ORIGIN

"I've lost track of this shit." The voice was distant, and followed closely by a hiccup. "What Cycle is it? Damn it-... (hic)--I blame time zones." There was no mention of what the heck a time zone was, but after a moment, a deafening trumpet blared throughout the tunnel. It was so loud that the creek reverberated, ripples disrupting the flow for a moment.

[Audible deep breath.]

"CONGRATULATIONS, FOR--PROBABLY?--BEING BORN IN CYCLLLLLEEEEE ONE HUNDRED, OF YOU GUYS BEING AWAKE, AND SH--language, Nemean, it's a kid--uhh--STUFF!"

There was an abysmal little flare of confetti that cascaded weakly around, and the brief, ill-timed thundering of drums. "Almost outta that stuff. -Almost outta everything. Let's see."

Good to note, here, that this voice was wholly disembodied. The spotlight, too, that abruptly flared down on little Rathaniel was half-assed, missing him entirely for a moment before sweeping around to settle on him with a halfhearted flicker.

"Right, okay, here. THESE are AWESOME."

A single, small plastic vial of blue glitter--the kind that gets everywhere and never comes out--clinked to the ground beside the rat.

Then, a second--in green.

Then, about twenty more, in all the colors of the rainbow, and two that were filled with rainbow glitter. They tumbled down in a clatter, falling and rolling everywhere. "DAMN IT, NOT ALL OF THEM! -WELL it's TOO LATE now. Don't get any in your eyes, you hear now?"

That was it; no farewell. The voice, the spotlight, the lingering few confused drumbeats, all vanished at once.

The glitter vials, however, remained, some rolling a few inches away as if a little lost.