It is a desert. A beauty contest between the sand and the sun, and while Carol would have been a dismal jury given his centimetre thick fur-coat, Max found himself on a hopeless attempt to soothe the heat by sweating on it. He looked at the source of it all, the cause of the ‘crunch’, something he came to know of only very recently, and in a chill of fear that did nothing to comfort, he turned to his twelve-foot friend whom he supposedly should have been mentoring.
“Carol.”
“Mhm?”
“Did you know the sun was going to die?”
“What?” A mournful pause. “I never heard that.”
What’s sadness to a shattered state? Carol’s pause wasn’t a dwell on the statement, while Max simply couldn’t steer clear of it. But it was a twinge of pleasure in itself, watching someone as strong as Carol sink to where he stood, where he’s been standing for a while now.
“Oh come on…”, Carol said, as Max lifted his chin a little. “It’s not going to happen.” He paused again. “I mean, you’re the king, and look at me… I’m big!” He paused again. “How could guys like us worry about a tiny little thing like the sun, huh?”
And for someone who always had a runny nose and a lake in his eyes, Carol smiled and convincingly enough. Max smiled too, for he felt his anchor drop down, finding the smallest solid rock of hope than just simply hanging around. And sometimes we find that that’s the most that’s required.
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