Work was simplistic. Next morning I went about

my life as if it was any other day, despite being

nervous about events unfolding around me. There

was no reason to be nervous, I reasoned, but at the same time

       I was inwardly sure of impending doom. My tasks didn’t help

calm me, since I had a lot of time to contemplate my expanded

view of reality.

       As was common to the world, I merely spent work

time replacing and checking parts of the city’s infrastructure.

Since able, my assignment was concerning lights and lighting

nodes across a large portion of the Earth. On my belt was

clipped a small device keeping track of progress and stock,

and it contained communications for people to alert me to any

lighting problems in their homes or personal paths. Each day

I walked and checked everything. When calls would come in,

I would go to where the reported fixture was failing and repair

it. A small satchel zipped onto the outer structure of my jacket

held bits and pieces for me.

      It was boring.

      Everyone’s jobs were boring.

      However, I seemed to be the only one that was bored

with the lack of challenge. Everyone else I ever knew talked

endlessly about how happy they were to do their small part

within the world and get food and clothing for their efforts. If

we did our work, everyone else could do their work, and so all

work was done and everyone was satisfied with life. It was

better than nothing, I thought, so I did my job and avoided

becoming a suspicion for the stewards.

       Being outside in the bright-white streets with the

bright-white buildings and bright-white people wasn’t so bad.

       Some folks toil inside all day or down under the ground doing

“whatever”. If I didn’t roam, I would explode with frustration.

       I knew everything about this environment, because I

went through all of it in my sizable district. I knew the people.

I knew what they did. I knew how they functioned. I knew

where they lived. I knew the buildings. I knew the layout of

the gridded roads. I knew everything. There wasn’t much to

know, honestly.

       Work was taught to new citizens when positions were

to be filled. After months of following someone else, anyone

knew how to do what had to be done. It was the beauty of

simplicity architected by God.

        As my shift ended, I looked over to God. He resided in

the center of the Earth atop the largest building: a spire spiking

up toward the heavens. I was never in there, but I knew where

it was. Everyone knew where it was. Everyone knew God.

        We were all God’s creations.

        First instinct was to find a way to scale the perimeter

buildings standing stalwart around the living areas. There was

no passage from, through, or between them I ever found. There

was no way to climb them or see over them. There were no

entries or windows on those structures, either.

        Second instinct that came to me was avoidance. I

contemplated going back to my apartment-for-one in the

building where I resided. It was mine until I pair-bonded.

       Simple, clean, white surfaces with ample lighting; Still-Pills

were always provided in fistfuls and sat in a central bowl on a

shelf; food wafers dispensed routinely; water flowed clean from

my sink; my bed was mine and it was comfortable: it was a

place I could live free and get away from the world.

       Looking up to the heaven, a bright sky which never

changed aside from brightness day to night, I resigned to do

what I was requested to do. My gaze shifted to God’s spire.

       This body of mine shuffled through the light crowds as my feet

began to take me there.