SYMMETRY

Jason woke up early. Across the stars, many millions of miles away, Jason woke up early.

Jason brushed his teeth. Across the stars, many millions of miles away, Jason brushed his teeth.

Jason drove to work. Across the stars, millions of miles away, Jason drove to work.

Jason sat down at his computer. Across the stars, Jason sat down at his computer.

Jason noticed a blip in the observatory’s feed. Jason noticed a blip in the observatory’s feed.

Jason interpolated the data. Jason interpolated the data.

Jason recovered a sound. Jason recovered another sound, then another and another. Jason put the sounds together. The sound was faint and grainy but certainly a tune. Jason recognised the tune, a radio jingle from three years ago. A song from Earth coming from the stars.

Across the stars, many millions of miles away, Jason recognised the jingle too.

Jason reported his findings. Jason continued his research. Jason chaired a global council on the discovery. Jason advised governments. Jason oversaw probe launches. Jason watched every probe fail, always halfway to the target star.

Jason volunteered for the first manned flight. Jason was launched into space. Jason flew across the stars.

Jason detected an incoming anomaly, on course to collide with him. Jason altered his trajectory. The anomaly altered its trajectory in the same direction. Jason moved the other way. The anomaly moved to copy him. Jason couldn’t avoid collision. The anomaly wouldn’t avoid collision. Jason couldn’t slow his craft. The anomaly didn’t slow down.

Jason braced for impact. Jason braced for impact.

ANAX

GOD WAS WASHING UP

God was washing up. Around her towered sauce-encrusted plates, takeaway-yellowed chopsticks and bowls stained with, “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

But ‘tomorrow’ had at last run out and become ‘today’. So, marigolds donned and armed with that sponge-with-the-handle-you-can-pour-washing-up-liquid-into, God grimaced and finally faced the chore she’d long postponed.

With every knife that she wiped clean, God cursed her daily sloth. Exhausted after forging man, she’d “rinse the sieve tomorrow”. Too tired after dividing light from dark, she’d “leave the pan to soak”. And even when the world was without form, still then there stood six coffee mugs of grey unwashed dregs. Excuse upon excuse, guilt upon guilt, the stacked tower threatened to fall. There will always be washing up, so why wash up at all?

Of course, with just a finger snap her washing up be done but for that she’d have to think and plan and divide the grime from glass, oil from metal and consider every fork prong and colander hole. Or she could craft a cosmic dishwasher with six thousand moving parts…

No, a sponge was simpler.

Simple, calm, there in the soapy warm… No need to swirl a universe in that bubble or breathe sentience into the scum. No prayers or punishment, just a stained wine glass that needed to sparkle again.

And with every clink of clean utensil against the drying rack, a small weight lifted from her laden mind. Plate by plate, chaos subsided, order returned and she saw that it was good. She felt a little lighter.

There would be more that night and the next day and the day after that. There will always be washing up to do but just let it be so. ‘Every day’ seems like a lot but for now… it’s just ‘today’.

ANAX

STRESS BALL

Pete didn’t enjoy his job, it was high intensity, tight deadlines, a lot of pressure. Pete was the primary client quality assurance officer at Softwork International… He checked the logos were straight on promotional stress balls.

These weren’t high quality stress balls, they cracked and lost their colour in the sun, but they were cheap. Three sizes, 288 custom hues, free delivery for orders over £100. Pete tried not to think about how many were thrown away the moment they were given out. He tried not to think about how little people thought about his work.

~

Angie didn’t enjoy her job, it was high intensity, tight deadlines, a lot of pressure. But when it got too much, she’d take out of her desk drawer a small blue ball of foam plastic. The logo had flaked away about twelve years ago leaving a glue ghost that read ‘Aquatec Painting Solutions Ltd.’ but she didn’t keep it to remember the company.

From every trade show, Angie’s father would return with a gift. A pen engraved with the name of a defunct print shop. A neon pink t-shirt with a mustard yellow inspirational slogan. A music box that tinkled out a jingle. Angie had lost them all but for some reason she still had this ball.

She gave it a squeeze and felt dad squeeze back.

ANAX