “Lex, yesterday you were- I mean, I know you say you're feeling better, and I'm not trying to- I just, look, I want to be here for you, right? And that means, for me to help you, you have to tell me what's going on with you, you know, like why you're sad, or even why you're happy. Well, I mean, if you weren't happy before. I guess what I'm trying to ask is: what happened since our call that's put you in such a positive state of mind? I'm glad, of course I'm glad Lex, but it's not what I was expecting. It's got me worried, that's all. And I know I could be worrying over nothing, but that's the truth of it. I just want to know what's going on with you."

It was a barely coherent ramble as far as I could tell, and as I spoke I started to wonder whether I was losing my mind completely or if I had made any sense at all. Lex didn't seem fazed. Her eyes were flat and tired as she stared at me. She was still smiling, but now that smile was resigned, as if she'd expected something like this to come up in conversation.

“No, babe, I get it. And you're right to ask. After we talked yesterday I did some thinking and some research and, well, I came up with a few ideas. Ways to, you know, improve my life, improve my outlook, that sort of thing."

“And they really helped?"

She nodded, her smile widening. “They have. They will."

“Well don't keep them all to yourself girl, that's great news. Tell me everything."

She shook her head, which I didn't expect, and said. “I will, I will. Just, not yet. I need some time to think things through, make some decisions, formulate some plans, you know?"

I nodded, not really knowing at all, but so happy that - whatever the hell she meant - her mood had improved so quickly and dramatically. When the time was right, she'd explain herself. Until then I'd trust her and be so damn thankful that her life was turning around.

“Okay," I said. “Okay," I beamed. This was the best I'd felt since Serrah's Dusk. “Alright, why not? Let's go out."

---

We ended up going swimming at some huge resort. I'd never been to the place before, but Lex recommended it highly and it lived up to expectation. I even had fun, for a while, but I couldn't keep my mind off of Serrah. The attempt at distraction was only a partial success and after a couple hours it all became too much, I didn't want to be around strangers, acting like everything was okay when it really wasn't. I told Lex it had been good, but that I wanted some time alone. She understood, wished me well and saw me off.

I dried up, went home and sat in front of Serrah's Mind. I remained motionless for a long while, just staring at it as emotions rolled over me in dense waves. Serrah was dead, and nothing made sense anymore. I could talk to her, but what good would that do? I was convinced now that Lex was right; Serrah didn't have a clue any more than I did. She didn't know how to feel better, or how to make me feel better. She didn't know how to improve her life, or how to go on living. She felt trapped.

Her death was like an anchor wrapped around my ankle and I could feel it dragging me down. She feared as much, predicted as much even, but the only solution she could find was this. Her Mind. It wasn't enough. I was still sinking.

The tension became too much and I thought I should just go ahead and interface, talk to her, even if it was unlikely to help. But I was scared, so I didn't. Instead I stood up, and walked away, paced back and forth throughout my home, thoughts racing, then still. I couldn't ignore Serrah's Mind forever, and I wasn't going to deactivate it on some selfish whim. No, I was going to have to face her again and work through these feelings.

Just... not yet. Tomorrow, maybe. No matter what, I couldn't put it off forever. I had to do something. A pressure was building inside of me and I was convinced that I'd burst if nothing changed.

I took a minute to regulate my breathing, then followed through on the only idea that made any sense to me at all: I called Paloma.

She didn't answer straight away. I thought of canceling the call, but I didn't. Waiting, my stomach was in free-fall, as if I were plummeting from some great height to meet my grisly end. She answered after maybe ten seconds.

A live image of her upper body appeared in front of me. She was brushing her long, curled hair and smiling. I tried to reciprocate her smile, but I could feel the corners of my mouth wobbling, straining to maintain form.

“Eliot, hi!" She was enthusiastic and warm. All I could think was: how does she do it? She could read my face. She could always read my face. She put her hairbrush down carefully and allowed me her complete attention. Her voice softened and emptied of expectation and pretense. “How are you holding up?" It was an honest to Zed question, not some empty signifier. I tried to answer, I really did, but all I could manage was a twitching muzzle. My body began to tremble, I was losing control. “Oh, darling." Her mouth parted in concern. Her eyes were wide as she studied me. “Would you like it if I came over?" I scrunched my eyes shut and gulped. “I know I could use the company, but I wouldn't want to impose on you." I didn't say anything, I couldn't. She exhaled. “Eliot, please tell me, would you like it if I came to visit?" I used all the strength I had just to nod. “Okay," she said. “Great. I'll be there in two minutes."

I opened my eyes. Tears were streaming down my face. I opened my mouth and my silence ended abruptly in gasping sobs. “Thank you Paloma," I cried. “Thank you for this. And I'm sorry. So, so sorry."

“You don't need to apologize for anything Eliot, and there's no need to thank me either. I'm glad you called, I'm glad I'm coming to see you. Serrah's absence is vast; I think this will be good for the both of us." I nodded again, attempting to contain my outburst once more and, in part, succeeding. “See you soon," she said, and she ended the call.

I spent most of the one-hundred-and-thirty-five seconds it took for Paloma to arrive bawling like a newborn and tearing up my vocal chords with agonized moans as I lay sprawled on the floor, staring into space and wishing I was dead.

When her request to transport came in I got up, wiped my eyes, patted down my dress and ran a paw through my hair before accepting.

She appeared a couple meters in front of me and came straight in for a hug. Pressed tight against her plush form I held onto her as if she were my last remaining tether to existence. I rested my head on her shoulder and the crying began all over again.

“I know," she said. “I know." And, for once, she didn't sound as if she could lift the entire Cube on her shoulders - in fact it seemed like she was only barely managing my weight - so, when she said once again: “I know," I trusted her completely.

“She's gone," I blubbered nonsensically. “She's really gone."

“She is," Paloma said at length. She sniffed, and I realized in a guilt-ridden instant that I was not the only one crying.

“I'm scared that I'll never feel okay again," I said. She didn't respond. “Paloma?" She'd been through this before: lost a mate to the Malaise and lived on. She knew what it was like. She knew the grief and the pain. She knew the slow, arduous path to recovery. She knew that, in the end, it would all be okay. In the end it would all be okay. Surely she knew that. “Paloma?"

Nothing.

I felt a compression in my chest. The air grew cold, my throat dry. It felt like reality was collapsing.

“This pain will live with you forever," she said, quiet, plain, matter-of-fact. “But, it does get better." She went silent. I was uncertain, unstable, clutching onto her just to stay standing. The seconds ticked. She opened her mouth and added a single word: “eventually."