The Writer and the Cricket
Once upon a time in the far future when things had changed completely but still had a peculiar ending, there was a writer who was also an artist and composer who in turn had as his loving companion a spotted-back cricket. It was the end of the universe, and they both knew it. The writer turned to his companion and said quietly, “I am finally come to realize I am an outsider at the frontier, and this is the final and last frontier.” The cricket chirped a cheerful little tune, then responded in this manner: “I understand and share that feeling with you because I am also an outsider at the frontier, and this is truly the final and last frontier. Fate, like many other existential tidbits, is on a first-come-first-served basis. Be careful what you ask for because like any surreal dream, time and life must have a stop. When you become de-sensitized to the point you cannot feel or dream life, you are nothing left but a mere burnt-out case of a lonely cinder in a dead camp fire. Fables die. It is our turn now. We have outlived our reason to be.” Thus ends the tale of the writer who was also an artist and composer who in turn had as his loving companion a spotted-back cricket.