used to be her friends. Now she doesn’t know any more. There’s no knowing. For all she knew it could have been any one of them. She walks down a street she knows or into a shop she’s been in a thousand times. It’s strange to her, it’s changed. She sits at home. Her family, sitting in the same room, is in a different world, one where things haven’t changed. She sits on her bed. Catherine Masson. Doesn’t matter. Here it comes, the darkening, it comes down on him, the grass he’s sitting on turns grey. He shakes his head, closes then opens his eyes. The leaves above him are black. The river is black water. It ends in a massive smashed black ocean. It doesn’t matter any more what numbers add up to. All the billions of electrical impulses, billions of messages sent in miraculous nanoseconds at the flick of a button or a key or a switch across grey miles, countries, continents, the whole wide world: this is all it adds up to. He did it. They did it. She got the message. She killed herself.
He gets up. He walks back over the bridge, retches again. He holds on to the wall of an old white building. He has the slightly better feeling again. He thinks he could stay like this for a while, head down, shoulders against the wall, looking at the rubble, the weeds pushing out of the place where the building meets the ground. But a man comes out. He shouts at Magnus until he gets up. All right, Magnus says. He nods sorry to the people through the big window in the front of the building. They are looking at him in amazement. There is a vase of flowers on the table between them. Magnus crosses a road. He walks past a chip shop. Some boys are standing outside it. They shout something after him. He wonders how it would feel, to be kicked to death by them. He tries to remember a prayer, but the only thing that will come is the words for now I lay me down to sleep I pray the Lord my soul to keep if I should die before I wake I pray the Lord for them to come after me, knock me down then kick me until I’m dead. But they don’t, because there is no God. They shout something else but they don’t come after him. Never mind. Magnus feels better. He knows what to do. He has known all along, really.
He walks back to the house. It is the correct house, the house he left, because its front door is still open. He can see Eve, his mother, sitting in the front window. She is holding a wine glass. He can see the colour of the wine in it. It is dark. Winedark! Hologram Boy squeaks. It makes Magnus laugh. His stomach hurts. His family is laughing at something too, something else, in the front room of this strange house. He can hear Astrid, his sister, laugh. She has no idea. After all, Hologram Boy is saying, why get three yobs outside a chip shop to do it when nobody’s better at doing things than you yourself are? Absolutely, Magnus agrees. Absolutely. He says it every time his foot hits a step all the way up the stairs. BATHROOM . It is on there for the benefit of all the people who temporarily pass through this rented holiday house. He is level with the picture of the watering can. He puts his forehead against it. He pushes open the door with his head.
It is a very plain bathroom. It is so meek, mild. There’s the white bath with the rough-rubber grips in the shape of a large foot with toes, stuck to the bottom of the bath’s insides so people won’t slip getting in or out. There’s the power-shower. There’s the pink bathmat folded on the edge. There’s the shelf of towels, the spare pink soaps. There’s the sink. He has only come in here when he hasn’t been able not to. He has urinated in the sink in his room. He has kept his eyes shut when he absolutely had to come in here, when he needed to
Excrete, Hologram Boy says brightly.
He sees himself in the mirror. He looks remarkably like himself. It is a joke. The towels on the shelf are folded so neatly. The walls have more of the little plaque-pictures of garden things on
He gets up. He walks back over the bridge, retches again. He holds on to the wall of an old white building. He has the slightly better feeling again. He thinks he could stay like this for a while, head down, shoulders against the wall, looking at the rubble, the weeds pushing out of the place where the building meets the ground. But a man comes out. He shouts at Magnus until he gets up. All right, Magnus says. He nods sorry to the people through the big window in the front of the building. They are looking at him in amazement. There is a vase of flowers on the table between them. Magnus crosses a road. He walks past a chip shop. Some boys are standing outside it. They shout something after him. He wonders how it would feel, to be kicked to death by them. He tries to remember a prayer, but the only thing that will come is the words for now I lay me down to sleep I pray the Lord my soul to keep if I should die before I wake I pray the Lord for them to come after me, knock me down then kick me until I’m dead. But they don’t, because there is no God. They shout something else but they don’t come after him. Never mind. Magnus feels better. He knows what to do. He has known all along, really.
He walks back to the house. It is the correct house, the house he left, because its front door is still open. He can see Eve, his mother, sitting in the front window. She is holding a wine glass. He can see the colour of the wine in it. It is dark. Winedark! Hologram Boy squeaks. It makes Magnus laugh. His stomach hurts. His family is laughing at something too, something else, in the front room of this strange house. He can hear Astrid, his sister, laugh. She has no idea. After all, Hologram Boy is saying, why get three yobs outside a chip shop to do it when nobody’s better at doing things than you yourself are? Absolutely, Magnus agrees. Absolutely. He says it every time his foot hits a step all the way up the stairs. BATHROOM . It is on there for the benefit of all the people who temporarily pass through this rented holiday house. He is level with the picture of the watering can. He puts his forehead against it. He pushes open the door with his head.
It is a very plain bathroom. It is so meek, mild. There’s the white bath with the rough-rubber grips in the shape of a large foot with toes, stuck to the bottom of the bath’s insides so people won’t slip getting in or out. There’s the power-shower. There’s the pink bathmat folded on the edge. There’s the shelf of towels, the spare pink soaps. There’s the sink. He has only come in here when he hasn’t been able not to. He has urinated in the sink in his room. He has kept his eyes shut when he absolutely had to come in here, when he needed to
Excrete, Hologram Boy says brightly.
He sees himself in the mirror. He looks remarkably like himself. It is a joke. The towels on the shelf are folded so neatly. The walls have more of the little plaque-pictures of garden things on
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