Eschaton: the game-master goes through the screen

The presiding God of Eschaton ends the day as a body wedged headfirst through a shattered monitor, "his sneakers in the air and his warm-up pants sagging upward to reveal black socks." The image is the whole collapse in one frame: the boy who ran himself ragged playing omniscient statistician is now just a pair of tennis sneakers pointing at the sky and a strip of exposed sock — the abstraction's referee reduced to the most undignified possible arrangement of a thirteen-year-old's actual limbs.