zissou
partially-obscured meteorite
June 07, 2023
Dear Diary,
A dead president from another universe once said, "You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today."Wise words. Well, let me tell you something: you most definitely can.
After B tipped me off to the fact that unfriendly forces planned to converge on my apartment building that very night—perhaps the only thing he’s ever done that hasn’t resulted in loss of life, limb, or funds—I knew it was time. I caught the 2:12 a.m. train with nothing but the clothes off my back and two black eyes.
I had planned to stay vigilant throughout the journey, knowing I wasn’t safe yet and probably never truly would be, but the second the train started creaking down the rails, I nodded off. I don’t know how much time passed, but it didn’t matter. I was staying on until the end of the line.
Until I was rudely shoved awake by a pair of paws demanding to know who I was and where I was going. I panicked until I realized that he was just your run-of-the-mill, manic, red-eyed, coffee-guzzling busybody. Not thinking much of it, I spouted off random phrases. To my horror, he announced, eyes gleaming with feverish glee, that I had uttered the name of the very next stop.
Needless to say, I had to get away from this weirdo.
Once the train began screeching to a halt, I practically threw myself onto the platform. Rubbing the sleep out of my swollen eyes, I staggered through the train station, only to be blinded by harsh sunlight and four eager faces. Had they found me? Here? Already?
No. My heart slowed as I realized that all of the faces were unfamiliar, and, more importantly, unassuming. Only then did I start listening to what any of them were going on about.
Mayor? "Bug"? I stumbled over my words, weakly attempting to correct them—no, I'm not the mayor of anything, no, I'm...
... until I realized that this was the best opportunity I'd had in a long time. A chance to make something of myself. The right way, the honest way. And—I checked my phone and realized there was no cell signal, no WiFi, nothing—a chance to leave everything else behind and not be found.
And that's how I became Mayor Bug of Mushroom Town.
There's a lot more to explain, diary, but my head aches from everything I've been through these past few weeks, and from all of the excitement of today. I have to make plans. I need to figure out everything that I'm supposed to know—mayoral skills, yes, but also how to survive when all I have is a tent and a broken lantern.
Those are, as B would unhelpfully say, tomorrow problems. I'll see you then.
Dear Diary,
A dead president from another universe once said, "You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today."Wise words. Well, let me tell you something: you most definitely can.
After B tipped me off to the fact that unfriendly forces planned to converge on my apartment building that very night—perhaps the only thing he’s ever done that hasn’t resulted in loss of life, limb, or funds—I knew it was time. I caught the 2:12 a.m. train with nothing but the clothes off my back and two black eyes.
I had planned to stay vigilant throughout the journey, knowing I wasn’t safe yet and probably never truly would be, but the second the train started creaking down the rails, I nodded off. I don’t know how much time passed, but it didn’t matter. I was staying on until the end of the line.
Until I was rudely shoved awake by a pair of paws demanding to know who I was and where I was going. I panicked until I realized that he was just your run-of-the-mill, manic, red-eyed, coffee-guzzling busybody. Not thinking much of it, I spouted off random phrases. To my horror, he announced, eyes gleaming with feverish glee, that I had uttered the name of the very next stop.
Needless to say, I had to get away from this weirdo.
Once the train began screeching to a halt, I practically threw myself onto the platform. Rubbing the sleep out of my swollen eyes, I staggered through the train station, only to be blinded by harsh sunlight and four eager faces. Had they found me? Here? Already?
No. My heart slowed as I realized that all of the faces were unfamiliar, and, more importantly, unassuming. Only then did I start listening to what any of them were going on about.
Mayor? "Bug"? I stumbled over my words, weakly attempting to correct them—no, I'm not the mayor of anything, no, I'm...
... until I realized that this was the best opportunity I'd had in a long time. A chance to make something of myself. The right way, the honest way. And—I checked my phone and realized there was no cell signal, no WiFi, nothing—a chance to leave everything else behind and not be found.
Those are, as B would unhelpfully say, tomorrow problems. I'll see you then.
Yours,
Mayor Bug
Mayor Bug
