Where the road rose up a gentle hill, Doc, a retired veteran in a beat-up brown suit and black beret, sat under a tree. Early evening sunlight slipped through pine needles, casting the fidgeting figure in a camo battledress of shadows. From his periphery, Doc had been haunted all day by twisting knots of darkness, but every time he’d focused on one, it would disappear like a lost reflection. Was this all in his head? Not all. In fact, the clandestine phenomenon was as much tethered to the human mind as it was hovering just beyond.

The moment Doc discovered his daytime obsession, a soap called Family First, had been preempted by that ubiquitous, godawful rerun, he raced to his favorite tree, hoping to escape the otherworldly shapes, with no luck whatsoever. Doc concluded the source of his brain’s malfunction was, as usual, the chronic drinking, on top of a very late, lonely night battling network-connection issues– and he wasn’t completely wrong, only naive about the deliberate research underway. On the upside, his cloistered, self-medicated lifestyle would make a meaningful contribution to the scientists collecting their data.

“Doc! How’s it going?” Devin asked, strolling by.

“Birds! They dart and disappear! They’re everywhere, but nowhere…”

In a flurry, the Vet’s hand buzzed past his ear, and his whole body went still. Leathery lines filled his face like the folds of a deflating balloon. With a raised eyebrow, his gaze snapped back to Devin.

“… How’s it going?” the teen again asked.

“Oh, sure… it’s little Private Jonesee, my man. I was feeling kinda depressed, you know, then I got out here and sat down. Suddenly, I feel great! It’s like a switch was flipped… somewhere. What about you?”

“Yeah, same here. Kinda strange, don’t you think?”

“Kinda strange.”

Doc smiled. He wasn’t a doctor, but everyone called him “Doc,” due to his military career spent as an orderly in a CASH, or Combat Area Support Hospital. As a one-hundred-percent disabled, vagabond veteran who had “seen too much,” Doc may never have known what day it was, but with the slightest invitation, could string together a great story. Most of Doc’s days consisted of his comfy couch, his cat Theodore, and endless hours in front of his TV, filling stacks of notebooks with the various plot twists and character arcs of the forty-plus seasons of Family First he’d collected on Blu-ray– any other medium would’ve failed him long ago.

“Did you see, everyone’s inside watching the same show?” Devin asked.

Even on a day as hot as this, Main Street normally bustled at this hour with townsfolk patronizing the bar and eatery. Today, instead, the ghost-town had but one occupant: Sheriff Tillman, crossing the street from his Station to Open Cap.

“Ah… no?” Doc removed his hat, wiped his brow of sweat, and searched the endless sky.

“So, why aren’t you?”

“Why aren’t I what?” The black Army beret returned to its perch.

“Inside. I heard the new season of ‘Family First’ starts today.”

“Preempted,” and the shaky hands again swiped at some seemingly imaginary object.

“By that other show… So, you came out here because there’s nothing to watch? That does sound depressing.”

“Am I depressed?” The man’s twitching hesitated as he mumbled, “No, I don’t feel depressed.”

“You mean, right now you don’t.”

Well, yeah… how do you feel?” asked Doc, and from behind the boy another streak of knotted darkness vanished. His tight fists scoured red eyes set deep in styrofoam-dry sockets.

“I feel great, but don’t you care that your show’s been canceled?” Devin slipped into the tall pine’s shade.