𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐌 ☂ diego hargreeves

Dear Dora, #1

"Falling isn't so bad, you know. It's only the landing that hurts."
― Terry Pratchett, The Color of Magic

Dear Dora,

The world ended yesterday and you're dead. I'm not saying this right.

You died first - first and foremost - and several days later the world went with you into the ether.

I want to stress the importance of the world because I like to think I cared about it as it was. I cared about what I was losing as I was losing it. I cared about my stupid coworkers and every one of my clients for whatever their time alive meant to them. I cared about the people I hated and maybe I loved them a little but you don't know that before. There's no way to know how you'll feel when the fire is upon you, a searing red giant swallowing every insignificance I thought of as bigger than me.

But I am here. Alive, as much as I can tell.

The world is gone.

You are gone but I've had a little more time to process that, whatever time really means.

I think I also put the world ending first because you placed it before everything, always, even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt. I'm not saying this right.

I asked her if I could have something to write in. She gave me a pen and a notebook.

I want to remember how this happened and, if she's right, I want to find a way to explain it all to you and hand this to you in a timeline where you survived. I need you to understand why I did what I did.

The short answer is I'm one of them and I'm selfish.

The long answer started eleven days before the end of the world, but I didn't know that yet.

I was working, the bad job not the good one. I had on my blue vest and yellow name tag and there were so many unloaded boxes of plastic wood grain shelves, I thought to set them on fire. Burn all of Domestics, which would burn the store, which would free up so much of my time. The lemon scented floor cleaner must've spilled earlier because the scent of it flooded my nose and pulsed in my head along with so much I didn't want to deal with at the moment.

There was nothing more infuriating than getting to work in the late afternoon to a tower of boxes in every corner of the store and my fury grew at the same rate as my migraine.

I eyed Paul - remember Paul? 'Accidentally flirted with one of my moms' Paul? - who grinned and chuckled to young, impressionable Kylee as they both stood around the unopened softlines boxes. Kylee giggled and I already felt bad for her. Paul had a reputation. I mean, I didn't feel overly bad since she wasn't actually doing her job but in the long run, the girl deserved better than Paul. I assume neither survived, so it's unlikely she ever got her heart broken but a lot could happen in eleven days.

"Hey, Gershmore," I said, ending on a higher octave than I started. I saw the little ink spiral of pale yellow hovering just above his hairline as his shoulders tensed and he spun around. He was a lanky 20-something with long blond hair in a low ponytail and a face that always reminded me of a rat. "I need you in Domestics. What time are you out of here?"

It was at 2 AM. It always was and he knew that I knew.

"Uh, 2?"

I smiled. "Good. Come find me after last break and I'll see where we can put you after we finish here."

There was a sour note to his expression when he nodded and meandered in the direction of the large boxes. Kylee, who was typically oblivious to the sheer amount of attention she got, even relaxed, cool blues filling her head but I tried remaining blind to that. My head throbbed like it was in a vice. I asked her if she was good to finish candy and she was.