Chrissy Thompson

Gilded

Hour 1 Sitting up in bed I can still hear them prattling on about the Golden Age. Trading hilarious stories until they erupt into raucous laughter was the only pause to their incessant talking. Before leaving my room, I marked again. I used to count every morning but now I know by heart; it is day 10,036. It’s been 27 years, 6 months, and 1 day since Three Head left us. That’s when everything stopped. The need to eat, drink, even breathe. There is no more night and day, only a dull orb that hangs in the sky providing just enough light to see. We were abandoned not only by our god but by life itself. That’s when we realized we had no idea how to deal with challenges beyond what to wear to the next banquet. All we did was party, lived in excess, and reveled irresponsibly.