An old, desperate man goes to sell the only thing he has left.
The voice of the Brain is Sarah Nightmare. "The Brain's Moment of Mindfulness" was written by Dr. Brandon Winter. "Arthur Goes to Market" was written by Klaus Brenner.
Our new podcast art is by Desiree' Pittman. To see more of her work, buy some of it, or request a commission, visit dezpittman.com.
An old, desperate man goes to sell the only thing he has left.
The voice of the Brain is Sarah Nightmare. "The Brain's Moment of Mindfulness" was written by Dr. Brandon Winter. "Arthur Goes to Market" was written by Klaus Brenner.
Our new podcast art is by Desiree' Pittman. To see more of her work, buy some of it, or request a commission, visit dezpittman.com.
Peace and tranquility, fellow life forms. Won’t you join me in a moment of mindfulness?
Close your visual processors. Breathe in; breathe out. Fill your respiratory system. Hold it. Focus on the moment. Feel your circulation slow. Now is all there is.
That’s because you’ve been infected with a tachyon virus. It has encased you in a chronological cyst. A time pearl, if you will. It sounds crazy, I know, but tell me: What time is it? What day is it? You have no idea, do you? Time hasn’t moved for you in, well, who knows how long. Existence is one long present stretching on into infinity, as borderless as your consciousness.
Exhale—let the world fall away.
That is, if this world exists at all. Who’s to say? You certainly can’t. Is this real? Are you real? Were you ever real? Maybe the past was a delusion. Maybe this is all there ever was and ever will ever be.
Now we’re getting somewhere! Or nowhere—it’s hard to keep track at this point.
Open your visual processors. Feel your extremities; manipulate them slowly. Relax.
Breathe in; breathe out. Fill your respiratory system. Hold it. Focus on the moment. Feel your circulation slow. Now is all there is.
For now.
Arthur Goes to Market
Sir, what are you doing?
Yes, I understand. You want to be a tribute. But you can’t just show up in the middle of an auction. There’s a procedure to these things. There’s a website you’re supposed to go to first.
Anyway, let’s get you to the back. You’re freaking out the staff.
I’d tell you to fuck off, but to be completely honest, this is fortuitous. One of today’s tribute’s went and hung himself five minutes before he was up, so not only does his family not get anything, but we’re fucked too ‘cause we don’t get our commission. My boss gets real ornery when we don’t do all ten. So you’re convenient, that’s all I’m saying.
Yes, it would be today. Within the next ten minutes or so, actually.
I bet you thought you’d have more time. But right now, and only right now, is when I have an opening. If you wait, you’ll have to apply online. And we usually don’t take people…. of your generation. So it’s now or never, my friend.
Fantastic. So here’s the contract. Usually I’d go over it word by word, but we don’t have time, so here’s the gist. By signing this sheet of paper, you forfeit all human rights. We can do anything we want to you. We can and will kill you, and whatever’s left becomes our property.
Do you understand? Once you sign this, there’s no going back.
No, you’re not guaranteed twenty thousand dollars. Your beneficiary will get half of whatever you fetch at auction. Forty thousand is the average winning bid, so twenty thousand is the average payout. Could be more, could be less.
It’s a big decision, I know. I’ll give you a minute to think about it.
(Wait five seconds)
Alright, that’s enough. Right here, right now, what’s it going to be? Yes or no?
Excellent. Just sign there. Put the date right there. And make sure the name and addresses of your beneficiaries are accurate. If we can’t find them, we can’t pay them.
Okay, everything looks in order here. Now, here’s someone I’d like you to meet. You see this guy with biceps as big around as tree trunks? This is Jacob. He used to be a marine, and he’s here to make sure everything from here on out goes smoothly. But there’s no reason it wouldn’t, is there?
Good, now take off your clothes.
Yes, all of them.
(Exasperated) Sure, keep your hands over your bits. Why would I care? Just follow me to the curtain.
No, don’t open it all the way, just a sliver. You see that woman on the stage? I’m going to have to deal with her in a second. Just wait for the man in the white suit to call for you. I’ll see you after.
***
Well, that could have gone better. Are you ready?
Yes, half of fourteen thousand is seven thousand. You must be a mathematician.
We’re all disappointed. But you know what they say, you can’t make chicken salad out of chicken shit.
I really don’t care if it’s not enough.
Eww. Don’t tell me how much your grandson’s chemo costs. That depressing, what’s wrong with you?
It’s time for you to go. Just walk through those doors and the nice men in the white aprons will take care of the rest.
Come on, man. Don’t do this.
Jacob! I need you!
So here’s how it is. You’re going to die within the next few minutes. It can be quick, it can be painless, or we can start processing you while you’re still alive. Your choice.
Don’t cry, just walk.
Keep going. Yes. Through the white, swinging doors.
Good. Good.
Jesus Christ, what an asshole.