The Edge of the World

There’s nothing beyond the lone outpost marking the edge of the world.

That’s what we think.

It’s what they think, as well—the people on the other side of the edge of the world.

* * *

Ter dropped me in the village this morning so I could return “Passengers” to the DVD shop and get my walk in early. The movie was a welcome break from fighting through the headache yesterday, and it wasn’t too taxing on the intellect, either. Once I got past the size of Anne Hathaway’s eyes, it kept me interested, curious, and whether I was dulled by drugs or the writers did a truly superior job, I was not ready for the twist at the end. I’m ready for next week’s Philosophy Quest, though. Life after death, death after life, the thinning of the veil and ripples in the matrix—bring it on; I have an opinion and everyone is entitled to it.

One scene remains in “The King’s Man”—I think it’s the final, but in truth, this one has surprised me at every turn. That ballroom scene I thought would be a dandy? I barely brushed the silks in the crowd. It turned out to be less important than what happened after the ball, so a brief description of the event itself was all the story needed. The characters are reminding me, it’s about them. Not me. Not painting sunsets or indulging myself in lush sensation. They’re keeping me honest. Focused. I’m thrilled about it, really. When I go back to work on Monday, I’ll be able to say that I actually wrote a complete story, not “almost finished” one as usual.

But that’s three days from now. There’s a lot left to cram into those three days so I’d better get started. Oh, wait. I have started … with this post!