Onion could have lifted his foot and pressed the brake. But this was the fifth jaywalker he had seen on the highway that month, and so far, the discomfort of shifting from gas to brake had brought him neither good nor bad. He could have kept doing the same thing, but what would that change? Wasn’t he alive in the first place because God had decided things couldn’t stay the same forever? Didn’t his mom assign him a name by randomly picking a word from the dictionary after growing tired of the generic names she had given his siblings?

Onion felt that familiar feeling wash over him once more as if passed down from his creators—his mother and God. It was an innate feeling beyond reason, a primal force that preceded all else. That force, heavier than gravity itself, anchored his foot on the pedal.

***

Now he was bored, staring at the struggling body of the jaywalker on the ground, thinking about the hours of paperwork ahead—something he wouldn’t have to do if people ever got bored enough of paperwork one day. Almost everything was a matter of time and perspective, both of which were a matter of boredom.

He regretted it all. His conscience weighed on him now, but why? Because it had not weighed on him a minute ago, and that had brought him neither good nor bad. The elections were coming up—a time of change. Which candidate had promised to kill fewer Middle Eastern children? That would be Onion’s choice—he wanted different rewards for the taxes he paid and the points he earned from the gas station.

Did people avoid evil or boredom? Every American knew it was evil to kill innocent children, but were they bored enough of it? Onion knew he was bored; he needed something else. The government had failed to address Onion’s boredom. Perhaps he shouldn’t bother voting this time, since voting had done him neither good nor bad so far.

Onion got back in the car and continued driving. When his favorite song started playing on the radio, he stopped the engine and lay down on the road. He stared up at the stars, trying to pick the most beautiful one of all.

What is beauty? The purposive without purpose. What is ugly? These words that expire by the minute, as they attain their purpose. And who is the culprit? Reason—a corpse with a foul smell, rotten like God. Whenever anyone opened their mouth to speak, Onion could smell the stench of reason, and its constant presence made him sick.

Onion realized all of this thinking did him neither good nor bad, so he stopped. A car came speeding by and cut Onion in half. No more change, no more driving, no more running over others and being run over by others. When Onion died, he brought tears to the eyes of those closest to him.

Bora Barut is a Turkish-Canadian honours philosophy student in his fourth year at the University of British Columbia. As a passionate emerging writer, his thought-provoking works have earned him invitations to present at esteemed institutions like UCLA, Northwestern University, and the University of Minnesota, Twin Cities. In addition to publishing both philosophical and fictional pieces, he serves as the chief editor of UBC’s Journal of Philosophical Enquiries. In his free time, he enjoys reading, playing board games, and spending time with his partner.