OCtober Day 8: Busma
Waiting in the empty space between heaven and hell, Nirvana and Gehenna, I had thought through the many reasons I’d be called out here specifically. Sitting halfway between the dust and the grass, I read through my message logs again. Upon first arriving here, I’d joined the island’s localised social media, posting on a few job forums to pick up a little cash. Quite soon, I’d been sent a message by a user with a llama for an avatar. Before reading, I had a browse of their profile. The lack of identifying photos was noticeable off the cuff. Mostly, their feed was rife with cutesy memes, animal pics and job requests. Very curious, I thought, very interesting. Upon opening the message, the user in question had apparently written a whole letter’s worth of text. The formatting read somewhere between a formal application, and a high schooler’s chat log. That is to say, lots of formal language interspersed with a plethora of emojis. In summary, the user did not reveal a name, but upon reading...