III.
It had been a week since the exile. Luke hadn’t been able to go back to
his apartment. It was swarming with preachers. Wanted posters were
plastered all over the city. He couldn’t go anywhere without being
noticed.
For the past few days, Luke had been living on the roof of Roger’s
apartment building. Roger brought him food after work but made it clear it
was only temporary. He couldn’t afford to help Luke and risk exile.
Luke didn’t blame him. He wouldn’t have done much if their positions were
reversed. And Roger was clearly freaked out by the sock puppet.
The puppet still freaked Luke out too. It had taken a couple of days to
accept that this wasn’t a fever dream.
“Listen, kid,” the puppet began, “neither of us asked for this. We’re both
probably being fucking tested or punished for something.”
“Why would I be punished?” Luke asked.
“Probably because you bought into the bullshit,” the puppet said. “There
has to be a reason why I’m here. Why the fuck now? Right?”
“I guess,” Luke said.
“We’re gonna have to get off this fucking roof and figure it out,” the
puppet said. “We can’t just hide here and hope everything magically works
out. Life don’t fucking work like that.”