4338.205 · July 24, 2018 AD
Monument to the Absurd
Paul goes hunting for evidence he'd rather forget existed—armed with a shovel and the growing paranoia that something in this lifeless world might have stolen it. What he finds instead is silence so complete it has weight, and ground that fights back before finally yielding. But the real discovery waits back at camp, where Luke is hauling a king-size mattress through an inter-dimensional portal like it's the most normal thing in the world.
Some tasks defy explanation. Some missions exist so far outside the boundaries of normal life that attempting to describe them only deepens the absurdity. Paul Smith, businessman and father, is currently tracking across an alien wasteland with a shovel, hunting for evidence of his own humanity so he can bury it properly and pretend it never happened.
The landscape offers no assistance. No landmarks, no life, no indication that anything has ever noticed his presence here. When he finally locates his quarry—untouched, unmolested, ignored by a world that apparently has no use for organic matter—the relief mingles with something eerier. He breaks through Clivilius's deceptive crust and plants the shovel upright like a flag of conquest. A crude headstone for a crude burial. A small rebellion against the vastness.
But the day isn't finished stripping away his dignity. Back at camp, Luke emerges from the portal dragging furniture from another dimension, and suddenly three men who can barely stand each other are making a bed together like it's the most natural thing in the world. And when Luke cracks a joke about the sleeping arrangements, something unexpected happens: laughter.
