How To Destroy The Universe

The trip

I ignored the text.

Once I got back to my office, I made a phone call to Doyle's secretary – Margaret. I let her know about my situation and that I'll be coming over to Geneva to take my photos. She seemed excited to meet me and that warmed me. After she hang up, I got my backpack, said goodbye to everyone, and headed straight to the exit. At the elevator, I encountered Bob-the-Belly.

I was about to make a U-turn and head toward the stairs when he noticed me.

'Already leaving? A bit too early, no?'

'Yes, but you told me to get that photo with Doyle. And I prioritize the content of our publication above all else. I'll be back in two days.'

'Two days? Where are you going?'

'Not far.'

'Good. The content above all! That's what I always say. Am I right?'

He punched me in the shoulder. It hurt. And reminded me of school bullies.

The elevator rang a bell.

'Oh, I actually forgot something on my desk,' I said, turning around and walking in the opposite direction. 'See ya!'

As I turned the corner of the office, I heard Bob chuckle.

I waited until the elevator doors closed. Once they did, I counted to five, and then came out of the other side, walking back to the elevator.

Pressing the elevator button, I watched from a distance as my colleagues slaved away, pressing keys on their keyboards, making phone calls, and generally being busy.

Me? I was going on an adventure.

I just didn't know yet how big of an adventure.

The Newark airport terminal was half-empty. Still two months before the holiday season, most people busy working, saving up money for Christmas to go with their families to the Bahamas.

The only passengers flying now were either students – who have more time than money – and business consultants – who have more money than time.

Also, me. I never had both. Which is why the company paid for my trips.

I sat in the plastic airport seat, sipping my cappuccino (oat milk, no sugar), flipping through the National Geographic's latest edition. On Page 37 I saw a familiar face. It seemed like Stanley Doyle was everywhere these days. He gave an interview to NG about his views on God. If God existed, he would have orchestrated the Big Bang differently... the subtitle said. But I was too tired to read the whole thing so I flipped over to the ad section and stared a bit at the Rolex watches, Monaco yachts, and overpriced Tommy Hilfiger ties.

I closed the magazine with disgust.

Eh. Who buys that shit?

I looked up and saw a man five metres away from where I was sitting, dressed in a grey suit, AirPods on, talking incessantly. His face was serious. I couldn't hear what he was saying but I could sure hear him using complicated business terms like ROI, margin, new round of financing, KPI.

Yup. It was people like him.

"Last call on the flight to Geneva. I repeat: last call on the flight to Geneva. Would all the remaining passengers please immediately proceed to gate B37..."

Geneva's airport was large, new, and luxurious. Filled with watch boutiques, smelling of cheese (Switzerland's Best Quality) and Lindt chocolate. Like the whole country in general.

I passed passport control and walked outside. As I exited the airport revolving doors, I felt disappointed. This didn't feel like abroad. This felt almost exactly like flying American Airlines. Most signs were in English, people looked no different that they did in New York, and the weather was roughly the same.

I walked to the stand with the words TAXI and told the manager my hotel name. He nodded and in five minutes, I was already sitting in the back seat of a Tesla, speeding silently across the Switzerland highway, looking out on the mountains, lakes, and pine forests. Alright, that was different.

Once we arrived at the hotel, I paid for the cab fare with my credit card (the driver had his own tiny card reader), waved him a goodbye, and walked through the large doors to the reception.

'Bonjour,' said the suited man behind the reception.

The ceiling was decorated in gold ornaments. There were old paintings everywhere and it smelled of coffee. I could definitely use some right now.

'Hello. I have a reservation. The name is Speardime.'

'Alright. Jack. Of course. Two nights. You have a double room with breakfast included. Need help with your luggage, sir?'

'No, thanks, I am alright. I just have the backpack. Thanks.'

'Okay. Room 505 is ready for you, sir. Here are the keys.'

I was waiting for the manager to hand me the card keys, but instead he gave me an actual key with a red fluffy ribbon. Europe.

I asked for a coffee in my room and went up to my room.

The room was vast, clean, and antique. It had a TV, a bed, a couch, and a table. Out the window I could see the big lake, mountains, and a fountain, which looked more like a large spray of water.

I smiled. It was great to break free from my usual routine.

I put the backpack on the couch, got rid of my clothes (which reeked of airplane food and sweat), and went into the shower. As the warm water ran through me, I felt my whole body relaxing. I took all the little bottles with labels SHAMPOO, SHOWER GEL, and CONDITIONER, and poured them over myself, one by one.

As I exited the shower, drying myself clean, I heard a knock on the door.

'Coffee, finally,' I said out loud, putting the towel around my waist, as I walked towards the door.

The door opened.

I grabbed the coffee from the tray and was about to close the door, when I heard a familiar voice.

'Hello, Jack.'

Looking up, I couldn't believe my eyes. There was the same man I met at the park a few days ago. He was dressed in black and was holding a tray where my cup was moments ago.

I stared at the man in bewilderment.

'You don't answer my texts.'

As he said that, the cup slowly escaped my fingers and fell down. The brown liquid spread through the blue wool carpet.

I gulped.