The fire alarm and the man in flames, both screaming. I’m gasping for air. There must be some way to stifle the blaze. No extinguishers anywhere. How can a whole damn stove even catch fire? Trembling, I can only watch through the gaps between my fingers until the cover of smoke lifts. Ashes lay piled up neatly on chequered linoleum. A moment of silence before the cheerful music resumes as if nothing happened. It’s a Saturday afternoon, the sun’s shining, and life has just become ephemeral. “They can die?” I cry. Playing The Sims would never be the same again.
Antony Püttschneider is a writer from Germany who is fuelled by optimistic nihilism, pizza, and the urge not to be consumed by procrastination.