the year is 2085. i’m on my death bed, barely able to lift a finger. my doctors and family know i don’t have much time left, so they ask if there’s anything or anyone i’d like to see in these last moments. i ask for a computer.
one of my nieces types what i dictate – i tell her to go to tumblr dot com, an ancient relic from a different time. i have to tell her how to spell it. the new generations, they don’t know. i have her log into my old account, untouched for as long as the site has been abandoned. i have her scroll through my old posts, telling her there’s one i’m looking for – and not so far down, we find it. i tell her to reblog it. she does.
i smile up at her, pat her hand with my remaining strength, and begin to laugh. it’s a loud, joyous laugh. when the sound fades and stops everyone knows – they know i’m dead. amid their tears they wonder, vainly, what on earth “makorra” is, why one would “pop bottles” over it, what it has to do with a disturbing green frog man, and why it was so important that this be my final legacy.
there is a peaceful smile on my stilled face.