Doug in Damarthy - A fantasy story ending

For https://steemit.com/contest/@f3nix/finish-the-fiction-story-contest-week-9

One of those who says this is called Doug, and this is the story of why.

Doug had left his job as an assembler of toilet bases because his horoscope had told him that adventures awaited him. He wasn't a big believer in horoscopes, but he was looking for any reason to hope that the future was more exciting than the past. Yesterday, as he sat on the bus, he thought he could see his entire life stretching out before him, like the fields and fields of corn that flew by. He lived in what some might call the future, because public transit connected worker enclaves to factories, and in betwixt the polluting factories grew Indiana corn fields, which were specially modified to turn all the excess nitrogen and carbon dioxide into edible goods and keep the harmful air from getting to them where they work.
But the future that Doug knew he lived in wasn't exciting to him. He knew his own future here. He'd work his days and sleep his nights, and in the other 8 hours, he'd imagine adventures he couldn't have.
So when the tiniest thing nudged him, he broke it all.

And now he sat in his home that he couldn't afford in a worker enclave when he wasn't a worker, and he stared at the paper with yesterday's horoscope.

He'd begun questioning his choice. Who was he, after all, to give up security? In 20 years, he'd have gotten a raise that would allow him to work only 20 years beyond that and then have enough to retire for twenty years before having to begin the cycle anew. No one, after all, died anymore.

That was when he forgot.

And here he was, trudging to work in Indiana with his Kohler plant overalls, and it was 1987, and he remembered a life of work, and he thought he could see his future.

At home, he had 20 microwave dinners in his freezer. He had linoleum tiles, and he had a plan to go to the bar after work, before home, and maybe there would be someone to love him there, but probably not. Maybe he should join a gym, and there would be someone to love him there, but probably not. Isn't love the greatest adventure?

And then he forgot.
And for an instant, which felt like ten years, he was in Damarthy.

In that instant that felt like ten years, Doug met Kiranstiliana. He climbed a mighty redwood and helped her harvest the Tinaturanium and fold it into a giant paper airplane shape. Then they rode the lighter than air and yet metal that didn't float ship they'd folded to the deepest cavern where she told him about the stagnancy that was slowly folding into Damarthy. He told her about his horoscope. Together they hatched a plan.

When the sun went down, they went to all the deposits of Tinaturanium and waited. When a hyperhuman came, they took turns telling her jokes. They had devised jokes the night before. When they finally saw her pause to consider the proper response, they began to tell stories that had never been told. They made up things that could not be, like flowers and hummingbirds and clouds. The hyperhuman stopped entirely and gaped. Then they told her stories of dragons and luck and pure coincidence. They told her about art and randomness and chance. And dance. Then they danced. The hyperhuman was enthralled. They begged and wheedled until they all danced together. The hyperhuman danced... and then made up a story. Together they created out of pure thought that which could not be.

And then Doug remembered. And he was in Indiana. And he told stories.

And he is one who swears that a mysterious sect of hyperhumans who live in the ruins of Damarthy have found their souls again.