4338.208 · July 27, 2018 AD
Present in One, Haunted by the Other
Joel eats his first meal since dying. Two plates of eggs and beans, devoured like a man who's forgotten what food is. He writes his home address with shaking hands—a lifeline, a connection, proof that Earth still exists somewhere beyond the dust. He steps outside for the first time. Feels the sun. Insists on helping. But every small victory here is shadowed by the same thought: Mum doesn't know where he is.
The smell of bacon cuts through everything. Joel's body remembers hunger before his mind catches up, and suddenly he's eating like survival depends on it—because it does. Two plates vanish. His fingers chase sauce across ceramic. A scream outside barely registers. He's too busy being alive to care what's dying.
Then Paul asks for his address. Fresh clothes, he says. Luke can fetch them from Earth.
Joel writes the words with trembling fingers. 14 Bowden Street, Glenorchy. Seven syllables that mean home, that mean Mum, that mean a life continuing without him while he lies on a mattress in another dimension.
She'll be frantic by now. Calling hospitals. Calling police. Sitting alone in a house she can't afford without his wages.
Joel steps outside. Borrows his father's clothes. Feels the alien sun on his skin and insists on carrying a pillow to help with a bogged car because he needs to be useful, needs to contribute, needs to be more than a medical anomaly taking up mattress space.
Small victories here. Crushing weight there.
Two worlds. One boy. No way to exist in both.
