When you reach hell, you’re put into a room with everyone you ever loved and are then given a phone. If you look at it once, you never stop. All the people you wish you could spend time with are there, in the corner of your vision, but you have to scroll Twitter and lists and content forever.

At the end of the world, he put out an ad asking if he could murder somebody. Someone responded and, with ten minutes before it all ended, he killed them. They both regretted it. One dying in fear, the other dying with the knowledge of what they’d done. After that, there was nothing.

I didn’t notice the tick bite until the afternoon. By then it had already made a copy from my blood. I saw myself, small and slimy, push my way through its back, and away through a crack under the door.