Countdown

Five four, three, two, one. It was easier to count them like this, descending. Five, four, three, two, one, getting closer to zero. Somehow that made it all make sense. Or, if not that, then tolerable. If it was leading to zero, to nothing, then he could wrap his head around it. If it climbed upwards then it was all a mess.

It was his way of hiding certain things, masking them and making them something else. History is written by the winners, and he thought, in some small way, this was along those lines. How many, he could hear the question in his head. And if he started at the top and worked his way down—five, four, three, two, one—then maybe, just maybe, zero would be the figure that stood out in their minds. Well, he could hear them say, that's not so bad at all now is it?

 

Liftoff, blastoff, something about space and the stratosphere. It was a positive spin, it was a lie, but he liked it and he didn't care. It's probably the only reason he liked it in the first place. That sense that it was only winding down so it could go back up. It could break out of this petty air we breathe and get to somewhere greater. That this was the beginning of something, and not the end.