Free The GOD Box by Melissa Horan Page A

honest, and seemed to be comfortable enough with herself that she wasn’t thinking about how her actions would affect others, yet they seemed generally beneficial. She was compassionate, or maybe just didn’t like watching a pathetic old man cry, but seeing his distress she concluded, “I think you’re overworked. You should sleep.”
    Gabe didn’t respond and didn’t catch her eye. Miek was sitting talking to Dane about who knew what. Perhaps he was getting information about what May and Dane knew. Normally, Gabe would have loved to listen in. But not now. It seemed so superficial when his emotional capacity was falling apart the way it was.
    On another, more important note, Gabe was going to die, again, soon, he could feel it. He curled up by the rocks, took off his glasses, put his hand over his face and tried to fall asleep. Gabe ignored everyone else for the time being. He found himself slapping away a bug or two. Not as many as would have anticipated. They didn’t bother him so much, now that they represented hope. Some kind of life was still busily working for the benefit of mankind, even in their own unconscious, programed way.
    Naps like this with unrelenting insomnia made him wish he’d brought his pills like Jonathan. Speaking of, Jonathan should probably take them again; they didn’t seem to be working.
    Why couldn’t he sleep ?! He was so tired. He bit the knuckle of his thumb to keep from having a panic attack. Sleep, please sleep. He thought over and over again. Most nights he was more reasonable about this. With the sun and the heat, and the eyes of strangers, he couldn’t convince himself. Everyone was watching him, too. Even an old man like him hadn’t learned to master these emotions. Instead he cried and he cried until his mind couldn’t run anymore and his body did what it could to evade true sleep, but modeled it enough that it seemed to have value. He cried even harder thinking how much he just didn’t want to do this anymore.
    The blaring idiocy of Jonathan’s argument became the lullaby of sleep. Jonathan was hollering and hollering. He couldn’t stand not being understood. However, he didn’t have the words for how he felt, or just was unjustified and couldn’t really defend it, so he was talking in circles. Somehow he decided that speaking in a louder tone would make his anguish more understood. It seemed that even when Gabe fell asleep, he could still hear Jonathan for an indiscernible amount of time.
    When Gabe woke up in the morning, the sun wasn’t yet above the trees. Jonathan woke up after the sun was up. Both were trying to forget their embarrassing actions the previous day. Gabe personally determined that the best way to get around it was to pretend like it didn’t happen and continue in their distinguishing arrogance. Gabe wondered if he’d be able to go for a jog without being followed. Samson was up tending to breakfast. May and Dane were absent. The skinny one was in a tree, not seeing his movement (Gabe hadn’t even lifted his head yet). Was there less likelihood of being followed if they knew where he was going, or if he just left? It was probably better if he told them, or else they might just think he was running away .
    His eyes hurt, too. What a pathetic old man he was. This old body was convincing him it might be better to die. Feebly, he pushed himself up with his arms and stayed in the yoga position to stretch and think for a second. There was dirt stuck to his face and when he licked his lips he could taste it. He stood up and heavily twisted and turned this way and that. Sighing and moving his shoulders up and down he was starting to feel somewhat awake. Walking up to the Samson he asked confidently, “is it okay if I go for a jog?”
    “Whatever, man.”
    How was it that the society managed to maintain that irritating slang so long? They didn’t say anything else, so Gabe nodded and looking at the ground walked a little ways into the jungle alone. He