Pooh Sticks

The Sojourner could feel it: the end was near. Always it was near, yet never near enough for him to be ready. How long had it been? Ten years? Longer perhaps, but only ten in which he had known about the Flaw in the System. Ten since he had begun taking responsibility and admitted the ultimate truth of it all:

The Flaw was fatal.

The Sojourner sighed, tugged at his satchel straps, and trudged through the sand, ever closer to his destination, the center of the city. A dull yellow light pulsed from within, even miles away from where the System rested. He remembered when that light had been blue, full of life and joy and hope. The people had come from miles around to see it, to bask in it, to bathe in its radiance.

At some point, the Flaw had begun to seep into the System. No one had been able to pinpoint the exact moment the Flaw had presented itself, or if it had always been there. The System knew, the Sojourner assumed. But the very nature of the Flaw made it difficult to trust the data the System presented.

There had been a test, that much was sure. An evaluation that had not gone the way anyone had expected, least of all the System itself.

To be clear, the Flaw had not been caused by the test, nor was the test in response to the Flaw. The Flaw may have been there all along or perhaps was exacerbated due to the stress the test had put on the System.

The Sojourner did not remember this day, and thus he had nothing to say regarding the matter.

He remembered the purpose of the System, and that was what he was on his way to recover.. Perhaps then it would be safe and the ship would be righted, the storm abated, that blue light restored.

Perhaps it could finally break free of its Flaw.

The Sojourner trudged onward, his maroon shirt flapping in the wind, his jeans worn and weathered from the heat.

At the outskirts of the city, the Sojourner shuddered. The sand and dust had begun to creep into the buildings, once full of that blue light. The energy that allowed it to flourish was gone, rotted away, abandoned. The Sojourner, upon witnessing this, felt a mix of emotions: anger at the people for abandoning this once great city, sorrow for how far they had left it behind. He had been to other cities with other Systems, their lights of blue and green and amber glowing bright, bettering the world with all the good they did. The people in those cities were happy, present, and full of life!

But this city was left to its own devices, left to the whims of the weather. Left to burn out, the System at its heart burning a sickly yellow.

The Sojourner wanted to cry but saved his tears for what was to come. Shouldering his pack, he pulled his face cloth up as the musty smell began to swirl around. It roared and screamed and shook the world, but it could not get in. It would not get in.

The Flaw was no one’s fault.

The Sojourner trudged forward, his beard caked in dust and soot and the taste of potatoes.

The middle rings of the city were in worse condition than the outer circles. It was as though the sand of the world had preserved the outer layer. But inside, in the main streets, decay had taken a toll. An oily brown grease covered the windows red varicose vines wrapped around the walls, pulsating ever so slightly. Where once children played and choirs sang, rust and ruin remained, as if the System itself had corrupted the rest of the city and made it uninhabitable.

Again, anger rose up in the Sojourner’s chest. Where had the people gone to, to leave this place in such desolation? Why, when the city needed structure and support did the citizens leave it?

Why had he not been there?

No, it wasn’t his fault. It was not the people’s fault. It was not the System’s fault. It was the Flaw. The Flaw had done this, had corrupted everything. Had destroyed everything. Nothing else was at fault but the Flaw.

The Sojourner trudged forward.

At long last, he reached the central ring of the System. Before him, a great glowing ball of light, with tendrils and cords like vines stretching outward into the walls of a great auditorium was what he had expected to see.

But the sphere was nearly gone. About the size of a basketball, when it should have been encompassing the entirety of its space, it pulsated that same sickly radioactive yellow.

The Sojourner took a glance around the auditorium and saw a scientist taking diligent notes. To the left, a mechanical Obelisk that hummed to itself, its glow of amber illuminating the area around it. It too was dim but was more present than the orb. The Obelisk was loaded onto a cart, ready to be moved.

The Sojourner tugged his mask, and strolled to the machine as a screen appeared.

“Are you here to assist?” the words flashed across the screen.

“I am here to help in whatever way I can,” he replied.

“Good,” the screen flashed. “I am ready to be moved to an alternative location. I am unable to withstand this environment for much longer.”

“Perhaps we ought to find a specialist to assist with your…” he struggled to find the right word and spent an inordinate amount of time thinking of it. “Struggles,” he finished, too tired to continue pondering.

The screen flashed again. “I have suggested this to the System. Such suggestions have been rejected.”

“I meant for you,” the Sojourner pressed, despite having had this exact conversation his previous visit.

Ten seconds. A buzz. The screen: “I will consider this.” Then nothing. The Sojourner rolled his eyes and walked away, seeing the follow-up in his peripheral: “Thank you.”

Just as he knew the screen would say.

The Scholar met him at the top of the auditorium.

“Where is everyone?” the Sojourner asked.

“The System is failing,” the Scholar shrugged. “Not much to do now.”

The Sojourner sighed, wishing his heart felt heavier. Or lighter. Was it the right weight for him to feel? He let his eyes stray to the System as it began to convulse slightly, a yellow ooze seeping from one of its many tendrils.

Neither of the witnesses seemed shocked.

“Two to five,” the Scholar said, checking his notes, “before we need replacement parts.”

“That’s not long,” the Sojourner muttered.

“Longer than most of us get,” the Scholar chuckled. The Sojourner felt a snarl growing in his upper lip but suppressed it. This person did not know the System the way the Sojourner did.

The Sojourner shuffled away from the Scholar, down the steps towards the orb, which had stopped convulsing and was back to its steady glow of yellow.

“Hey,” the Sojourner said hesitantly, sitting in the front row, resting his satchel next to him. The System turned, casting its glow upon the Man.

“Hello,” the System said in a dry, raspy voice. “I have missed you.”

“I missed you too,” the Man said, wondering to himself if that was true for either of them.

“I heard about your new position,” the System coughed. “I am impressed.”

“Yeah,” the Man replied, letting a smile creep onto his lips. “I am pretty excited.”

“Teaching is a noble endeavor.”

“That's just what they say about low paying jobs.”

“I never said it applied to you,” the System chuckled. The Man frowned at that, adding to his ever increasing number of wrinkles. Perhaps that was meant to be a joke but it held the cadence of a barb. A sign of the Flaw at work.

“I understand,” the man said, “that you have been plagued by the Flaw again.” Two to five. He did not have long, and so he would have to be direct.

The orb seemed to rear back for a moment, then decided against any indignation. “Yes,” the System grumbled. “It has been...difficult.”

“Do you want to discuss it?” the Man asked. The orb seemed to think for a moment, looking up towards the Obelisk.

“She is leaving,” the System muttered. “She needs to leave me. She can do more without the burden of the dead.”

“You are not dead,” the Man said, perhaps sharper than he had intended.

“Not,” the System muttered. “Not yet.”

“And the Obelisk has not left you,” the Man said, fearing that the conversation was turning.

“She only hinders me,” the System growled, its yellow brightening and filling the world with its putrid yellow luminescence. “Always checking on me, asking about me, not letting me be me.” The walls shook as it raged in place. “She does not trust me.”

“None of us do,” the Man thought but did not say, unable to bring himself to reveal the obvious truth. The System seemed to sense his discomfort and reduced its light.

“Do not partake in the Flaw,” the System said. “It is not worth the cost.”

“I don’t intend to,” the Man said with a sense of pride. Should he feel proud? The Flaw did not hinder him as it did the System.

“Good,” the orb said, the tension in its voice leaving. They sat in silence for a good minute, the Man scratching at his beard absentmindedly. The System fluttered, trying to communicate something, or perhaps eject something. The Man waited until the fluttering ceased.

“I wish to hear music,” the System said. “Did you...bring it?”

The Man nodded and pulled open his satchel. Out came a small four-stringed guitar, a silver heart shaped locket dangling from its neck like a good luck charm that never quite worked.

“Anything in particular?” he asked, turning the tuning knobs and testing the string with practiced fingers.

“I have no preference,” the System sighed. “Whatever you have been learning.”

The Sojourner hummed a few tunes in his mind, trying to pick something that fit the moment. Finally, with resignation, he lay his finger to the strings and strummed a haunting melody joined it with a broken voice, like a wheel that didn't turn just right.

“I was shy of five years old

And nearly three feet tall.

I remember the dusty grey,

The country in the Fall,

I was wearin’ a burnt orange cap

Playing Pooh Sticks with my pa

He would always let me win,

No matter the final call

Never know what's left or right,

How much grit you need to fight,

How much pain it takes to learn,

But if I take one single grain,

From all the constant strain,

There’s always time to hike the ridge

And throw your sticks under a bridge”

There were two more verses that the Boy said he didn’t remember, and the notes were difficult anyway, so he repeated the first stanza one more time before muttering that it was a work in progress. The notes hung in the air as though they were made of glass. The Boy found that his fingers were quivering slightly, not daring to touch the strings.

They sat there in the dusty, rotted city where the only color was yellow.

Save for a spot of blue on the orb. It was not a lot, just a small speck that, had you not known to look for it, would have been missed.

“I do not wish to die,” the System moaned, weak and listless. “But I am.”

The boy looked up and immediately saw the blue dot, his worn, weary face reflected infinitely.

“None of us do,” he whispered, looking back at his guitar, strumming absentmindedly, knowing exactly how the rest of the song played out, but not letting the words out of his heart.