You don’t know anything

Kristina England | Alankrita Amaya

There was an accident. Bobby said there was an accident. He said I was in the accident. He said I caused the accident.

Moron, I thought.

Bobby said he was there. He went so far as to say he was dead.

“Then why are you talking me?” I asked.

“Because you’re dead, too,” he said.

“I’m not dead,” I said.

“Look around,” he said, but I kept my eyes focused on his face.

“No, why should I,” I said.

“Because you’ll know the truth. Listen, I can’t stand here all day. I have to move on.”

“Where are you going?” I asked. “We were supposed to go to the museum,” I said.

“The museum isn’t here. It isn’t anywhere anymore,” he said.

I turned to point and saw nothing just as he had said. I turned back and said, “It’s there. We just can’t see it yet.”

But Bobby wasn’t there. Neither was anything. No grass, no ground, no car. It looked as if I was on a stage painted all in black in a room painted all in black. I walked across what I thought was the floor, but my feet made no sound.

“Bobby,” I shouted. “Bobby, are you there?”

“He’s not,” someone said.

I stared at the sound and found nothing at all. The someone was there, but he wasn’t.

“Where is Bobby?”

“Bobby’s dead,” the someone said. “Sam, you’re dead, too.”

I batted the air. “You don’t know anything. Go ahead and get out of here.”

And the someone was no longer there. Nor was the there there at all. I went to sit down, but couldn’t remember the action. I went to stand, but there were no legs to stand on, so I just made myself disappear.