The corruption began at the airport. My luggage rattled along behind me and my pack made my lower back ache. I squinted up at the signage and saw the directions for Fatal 4. It was across the skybridge.
So that made me frown, because what the hell was a Fatal? But being tired I carried on. It wasn’t until I saw directions for Fatals 2 and 3 that I started asking around.
‘Hey,’ I said, ‘hey, excuse me?’
The long-faced The sharp-nosed fellow I’d addressed hissed something to his kid and looked around so that I could see the dark rings under his eyes He said, ‘What’s that?’
‘Don’t suppose you know how to get to Terminal 3?’
‘Uh, yeah, there was a sign just . . . .’ And he gestured back behind him.
‘They call them Fatals here?’ I said, itching my eyelid. I can never get any sleep on planes. ‘Is that some kind of joke?’
‘What?’ The guy double-taked double-took did a double-take at the sign. I’ve never seen anyone make an expression quite like the one he pulled then. Sort of a dawning confusion. ‘That’s . . . huh. I was sure it said “Terminal” a second ago.’
Nearly missed my connecting flight, but I got to Fatal 3 in time. Everything still worked the same. It was just the words that were broken.
The in-flight entertainment was incomprehensible. The news ticker: Filipino Think pillories intolerant acknowledgements. I figured it had to be a joke but what they were saying still made sense and nobody else on the plane was paying notice. I pointed it out to the lady next to me—she hadn’t been watching—and she just shrugged it off. ‘Probably some internet joke,’ she said, and went back to her book. A few minutes later she started shaking her head, mouthing the words she was reading. I watched her read and re-read the same sentence sentence a dozen times before she finally gave up and put the book down.
After that I kept my mouth shut, but it was too late. It’d be all over the newspapers by now if there was anybody left who could read them. I can’t even check over what I’ve written. It makes sense in my head, and if I don’t look I can get it down fine I can get it out fine, but when I read it it’s all synonyms. Every word shuffled, its meaning misdirected.
Before it got into my ears I heard some scientist on the news about I heard him talking saying they thought it might be a weapon. A memetic epidemic an idea bomb. Nobody and nothing’s attacked anywhere, though, it’s just chaos now and fighting. Maybe that’s what they wanted. Or maybe it’s just a spasm of the cosmos that’s. I wonder if I caught it from somebody or if it started with me.
I hope this makes sense because I’m printing as many copies as I can. I don’t think it can get you through prose. Something about cues in our voices in and our in our nonvocal communication. If you can read this hide your senses. Earplugs, blindfolds. Even gestures can do it.
It’s not terminal fatal that we know of. It’s so much faultier than that. Help
This page looks like a diamond but I know it’s a square
