Put Me with the Cicadas

I thought, for some time, that dying while holding hands with my soulmate would be romantic.

It wasn't. First off, it took an awful lot of convincing, and when we finally did jump off that bridge together, I was preoccupied with ensuring our heads hit the pavement simultaneously.

As for what came afterward, well, that's now, and it's just awkward.

The other soul rubbing up against me is bland, well-rounded, probably whale-bound after a few more human orbits.

It shudders because I'm all spikes, the type of soul who always ends up in albino crocodiles or pale men named Leslie who secretly listen to death metal. Seriously, if it's possible for a life form to achieve colorlessness, there's a 99.5% chance I'll be in it. I was an albino chameleon once. Hated it.

And man, in this moment of two souls brushing against each other, we both know there's no such thing as a soulmate. Plus, my memory is no longer obscured by meat and bone, so I know exactly why I asked this other soul to take the plunge with me.

It wasn't to prove a romantic point.

I simply needed a springboard with which to effect my great escape.

But enough about me. There's not a moment to waste. I shove off from my fellow soul with all my might, pushing it into a higher orbit with slower speed while I go lower and faster thanks to conservation of soular momentum.

"Sorry about the bridge. Hope you get a whale if you're into that sort of thing!" I don't know if the other soul can hear my apology, but I also think it real hard.

On my way down, I smack into another soul, sending it higher, slower while I move lower, faster. Now that I've lost my preordained orbit, it's impossible not to hit other souls. It's crowded, this circle of life where all souls go upon leaving a body.

Except it's not a circle. It's trillions of shimmering souls moving in billions of shining ellipses all centered around the same nonsensical point, otherwise known as Earth. Souls moving along the lower ellipses are slated to live fast and die young while the souls in the highest orbits are, you guessed it, reserved for whales.

None of the souls are meant to touch, much less collide. You're supposed to just stay in your lane and marvel at how far you've come. You're supposed to say, "Wow, I was once a butt-munching nanobe and maybe one day I'll be an unrebuttable whale."

Seriously? Screw whales.

Same goes for this hakuna mata Lion King circle of life bullshit. No thank you.

I slam into another soul, perhaps knocking it up from hippo-hood to sloth-ville.

Damn, I am really picking up speed. I'll be down among the invertebrates soon, and it would be nice if I knew exactly which ellipse belongs to the cicadas because, man, cicadas are awesome. That was the one good time I had while bound to a body. They didn't even care that I was albino. It's just sleep for 17 years then scream, mate, die. Those guys have it figured out.

Maybe that was my original plan—find my way to cicada orbit then keep finding my way back somehow—but I see now that's impossible. I'm simply going too fast. The orbiting lines of souls blur past in whirling lines like some sort of cosmic fingerprint.

Looks like I'm going for the lowest of the low and then some.

Along the way, somewhere in the depths of this twisted circle of life, I notice I'm not alone.

Other souls are mimicking my insane trajectory. I'm guessing they're other misfits, the ones who always end up in slow cheetahs and short giraffes and legally blind children who dream of becoming airline pilots.

We all must be looking for a way out… yeah, jailbreak baby!

There's just one problem. There's enough of us that we're attracting notice.

I see a squiggly soul pull a magnificent pinball maneuver to pull ahead of a group of misfits, but it gets plucked out of the running all the same.

It's snatched up by a winged being. This being is surrounded by swirling eyes embedded in rotating rings, and it has never known the burden of being bound to a body. It's your typical joyless angel come to restore order.

A wave of angels crashes over more renegade souls, capturing them left, right, up, down, any direction you name it. But they don't get all of us, and that's when the real race is on.

I start intentionally slamming into every soul I can. Lower lower lower. Faster faster faster.

Two angels move in to intercept me. I think fast and dig my spikes into the nearest halfwit soul that's probably destined for some animal not advanced enough to have a distinct mouth or anus.

The impact's certainly not enough to stop me, but it sends me thrashing, careening from soul to soul, setting off a mosh pit in the very lowest levels of the now chaotic circle of life.

The two angels miss me and collide in a tangle of wings, rings, and eyes.

Suck it, angels! Bet you never met a soul like me. Albino shrimp, albino peacock, albino Leslie. I'm colorless because I'm metal, heavy metal all the way, baby.

Then, the mosh pit ejects me and I'm past even the lowest nanobe orbit.

I'm free, and Earth looms bright before me.

I didn't plan it, but I'm moving in the same direction as the big dumb planet, so I get a sweet gravity assist that sends me hurtling out of its orbit at an even higher velocity relative to the sun.

I'm thinking maybe I'll make it to interstellar space.

Why then is liberty of cosmic night suddenly blocked out by shining white?

At first, I think it's the moon.

KNOW THAT I HAVE WITNESSED THY SELFLESS ACT.

Oh God, not the Supreme Soul.

"Move, man. Come on, please, I got to go." But I'm slowing down.

SENDING THYSELF LOWER IN THE CIRCLE OF LIFE SO THAT OTHERS COULD RISE.

Ugh, it's so loud and slow. It moves, and I can't help but follow in tow, drawn in to its awful orbit.

AND THEE INSPIRED OTHERS TO DO THE SAME UNTO OTHERS.

No, we're heading right back to the place from which I just escaped.

KNOW THAT THY SACRIFICE WAS NOT IN VAIN.

"At least put me down with the cicadas, man."

But the Supreme Soul, intoxicated by its own munificence, doesn't listen. It deposits me at the very top of the circle of life.

I'm in the largest ellipse, which means… whale orbit.

Shit.

Well, joke's on them because I just know I'm going to be one freaky white whale.

Yeah, I'm going to make all the other whales uncomfortable by keeping perfectly silent whenever they try to greet me with their emo whines and moans.

And man oh man, am I going to rage in the deep.