Part of a Story I Have Yet to Write
"So you're dead."
"Yes. Pretty sure. What year is it?"
I told him. "I have no idea what that date means, so yeah, dead."
"Okay," I said, "And?"
"And nothing."
"Oh, come on. Everybody here is all 'Oooo! I am a metaphorical incarnation of inner conflict or so on.' So the First Thief is just spectating?"
"Basically."
"You sure? You're not going to tell me I'm your umpteenth grandkid and so I'm destined for something, are you? Because that'd be really lame."
He laughed. "I had so many kids, every ferret alive's probably related to me. That doesn't mean squat."
"Yes. Pretty sure. What year is it?"
I told him. "I have no idea what that date means, so yeah, dead."
"Okay," I said, "And?"
"And nothing."
"Oh, come on. Everybody here is all 'Oooo! I am a metaphorical incarnation of inner conflict or so on.' So the First Thief is just spectating?"
"Basically."
"You sure? You're not going to tell me I'm your umpteenth grandkid and so I'm destined for something, are you? Because that'd be really lame."
He laughed. "I had so many kids, every ferret alive's probably related to me. That doesn't mean squat."