In My World

by Justin Ocelot

In my world, we dance under ten-carat stars, derringers in our boots, and aces up our sleeves. In my world, our sock drawers are never empty, the shower water never gets cold, milk cartons never run dry, and time is always on our side. In my world we never get lonely.

Almost never.

So I send you an invitation and a first-class ticket. The glass rocking horse will collect you at the station. The glass key will let you in.

The door opens and I sweep you up in my arms. That’s my plan. But I’m scared, so I end up sending my double.

She’s prettier than me, less top-heavy, less likely to topple over. I watch from a distance, disguised as a katydid. She’s doing a good job, making you feel welcome.

“In my world,” she explains, “we use the alphabet only to spell disaster, and numbers only to count ourselves lucky. Here everyone is an honored guest. Everyone gets a parade, a motorcade, a medal.”

On my leaf I nod my insect head. That’s right. That’s exactly right. My double pops to her feet, bright-eyed. “How about a tour?” And she whisks you away.

Suddenly I hate her more than anything. I want to walk up and punch her in the eye. But I’m a katydid. No, actually smaller than that now. A fly? Worse, a midge. And I can’t seem to get out.

I go through my whole life cycle. Several times. A thousand times. My karmic debt never paid. Then I’m a frog, one of the chorus, anonymous, unnoticed, no matter how sweetly I sing.

I want to be a bear. I want to do some damage. That’s how angry I am. But the best I can manage is panda.

When I’m finally me again the tour is almost over. I find the two of you by the gates of time. Baboons operate the locks, turning the giant flywheels, the pawls clacking, the gate paddles swinging open or closed, controlling the flow of seconds, minutes, hours.

“Quite an engineering marvel,” you say.

My double grins, dialing up the charm. “How to control it precisely,” she says, “that was the real challenge. What if an extra second got in and ran around unsupervised? A lot can happen in a second.”

Yes, it can. I wait until you’re looking the other way then I run up and shove my double over the edge and she is sucked away in the undertow of a swirling century. The baboons hoot and dance, but you don’t even notice the change.

“What’s next?” you ask. “Any more wonders up your sleeve?”

For a moment I stand there, frozen. What if you don’t like me as much as her? What if I say the wrong thing? What if you spot the duct tape holding up the sky?

Then I take a breath and loop my arm in yours. “There’s one more thing I’d like you to see.”

Justin Ocelot collects impossible puzzles, lost causes, and infinite maps. He writes stories without training wheels (they aren't safe and you might fall off). More info at justinocelot.com.