The ballad of Jeromathy Jenkins

Under a stormy sky, it could've been any time of day. The road was covered in a misty sheen, and the radio was humming softly in the background. There wasn't much on the news today, just static-ridden discussions of new flavors of potato chips by the samovar, and reports of the celebrated return of Joe Pecci and his bat.

Many years ago, Jeromathy was a passionate scientist-to-be whose spirit yielded to no one. He had great goals, such as demistifying the life cycle of even-toed ungulates, and being the first to go egg hunting on planet Zordvorf. "Rules are mere leftovers in the age of discovery. In truth, our world is just a big floating disc of wet clay and acceptable wrongdoing," he would often muse to those who cared to listen. Even then, people told him he was going too far.

It's human nature to push away the milestone that pulls you down, but Jeromathy's hit him square in the face and nearly suffocated him. If Jeromathy had been wise and read the critically acclaimed Things You Shouldn't Say to Monster Truck Rally Organizers, he may have avoided that fateful night completely. Instead, the free-minded scientist attempted to utilize a local monster truck rally as a means of voicing one of his most coveted beliefs. Once the announcer took a break, it wasn't hard for Jeromathy to sneak up to the microphone. "The earth is flat I tell you", shouted Jeromathy, "It is simply impossible for it to be spherical. Take your monster truck tires for example. They are described as 'round', yet they are also flat. The earth is no different. Perhaps the studies of a flat earth will only ever be truths a doublethinker holds onto. Please, help me make them more."

Anger fueled boo's echoed from the crowd. Jeromathy had made his point, but as a spherical rock bounced off of his forehead, it appeared that such a point had not been well-received. Before he could speak again, strong hands gripped his wrists, and he knew that his ruse had ended. "You'll never bring me down. I'll jump off the side of the earth if I have to", Jeromathy shouted as he struggled to free himself. A fist collided with his cheek, and that was the last he remembered when he woke up the next morning, branded as the subject of ridicule.

For years, Jeromathy let that awful night devour him. During the day, it weighed him down like wet cement, and at night haunted his dreams. He'd been worn down to a pitiful stump of a man, but that was about to change, because finally Jeromathy realized that he'd been the subject of ridicule long before the monster truck rally. He'd always been the one to avoid at parties, and the one that made mothers pull their children closer in public. Finally, Jeromathy felt free again. He sped a bit faster in his old sedan as his instructions echoed in his mind. "You go five more exits than usual, and make a left turn by the overpass. Then you wait."

The dimly lit overpass offered shelter from the lashing sheets of rain, but it offered no solace for his anxious mind. As instructed, he turned his car off and got out to wait. Already on edge, he nearly jumped as a train screeched and rumbled overhead, overtaking the rain and the trickle of its runoff. Several lifetimes ago, Jeromathy loved trains. He was fascinated by their mechanics, as well as their versatility, and it was one of his dreams to ride a train to the side of the earth. In his younger years, one of Jeromathy's favorite activities was to buy a few protein shakes, and then drink them on the train to the Goulash. Not once did he have company, but he never wanted any. At that point of his life, the delicious taste to the protein shakes, the hum of the train, and the beauty of the Goulash countryside were all he needed for his paradise.

After what could've been seconds or hours later, a hooded figure emerged from the cold, rainy curtain beyond the overpass. "Hello Jeromathy", said the dark figure. The air was suddenly colder as the greeting echoed off of the concrete columns holding up the overpass. Somehow, the black hood and robe were completely dry, but just as Jeromathy was about to address this, the figure spoke again, this time asking a question.

"What am I really thinking, when I'm thinking about object permanence?"

Jeromathy did not answer immediately. He took his time to consider what the figure was asking him, and then the answer came. He knew it had to be the right one.

"The pocket contents of Omar Khayyam of course", answered Jeromathy.

"Ah, so truly close", echoed the mystery figure,"I can see your thoughts as they swim and drown. If only you stayed true to your mind's initial response. That, my friend, would've been correct."

Jeromathy silently cursed himself. How could he have known that answering with 'the pocket contents of Yusef Lateef' would have brought him victory. Omar Khayyam's pocket contents just made so much more sense. Knowing he had failed, Jeromathy prepared to run. He made for his car but the rusty sedan had vanished. Now sprinting, he made for the rainy edge of the overpass. The hooded figure snickered behind him. He kept running, but he was no closer to the outside.

Jeromathy knew he was doomed. He was trapped inside of the very phenomenon that terrified every flat-earther. Too bad he'd never be able to show the world. Two dimensional sinkholes were a key component to proving that the earth was flat, but none could prove that they were real. A two dimensional sinkhole could only be created if temperature, air pressure, sound frequency, and light all were at a precise point where they could fuse and create a temporary manifestation of "true flatness." Not much else was known about them, as they were nearly impossible to track and even harder to survive.

Jeromathy had accepted his fate. He prepared to be shredded and swallowed atom by atom until his existence was erased completely. In the end, at least he knew that he was right. That would have to be enough. "Soon I'll be back with my protein shakes on the train to the goulash", Jeromathy whispered.