Now

Remember the recharge time. A minute and one. 

A lot can happen in that time. Microjumps, they say. Alternate realities at the speed of what-if. The velocity of wondering. 

All I must do is make it a minute and one.

You’re right behind me. So I have to go.

Click.

A feeling of gravity infuriated; my soul upside down—

Foam sprays on the back of a massive teal manta ray. In my hands, a harpoon of coral. You burst from the waves, gills flaring—

Red leather armchair. Your hand in mine, wrinkled. Outside, the rain burns. Inside, the fire dies, I—

Heart stops. Starts. Spasms with indecision. Someone shouts at you, “Put it down!” I—

Spiked boots grip the red ice of a blood lake, frozen. There is a crimson shadow under me, a worm crawling the apple. Your shadow on the shore, aiming. A crack of thunder—!

Dead. 

Gasping air. My mind feels you here, tracing brainwaves across my frontal lobe like a tongue across throat and—

We are reptiles. Blink. Blink. You—

Dead. Again.

Dying. Above me, you, mandibles, nictating eyes. Your tears are honey. How many—?

Oh. You’re dead. Neck twisted round. From your mouth, gold beetles trickle. In my hand, a knife, covered in… I’m going to be sick–

Vomit pours from me, sluicing onto airplane aisle carpet. Turbulence, passengers screaming, you howl, bones snapping; full moons exist even in flight, the stink of guts is—

You are a rock. In my hands, a heavier rock. Sharpened. My simple mind knows: heavy and sharp wins against small and round. Always. I scream, language lightyears away. Bring it down, crack! White-silver quartz inside weeps jagged tears—

Not dead, just not yet born.

Bird on a dead branch. Decades of winter. I see you not at all. I am the only birdsong in the world—

Laughter, song, cake between teeth, your hand in mind. We’re radiant. Somehow, it all worked out, didn’t it? Even as my brainslug harmonizes with your brainslug, we still found love. Gives me hope—

Nope, dead again. But at least you’re dead, too. Not a comfort—

Trees. I am one tree as I am many as I am one. All of life rings me, pulses with breath/heartbeat/pheromone/atmosphere. You are a disease of rot, within me already. I’ll always give myself to your fury. Inevitable—

You scream my name as I walk off the edge. Your fury, I’ll have, but not your heartbreak, you can’t—

“Have this ring,” I burble, slipping a band of obsidian onto a purple tentacle. Your ring of teeth smiles, sharp with joy. I am oxygenated with love. Fits perfectly—

Dead.

Darkness, not death.

Death, but of burning Judgement.

Blades clash, yours hot and golden, mine livid and red. Of course, we’d find a way to fight in the afterlife. What made you angel made me devil: conviction. 

Stags, horns locked, your rack sharp as mine; our riders scream, but we only know simple commands: Go. Stop. Run. Kill. Maybe this will always be how it is for us—

No, not always. We are making love, the room moon-flooded. I am holding your breast in my hand, tender, heavy as a heart. In your eyes, such sadness; do you know it like I know it in this split second, how rare this is? Yes—

Dead.

Dead. Back to life? No, redead.

Undead? I prefer death. Bitter hunger wracks me and all I desire is the meat of you in my jaw—

Dead. 

Dead again, wow. Maybe this is the constant—

No. You. Your body, now. My claws drip, my eyes weep—

From your sternum, a tree grows; it pushes skyward, even as it rips your heart in twain. I feel my roots seeding your veins. I can’t—

Understand—

Refuse to—

Accept that it’s—

Always, this way, I caw. Sitting the shoulder of a death goddess, her arms plunged deep into your chest, searching for your soul. I caw. I want to say, “If I couldn’t find it, how could—

You.” I say. The gun in your hand trembles as you process my words. I risk it. I speak again, “I love—

You with everything I have,” I say again, wiggling my apian body, dancing my love into scents into words into feeling. Even as you strike, mantis claws grabbing me, I find comfort as you bite into, through me. I tried—

I try. 

I try.

Fuck, I try.

Sometimes you do, too. But as—

Kites– 

Dinosaurs—

Protoplasmic coagulations of emotion—

Sentient cities—

Farmers harvesting light wrung from glass plants—

Back and forth, back and forth, our pendulum swings—

I kill you because—

You kill me, because—

A truth larger than love—

A pain greater than kindness—

Masters served—

No life for us but this—

Cat and mouse, literal—

God. God! Is this the cycle? We’re always—

Always

Always, no—

Not always. Armchair. Wedding. Stone rings. 

Sometimes, we win.   

Solid earth. Skin steaming from microjumps. Teeth rattling. Everything hurts. My mind panics at the what-ifs experienced, death, so much death. Heart thumping madly, proudly, remembering it is alive. 

I’ve landed. 

I’m outside the building now. It is burning. I can’t remember who set it on fire, me or you.

My gauntlet beeps as it spins back up. Pulling time to it. Doors to worlds to send me through, if I need it again. 

I think I see you on the top floor, looking down. Are you looking at me the way I’m looking at you? 

Like this could be our last chance?

You vanish. I know you’re coming to me. For me. I know how long it takes to come down those stairs. I know how long it takes for me to decide, if I stay, or if I go. If I risk it.

Sixty seconds. 

A minute and one, if we’re lucky. 

And I know now, as I watch for you, better than I ever have…

A lot can happen in that time.

__________

Martin Cahill is the author of Audition For the Fox, which went on to become a USA Today Bestseller, and a finalist for the World Fantasy Award, Mythopoeic Award, and the Ignyte Award. He is also the author of Critical Role: Armory of Heroes, Critical Role: The Evening Nip, and a contributing author to Critical Role: Vox Machina – Stories Untold. Martin was a 2022 Ignyte Award nominee for Best Short Story and he is a graduate of the 2014 Clarion Writers’ Workshop. He has published short fiction with Reactor, Clarkesworld, Lightspeed Magazine, and many more; he appeared in The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2019. Martin also writes, and has written, book reviews, articles, and essays for Reactor, Ancillary Review of Books, Writer’s Digest, Catapult, and others.