I am once again pointing out that the data centers which churn out AI slop are physical places that exist & suffer from all the vulnerabilities that a physical place that exists and requires massive amounts of electricity and water have.
In the interest of civility, I will first point out that many of those things are "zoning laws" and "environmental regulations." Those do require you to bother political officials, which is unsexy, but it can be done.
No matter what big tech tells you, the "cloud" is built on very real, physical infrastructure. And infrastructure can be dismantled.
The most ENSHITTIFICATION-PROOF way to get the Enshittification audiobook, ebook and hardcover is to pre-order them on my Kickstarter! Help me do AN END RUN around the AMAZON/AUDIBLE AUDIOBOOK MONOPOLY and DISENSHITTIFY your audiobook experience in the process.
Just as Martin Niemöller's "First They Came" has become our framework for understanding the rise of fascism in Nazi Germany, so, too is Wilhoit's Law the best way to understand America's decline into fascism:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_They_Came
In case you're not familiar with Frank Wilhoit's amazing law, here it is:
Conservatism consists of exactly one proposition, to wit: There must be in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect.
The thing that makes Wilhoit's Law so apt to this moment â and to our understanding of the recent history that produced this moment â is how it connects the petty with the terrifying, the trivial with the radical, the micro with the macro. It's a way to join the dots between fascists' business dealings, their interpersonal relationships, and their political views. It describes a continuum that ranges from minor commercial grifts to martial law, and shows how tolerance for the former creates the conditions for the latter.
The gross ways in which Wilhoit's Law applies are easy to understand. The dollar value of corporate wage-theft far outstrips the total dollars lost to all other forms of property crime, and yet there is virtually no enforcement against bosses who steal their workers' paychecks, while petty property crimes can result in long prison sentences (depending on your skin color and/or bank balance):
Elon Musk values "free speech" and insists on his right to brand innocent people as "pedos," but he also wants the courts to destroy organizations that publish their opinions about his shitty business practices:
https://www.mediamatters.org/elon-musk
Fascists turn crybaby when they're imprisoned for attempting a murderous coup, but buy merch celebrating the construction of domestic concentration camps where people are locked up without trial:
https://officialalligatoralcatraz.com/shop
That stuff is all easy to see, but I want to draw a line between these gross violations of Wilhoit's Law and pettier practices that have been creating the conditions for the present day Wilhoit Dystopia.
Take terms of service. The Federalist Society â whose law library could save a lot of space by throwing away all its books and replacing them with a framed copy of Wilhoit's Law â has long held that merely glancing at a web-page or traversing the doorway of a shop is all it takes for you to enter into a "contract" by which you surrender all of your rights. Every major corporation â and many smaller ones â now routinely seek to bind both workers and customers to garbage-novellas of onerous, unreadable legal conditions.
If we accept that this is how contracts work, then this should be perfectly valid, right?
By reading these words, you agree, on behalf of your employer, to release me from all obligations and waivers arising from any and all NON-NEGOTIATED agreements, licenses, terms-of-service, shrinkwrap, clickwrap, browsewrap, confidentiality, non-disclosure, non-compete and acceptable use policies ("BOGUS AGREEMENTS") that I have entered into with your employer, its partners, licensors, agents and assigns, in perpetuity, without prejudice to my ongoing rights and privileges. You further represent that you have the authority to release me from any BOGUS AGREEMENTS on behalf of your employer. This indemnity will survive the termination of your relationship with your employer.
I mean, why not? What principle â other than "in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect" â makes terms of service valid, and this invalid?
Then there's binding arbitration. Corporations routinely bind their workers and customers to terms that force them to surrender their right to sue, no matter how badly they are injured through malice or gross negligence. This practice used to be illegal, until Antonin Scalia opened the hellmouth and unleashed binding arbitration on the world:
There's a pretty clever hack around binding arbitration: mass arbitration, whereby lots of wronged people coordinate to file claims, which can cost a dirty corporation more than a plain old class-action suit:
Of course, Wilhoit's Law provides corporations with a way around this: they can reserve the right not to arbitrate and to force you into a class action suit if that's advantageous to them:
Or take the nature of property rights themselves. Conservatives say they revere property rights above all else, claiming that every other human right stems from the vigorous enforcement of property relations. What is private property? For that, we turn to the key grifter thinkfluencer Sir William Blackstone, and his 1768 "Commentaries on the Laws of England":
That sole and despotic dominion which one man claims and exercises over the external things of the world, in total exclusion of the right of any other individual in the universe.
Corporations love the idea of their property rights, but they're not so keen on your property rights. Think of the practice of locking down digital devices â from phones to cars to tractors â so that they can't be repaired by third parties, use generic ink or parts, or load third-party apps except via an "app store":
A device you own, but can only use in ways that its manufacturer approves of, sure doesn't sound like "sole and despotic dominion" to me.
Some corporations (and their weird apologists) like to claim that, by buying their product, you've agreed not to use it except in ways that benefit their shareholders, even when that is to your own detriment:
Apple will say, "We've been selling iPhones for nearly 20 years now. It can't possibly come as a surprise to you that you're not allowed to install apps that we haven't approved. If that's important to you, you shouldn't have bought an iPhone."
But the obvious rejoinder to this is, "People have been given sole and despotic dominion over the things they purchased since time immemorial. If the thought of your customers using their property in ways that displease you causes you to become emotionally disregulated, perhaps you shouldn't have gotten into the manufacturing business."
But as indefensibly wilhoitian as Apple's behavior might be, Google has just achieved new depths of wilhoitian depravity, with a rule that says that starting soon, you will no longer be able to install apps of your choosing on your Android device unless Google first approves of them:
Like Apple, Google says that this is to prevent you from accidentally installing malicious software. Like Apple, Google does put a lot of effort into preventing its customers from being remotely attacked. And, like Apple, Google will not protect you from itself:
When it comes to vetoing your decisions about which programs your Android device can run, Google has an irreconcilable conflict of interest. Google, after all, is a thrice-convicted monopolist who have an interest in blocking you from installing programs that interfere with its profits, under the pretense of preventing you from coming to harm.
And â like Apple â Google has a track record of selling its users out to oppressive governments. Apple blocked all working privacy tools for its Chinese users at the behest of the Chinese government, while Google secretly planned to release a version of its search engine that would enforce Chinese censorship edicts and help the Chinese government spy on its people:
Google's CEO Sundar Pichai, personally gave one million dollars to Donald Trump for a seat on the dais at this year's inauguration (so did Apple CEO Tim Cook). Both men are in a position to help the self-described dictator make good on his promise to spy on and arrest Americans who disagree with his totalitarian edicts.
All of this makes Google's announcement extraordinarily reckless, but also very, very wilhoitian. After all, Google jealously guards its property rights from you, but insists that your property rights need to be subordinated to its corporate priorities: "in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect."
We can see this at work in the way that Google treats open source software and free software. Google's software is "open source" â for us. We have the right to look at the code and do free work for Google to identify and fix bugs in the code. But only Google gets a say in how that code is deployed on its cloud servers. They have software freedom, while we merely have software transparency:
Big companies love to both assert their own property rights while denying you yours. Take the music industry: they are required to pay different royalties to musicians depending on whether they're "selling" music, or "licensing" music. Sales pay a fraction of the royalties of a licensing deal, so it's far better for musicians when their label licenses their music than when they sell it.
When you or I click the "buy" button in an online music store, we are confronted with a "licensing agreement," that limits what we may do with our digital purchase. Things that you get automatically when you buy music in physical form â on a CD, say â are withheld through these agreements. You can't re-sell your digital purchases as used goods. You can't give them away. You can't lend them out. You can't divide them up in a divorce. You can't leave them to your kids in your will. It's not a sale, so the file isn't your property.
But when the label accounts for that licensing deal to a musician, the transaction is booked as a sale, which entitles the creative worker to a fraction of the royalties that they'd get from a license. Somehow, digital media exists in quantum superposition: it is a licensing deal when we click the buy button, but it is a sale when it shows up on a royalty statement. It's Schroedinger's download:
The plaintiffs insist that because Amazon showed them a button that said, "Buy this video" but then slapped it with licensing conditions that take away all kinds of rights (Amazon can even remotely delete your videos after you "buy" them) that they have been ripped off in a bait-and-switch.
Amazon's defense is amazing. They've done what any ill-prepared fifth grader would do when called on the carpet; they quoted Webster's:
Quoting Websterâs Dictionary, it said that the term means ârights to the use or services of paymentâ rather than perpetual ownership and that its disclosures properly warn people that they may lose access.
People are increasingly pissed off with this bullshit, whereby things that you "buy" are not yours, and your access to them can be terminated at any time. The Stop Killing Games campaign is pushing for the rights of gamers to own the games they buy forever, even if the company decides to shut down its servers:
https://www.stopkillinggames.com/
I've been pissed off about this bullshit since forever. It's one of the main reasons I convinced my publishers to let me sell my own ebooks and audiobooks, out of my own digital storefront. All of those books are sold, not licensed, and come without any terms or conditions:
https://craphound.com/shop/
The ability to change the terms after the sale is a major source of enshittification. I call it the "Darth Vader MBA," as in "I am altering the deal. Pray I do not alter it any further":
Look, I don't think that personal consumption choices can fix systemic problems. You're not going to fix enshittification â let alone tyranny â by shopping, even if you're very careful:
But that doesn't mean that there isn't a connection between the unfair bullshit that monopolies cram down our throat and the rise of fascism. It's not just that the worst enshittifiers also the biggest Trump donors, it's that Wilhoit's Law powers enshittification.
Wiloitism is shot through the Maga movement. The Flu Klux Klan wants to ban you from wearing a mask for health reasons, but they will defend to the death the right of ICE brownshirts to run around in gaiters and Oakleys as they kidnap our neighbors off the streets.
Conservative bedwetters will donate six figures to a Givesendgo set up by some crybaby with a viral Rumble video about getting 86'ed from a restaurant for wearing a Maga hat, but they literally want to imprison trans people for wearing clothes that don't conform to their assigned-at-birth genders.
They'll piss and moan about being "canceled" because of hecklers at the speeches they give for the campus chapter of the Hitler Youth, but they experience life-threatening priapism when students who object to the Israeli genocide of Palestinians are expelled, arrested and deported.
Then there's their abortion policies, which hold that personhood begins at conception, but ends at birth, and can only be re-established by forming an LLC.
It's "in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect" all the way down.
I'm not saying that bullshit terms of service, wage theft, binding arbitration gotchas, or victim complexes about your kids going no-contact because you won't shut the fuck up about "the illegals" at Thanksgiving are the same as the actual fascist dictatorship being born around us right now or the genocide taking place in Gaza.
But I am saying that they come from the same place. The ideology of "in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect" underpins the whole ugly mess.
After we defeat these fucking fascists, after the next installment of the Nuremburg trials, after these eichmenn and eichwomenn get their turns in the dock, we're going to have to figure out how to keep them firmly stuck to the scrapheap of history.
For this, I propose a form of broken windows policing; zero-tolerance for any activity or conduct that implies that there are "in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect."
We should treat every attempt to pull any of these scams as an inch (or a yard, or a mile) down the road to fascist collapse.
We shouldn't suffer practitioners of this ideology to be in our company, to run our institutions, or to work alongside of us. We should recognize them for the monsters they are.
Click here to pre-order my next book, ENSHITTIFICATION: WHY EVERYTHING SUDDENLY GOT WORSE AND WHAT TO DO ABOUT IT
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
Anthropologist Steven Gonzalez Monserrate draws on five years of research and ethnographic fieldwork in server farms to illustrate some of t
The flotsam and jetsam of our digital queries and transactions, the flurry of electrons flitting about, warm the medium of air. Heat is the waste product of computation, and if left unchecked, it becomes a foil to the workings of digital civilization. Heat must therefore be relentlessly abated to keep the engine of the digital thrumming in a constant state, 24 hours a day, every day.
To quell this thermodynamic threat, data centers overwhelmingly rely on air conditioning, a mechanical process that refrigerates the gaseous medium of air, so that it can displace or lift perilous heat away from computers. Today, power-hungry computer room air conditioners (CRACs) or computer room air handlers (CRAHs) are staples of even the most advanced data centers. In North America, most data centers draw power from âdirtyâ electricity grids, especially in Virginiaâs âdata center alley,â the site of 70 percent of the worldâs internet traffic in 2019. To cool, the Cloud burns carbon, what Jeffrey Moro calls an âelemental irony.â In most data centers today, cooling accounts for greater than 40 percent of electricity usage.
[...]
The Cloud now has a greater carbon footprint than the airline industry. A single data center can consume the equivalent electricity of 50,000 homes. At 200 terawatt hours (TWh) annually, data centers collectively devour more energy than some nation-states. Today, the electricity utilized by data centers accounts for 0.3 percent of overall carbon emissions, and if we extend our accounting to include networked devices like laptops, smartphones, and tablets, the total shifts to 2 percent of global carbon emissions.
Why so much energy? Beyond cooling, the energy requirements of data centers are vast. To meet the pledge to customers that their data and cloud services will be available anytime, anywhere, data centers are designed to be hyper-redundant: If one system fails, another is ready to take its place at a momentâs notice, to prevent a disruption in user experiences. Like Tomâs air conditioners idling in a low-power state, ready to rev up when things get too hot, the data center is a Russian doll of redundancies: redundant power systems like diesel generators, redundant servers ready to take over computational processes should others become unexpectedly unavailable, and so forth. In some cases, only 6 to 12 percent of energy consumed is devoted to active computational processes. The remainder is allocated to cooling and maintaining chains upon chains of redundant fail-safes to prevent costly downtime.
Look Iâd be way more into cloud usage for smart devices if each one of those smart devices came with yuri comics of a submissive appliance girl with a dominant cloud mommy
Nimbus & Drifter take on the Thrilladrome lost sector on Neomuna.
Originally written as a gift for https://bsky.app/profile/fourthdimnsion.bsky.social
Enhanced with illustrations by @chaostructure-crafts
Wherein the Drifter confesses to, and confides in, Eris Morn.
Link to ao3 if you prefer to read it there.
The neon lights of Neomuna filtered softly through the drawn but translucent window coverings in the room where the Drifter and Eris Morn were preparing to sleep.
"This sure is fancy. Lookit that. They got them sensors for the water so you don't even have to turn on a tap to wash your hands." He stood in front of the bathroom mirror wearing nothing but a flimsy pair of shorts. Trust was on the counter, loaded, as usual, and he picked it up and carried it with him as soon as he had dried his hands.
"Hmmm... " Eris wore soft stretchy grey flannel pants and one of the Drifter's t-shirts. It was dark green and had an artistic depiction of a Gambit mote on the front with "Throw some Taken at your Friends" printed across the back in white lettering. The shirt was so oversized for her that the hem came down to her knees.
She placed her glowing orb on the bedside table, removed the covering from her eyes and draped it over top of the Ahamkara bone to dampen its light. Pulling back the blankets, Eris lay down on the bed and frowned.
"I do not know if I will be able to sleep. This bed is too soft. It is too... I suspect it is supposed to be comfortable, but it just feels as though it is... sucking on me. It makes me uneasy."
"Yeah," the Drifter crawled in from the other side of the bed to lie next to her, placing his hand cannon under one of the pillows. "Sleepin' on barnacles and rocks and chitin in the Hellmouth for a hundred years probably does wreck beds for ya for a while. I get that. If it's any consolation, it's weird for me too."
"Your bed on the Derelict is fine because it is old and lumpy like mine in Sanctuary but this is... it feels wrong. As though at any moment we might be pulled in deeper and... digested."
"Well, if it's a problem you know I got no issues sleepin' on the floor with ya, but try something for me first, yeah?"
"Very well."
"Climb on top of me." He held the blanket up to make room for her. "I'm lumpy. Climb on top of me the right way and I'll get even lumpier." He winked.
Eris sighed and rolled on top of him, shifting around until she was positioned comfortably. His arms slipped around her, one hand sliding up under the t-shirt, his fingertips idly following the now-memorized paths of her scars.
"You're right," she said as her paracausal tears began to smear across his chest. "It is better."
He gently kissed the top of her head through her hair.
"So... um... confession time."
"Hmmm?"
"I don't wanna keep stuff from you. Almost nine hundred years of lyin' and I do it compulsively now sometimes even when I really shouldn't. And I don't want to do that with you so I... I wanna take back something I said earlier. Give you a corrected version. But um... you're not gonna like it."
He felt Eris tense on top of him. She took a deep breath and he felt her muscles slowly relax as she willed them to do so.
"Very well."
"It wasn't entirely safe. And at one point I did make a bad jump. In the VexNet. And the kid saved me. Risked their own life to do it. And you were completely right. It wasn't what we agreed to and I knew that and I should'a told ya."
The Drifter held his breath and noted how Eris' breathing had become extremely even, almost mechanical.
"It wouldn't have been permanent. My ghost could'a got me back up but... you know how I feel about that... and I know how you feel about that... and if the kid had gone down, it would'a been permanent for them."
"Yes," she said quietly, her breathing still very controlled.
"As I was falling all I could think of was... what if the next me fucked it up with you... or you couldn't forgive me for this... which... is what makes tellin' you this so scary but... we've talked about that before... about trusting we love each other and workin' shit out and this is me tryin' to work shit out."
Eris nodded and squeezed him tight.
"I think you know damn well I don't go dyin' on purpose and I agree it probably was a bad call but I wanted to do it and guardians die ten times a minute in front of both of us so... I don't know what I'm sayin'... I fucked up... I should'a told you where we were goin' an' what we were doin'.. and then I fucked up worse because I panicked and lied to you about what happened it in front of Osiris and made it seem like it was nothin' and... it wasn't nothin' and I know that and I'm sorry."
They lay in silence for a few minutes. The Drifter watched the pink neon light from a sign on one of the buildings outside splash on and off along the wall and part of the ceiling as it blinked through the night.
"Is that all?"
"Yeah," he whispered, still holding his breath. "We're supposed to be partners and that wasn't very partner-y of me. At all. It was shitty. I don't wanna be shitty. Not to you. And I don't wanna lie to you. I hate it. Anybody else, fine, but... not you."
"I knew you were lying. You are still forgiven."
He took a deep breath and they held each other close, feeling each other's heart beat, the warmth of their skin, the sounds of their breaths.
"I appreciate Nimbus even more now," Eris said, quietly.
"Yeah that's... that's part of what's eatin' at me... you know they've only got seven more years and then they expire? Like milk? Like their nanotech goes bad or somethin' and they just... die... and they choose that? Kid saved my life and I've already lived over a hundred times more than they ever will. That ain't right. Leaves a bad taste in my mouth."
"Devotion, bravery, sacrifice, death."
"Yeah. Those words again. I hate that shit. You'd think they wouldn't apply seen as Cloud Striders are pretty much the polar opposite of Lightbearers... we didn't get a choice, they did... we don't remember who we were... well... most of us..."
"Hmmm..."
"They have the memories of not just their own lives, but every Cloud Strider that's come before on instant replay any time they want... Except the ones the Vex and Shadow Legion busted up... They're still tryin' to recover those...But most of 'em are all still there... It's just... seven years and Nimbus will be gone... blink and ya miss 'em... dust... I've always said don't get attached... especially to Lightless... they go so quick..."
"You also tell guardians to get a good holster for their guns and wander around with yours shoved into your pants. You are terrible at following your own advice."
"Clearly. Regular old garden variety Lightless'll get to 300 if ya can keep 'em from bein' shot or eaten by somethin'... Seven years... might as well be a pet hamster for how long they'll live... The fuck am I doing makin' a friend like that? Can't get attached to that... Can't call that a friend... They'll be gone faster than... than..."
I can't feel anything.
The Drifter's hands began to shake.
"You do like them..." Eris' voice was grounding, pulling him back to the present. "...and you are attached. And you do consider them a friend."
"Yeah... such a genuinely sweet kid... great energy... kinda innocent but determined, trying... What the hell are these people thinkin' pickin' someone so young for that? They should pick someone old... near the end of their life... that's... that's..."
I don't want to die.
"Hmmm..."
He felt as well as heard Eris' voice as she spoke against his chest. He focused on the sound of her voice, the weight of her on top of him, the texture of her skin, her scars...
"Osiris said something about the nanotechnological transformation being very taxing on a human system," she continued. "It is possible there is some biological aspect preventing older humans from being able to be transformed. Or perhaps it is only available to a select few who have a physiological makeup complimentary to the augmentations."
"Maybe..."
I can't feel anything.
Her hand found his trembling fingers and twined her own fingers between them. He focused on her hand.
"Moondust I wasn't tryin' to like them. I didn't intend to. Didn't think I would. I called them my friend but I call everyone my friend. I didn't think they'd ever be a friend-friend. An actual friend. But... I had a lot of fun today... just... actual enjoyment of somethin' for the sake of doin' it. I liked it. They were good company. You know they got Ishtar-era orbital bombardment tech that don't work no more and they've been able to fix it a little? They're gonna take me to take a look at it since I'm good at kit-bashing shit and this is new shit I ain't never seen. They fix shit up... like me."
"You made a friend. A real one. And very quickly, for you."
"Yeah... one that didn't take years to be someone I could trust... just... instant connection. They're so damn pleasant. I should hate them and wanna piss in their cornflakes, they're so fuckin' cheerful... but they're just... happy go lucky without bein' willfully stupid and plastic. All that shiny nanotech and they're more human than me... They're a great kid... I guess I'm just... I'm just so damn pissed my new large shiny friend has an expiry date. I didn't think I'd care but... there I was falling in the VexNet thinking on how pissed you'd be after, powerless to stop what was gonna happen, and then they caught me. Flew down on their shiny board and caught me... nice strong arms too... not gonna say that didn't feel nice to be held like that on top of everythin' else..."
"Tsch... And you tell me this as you're lying in my arms now."
"Yeah..." He let go of her hand and began running his palms along her arms as she lay on top of him. "Your arms are pretty great too."
"Hmmm..."
"It's weird to feel like you're watchin' someone's funeral when they're standin' in front of ya with a smile on their face having just saved your life... I thought they were maybe just dumb or confused or brainwashed or some sort of zealot or somethin' but... they said somethin' to me after..."
"What did they say?"
"I asked them why... Why they volunteered to die for this city... Why not just leave?"
"And what was their answer?"
"They asked me if I could leave you."
He kissed the top of her head again.
"Hmmm... Perceptive."
"Not really. I uh... may have been babblin' about how much I love ya the entire time. Couldn't shut myself up.. One moment we're talkin' 'bout guns and then next I'm goin' on about how badass you are turning Hive gods into guns... another time we're talkin' about jokes and then I'm tellin' 'em how I made you laugh that time on Io."
"That is unlike you... you are not normally so open... especially not with someone you only recently met."
"I know! I couldn't shut the fuck up... I just felt... I don't even know."
"You felt safe. You trust them."
"Yeah... I don't know why. I don't trust no one, except you."
"And all the other people you've come to trust as you've gradually learned how to care again... after centuries of pain and betrayal and isolation."
"Yeah... I guess... but even before Nimbus risked their extremely short life to save mine... I just... felt like I had a friend..." He stared up at the ceiling. "Fuckin' heroes always gettin' themselves killed. That kid literally is a hero. Why does it always have to be the kids? They signed up to die for everyone in this city. Not a chance at death. They will for sure die."
"Thankfully your antics today did not render their life even shorter."
"Yeah. We did do good though. Vex didn't know what hit 'em."
He felt her fingers tracing gently along his arms. They were cool, soothing.
"And I'm honestly not that sorry for doin' something kinda dumb and dangerous because, let's face it, it's me... But I am sorry for doin' it behind your back and for bullshitting you about it in front of Osiris."
"If it's any consolation I don't think anyone else in the room believed you either."
"Oof."
"Your apology was sincere, however, even if you did not speak it verbally. And it was, and still is, accepted. Your past experiences have lead you to default to falsehood and subterfuge as methods of conflict avoidance. I know this and I still love you. I am glad you are safe now and that, as you said, nothing bad happened. I hope that next time, you will keep me in your confidence."
"I will. If there is a next time."
"It's you. There will be. And if you do... fuck up... as you so eloquently put it... again... tell me and we will find reconciliation. It is far more important to me that you feel safe enough to make such confessions than that you feel you never need to."
"Yeah. Good point. And you're right. It was conflict avoidance. That's exactly what it was. Seven years though... fuck."
"Osiris told me Cloud Striders do not grieve their dead. Theirs is a culture of embracing the present."
"They do give off that vibe, yeah."
"I would never tell you not to grieve. You have a history of locking feelings away, especially grief, in ways that are deeply unhealthy, and you are still unlearning those habits. You absolutely should grieve, but... I will give you one observation I have made."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"They have only seven years left in their life, and yet, they chose to spend today playing video games with you."
"Yeah, well, not everyone makes good decisions."
Eris pushed herself up on the bed and the Drifter found himself staring into her three green eyes as they loomed over him, their noses almost but not quite touching.
"Do not disparage their choices," she commanded. "Respect them. And be honoured to have been chosen. Strive to become worthy of that choice in future if you do not feel so now. But do not belittle or dismiss their decision in this matter. Be grateful for it. Appreciate them while you can... and..."
She leaned on one hand and lifted the other to caress his cheek. "...and I will hold you when they are gone."
The Drifter took a deep breath and began blinking. He turned his head sideways, breaking eye contact with her and biting both his lips.
"I believe it is now my turn to be the lumpy mattress."
"Yeah..." he whispered hoarsely before looking back into her eyes again.
Eris rolled on to her back and tugged the Drifter into place on top of her. The green glow from her eyes showed faintly on the ceiling, intermittently overwritten by the neon pink light blinking outside.
The black tears dripping from her eyes made their way across her cheeks, sliding down the sides of her face to stain the pillowcase as the Drifter's head lay on her chest, his hands caressing her shoulders. Eris pulled the blanket up to cover them both with one hand. The fingers of her other hand slipped into his hair.
His body shook on top of her.
Eris continued to run her fingers through the Drifter's hair in a slow gentle motion while the front of the shirt she wore became increasingly damp with tears.
This is part 8 of an 8 part story.
Go back to part 7
Return to the beginning at part 1
