Harbinger: A Journal of Art & Literature | 2018-2019

know you as well as I do, or you are more convincing with people who make decisions
about your future.”
Travis pulled the hand back, leaving the splatter of cooling coffee on the table top,
and took the napkin that Larson offered him, drying the nanoskin. He took up the cup,
in that hand, that thing, and pressed it to his lips, letting the bitter flavor fill his mouth
before he swallowed.
“I am tired of being kept locked away, a privileged prisoner.”
“You are not a man to be happy without action. I will see if the Church will introduce
you to someone who you can interact with. But for now,” Larson stood up, “I have work
to do.”
Travis stood, leaving his half-empty coffee cup and the small splatter of coffee on the
table. He clutched the damp napkin in his right hand. “What shall I spend my time on,
until then?”
“What you are expected to do, and what you need to do. Everything else you do
because it is what you will be.” Larson tapped his temple at the edge of his snowy hair.
“Make peace with your mind, Travis. I will see you tomorrow.”
Travis scowled at him, frustration filling his chest with heat, even as Larson turned
away, leaving him in the cafeteria, alone even as other patients and staff trickled in. He
could not speak with them, they did not know what he was, and no one asked. He could
not bear the thought of the plain white walls in his room, or the ceiling tiles that were
not quite right, so he sat back down, studying the spilled coffee. His right hand clutched
the napkin, the left lay open before him, perfectly still.
I am born of Chaos, the unknown. I will be Chaos.
He picked up the cup with his left hand and poured what remained of the coffee over
his right hand. The napkin soaked up what it could, becoming a soggy ball under his
fingers, the coffee pooling around his hand and running over the older spill. The frustration
in his chest cooled, and the whirring thoughts that spun around in his mind slowed,
narrowing to one thing, one single idea that shivered and trembled in the possibilities of
the future that could be. In the future that could be the dead man living.