Untitled for Now by Audra Crago

In a tone that is definitely hysterical, she says, “And you couldn’t have told me that the first time around?” “No one wants to die,” Modesty says. “Uh, yeah! No shit, Modesty! Me included!” “Unfortunately, you’re going to have to.” “I don’t want to! It hurts! A lot!” “If the world ends,” says Modesty in a perfectly reasonable tone, “it will hurt more.” “Why is this my responsibility?” Georgia demands. “You said - you’re the ones who made the loop? Why couldn’t you just have chosen someone else?” “That is not information you can be privy to at this time.” “I don’t want to die!” Georgia says. She’s certifiably yelling now. “I don’t want to exist to die! I want to live! I want to go to university and get a job and kiss a girl and move to another city that isn’t an arcane sanctuary that I’m living in to learn how to defeat a cosmic threat that’s managed multiple times to eat my reality!” “You don’t have that choice, Georgia,” Modesty says. Georgia throws her lemonade at him. The glass shatters against his shiny bald head and falls in equally shiny pieces on the grass underneath him. “So kill me again,” she says. He doesn’t. “Kill me,” Georgia repeats. “What’s wrong? Forgot your sword?” Modesty doesn’t respond. “Oh, shit,” she says, heart racing, gears turning. Now that she isn’t all worked up about being a six-time sacrificial lamb, she’s connecting the dots. “You can’t. You’re too far behind schedule.” With difficulty, Modesty says, “We are.” “So,” Georgia says. “What now?” The sun is in her eyes. She blinks the glare away, and Modesty disappears.

A month later, he appears in step with her as she walks to school. Georgia’s heart kicks into overdrive. She really doesn’t want to die. She keeps her mouth shut. “The mathematics are difficult,” Modesty says. “The fairest solution, I think, would be to allow you one normal lifetime before you return to your destiny. But we cannot offer that, because the world is going to end in five years.” Georgia manages not to say Hate when that happens. She nods. “But think of it this way,” Modesty says. “You’re already stuck in the loop.

The best option is to just follow through. Once you’ve successfully stopped the Neverending, you’ll have the rest of your life to live normally.” Georgia continues walking. “Georgia,” Modesty says. “It’s not our fault that the world is ending.” “And how do I know that?” Georgia

says.

“You’re being extraordinarily selfish,” Modesty replies. “Oh, definitely,” Georgia says. “You don’t think I’ve earned it?” “You are not the only person affected by the apocalypse,” Modesty says. “Billions of lives are at stake. We have been working to save the world for longer than you can imagine.” Georgia says, “So save it.” “The Neverending will arrive whether you’re obstinate about it or not,” Modesty says. “I know,” Georgia says. They walk in silence. “Give me the five years,” Georgia says. “I’m not stupid. I understand what’s at stake. I just… I need this.” Modesty doesn’t answer. “I still remember your training,” Georgia says. “I’ll come through when it matters. However many times it takes. I’ll die for the world, just let me live for myself.” Modesty says, “Okay.” The world ends in five years. Georgia tries to stop it, and for the seventh time, she dies.

UNTITLED FOR NOW

Written by Audra Crago Illustrated by Shelby Talbot

I want to be a Girl The way that angels are girls: With flowing white cotton hugging waists, Bare feet that won’t be made to bleed by the glass they step on. Ephemeral physicality, but a forever impression.

But I am only a girl In that I blush when you say my name, In that I pinch my skin where I find something I don’t like, In that I've cried in seven fitting rooms And then blamed it on the skinny bitches in the checkout line.

I want to be a Boy The way that they appear: Leaning languidly against windowpanes, Hair dripping rain and coffee breath that’s still sweet. He moves like he knows how: In an unpredictable way. An unattainable way. Even his knuckles seem gentle As they brush my cheek.

But I am only a boy In that I often wish I was. In that I can’t skip stones but always wanted to know how. In that I longed to be reckless in the way he was, Because part of me always felt proud of The scrapes on my knees.