One day, a man decided his skeleton was holding him back.
He’d read somewhere that jellyfish had survived five mass extinctions, and that bones were just a colonial hangover from fish that got too ambitious.
So he sold his skeleton online—same site people sell old dreams and slightly-used ideologies. Got a decent trade-in, too: a yoga mat, a glow-up ring light, and a certification in Holistic Disintegration.
He felt lighter. Freer. A little wet.
Then, on a breezy Tuesday, while arguing with a lamppost about the nature of responsibility, he collapsed into a shapeless pile of vibes.
People stepped over him.
The lamppost offered no judgment.
By Thursday, moss had started growing on what used to be his forehead.
The neighbors said he seemed happier.