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Hefty steps thudded against the checkered floor frantically. Their apprehensiveness was succinct enough to maintain their physique in equilibrium, though a never-ending nightmare of internal imbalance. Nonetheless, they likely weren’t even acting rational; the person was chasing riches and the saccharine resplendence before them like a banished, senile lion facing famine. It was all muscle memory at this point: skim through gold in lap 2, dodge and swerve through the loquacious abhorrences that were named enemies; each one of them chosen by the runner themselves — and crash unto the cunningness of a shining beacon, just to replay it all over again. There is no objective. Most of the people accepted there is no ending to this landscape, nor that they can die and not only close their eyes to sleep. If amorality and instincts have been adopted either as a survival method or for the sole purpose to stay sane is still a question in your end, but no others seemed to match your point of view.
The inhabitants hollered; some cheered for the last man standing’s ambitiousness, others jeered at them for occasionally slipping in grime. Either way, another round of a lethal game of tag was done. The guy panted as the effects of adrenaline wore out in the form of sweat; they seemed more feeble than a few rounds ago. You have no right to ask them if they’re okay, you barely know them. Individualism is a precept, and not one’s choice. Yet, you couldn’t help your despondency from calling out to you.
Ah, this person was called Sam, right. Their name has a nice ring to it, and complements their disheveled appearance; but it doesn’t stop from being forgettable. It’s a common name, and starkly genderless, to put it into perspective. Not the most rememberable name that crosses your mind. Or your mind is, per se, faulty from the lack of space and time recognition. In relation to Sam, the likelihood of you both conversing was as slim as finding the exit of this hellhole; but, technically, it isn’t impossible. You’ve bumped shoulders accidentally a few times, stared, murmured complaints to each other, and…your mind is actually not that faulty. You blinked in surprise. The choleric crowd were altar voting a few more enemies, in which no one came into consensus with the other’s choice. The people here barely had proper manners. Eventually, it all became one big mass of disorganization; and it castrated your train of thought with how you are forced to hearken the altercations. Oddly enough, Sam wasn’t sanctioning the clamor of the masses this time. They blended in with the throng, despite their differentiated frame. Bizarre. Not to mention they were also considered the host, or the leader. The last thing you wanted was the entire civilization commanding the group forward. That sent earnest chills down your spine. It’s certainly not practical — nor responsible —, as you’d narrate in your head.
Your head perks up to a sound; a crinkly one at that, akin to alkaline dirt against one’s foot. It was incited somewhat close to your side, a few yards away or less. You gawk besides you: only to find the walking pile of sallow skin you searched for between the large quantities of people. Sam trekked towards the parapet-less slab you sat on; they dragged their body frugally, in a such a way you could see their muscles clench every time they took another step. Reverence was not an emotion you’d portend to feel at this moment, but here you are. It’s admirable how resilient this senior is.
Your head turned away innately as Sam nighed closer, either out of shame or out of fear of being chastised. They tended to be firm when not torn to pieces, let alone how they’d act when lethargic. Bouncing your leg to cope wasn’t an option, for you were at a high place with no support to place your legs; but, as petty as you are, you kicked your legs amidst the air to relieve some of the tension within you. A heavy thud and an exhausted sigh indicated the guy’s arrival. Soon enough — too soon as you wanted to be —, you fiddled with whatever you had in possession: clothing, hair, the one object you were awfully attached to…and you’re also constantly changing positions neurotically. I thought that reminder would be useful, sorry.
"So. Uhm, excuse me,"
Sam’s attention went directly to the awkward voice. You swore to whatever deities there were that your heart sunk to your feet. You were tightlipped out of nervousness; part of you wanted to brush away the initiated conversation and stay in silence, the other certainly didn’t think flippancy was optimal. You murmured words compulsively, as if scrambling them in order before saying them out-loud.
"I wanted to ask; are you not…I mean— what I meant is that, are we not going to…to the…the null?"
"What?"
You couldn’t demonstrate physical characteristics of emotions due to your wasted skin, and so you were grateful thereof; flustering isn’t quite the adequate reaction for this, is it?
"I wanted to inquire if you’re gonna start another round," you spouted with sudden formality. Sam glared for a moment, before going back to admire the unstable horizon of this dimension.
"No. I’m exhausted," they grumbled, "as long as these guys keep fighting about whose opinion is right, I can rest for a moment."
You blinked.
"But a ‘correct’ opinion doesn’t exist."
"Exactly."
Henceforth, silence settled in; less tensioned, you noted. It didn’t last longer than a minute, though.
"You…you did good last round," you mentioned, "just thought I needed to point that out."
You caught a glimpse of Sam’s heavy-lined face turning towards you anew; and, despite the nauseating delay, they grinned with mirth, almost ear to ear if you had to hypothesize. They nodded in appreciation.
"Thank you."
You froze on spot. Your eyes darted to their complexion and back to the narrow vision of the sky, of which its view was blocked by a few slabs, too. With sudden force, the leader yanked your hand in a swift arc movement, intertwining their fingers with joy that was almost sensible. You didn’t feel their hands, or touch — you couldn’t; but you’d figure that didn’t matter. You felt like an Ancient Greek watching a dramaturgy get constructed in front of your very eyes. In a way, this could serve as an anecdote you could conjure up anytime, just to feel safer in this purgatory; to feel glee amidst a lackadaisical civilization. Rest surely is beneficial for one’s fruition of life, and so is socialization.