4338.208 · July 27, 2018 AD
Muscle Memory
His hand reaches for a phone that isn't there. Around the fire, arguments flare and fade, a dead man sings a song no one's ever heard, and somewhere between the first bite and the last toast, strangers start becoming something else.
The firelight becomes the heart of the settlement, and for one evening, everyone gathers around it.
Luke arrives with butter chicken and all the complicated dynamics that follow him. Jamie snaps about Joel being forgotten. Paul tries to impose order and gets resistance from every direction. Karen bristles. Jamie explodes. Kain mutters something petty about building skills and immediately regrets it.
But somewhere between the arguments and the apologies, roles get assigned and a road gets proposed. Small steps toward something resembling civilisation. Joel offers to help — the first sign that whatever happened to him isn't going to keep him down forever.
Then the sun dies in spectacular fashion, and a raspy voice finds a melody. Kain's hand goes to his back pocket before he remembers there's no phone there anymore. No Shazam. No way to capture this moment or send it to anyone who matters. The emptiness extends far beyond the missing device.
Glenda fetches her violin and somehow accompanies a song she's never heard. The lyrics speak of stories yet to be written, of glory in worlds fought to right. A toast rises. Glasses clink.
Kain drains his drink and holds it out for another. Forward is the only direction left.
