He set the ambience of his apartment to a crude simulation of the 1980s using software he found on a slimy corner of the clearnet a few days ago. The software was taking some getting used to, but he liked it better than his previous setup. Nothing was streamlined: phone, writing devices, commode, and cooking utensils were all energetically separate now. He had begun to loathe the amount of free time provided by the previous efficiency setting.

It became difficult for him to differentiate between sleep and wakefulness because of the pirated software. There were people on forums who said it would only last a few days. Others warned it could persist indefinitely. His holocat adjusted fast and seemed to like it. Sometimes he thought he could hear her purring in a higher dimension, the sixth maybe.

He dreamt. “Long ago, a pool of minerals lay in wait. There was not much to do beyond merging and separating, but this led to segmentation. From there, feet formed for the land, fins for the water, and wings for the air. The plan was to take shape, and everything worked to make the world habitable. When the time was right, the minerals gave way to the worms, who aerated the land and so on.

An ideological divide arose between the minerals of the air, water, and land. The land minerals began exporting and importing. They cut off communication with the air and water minerals. Their languages fell into disrepair, regressing into garish yelps spat from vulnerable orifices. The worms thought this preoccupation with trade was unbecoming, but they didn’t have voices.

Slowly, the minerals of the air and water chipped away at the increasing population of land creatures. They conjured hurricanes, tornadoes, tsunamis, pestilence, smog, famine, the whole nine yards. Those on land fortified themselves with plastic and adapted their daily lives to the attacks. Hardly anyone went outside.”

He woke up and put on his sandals. The tea kettle whizzed and banged, and the phone began ringing. He hardly ever answered it. His pseudo tape machine clicked on.

“Majnoun, I need at least five hundred words on last night’s dream.” He picked up the phone.

“What is this? Which dream?”

“This mineral thing, mad man. You don’t know how deep it goes.”

“Wait. I need -” he froze. “Who am I speaking with?”

Click.

His mania escalated. The call had come from The Guardian, but not the one you’re thinking. The story ballooned and attached to all the stories he already knew. He wrote down what he could remember and tried to make up the rest.

“The God particles, who haphazardly oversaw things, thought back to days of soft gelatinous tissues and pools, when there was an air of possibility tinged with a wet fleshy odor. Time imposed rigidity and stink. Some regretted including it now that collapse smelled imminent. They didn’t all agree.”

He woke up and fell asleep again before the cat entered.

“Majnoun, did you get your story published?”

“No, Dinah,” he said, scratching the orange part of her head.

She purred, “It was heavy-handed.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“They’ll have to re-terraform the planet.”

“What?” he asked. 

“There will be horrors innumerable,” she said.