It’s kinda as if Mother made me and didn’t fill in all the details properly. Parts of my memory are kind of blank.
And that’s what all of us are: kind of blank, Priya says. It’s like we’re in some simulation, after the real world ended. Like this is a fake world. A fake timeline.
Who am I supposed to be? Priya asks. And who are you, anyway? Are you realer than me, or am I realer than you?: that’s the question. What’s supposed to happen here? Are we pretending? Or is pretending pretending? Are lies … lying?
We’re sick with ourselves, Priya says. Sick of being ourselves, maybe. Poisoned, maybe. Do you believe in poison – like, universal poison?
I believe in poison, I say.
There’s something evil, Priya says. Something Bad, capital B. Something’s … infested the world – I can see that. Terrible things … terrible things, philosopher. I feel them. I know them. Something’s wrong.
Work in Progress 