An End

Sign on the dotted line. It wasn’t a hard concept. Just two words. A name he’d been using for decades now. One that had somehow become more him than his real name.

Signing on that dotted line meant an end. An end to Roland Holmes and the life he’d built in Boston. The airline empire he ruled over. His favorite pilot was long gone. The country was a shamble. No. This whole world was in shambles. 

It was time to cut his losses. Time to kill Roland Holmes. He didn’t think Ten-Sixths, his real name, was a worthwhile mantle to reprise. It was less himself than it’d ever been. Whoever he’d become next, he’d figure out on whichever planet called to him. Whichever place felt more like home, for now, than Boston. 

So. One signature to end it all. Liquidate his stake in WhiteYonder Airlines. No going back. He needed a fresh start, like this country. War turmoil he could leave behind. Government corruption wouldn’t follow him. The only ghosts that would haunt him were his own. Nowhere in the universe was far enough away from himself.

But leaving Boston, Massachusetts of the United States of America on the planet Earth in the Milky Way Galaxy would have to be good enough. Heaving a huge sigh, Roland—only for five more minutes—crossed to his desk. Before he changed his mind. This identity had become special to him, consumed him even. Letting go felt impossible.

Sign on the dotted line.