Jules

The gate seemed particularly small today, even with giant towers on either side, which certainly climbed into the lower stratosphere. Shimmering silver, Jules watched them grow slowly from over a mile away, one foot in front of the other, exhausted.

He didn't know if he was running from something or towards it, but he somehow knew he had gotten somewhere, even though he stood at the same place he started. He looked up at the security cameras and the disturbing owl statue which dominated the entrance. (It came with the place. Damn owls were everywhere.) He fell onto the grass at the fringes of his estate, arms splayed out to either side.

It was about a half hour closer to death, was all he could be sure of. He looked at his watch to confirm. He was right. 32 minutes. Jules achieved more in those minutes than he had all day. He summed it up in his head quick...

Two brain tumors successfully removed, both children in stable condition - 5 hours.
Three meals enjoyed...2000 calories - 1 hour 30 minutes.
One congressman bribed in return for special medical care - 2 minutes.
One prostitute solicited and paid for - 15 minutes.
Two shots of whiskey with his wife - 20 minutes.

Nope. He hadn't gotten anywhere except those 32 minutes. Hmm.

He had no guilt. He had no pride. No shame. Some apathy. The wife insisted on the estate, the pool, the expensive car. He didn't complain. Besides, she arranged for excellent lawn service, which he enjoyed thoroughly at the moment, clouds floating overhead.

It was dusk and he watched the puffy turtle-hog morph into toucan dragon (the kind with a long spiny tail), he realized that everything he did was a response to something else...some other condition that beckoned a multiple choice answer.

Do I:
(A) Eat waffle?
(B) Eat toast?
(C) Have only coffee?

It agonized him that morning. The last Toaster Strudel had dropped from the counter top directly into Muffin's mouth. Muffin was Jule's Great Dane.

His whole day fell into ruin because of it...

Work relieved him usually. At work there was always a procedure...a proper way to drill through the skull. No one ever did it any other way....

Wouldn't ya know it...today they had a new fancy new drill for him. Sure enough, it splattered chunks of flesh and bone all over the place.

Dinner was also a welcome relief. He had eaten the same dish at the same restaurants for years. When he found something he liked, he stuck to it. Changing things required too much thought.

Figures...that night his favorite restaurant had gone out of business.

He starved in protest, ordering a side salad at his second favorite restaurant across the street.

He dines with the congressman each week. The bribery was a welcome relief. After he had been given the offer, there was no real decision to be made there.

Beneath Samantha he had realized that a great portion of his life was devoted to the single pursuit of being able to think about things less. As such, change was always contrary to his goal. But still, how could something as insignificant as waffle vs. toast bother him? Was the risk of the most trivial distraction becoming as much of a trap as a previous era's uncertainty? Was he simply trading one cage for another? She agreed that it was possible.

The whiskey was nice, as usual. His wife less so, as usual.

In fact, running was the one thing he did that actually made life harder...he wondered why he did it. It wasn't to stay in shape. It wasn't to accomplish anything in particular other than to run.

The life-saving procedures, money, and power were all fine, but he really just liked to run.

All other decisions he made were responses to multiple choice questions.

(A) Medical School
(B) Law School

(A) Blue house
(B) Red house

As the mutant brontosaurus ate the mushroom, he pondered the possibility that he actually arranged everything else in his life in order to run. Could those 32 minutes and the moments after really be the reason he did everything else?

Realizing he was late for bed, he stood up, rushed to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, put on his red pajamas, apologized for being late, crawled in bed, read a few pages, kissed his wife, turned off the light, and drifted into a relaxed delirium, where his thoughts somehow drifted more than usual.