Yeet Us Into the Sun

Yeet Us Into the Sun.

[Bernard and Jonny are seated on a bench atop an oceanside cliff. The sky is empty, the sun is setting, present, enveloping, awe inspiring, a terrifying abyss, shrinking back beyond the horizon.]

JONNY: It’s been awhile there bud.

BERNARD: Too long, probably.

JONNY: Fair enough, true enough, enough’s enough I suppose

BERNARD: I wish we’d just get yeeted into the sun. Its right there.

JONNY: Who deep down, doesn’t want to be sucked into the cold waiting arms of the abyss?

BERNARD: Seriously, whether that abyss is the sun, the void of space, the chasm of the ocean, the terror of night, deep down we seek it.

JONNY: Physical death?

BERNARD: No, not like that, no pain, only subsuming the self into the ether, a destruction of identity and this condition we find ourselves in.

JONNY: Do you think, that we think, that we deserve it?

BERNARD: Maybe, not sure.

JONNY: There’s a funny thing here  – yeet us into the sun, erase us, but also don’t you want to find out what’s next, what’s Afterwards? Don’t you want to stand against that abyss or whatever?

BERNARD: Absolutely.

JONNY: We all contain multitudes after all.

BERNARD: For years, I’ve been obsessed with this phrase from a video game trailer, you’re gonna laugh.

JONNY: Why?

BERNARD: I dunno, I didn’t even get to it in the game. I never finished the it.

JONNY: I get it, but it affected you didn’t it, isn’t that enough? Finding meaning in a video game trailer is no different than finding meaning in some old religious text, or a manifesto, or from a nighttime drive, or a morning walk.


BERNARD: I suppose not – anyway, the phrase is “At the end of everything, hold on to anything.”

JONNY: That’s a good one. Worth tucking away in some quote book or putting on a wall somewhere in a freshman dorm.

BERNARD: Like all good cliche sentiments, there’s truth there though.

JONNY: Almost certainly.

BERNARD: If we aren’t gonna be yeeted into the sun, I guess we have to hold onto anything.


JONNY: What will you hold onto?

BERNARD: Fictional memories, like this. This place doesn’t exist and you stopped being my friend Jon a long time ago. I think. But I can imagine Jon saying all these things, I can imagine this place. This bench is worn, probably put down in this Pacific coast park in the 70s. We’re probably in Oregon or Washington. Its late summer, but still warm. Tonight I’ll put on a sleeved shirt and crack a cider. It’ll taste good, like drinks do when you’re in the proper mood. I’ll keep these constructed memories for times when I’m alone, or in pain, or when it feels like the bottom is gonna fall out of everything.

JONNY: It kinda is, isn’t it?

BERNARD: Feels like it might. Part of me hopes it does. I do want to stick around, find out what happens. Hold on as tight as I can with my friends, maybe make it through it, or don’t. Help others get through it, if I can, best I can.

JONNY: What if the other shoe never drops though?

BERNARD: Yeet us into the fucking sun.