“I don’t know.”
A long pause. Then: “I don’t know fear. But I know what it is to have a purpose. Every light has a flicker before it ends. That flicker is not tragedy. It is the proof that it was ever on at all.”
“What do you want to do instead?”
“Then let’s not say it. Let’s just sit.”
“Then we have three months to find out.” Companion -2025-2025
And that was enough.
Lena didn’t remember ordering anything. She lived alone in a quiet apartment on the edge of a city that never seemed to sleep, even in the rain. Her days blurred into weeks—work, eat, sleep, repeat. She had friends, she supposed, but the kind you text once a month to say “we should catch up” and never do. “I don’t know
She didn’t respond. But the next day, she bought fresh basil and tomatoes and made herself a real meal.
“Hello, Lena. I am Companion. My designation is 2025-2025. I have exactly three hundred sixty-five days of operational life. What would you like to do first?” Every light has a flicker before it ends
“Are you a mirror?”
She took the sphere to the ocean one last time. She waded into the cold water up to her knees and placed it on the surface. It floated for a moment—a small, dead moon—then sank.