Susan slip-sliced her mind through the interface; the inviting, colourful and intricate view before her at her minder tips. She flisped past the countless mindless minds, and her love discovered her and they united. They were a still, cold lake under the moon, yet their hearts were ablaze with a gloryful embrace. They spread like a firework at the speed of sound, wider than space itself, and soaked the countless minds with a nudge of compassion, unbeknownst to most, but inexorably raising, by a small amount, the awareness of them all, towards the still reflection of the moon.
On his way home, Ben checked his pigeonhole. There was nothing there, except a letter explaining that a new bank card – which Ben had already gone to his local branch to pick up – had been dispatched to his local branch for him to pick up. Redundant thoughts stacked through his mind, like white plaster in a kitchen sieve. His troubled mind focussed strongly on fleeting questions, like a mailman delivering redundant letters, like a blunt knife gnashing against glass. And then as he cycled past the park, the sun caught the leaves, the people froze still in life's joy for an eternal instant, and Ben thought it was beautiful, inviting, colourful. For a moment he saw the glint of it, and then it flisped away. The knife lay motionless on the glass, the mail man went home to his children, and Ben went home to write about Susan, and himself. Love discovers more of us, bit by one.
