The afternoon sun, unfiltered by any clouds, beat down relentlessly on Clara’s back as she sat on the park bench. The gentle sway of the swing set felt useless. She watched a pair of children squealing with delight as they chased pigeons, their laughter echoing hollowly in her ears. Each day seemed indistinguishable from the last. She picked at the chipped paint on the bench, a mindless, almost aggressive act. A message popped up: Liam wanted to grab pizza. Sighing, she texted back a yes.
Liam had always talked about his exciting job at "Stellar Dynamics," where he was supposedly part of a cutting-edge robotics team. He regaled her with tales of intricate circuits and complex algorithms. At the pizza place, he was late, as usual, and his entrance felt oddly theatrical. He arrived with a designer backpack and a freshly pressed button-down shirt.
"Sorry, late meeting," he said, breathlessly. "Big things happening!" Clara nodded. She didn't want to know the "big things." She tried to focus on the cheese on her pizza. His stories were beginning to seem less factual, more fantastical. She noticed a faint stain on his shirt, a smear of something metallic, and then another person called out his name from another table. The person was a chef, and they were very familiar.