April 13 2032
“A word,” Christoph said.
“It’s just a word,” he repeated, as if I didn’t really hear him.
I rolled my eyes. “Are you just coming to this conclusion?”
“What else is there to do now?” he asked, as his eyes darted back and forth over the overgrown green vines that had all but consumed the Washington Monument.
I ignored him, hoping he’d shut up.
“This was once all yours,” he said, oblivious to my secret wishes. “Yours last.”
“More now than ever.”
He laughed. A sound I had become too familiar with. “You really think that, don’t you?”
I leaned back on my elbows and crossed my feet at the ankles. “Why wouldn’t I?”
I was met with silence. We would, or could, sit still for hours. There was nothing to do anymore. We were one of the few left.
“You know what I miss?” I asked Christoph. When he didn’t answer, I continued anyway. “I miss being able to kill someone with a conscience.”
Christoph rolled his head around his shoulders, stretching his neck.
“Like you,” I said.
“You want to kill me?” he asked, his tone dry and his eyes continuing to dart around over the park – landing where the Sylvan Theater Stage once stood. His eyes narrowed.
“No. You don’t have a conscience. That’s my point. I’d like to kill you, but I wouldn’t get anything out of it. Like I said, I miss being able to kill someone with a conscience.”
“My point was far more interesting than yours.”
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. He was probably right. I couldn’t even tell anymore. Everything had become so fucked up. “It’s more than just a word,” I decided.
“Because, it’s what we are.”