Jim worked as a student camp counselor at a rich kid’s sanctuary. Instead of knock hockey, they had polo. The cafeteria grilled ribeye steaks. At the end of the day, he stayed a half hour later than the other counselors to help Marlene finish the daily reports. When the sun went down he could go home. Her rule.

But it didn’t, not that day.

Instead, the galaxy’s flaming eye sat on the horizon, across the lake, atop the points of some giant pines. And stayed there like cotton candy on a stick, held in fire. He looked at his watch. Seven-forty three. It had been Seven-forty three for too long. The cheap thing had broken.

He stood up from the office chair, filled his water cup. Marlene should have finished locking up the stables and outbuildings already. Outside, on the porch, he looked across the field to where the stables were. A slight breeze chilled his limbs. He wanted a sweatshirt. He wanted sweat pants and a fireplace. He wanted to curl up in bed and listen to the news on the radio.

“Marlene!” He shouted. The cicadas trilled. The lake stirred. “Marlene!” He shouted again. He returned inside. The paperwork had been finished. He only needed to tell her that he would be leaving. He decided to write a note. The pen didn’t work. He tried another pen directly from the box. Nothing. Only indentations in the paper. No ink.

The cicadas buzzed louder.

The hell with it all. When he turned the key in his ignition, the engine turned over and sputtered on.

The next morning two police cruisers were parked in the handicap spots. The buses were waved away. He had to talk to the police. Marlene had been found in the stables. He had heard nothing but the cicadas.