Station Eleven

Jeevan called Laura on his sixth trip through the store, but his call went to voice mail. “Laura,” he began. “Laura.” He thought it better to speak to her directly and it was already almost eleven fifty, there wasn’t time for this. She began thinking about the possibilities of the form, about spaceships and stars, alien planets, but a year passed before she invented the beautiful wreckage of Station Eleven. There would be no flights for the indefinite future. Finally someone put it on the counter of the Mexican restaurant, next to Max’s Amex card.