It's his first harvest season. I'm nervous. I remember how I was at his age. The questions, the imagination. Even growing up with the stories you can't help but wonder why we do things this way. Why you always want to leave the inside bit gooey during the winter roast, as you smile along with everyone else in the ring. But the fire is so warm, and the company so pleasant, and eventually you just...grow up.
He did so wonderfully last year at the roast that it seemed like it was time to get him involved in harvest too. He didn't have as much hesitation as I did back then, but the harvest is different. Necessary. He has to understand our balance with them.
The Orchard stretches out as far as the eye can see, trees waving in the wind as they are tended to by the groundskeepers. My father never told me their actual name. They don't appear to have one. They are just..."them". They wander the Orchard, pruning, fertilizing, and making sure each and every fruit that grows all year long is protected until it's ripe.
When he first sees them he points in excitement, remembering them from the winter. He looks back to me and sees my smile.
"Oh, go along. But be careful! And be nice!" I yell after him as he runs into the field and straight towards the nearest groundskeeper. It greets him warmly.
The Orchard is practically full today with other families. The heat from the sun bathes us all as the winter mildly threatens with a bite of wind. I greet a couple I met five winters ago, just a few seasons after he was born. Their own little one goes to meet mine.
"A boon of Harvest to you," I greet them with.
"And a boon for you as well," they greet back. "I see everyone picked the same day to come and grab a fruit."
"Apparently," I chuckle.
"Sorry we couldn't be there for the ring last winter, we really wanted to be present for his first."
"Oh, no, please, it's fine. You had other concerns. Is she here?"
"We..." a brief look of sadness clouds their eyes before snapping away. "We haven't seen her yet. But we hope she'll be here."
"Well, it's a big Orchard but a small town. I'm sure you'll run into her eventually."
"Yes...yes. In the meantime though..."
I follow their gaze and find him looking up at a tree with a hefty fruit, as the groundskeeper respectfully backs away.
"Ah, right. I'll see you later," I say as I quicken my pace over to him.
He looks to me as I approach, questions written all over his brow.
"Hey there! You found quite the bounty!"
He looks in confusion back at the tree.
"See all that sap? You can tell from how much there is that there's a nice juicy fruit in there. In fact, it's probably ready for harvest."
The groundskeeper nearby lowers itself.
"Yeah, it's ready! Do you want this one?"
He looks back to me again, tears in his eyes, as he points to the tree's face.
And I see it.
"Oh. Oh my dear boy....."
I pause.
I look.
"What a boon."
The tears come. The smile cracks.
"You found her."
The questions I had as a child careen into me as I see them do the same to him.
"This is..."
He hugs me. No, clings to me, grabs hold to save some part of his world from shattering.
"What a boon."
He is wailing now, and nearby families are looking. Some with understanding, some with...something else, as the groundskeeper nearby rises. And another appears from behind it.
"We'll harvest it together okay?"
He leans back, fear radiating as he locks eyes with mine.
"No no no, it's okay! It's okay! They say, if you can find the tree of one of your blood, and eat the fruit, then you can be like them!"
The horror floods him.
"It's good! We can be like them! And then we can feed all these people in the winter! We can help the whole village!"
He recoils, backing into the groundskeeper that is suddenly behind him.
He screams, and not knowing what to do, climbs the tree.
They try to stop him, but in a blink, his foot is through the sap...and the fruit bursts.
I try to cry.
I try to remember what comes next.
It feels like seasons go by.
There is snow.
And sun.
And sap.
And all I feel is the breeze.
Until I am ripe.
Saturday, September 19, 2020
Inktober #31: Ripe
Inktober #30: Catch
"Catch the first light. Hold it. And release it back to God. At the end of time, at the final breath, God will grant us life again."
With eyes fixed on the sky, my grandmother N'arta uttered her last words, and went to join God. On a bed of mappa leaves which curled around her in the afternoon heat, and our tribe gathered in a ring eyes fixed towards the point where she had watched, we felt her final prophecy pin itself to us like a straga's sting. And we waited. And watched the sky. And we saw a blink of red, and knew it to be true.
----
"Alright kids...THREE...TWO...ONE...GO!" and the painted red ball was launched far far away across the field as thirty children went galloping as fast as they could, laughing, towards it. "GO, GO! CATCH THE FIRST LIGHT!"
They raced and raced though N'ota had a strong lead. She ran and ran, panting as her legs bent back and forth to speed her stride. She would win the festival's prize this year for sure, and be crowned the Life-Bringer. But D'lora had other plans and shoved her to the side. N'ota spun off into the matta trees but refused to give ground and used the momentum to spin around, pounce onto a tree, and push with all her might to leap through the air and regain the ground she had lost. A final turn, a quick glare back towards D'lora, and suddenly she was alongside the still careening First Light, braked hard in front of it, caught it in her mitts as the wind was pushed from her chest, taking her along with it. She struggled to maintain control over it before digging into the soil, spinning, and sending it back the way it had come.
D'lora skidded to a halt in front of her. "Come on, N'ota! This was my time to win!"
"So you cheat? God sees you D'lora. And they will never accept a cheater as the Life-Bringer!"
D'lora made a rude gesture to N'ota and loped back the way they had come. None of the others had even come close and were likely on their way back to the celebrations. A feast, to honor God...and, as she smiled thinking about it, her.
----
"Welcome esteemed colleagues. My name is Nara N'yosa and I'm a professor of cultural studies here at Cravea. Long ago my ancestors, the Light-Bringer tribe, heard a prophecy from one of their wise women that would change our world forever. Their empire would come to encompass most of the planet, touting their predestined charge to bring the First Light back to God so that they would grant us Eternal Life. And any who disagreed...ended up in the ground. They left a legacy that remains with us today, in surprising ways. The red balls our children play with. Our predilection for speed-based sport. Even from a biological standpoint, as players with those vestigial toes perform better and get better contracts.
But, as I have discovered, there was another part of their belief system. A secret sect. We found evidence carved into remnants of the now extinct Map'ta Tree that another group formed within the populace, with very different beliefs. And they wanted the Light for themselves.
----
"Thanks, J'im. I'm here at what promises to be a historic day. The team here at Promotoa have been working for years to build what can only be described as our best chance yet at meeting God. The shining beacon you see behind me will soon be launched into orbit and flown to the First Light sun, that which gave us all life, collect some of that light, and then go in search of God to fulfill our purpose. How many millennia have we waited for this? From the first prophecy of N'ata we have been guided by her hand and God's will to do what will be done today.
While we may not ever see the fruits of this journey, or the families or those who are launched today, our ancestors, generations from now, will finally meet God, and bring us eternal life. Praise! Praise! Praise!"
----
Nala cracks her head against the wall of the ship as it comes slamming back into real time. The green danger lights flicker with the pops and flashes in her vision as she reaches up and feels the blood begin to flow.
"Fucking fuck Dapla YOU FUCKER!"
She flops down on all limbs, braces against the swimming and jarring, and strides as fast as she can towards the bridge. Corner, bulkhead, corner, grazed by a ripped piece of metal shit there's a leak, run, run, hall, door. Shit. Bridge door. Try it. Try it. Won't open. SHIT.
"DAPLA!"
She looks through the porthole, sees Dapla regaining his feet. He's hurt worse.
"DAPLA YOU SHIT!"
He looks dazed, but in a moment he sees her at the door, looks panicked, and turns for the control panel. Two moments later, and all the lights are off.
"DAPLA IT'S NOT MEANT FOR YOU!"
"I'M SORRY NALA! I have to. If we want God to grant us life...we have to lose it first."
"THE FUCK, DAPLA?!"
"At the end of time! At the last breath! I will take the first light. And I will die. And God will see that we have done what they asked."
She hears the slight shifting of engines as the ship auto pilots them into position. Here, at the edge of the universe, where no light has yet gone.
They found it, years ago. The very first photon. The first piece of light to ever exist in the universe. It had had so long to travel away from them, so they worked, and they went faster, and faster, until they went faster than time. Faster than light. They knew the consequences. They knew their people and even their world would be long swallowed up by the black hole on its way before they could return. But they would do it. They would catch the first light and bring it back to its source so that God would bring them back and give them life again.
At least, that was supposed to be the plan.
"You die here, Dapla, and we all die. Everything...it's over!"
"No, no Nala, you don't understand. But you will. You will have life."
And the hiss of the air being released hit her ear.
No light.
No more sound.
She could move, and feel that she was no longer in the ship.
She could move, but couldn't breathe.
This is it.
He will be in the perfect position.
The First Light will hit him, and it will be over.
...
But calculations can be wrong.
Space can be unpredictable.
And maybe, just maybe, God hates Dapla too. Because in that instant there is a spark that hits Nala's right eye.
And she goes spinning.
The ship's lights suddenly fill the void as it calculates the First Light has passed, senses its pilot, and roars into life as it speeds past her, opening the hold as she jets inside, and she swears she sees an old woman catch her as she comes to rest on the floor, the hold door shuts, and air once again fills her chest.
She gasps, over, and over, and can swear things look a little brighter than before. No old woman. But fucking Dapla must still be on the bridge.
Nala hobbles up, trying to stabilize herself on every surface as she passes the corners, halls, and doors to finally reach the control room.
The door is open.
Dapla is nowhere.
Of course he turned off his tracker. He didn't want to be rescued.
Nala approaches the panel, sets course for the origin. Sets course for God.
It's finally going to happen.
----
"Good catch," they say. "That was fun. Let's do it again."
----
Saturday, September 5, 2020
Inktober #29: Injured
"Mr...Hawthorne, is it? Thank you for coming down to the station."
"My pleasure, officer."
"We're happy to see you've recovered, Mr. Hawthorne."
"From what I understand it was a rather sticky situation, but I am glad to be here as well."
"And you've been told why we called you in?"
"Yes."
"If you wouldn't mind...so we can get a clear idea of where to begin."
"Of course.
The rain is coming down hard, enough to make you shield your head and take cover under whatever awning you can find. The ionization is already in the air, you can feel the charge building. Soon enough the static storm will begin and anyone out won't remember a thing in the morning, if they survive at all. The shielding in this area broke down years ago, and none here have the political power to get the right people to do the right thing. All you can do is watch from the insulated windows of your insulated home and hope the repairs you made yesterday will hold.
And you can watch the people in the street, and hope for them.
I am in my insulated room. I am checking my repairs around the window. I glance out at the street. I am distracted by a knock at the door. I walk to open it as the beginning theme of 'Port Limel' is playing on the set. I open the door as it ends.
It has no face.
What is standing there does not make sense.
Its body is tall and short. Limbs extend beyond where they should and are simultaneously a completely normal arm reaching into the doorway.
It has a suit of black. It wears casual workout clothing. There is a red scarf around its neck.
Talons from a bird clawed hand reach around my neck as I stumble back to the tune of the intro to 'Port Limel'. Its shadow reaches behind to close the door behind it as it holds me there and a thousand-needle tentacle wraps around my mouth to stop my scream.
It throws me to the floor and my head is turned to see Richard Pendergast, the actor, I forget the character's name, running through the storm into Rita Lenari's arms, the actor, I forget the character's name, before a cloaked figure shoots him in the back and the end credits of 'Port Limel' start playing. Another one is on next. I wonder if I'll live to see the finale.
I feel the axe tear into my skull. And again. It is eating my brain like a slice of pie. One slice fills it and it looks out the window to see Richard Pend...no. It takes a picture. No. There is a flash. There is a storm. Rita Lenari will lose her memory in the morning, if she sruvivs at ll.
I can see hr as I li in the stret. The rin is fllng. A red scrf trails from me arnd the norner. It is ther. Itis ther. There is light.
There is more light. It is gone. I can see the staff around me, hear the whizzing tools. I tell Dr. Abergast, no. I tell Dr. Abernathy what I remember as he sits calmly by my bed and the hum of the protective field sounds like the intro to 'Port Limel'. I try to remember that the scarf I see isn't real.
I go home. The door is busted. The seal on the window needs fixing. Another storm soon. I can see where my cranial fluid left a stain. That at least was real.
And now I'm here."
"And now you're here. Thank you, Mr. Hawthorne, for your recollections. As you might understand, we're still trying to piece together the reality of your situation from the obvious changes undergone to your memory from the injury."
"Of course."
"And it sounds like there's still some damage surrounding the memory. I'd like to put you down for another stay with Dr. Abernathy to see if we can't pull anything else out if you don't mind."
"I would appreciate that."
"Good, good. After all you appear to be the only witness to these murders, and only survivor of this perpetrator's assault."
"Yes. I need to start remembering."
"We'd like that too, Mr. Haw-"
"I need to start remembering."
"Yes, Mr. Hawth-"
"Please. Please. I need to start remembering."
"Mr. Hawthorne?"
"I need to remember the scarf isn't real."
"Mr. Hawthorne I need you to calm-"
"I don't hear it. I don't hear it."
"I'm going to call Dr. A right away okay?"
"That isn't real. You cannot be."
"Hey can I get-....help..."
"You cannot be. You cannot be."
"What...the..."
"I see it. I see it. It's there. It's there. It's there. The talns on its hand are in yu, do you see it? Mr. Pendgrast? It lks pie. Brain. I mst repair the window. What a lng red scaf. I'm runng through the ran to Rita Lenari. A thousnad-needles in my eyes. It likespie. Itliks. Dr. A? I am injured.
Dr.?...
You're...I'm....there's..."
Saturday, August 22, 2020
Inktober #28: Ride
(see #21: Treasure for backstory)
Kelis Alcibides, aka Trucker Kelly 93, awoke 40 light years farther than she'd ever been. The Cteres system. Word is a creature had been running amok smashing trade ships, harassing stations, and just generally being a dick to any and all who came across it. Just enough damage to be a nuisance, not enough to warrant any response from Olympia. Besides sending one rogue trucker with a heavy conscience doing the most ridiculous form of community service ever handed down by the courts: fly to Tiryns, subject yourself to the local ruler, and perform 10 acts of service to be dictated by said ruler.
Guess that's what you get when your step-mom's the judge and they can't pin you for murder.
She had already gained a reputation as a rather successful exterminator. Her ship, the Iolian, was outfitted with, shall we say, non-traditional tech. While most ships had advanced to laser weaponry, energy shields, and massive explosives, Kelis preferred to just...punch things. With her ship. Every inch of the Iolian was constructed of an impenetrable metal usually only given to the Olympus Core, which her dear step-mother had gifted her, very much on accident. The legalese was airtight though, meaning no matter how hard they tried to take him away from her, they'd never be able to.
The Iolian looked as monstrous these days as some of the beasts they had already sent her after. Call it what you like, but Kelis liked to take trophies of her kills. The skull and shimmering cloak of the Nemoan stretched out over the top of the hull, adding an unnecessary layer of armor against energy weapons. Mostly she just kept it for the shimmer. It looked cool. And that skull! Raaaaaah! Very effective.
There was an FTL jammer grafted near the bridge, gifted from a notorious pirate ship, The Hind, for the orchestration of a very convincing and daring escape. A sonic emitter meant to pierce the densest nebula and one projectile cannon filled with needles meant to pierce even the thickest armor told of her battle with an army of bird-like drones that had fled in their defeat to some other hopefully uninhabited galaxy. A series of graspers and an extendable energy net usually only found on industrial asteroid harvesters covered the bottom of the ship and allowed for the classic "punch and squeeze" maneuver that had rendered many an enemy completely useless as very few could do anything about a sudden increase in hull pressure equivalent to being in the middle of a thousand suns.
In any event, one troublesome creature on the edge of the edge of a boundary system...wouldn't be an issue. Besides, reports were that this thing liked to ram ships. Kelis figured they might even get along. Shared interests and all that.
Booting up her systems, Kelis started to hear the comm chatter she loved so much to hear. Not too many out there, but enough to maybe get a lead on where this thing was hiding.
"Kelly Nine Three hollerin at the black, holler back."
The comms go dead.
No one replies. Not even a hint of chatter bounces back.
Not good.
Suddenly, the all too easy to recognize stick-up-the-butt voice of a government official rings through.
"Kelly Nine Three this is Cteres Command. Please hold."
"Kelly in. Holding."
...
...
Kelis takes a deep breath, exhales loudly, and starts to poke her own head at the place where she can already feel the headache beginning.
"Kelly Nine Three please confirm your business and destination."
"Kelly in. I'm on task from Tiryn to deal with your beastie issue. The one ramming things? Just point me at it and I'll be on my way with its corpse in tow."
...
"Kelly Nine Three..." the voice has completely lost its traditional even keel, "...are you sure about that?"
"Kelly in, yeah, sure, why? I thought this thing was just a minor inconvenience?"
"Kelly Nine Three, pushing you an update. Watch your comms."
Reports start pouring in of a...beast. Like, a BEAST. Like, big as a small moon, wrecking entire cities BEAST. With HORNS (cool). Had this thing grown? What the hell happened on the ride over?
"Kelly in. Yep, that's the one. Point me at it." Trying to maintain her cool, and failing to hide her excitement.
"Uh....sure. We'll prep the notice of your death for Tiryns. Coordinates incoming."
Live feeds have it sleeping on a planet. The shift in gravity has caused the entire populace to flee. The tidal waves from the liquid methane ocean appear to be lapping at its...feet? And it seems to be quite relaxing.
Perfect time to sneak up on it. It has no idea what it's in for.
Time for the biggest punch and squeeze ever attempted.
Kelis cracks open the engines, and roars towards her target.
Sunday, July 26, 2020
Inktober #27: Coat
Focus on the cuff. Start there. Just past where you're holding her hand.
Cracked black leather. Worn. Chafed. Scratched. Used. Scorched on the inside. Buttons of polished steel standing out in stark contrast, holding it to the sleeve. Each emblazoned with a different relief of a different battalion. They'll be there, at the end.
But for now you have to keep going.
The gray wool hides well its scars. Finely sewn back together after being slashed apart. Here, from the Midlands. Here, from Parth. Here, the longest, trailing in a curve not hidden but embroidered, stretching from just below the elbow to near the shoulder. The most recent. The badge of honor. The sacrifice that let her get the killing blow on Sehad. The embroidery intertwining and highlighting, making bold, the patch of her rank.
But there's too much there. Keep going.
The shoulder, bare of the traditional fringed epaulet, instead weighed down by a black iron pauldron of her own design. Enough to block any wayward strikes, yet keep her view open through a small crescent when she aimed. Since losing most function in this arm, it was more a style choice than anything, but she always said it felt like having another piece of pride with her. Just like the badge, it was something she earned and made for herself. It was as much a part of this coat, of her, as anything.
We're getting closer now. Be ready.
The grey wool climbs back up again out of the black iron to wrap around her neck and two more perfectly polished...but for that fleck of red...steel buttons. Emblazoned again. One for the crown, one for the land. The crown was always unbuttoned. She said it was because it was tailored wrong. Helped her breathe. Yet she always refused to have any alterations to it. You never got that story, did you? You sneak a glance up to her face.
Too much there.
Too much to come.
Keep going.
Down to her chest.
And there you are.
And there it is.
Between the alternating black and white straps.
Another scar.
And so much blood.
You'll have it stitched. It's what she would've wanted.
Sit with it.
Be there.
Red among the monochrome.
Grieve for the life lost. The warrior. The joy. The love. The smile in the flashes of steel.
Breathe.
Check the other arm now.
Slashed. She had tried the Sehad maneuver again. Maybe she thought she could get a shot off with the pistol you moved from her grasp to hold her hand. Where this began. You'll mend that too.
Have you taken your time?
Will you take up the sword she dropped, the pistol you moved?
"Are you ready?" comes the voice, barely above a whisper. An enemy, but one who knows respect.
And a coat to match hers.
He stays sitting in the chair across the room, this cabin in the late afternoon hiding amidst the pines where you had thought to find some rest, an ally. Rest he had given you. Rest of a kind to her. Though you knew her fight continued elsewhere.
You squeeze her hand. You take up the pistol in your left, the sword in your right.
"Ready," you say.
He stands. Salutes with his own weapons, and readies.
The poor bastard.
Her coat hid the small scars, and reveled in the big.
What better way to honor her than to make some big scars yourself?
And you charge.
Cracked black leather. Worn. Chafed. Scratched. Used. Scorched on the inside. Buttons of polished steel standing out in stark contrast, holding it to the sleeve. Each emblazoned with a different relief of a different battalion. They'll be there, at the end.
But for now you have to keep going.
The gray wool hides well its scars. Finely sewn back together after being slashed apart. Here, from the Midlands. Here, from Parth. Here, the longest, trailing in a curve not hidden but embroidered, stretching from just below the elbow to near the shoulder. The most recent. The badge of honor. The sacrifice that let her get the killing blow on Sehad. The embroidery intertwining and highlighting, making bold, the patch of her rank.
But there's too much there. Keep going.
The shoulder, bare of the traditional fringed epaulet, instead weighed down by a black iron pauldron of her own design. Enough to block any wayward strikes, yet keep her view open through a small crescent when she aimed. Since losing most function in this arm, it was more a style choice than anything, but she always said it felt like having another piece of pride with her. Just like the badge, it was something she earned and made for herself. It was as much a part of this coat, of her, as anything.
We're getting closer now. Be ready.
The grey wool climbs back up again out of the black iron to wrap around her neck and two more perfectly polished...but for that fleck of red...steel buttons. Emblazoned again. One for the crown, one for the land. The crown was always unbuttoned. She said it was because it was tailored wrong. Helped her breathe. Yet she always refused to have any alterations to it. You never got that story, did you? You sneak a glance up to her face.
Too much there.
Too much to come.
Keep going.
Down to her chest.
And there you are.
And there it is.
Between the alternating black and white straps.
Another scar.
And so much blood.
You'll have it stitched. It's what she would've wanted.
Sit with it.
Be there.
Red among the monochrome.
Grieve for the life lost. The warrior. The joy. The love. The smile in the flashes of steel.
Breathe.
Check the other arm now.
Slashed. She had tried the Sehad maneuver again. Maybe she thought she could get a shot off with the pistol you moved from her grasp to hold her hand. Where this began. You'll mend that too.
Have you taken your time?
Will you take up the sword she dropped, the pistol you moved?
"Are you ready?" comes the voice, barely above a whisper. An enemy, but one who knows respect.
And a coat to match hers.
He stays sitting in the chair across the room, this cabin in the late afternoon hiding amidst the pines where you had thought to find some rest, an ally. Rest he had given you. Rest of a kind to her. Though you knew her fight continued elsewhere.
You squeeze her hand. You take up the pistol in your left, the sword in your right.
"Ready," you say.
He stands. Salutes with his own weapons, and readies.
The poor bastard.
Her coat hid the small scars, and reveled in the big.
What better way to honor her than to make some big scars yourself?
And you charge.
Wednesday, July 15, 2020
Inktober #26: Dark
What an astounding feeling.
Being here.
Surrounded by the dark.
With the only light left in the entire universe shining...but dimming. Slowly. A white dwarf star. It feels...appropriate. Meditative. Rather than exploding out into a massive supernova, the last burning star in the universe would simply leak out its heat into the expanse, and go quiet for the rest of eternity.
And I am here to witness it.
I can only think back to the first humans, the first apes, the first mammals, even the first light-sensitive cells that would eventually through trillions of years become me, feeling the warmth of their sun on Earth. Grasping ever towards it, yearning for its light and heat and energy. A feeling I can only guess at. Though the yearning is there, in its own way.
But how must it have been, having the comprehension first of their own death, then that all things must die, and then realizing that includes their very sun. That which sustains all life will too eventually pass away and take a couple planets with it. And then to expand that, even. To understand that eventually...this day, now, would come. All the stars will die. All heat will end. And without heat, the universe would run itself out, leaving nothing but rocks and dust with black holes for company.
I think of them, as I stand here, the last light of the universe bathing me.
It's almost time.
I stare straight into it.
I want to soak up every last photon. Every last chemical reaction. Every singular bit of heat I can.
And then it's gone.
And then there's silence.
And there is no more light.
An odd sensation, to be truly and suddenly blind for the first time. To be wrapped in a darkness so complete that it will never end. I have eyes. They see. Yet there is nothing there. Nothing but the last image burned into my memory of what light was.
The moment stretches on.
It feels like eternity lets out a breath, to rest.
I savor it.
The endless cold. The endless night. What a moment to live through. To live into.
And with that, a firefly of light pierces the black.
And another.
And a hundred more.
And the lights of the observation deck rise, and the crowd around sees each other. Joy spreads like a fire, as some look to those around them feeling like they're truly seeing everyone for the first time. Others look out to the last sun, which shines once again but with light pushed onto it from countless vessels there to bear witness to the end. There are congratulations, elations, embraces. And I think the humans of the past would look to us and be proud.
Past the heat death of the universe, we make light. We live. We continue on. We find our warmth where we can, with the rocks, and the dust, and the black holes, and each other, for company.
Being here.
Surrounded by the dark.
With the only light left in the entire universe shining...but dimming. Slowly. A white dwarf star. It feels...appropriate. Meditative. Rather than exploding out into a massive supernova, the last burning star in the universe would simply leak out its heat into the expanse, and go quiet for the rest of eternity.
And I am here to witness it.
I can only think back to the first humans, the first apes, the first mammals, even the first light-sensitive cells that would eventually through trillions of years become me, feeling the warmth of their sun on Earth. Grasping ever towards it, yearning for its light and heat and energy. A feeling I can only guess at. Though the yearning is there, in its own way.
But how must it have been, having the comprehension first of their own death, then that all things must die, and then realizing that includes their very sun. That which sustains all life will too eventually pass away and take a couple planets with it. And then to expand that, even. To understand that eventually...this day, now, would come. All the stars will die. All heat will end. And without heat, the universe would run itself out, leaving nothing but rocks and dust with black holes for company.
I think of them, as I stand here, the last light of the universe bathing me.
It's almost time.
I stare straight into it.
I want to soak up every last photon. Every last chemical reaction. Every singular bit of heat I can.
And then it's gone.
And then there's silence.
And there is no more light.
An odd sensation, to be truly and suddenly blind for the first time. To be wrapped in a darkness so complete that it will never end. I have eyes. They see. Yet there is nothing there. Nothing but the last image burned into my memory of what light was.
The moment stretches on.
It feels like eternity lets out a breath, to rest.
I savor it.
The endless cold. The endless night. What a moment to live through. To live into.
And with that, a firefly of light pierces the black.
And another.
And a hundred more.
And the lights of the observation deck rise, and the crowd around sees each other. Joy spreads like a fire, as some look to those around them feeling like they're truly seeing everyone for the first time. Others look out to the last sun, which shines once again but with light pushed onto it from countless vessels there to bear witness to the end. There are congratulations, elations, embraces. And I think the humans of the past would look to us and be proud.
Past the heat death of the universe, we make light. We live. We continue on. We find our warmth where we can, with the rocks, and the dust, and the black holes, and each other, for company.
Tuesday, July 7, 2020
Inktober #25: Tasty
"Breathe, first. Through the nose. Out the mouth. Inhale every possible scent around you. Each breath will be different. Some smells you notice so strongly at first will disappear with desensitization. So hold them, remember them. You won't want to get confused. The more subtle scents should come through then. The surrounding ionized metal. The slightly acrid tease of the sewage leak into the filtration systems. Me. Hold them all. See what comes into the forefront with each breath. Eventually it will seem like you've smelled it all. Every bead of sweat. Every exposed wire. Every fiber of every rat lurking in the walls.
Then, and only then, do you taste the gum.
...
Good. Do you smell it all?"
"Yes."
"Hold it. Hold onto them tight. And then hold onto your ass."
With what felt like the extremest edges of focus on the cacophony of smells around me, sensing each and every particle and where it came from, barely keeping the threads of every link together, I raised the gum to my tongue.
The instant it touches the first tastebud every ounce of focus is sucked into the very molecules of this unfathomably complex substance. The threads of smell are instantly translated to taste, though there are more connections here than could ever possibly be maintained. But I try. I try. I hold.
Whereas every breath brought a new scent, now the second tastebud grabs hold and sends its infinitely sparking cascade of new tastes into my head, back out into the gum, back again. Rebounding echoes. It's too much.
But I can't stop as my arm reacts far too slowly and the next wave hits. An infinitesimal universe of burning atoms greets me as I taste the very electrons sparking, held in orbit by the focus I bring onto them. Every atom vibrates, rapt with my attention and I with theirs.
It's too much to bear. I can feel my mind snapping under a weight it was never meant to sustain.
And then it happens.
Time reverts to normal.
And I see. I can see.
I can see him. Looking concerned. The lattice of every skin cell reaches out to my new awareness.
"Well?" he asks. "You don't look like your brain has melted into goo."
"No. I'm fine."
And I reach out to touch his face. The most direct path. Not just aimlessly reaching for a voice.
"That was the tastiest thing I've ever had."
And it would be for the rest of my life.
Then, and only then, do you taste the gum.
...
Good. Do you smell it all?"
"Yes."
"Hold it. Hold onto them tight. And then hold onto your ass."
With what felt like the extremest edges of focus on the cacophony of smells around me, sensing each and every particle and where it came from, barely keeping the threads of every link together, I raised the gum to my tongue.
The instant it touches the first tastebud every ounce of focus is sucked into the very molecules of this unfathomably complex substance. The threads of smell are instantly translated to taste, though there are more connections here than could ever possibly be maintained. But I try. I try. I hold.
Whereas every breath brought a new scent, now the second tastebud grabs hold and sends its infinitely sparking cascade of new tastes into my head, back out into the gum, back again. Rebounding echoes. It's too much.
But I can't stop as my arm reacts far too slowly and the next wave hits. An infinitesimal universe of burning atoms greets me as I taste the very electrons sparking, held in orbit by the focus I bring onto them. Every atom vibrates, rapt with my attention and I with theirs.
It's too much to bear. I can feel my mind snapping under a weight it was never meant to sustain.
And then it happens.
Time reverts to normal.
And I see. I can see.
I can see him. Looking concerned. The lattice of every skin cell reaches out to my new awareness.
"Well?" he asks. "You don't look like your brain has melted into goo."
"No. I'm fine."
And I reach out to touch his face. The most direct path. Not just aimlessly reaching for a voice.
"That was the tastiest thing I've ever had."
And it would be for the rest of my life.
Sunday, June 7, 2020
Inktober #24: Dizzy
I used to spin in circles, as a child, in the hydroponics tent amongst the wheat. I would spin and spin and feel the grains soft and rough against my skin, staring upwards and watching the lamps overhead swirl around and around me like they were my stars and I was their planet.
I used to get so dizzy that I would fall down, watch the stars continue to move until they slowed, slowed, slowed, and stopped, and became lamps once more.
I thought, out here, spinning out of control as the station disappeared beyond my sight, that I'd be dizzy.
But there are no stars. The last of them went out years ago.
So instead I spin and spin but cannot feel it. It's like I'm standing still in front of a black wall, breathing, breathing.
I will be okay. The rescue ships will be here soon. Maybe when I see them I will feel dizzy again. I will watch them spin and spin slower and slower until they stop and I am safe.
I will be okay. I just need to keep breathing.
I look at my arm, just to have something to look at besides the vastness of black. The nanosteel glows bright white before me, between me and the dark. The wrist display blinks red, red, red...but I will be okay. The rescue ships will be here soon. I watch my fingers flex out, back into a fist, out again. I hyper-focus on each and every movement of each and every finger. And I breathe. I breathe, because I'm starting to feel dizzy.
I take my arm away and stare out again at this...Space, where I spin and flow and shoot through but cannot feel. And in that absence of feeling I am feeling dizzy, sick. I start to cry because it is too much.
I will be okay. The rescue ships will be here soon.
But I weep, and I stare, and I wonder if I am someone's star right now, spinning around them and making them dizzy. Maybe I'm not even spinning anymore, I can't tell, maybe I have reached a planet and it is holding me in its orbit, holding me still but too far for me to see in my own glow. I cannot feel it, so I must feel something, so I feel dizzy.
So I lie back, I close my eyes, and try to feel the stars around me, spinning and slowing, slowing, slowing, and I swear I can see them with my eyes closed. A universe of endless stars glowing and glowing and heating and getting brighter and dimming and popping in and then out and everywhere around me. And I open my eyes and I swear I can still see them.
I will be okay.
I just need to breathe.
I look at my hand again. The light of the nanosteel is fading. Energy going to other systems. I flex my fingers, I hyper-focus as I bend my index finger, out, in. My middle finger out, in. My ring finger out, in. My pinky goes out, in...but I only know this from feel. I flex my thumb, out, in, focusing on the only sensations I have. The pinpoint stillness of focus feels...
I will be okay.
I'm dizzy.
I'm suspended in the dark. But it feels like I'm lying down.
And I breathe...
And I breathe...
And I see a star...
And I feel dizzy, differently.
And I see it again...
I will be okay.
I used to get so dizzy that I would fall down, watch the stars continue to move until they slowed, slowed, slowed, and stopped, and became lamps once more.
I thought, out here, spinning out of control as the station disappeared beyond my sight, that I'd be dizzy.
But there are no stars. The last of them went out years ago.
So instead I spin and spin but cannot feel it. It's like I'm standing still in front of a black wall, breathing, breathing.
I will be okay. The rescue ships will be here soon. Maybe when I see them I will feel dizzy again. I will watch them spin and spin slower and slower until they stop and I am safe.
I will be okay. I just need to keep breathing.
I look at my arm, just to have something to look at besides the vastness of black. The nanosteel glows bright white before me, between me and the dark. The wrist display blinks red, red, red...but I will be okay. The rescue ships will be here soon. I watch my fingers flex out, back into a fist, out again. I hyper-focus on each and every movement of each and every finger. And I breathe. I breathe, because I'm starting to feel dizzy.
I take my arm away and stare out again at this...Space, where I spin and flow and shoot through but cannot feel. And in that absence of feeling I am feeling dizzy, sick. I start to cry because it is too much.
I will be okay. The rescue ships will be here soon.
But I weep, and I stare, and I wonder if I am someone's star right now, spinning around them and making them dizzy. Maybe I'm not even spinning anymore, I can't tell, maybe I have reached a planet and it is holding me in its orbit, holding me still but too far for me to see in my own glow. I cannot feel it, so I must feel something, so I feel dizzy.
So I lie back, I close my eyes, and try to feel the stars around me, spinning and slowing, slowing, slowing, and I swear I can see them with my eyes closed. A universe of endless stars glowing and glowing and heating and getting brighter and dimming and popping in and then out and everywhere around me. And I open my eyes and I swear I can still see them.
I will be okay.
I just need to breathe.
I look at my hand again. The light of the nanosteel is fading. Energy going to other systems. I flex my fingers, I hyper-focus as I bend my index finger, out, in. My middle finger out, in. My ring finger out, in. My pinky goes out, in...but I only know this from feel. I flex my thumb, out, in, focusing on the only sensations I have. The pinpoint stillness of focus feels...
I will be okay.
I'm dizzy.
I'm suspended in the dark. But it feels like I'm lying down.
And I breathe...
And I breathe...
And I see a star...
And I feel dizzy, differently.
And I see it again...
I will be okay.
Sunday, May 31, 2020
Inktober #23: Ancient
As you step into the room, Piri, your darkvision acclimates for the next 60 feet in front of you. Beyond this massive doorway lies an even more massive...temple, as far as you can tell. Long worn tapestries hang on the walls, some tattered to ruin, some having fallen on the ground, with colors you are unable to discern without some light. The ceiling is barely visible to you, with a symbol repeated in seemingly irregular intervals, the same symbol you saw faded on the stone post that led you here. On either side of you pocketed into these grand stone walls are two alcoves, each with what appears to be a statue, though they seem almost out of place in this massive room being just slightly larger than you. And that's about all you can make out. Do you keep going in?
"Hey, um, big big big temple ahead," says Piri, a red-haired half-elf in a deep black cloak and light leather armor with daggers in her hands at the ready. "A couple suspicious symbols in the ceiling that are probably traps, and two statues that will more than likely charge headlong at us the moment we enter. Thoughts?"
The basso voice of a towering Goliath clothed in robes and almost covered in various mechanical trinkets answers, "I can always send in one of my toys. If it's trapped, no harm done to us."
"But also no guarantee it won't bring down the entire place and destroy any treasure before we have a chance to get to it, Uthal," Piri replies. "Squirrel?"
A stout gnome with a scar down his cheek, clothed in green with a bow and empty quiver strapped to his back, and a mouse on his shoulder, gets up from his crouch looking for tracks on the ground.
"We're not the first ones here. But there's also no sign that anyone who went in ever left. So something's waiting in there for sure," he says. "You sense anything, Yev?"
A tall orc woman in full plate mail with a massive two handed maul slung over her shoulder clinks her way over to the door. As she does she pulls out a symbol hanging around her neck, which faintly begins to glow with a bluish shadow-like flare as her eyes close.
"There is a sense of death around this place, but nothing undead."
"Right," says Piri. "So we've got a death trap in front of us, a storm coming in behind us, and, likely, more basilisks. Better the stone in front than turning to stone behind us?"
They all look to each other, and indicate reluctant acceptance.
"Good then, traps traps traps, looking for traps traps traps..."
You cast your eyes back around the room, Piri, this time specifically keeping an eye out for any mechanisms. Make an Investigation check.
14.
You do notice what appears to be very faint bloodstains, conveniently located in roughly the same spots as where the symbols lie above in the ceiling. However, you have no idea what might trigger it. You do also notice that while there are clear blood spatters in those locations, there is also an increasing amount that does not correspond to where the symbols are as you get further into the chamber.
"Hang back, Piri, I'm going to try poking," says Squirrel. He reaches back into his seemingly empty quiver but his fingers are suddenly closed around an almost beam of light energy that he then nocks, aims, and fires into one of the symbols. It impacts into the stone, but the moment it does a crackling blue and white light flashes in the stone itself and the arrow disappears into it.
"...So...definitely magical," he says.
The massive goliath bends down and takes what looks like a whirring ball with legs off his belt and sets it moving forward, directly under the closest symbol. The second it reaches there...another flash, and this time the stone rockets down into the floor, smashing the toy to pieces. As it does the mouse on Squirrel's shoulder quietly squeaks in fear.
"Told you," says Uthal.
Careful not to step under any symbols in the way, Yevelda makes her way cautiously and rather loudly as the plate armor clacks and clanks, echoing in this massive hall, over to the statue along the left wall. She inspects it carefully before deciding to poke it, and...
A vision fills your mind, Yev, of a massive battle. You are a soldier, human, fighting alongside what has to be the biggest creature you've ever seen. Humanoid, in full plate, swinging a massive axe back and forth into a horde of what appear to be mechanical men imbued with some kind of magical energy seeping out of the cracks in their forms. All around you there is madness, terror, war. You can see people of all different races, trying to make a stand against an army that stretches as far as your eyes can see. You're swinging, parrying, shoving, and then there's a bright flash as you hear an earthshaking roar and look up and see this giant you've been fighting by grasp its shoulder in pain around a spiderweb-like burn of a wound that crackles with the residual of a lightning strike. You follow its gaze to see what looks like some kind of massive siege engine, and behind it, a grinning skull-like visage wreathed in the same light that fills these warforged bodies. It points a finger towards the giant, and unleashes a sickly black beam...as you feel an axe carve into your skull.
Roll a Wisdom saving throw.
17.
You come back to your senses, back into the great hall, and manage to resist any lingering effects.
"AAAHHHH BALLS," yelps Yev. "THE HELL WAS THAT?"
"The hell was what, Yev?" asks Squirrel.
But before she can answer, Piri has already stepped over to the other statue, and also touches it.
Piri, a vision comes to you of that same battle, but you are a Tiefling and farther back on a bit of a hill overlooking the incoming tides of warforged, the siege engines, and the eerie glow that overtakes it all. You are slinging spell after spell, calling on the demon you have made a pact with for aid and magical ability. You see ahead of you and to the left this giant to dwarf giants. You see the lightning strike him, and you see the sick black ray shoot towards him. But you also see beside you a being made of stone. A golem twice your height, carrying a banner with a very familiar symbol. And you see, as this ray shoots out, the golem slams the banner into the ground, and mere feet before the ray would impact into the giant...it dissipates. In fact now you can see a shimmer surrounding you, surrounding the entire army. And in an instant, every warforged inside the dome falls down, falls apart, and loses the glow that was keeping it sustained. You somehow instinctively know that golems...can't normally do that. There is something about this one, something special. But before you can take a word to thank it, to ask it any of the numerous questions flitting through your mind, a skeletal visage wreathed in light appears before the golem. You reach out, grasping for what magical artillery you have left, and a quick finger in your direction snuffs out your life.
Roll a wisdom saving throw.
4.
You take 10 points of psychic damage as you feel the deathblow as if it were really happening.
"OOOOWWWW OW OW OW," screams Piri.
"What is going on?!" yells Uthal.
"Did you see?" yells Yev across the room.
"Battle? Giants? Robots?" yells Piri back.
"YEAH!"
"YEP."
For the sake of brevity, you both fill everyone in on the two visions, and the differences between them. You decide to head further in, avoiding what you can see of any traps laid in the way. Before long you start to see faint light emanating from sconces on the wall and two large braziers, each burning as if they were freshly lit. And then you come into view of a resplendent display. A coffin, larger than any you've ever seen, surrounded in stunning gold scrollwork, etched with panels that seem to tell the story you've already seen, though the tale does appear to continue past what you've experienced. In amongst the scrollwork, which is so large you can clearly make it out even 100 feet away, you can clearly see a name spelled out in several different languages. In fact it appears to be in every language there is. Here lies High King Lo-Kag, Savior of Arlia. You also notice that the fabrics and banners hanging here look brand new. Not touched by dust or decay or any sign of use or time.
And before it all, is, to you Yev, a familiar sight. A stony golem, kneeling on a raised platform, holding onto what seems to be a perfectly intact and unfaded banner. And it's eyes appear to be looking straight at you...
"Hey, um, big big big temple ahead," says Piri, a red-haired half-elf in a deep black cloak and light leather armor with daggers in her hands at the ready. "A couple suspicious symbols in the ceiling that are probably traps, and two statues that will more than likely charge headlong at us the moment we enter. Thoughts?"
The basso voice of a towering Goliath clothed in robes and almost covered in various mechanical trinkets answers, "I can always send in one of my toys. If it's trapped, no harm done to us."
"But also no guarantee it won't bring down the entire place and destroy any treasure before we have a chance to get to it, Uthal," Piri replies. "Squirrel?"
A stout gnome with a scar down his cheek, clothed in green with a bow and empty quiver strapped to his back, and a mouse on his shoulder, gets up from his crouch looking for tracks on the ground.
"We're not the first ones here. But there's also no sign that anyone who went in ever left. So something's waiting in there for sure," he says. "You sense anything, Yev?"
A tall orc woman in full plate mail with a massive two handed maul slung over her shoulder clinks her way over to the door. As she does she pulls out a symbol hanging around her neck, which faintly begins to glow with a bluish shadow-like flare as her eyes close.
"There is a sense of death around this place, but nothing undead."
"Right," says Piri. "So we've got a death trap in front of us, a storm coming in behind us, and, likely, more basilisks. Better the stone in front than turning to stone behind us?"
They all look to each other, and indicate reluctant acceptance.
"Good then, traps traps traps, looking for traps traps traps..."
You cast your eyes back around the room, Piri, this time specifically keeping an eye out for any mechanisms. Make an Investigation check.
14.
You do notice what appears to be very faint bloodstains, conveniently located in roughly the same spots as where the symbols lie above in the ceiling. However, you have no idea what might trigger it. You do also notice that while there are clear blood spatters in those locations, there is also an increasing amount that does not correspond to where the symbols are as you get further into the chamber.
"Hang back, Piri, I'm going to try poking," says Squirrel. He reaches back into his seemingly empty quiver but his fingers are suddenly closed around an almost beam of light energy that he then nocks, aims, and fires into one of the symbols. It impacts into the stone, but the moment it does a crackling blue and white light flashes in the stone itself and the arrow disappears into it.
"...So...definitely magical," he says.
The massive goliath bends down and takes what looks like a whirring ball with legs off his belt and sets it moving forward, directly under the closest symbol. The second it reaches there...another flash, and this time the stone rockets down into the floor, smashing the toy to pieces. As it does the mouse on Squirrel's shoulder quietly squeaks in fear.
"Told you," says Uthal.
Careful not to step under any symbols in the way, Yevelda makes her way cautiously and rather loudly as the plate armor clacks and clanks, echoing in this massive hall, over to the statue along the left wall. She inspects it carefully before deciding to poke it, and...
A vision fills your mind, Yev, of a massive battle. You are a soldier, human, fighting alongside what has to be the biggest creature you've ever seen. Humanoid, in full plate, swinging a massive axe back and forth into a horde of what appear to be mechanical men imbued with some kind of magical energy seeping out of the cracks in their forms. All around you there is madness, terror, war. You can see people of all different races, trying to make a stand against an army that stretches as far as your eyes can see. You're swinging, parrying, shoving, and then there's a bright flash as you hear an earthshaking roar and look up and see this giant you've been fighting by grasp its shoulder in pain around a spiderweb-like burn of a wound that crackles with the residual of a lightning strike. You follow its gaze to see what looks like some kind of massive siege engine, and behind it, a grinning skull-like visage wreathed in the same light that fills these warforged bodies. It points a finger towards the giant, and unleashes a sickly black beam...as you feel an axe carve into your skull.
Roll a Wisdom saving throw.
17.
You come back to your senses, back into the great hall, and manage to resist any lingering effects.
"AAAHHHH BALLS," yelps Yev. "THE HELL WAS THAT?"
"The hell was what, Yev?" asks Squirrel.
But before she can answer, Piri has already stepped over to the other statue, and also touches it.
Piri, a vision comes to you of that same battle, but you are a Tiefling and farther back on a bit of a hill overlooking the incoming tides of warforged, the siege engines, and the eerie glow that overtakes it all. You are slinging spell after spell, calling on the demon you have made a pact with for aid and magical ability. You see ahead of you and to the left this giant to dwarf giants. You see the lightning strike him, and you see the sick black ray shoot towards him. But you also see beside you a being made of stone. A golem twice your height, carrying a banner with a very familiar symbol. And you see, as this ray shoots out, the golem slams the banner into the ground, and mere feet before the ray would impact into the giant...it dissipates. In fact now you can see a shimmer surrounding you, surrounding the entire army. And in an instant, every warforged inside the dome falls down, falls apart, and loses the glow that was keeping it sustained. You somehow instinctively know that golems...can't normally do that. There is something about this one, something special. But before you can take a word to thank it, to ask it any of the numerous questions flitting through your mind, a skeletal visage wreathed in light appears before the golem. You reach out, grasping for what magical artillery you have left, and a quick finger in your direction snuffs out your life.
Roll a wisdom saving throw.
4.
You take 10 points of psychic damage as you feel the deathblow as if it were really happening.
"OOOOWWWW OW OW OW," screams Piri.
"What is going on?!" yells Uthal.
"Did you see?" yells Yev across the room.
"Battle? Giants? Robots?" yells Piri back.
"YEAH!"
"YEP."
For the sake of brevity, you both fill everyone in on the two visions, and the differences between them. You decide to head further in, avoiding what you can see of any traps laid in the way. Before long you start to see faint light emanating from sconces on the wall and two large braziers, each burning as if they were freshly lit. And then you come into view of a resplendent display. A coffin, larger than any you've ever seen, surrounded in stunning gold scrollwork, etched with panels that seem to tell the story you've already seen, though the tale does appear to continue past what you've experienced. In amongst the scrollwork, which is so large you can clearly make it out even 100 feet away, you can clearly see a name spelled out in several different languages. In fact it appears to be in every language there is. Here lies High King Lo-Kag, Savior of Arlia. You also notice that the fabrics and banners hanging here look brand new. Not touched by dust or decay or any sign of use or time.
And before it all, is, to you Yev, a familiar sight. A stony golem, kneeling on a raised platform, holding onto what seems to be a perfectly intact and unfaded banner. And it's eyes appear to be looking straight at you...
Monday, May 11, 2020
Inktober #22: Ghost
I wake up to see your back to me. I feel like I'm always the one to wake up first. But I don't mind. I stare absentmindedly at your shoulders, watching the slight rise and fall as you breathe. I roll over as delicately as I can to check the clock. 7:23am. Early this morning. Good. A little time to take you in.
I roll back, seeing the mess of your black hair against the pillow, your bare shoulder, the sheet wrapped tight around you but comforter tossed aside in the late summer heat. I keep it around me. I always ran cold. Run cold.
I continue my gaze downward, admiring your waist, the curve of your hip, all the way down your leg to your foot hanging off the edge of the bed, a habit I've never understood but always smiled at.
I don't want to wake you, but it's too tempting. I reach out towards you, just to feel the warmth and slight amount of sweat on your back.
A trilling birdsong from your side of the bed stops me as you shift and stretch your arm out to quiet the alarm.
8:00 already? It came too fast.
You blearily shift around, first onto your back to stretch your arms up to the ceiling, only to turn your head and see me, smile, and swing your arms over me in a silly and warm embrace. I'm awash in the memory of every time you've done this, whether I'm awake or not. I can't help the smile.
Too quickly you swing back the other way, and I admire every inch of you as you dress for work. You turn back with a wink and then exit, heading to the kitchen to make a quick breakfast.
I leave the me turning back towards sleep behind, and follow.
I turn the corner and almost run into the refrigerator door as you open it, mutter a quick "Oops, sorry," before I remember you can't hear me. You'd hear her, in the bed, but she didn't come with you this morning. So I do, now, instead.
It's a simple ritual you rarely stray from. Turn on the kettle, grind the coffee, grab a pan, cook the eggs, toast the bread, pour the newly boiled water into the french press, put the food on a plate, pour the coffee, and head to the dining room. It must seem mundane. I usually stayed in bed because a big breakfast would make me feel ill. But now that I get to see you do this...I understand the meditation. The repetition. The ritual of it all. I love you for it, and for so much else.
In a blink you're done and you head back towards the bed. I rush in and rest myself where she is as you lightly plant a kiss on my cheek.
"I'll see you soon," you say.
"I love you," I say.
"mrf oo," she says.
You grin and walk out, image disappearing beyond the front door as you leave.
"August 9th, 10:45pm, please," I say aloud.
The room shifts nearly imperceptibly, as the light changes from early morning to dark, a pair of used socks appears by the bed, the clothes in the closet shifted slightly between hangers. And she is no longer in bed.
I can hear the TV from the other room. You'll be getting tired about now. Ready to return here. Did we have sex this night? I can't remember. It doesn't matter.
Soon enough I hear the TV turn off, and you two walk by the door to the bathroom. We brush our teeth, floss. She giggles at something you did. I wait here.
The two of you walk in, get undressed and into light pajamas. You set the alarm. She takes position where I am. You get in on your side of the bed. We kiss. But no more, I can already see your eyes drooping.
We rest there with your arm over me, and you nearly asleep, until you wake enough to turn over and turn out the light.
I try to put my arm over you, hold you close, but she didn't this night. I have to be careful not to pass right through you. But the glow of the Proof tech still gives some heat, and soon enough I fall asleep there with a smile.
I wake up to see you eyes open and facing me...why? I check the time, 4:34am. I look back at you and suddenly realize that she's not there.
Do you-
"I can feel you there," you say suddenly.
I gasp. My heart ratchets up into my throat with every quickened beat.
"I don't really know who or what you are," you say quietly.
"It's...it's me, please, please you know-"
"Whatever kind of spirit you may be, I sense you intend no harm. And so, you're welcome here, and I hope you feel at home."
"Please, you can hear me can't you? Oh god, you're looking at me. Please!"
The toilet flushes.
I reach out and I touch your face, passing straight through, but I could swear I see you shiver.
She walks back in, and your eyes close before she sees you. She carefully climbs back into bed and quickly falls back asleep.
You open your eyes once more. You see me, don't you?
And then you turn your back.
Your breathing slows.
As does mine.
You always joked you thought this place was haunted, didn't you?
And now I'm the ghost haunting our past...so that you can't haunt me now.
I choke up, hold back more than the couple sobs that escape.
And I will myself to sleep.
In what feels like an instant, I wake up, and see your back to me. Even now I'm always the one to wake up first.
But I don't mind.
I roll back, seeing the mess of your black hair against the pillow, your bare shoulder, the sheet wrapped tight around you but comforter tossed aside in the late summer heat. I keep it around me. I always ran cold. Run cold.
I continue my gaze downward, admiring your waist, the curve of your hip, all the way down your leg to your foot hanging off the edge of the bed, a habit I've never understood but always smiled at.
I don't want to wake you, but it's too tempting. I reach out towards you, just to feel the warmth and slight amount of sweat on your back.
A trilling birdsong from your side of the bed stops me as you shift and stretch your arm out to quiet the alarm.
8:00 already? It came too fast.
You blearily shift around, first onto your back to stretch your arms up to the ceiling, only to turn your head and see me, smile, and swing your arms over me in a silly and warm embrace. I'm awash in the memory of every time you've done this, whether I'm awake or not. I can't help the smile.
Too quickly you swing back the other way, and I admire every inch of you as you dress for work. You turn back with a wink and then exit, heading to the kitchen to make a quick breakfast.
I leave the me turning back towards sleep behind, and follow.
I turn the corner and almost run into the refrigerator door as you open it, mutter a quick "Oops, sorry," before I remember you can't hear me. You'd hear her, in the bed, but she didn't come with you this morning. So I do, now, instead.
It's a simple ritual you rarely stray from. Turn on the kettle, grind the coffee, grab a pan, cook the eggs, toast the bread, pour the newly boiled water into the french press, put the food on a plate, pour the coffee, and head to the dining room. It must seem mundane. I usually stayed in bed because a big breakfast would make me feel ill. But now that I get to see you do this...I understand the meditation. The repetition. The ritual of it all. I love you for it, and for so much else.
In a blink you're done and you head back towards the bed. I rush in and rest myself where she is as you lightly plant a kiss on my cheek.
"I'll see you soon," you say.
"I love you," I say.
"mrf oo," she says.
You grin and walk out, image disappearing beyond the front door as you leave.
"August 9th, 10:45pm, please," I say aloud.
The room shifts nearly imperceptibly, as the light changes from early morning to dark, a pair of used socks appears by the bed, the clothes in the closet shifted slightly between hangers. And she is no longer in bed.
I can hear the TV from the other room. You'll be getting tired about now. Ready to return here. Did we have sex this night? I can't remember. It doesn't matter.
Soon enough I hear the TV turn off, and you two walk by the door to the bathroom. We brush our teeth, floss. She giggles at something you did. I wait here.
The two of you walk in, get undressed and into light pajamas. You set the alarm. She takes position where I am. You get in on your side of the bed. We kiss. But no more, I can already see your eyes drooping.
We rest there with your arm over me, and you nearly asleep, until you wake enough to turn over and turn out the light.
I try to put my arm over you, hold you close, but she didn't this night. I have to be careful not to pass right through you. But the glow of the Proof tech still gives some heat, and soon enough I fall asleep there with a smile.
I wake up to see you eyes open and facing me...why? I check the time, 4:34am. I look back at you and suddenly realize that she's not there.
Do you-
"I can feel you there," you say suddenly.
I gasp. My heart ratchets up into my throat with every quickened beat.
"I don't really know who or what you are," you say quietly.
"It's...it's me, please, please you know-"
"Whatever kind of spirit you may be, I sense you intend no harm. And so, you're welcome here, and I hope you feel at home."
"Please, you can hear me can't you? Oh god, you're looking at me. Please!"
The toilet flushes.
I reach out and I touch your face, passing straight through, but I could swear I see you shiver.
She walks back in, and your eyes close before she sees you. She carefully climbs back into bed and quickly falls back asleep.
You open your eyes once more. You see me, don't you?
And then you turn your back.
Your breathing slows.
As does mine.
You always joked you thought this place was haunted, didn't you?
And now I'm the ghost haunting our past...so that you can't haunt me now.
I choke up, hold back more than the couple sobs that escape.
And I will myself to sleep.
In what feels like an instant, I wake up, and see your back to me. Even now I'm always the one to wake up first.
But I don't mind.
Thursday, April 2, 2020
Inktober #19: Sling
"T Minus five minutes til Sling Shot."
I flex my grip, test out the controls. Emergency button on the inner right glove. Forward and back in the legs. Spin and counterbalance in the left arm, speed and direction in the right. Full sensor diagnostic supply in the helmet.
The wings etched onto the side of the helmet...just for fun.
"T Minus four minutes til Sling Shot."
Everything's prepped. Just four minutes to wait it out as everyone else around paces frantically and taps buttons more for their own personal sanity than actual effect. It's all been tested. Double tested. Tested millions of times. An error rate of only 2%.
"T Minus three minutes til Sling Shot."
The very first faster-than-light personal suit. The very first human pilot. I'm gonna get to see Utopia up close. Hell, the entire Andromeda galaxy. More. I get to be the first solitary interstellar human.
"T Minus two minutes til Sling Shot."
Rob comes over, of course he does.
"Doing okay in there?"
"Snug as a bug about to hit the windshield."
"Hey, that was ONE TIME."
"Relax, Rob. I know you've got all this down. I'm gonna be fine."
Rob takes my hand. It seems like a nice romantic moment until,
"I swear that emergency button feels a little sticky, let's just call an hour hold and I can mess with it, really make sure it's-"
"-Darling. Leave it. Everything will work out. I swear I won't go too far and we've got ships waiting everywhere around the system and beyond just in case."
"T Minus one minute til Sling Shot."
"Right, better get back to the controls." He puts his head against my helmet. "Stay safe out there."
"And you stay safe back here, Rob."
One final moment, and he's back, nervously pacing by the controls.
"Ten."
"Nine."
Rob stops and keeps his finger on the trigger.
"Eight."
"Seven."
I take what feels like the deepest breath of my life.
"Six."
"Five."
"Four."
Everything is engaged.
"Three."
"Two."
"TIME TO GO TO SPACE BABY!"
"One."
"Sling Shot engaged."
And faster than any human had ever gone before I shot through the cannon-like tunnel before me, passing Jupiter in a heartbeat, flying through empty space, zooming into Andromeda and seeing Utopia before me....
Until a heartbeat later I heard the siren. And opened my eyes.
I was still in the lab.
The first note of the emergency siren blared continuously, like it was stuck.
And the people...Everyone looked panicked. And nobody was moving.
Not like, so shocked in horror that they felt like they couldn't move, but literally weren't moving. The normally spinning emergency light was still going but...slowly. Incredibly slowly.
Until it stopped.
And then started going backwards. And then the lights were off. And everybody started to move again. But...backwards too.
Oh no.
We had accounted for breaking Einstein's laws. Our success in faster-than-light travel accounted for time dilation.
Or so we thought.
I tried straining my thumb towards the inside of my right palm, seemingly held back by some force, as I myself started to move backwards, beyond where I began. Everyone was moving a little faster now, Rob's face coming towards mine and a look of confusion as where I had been was no longer where I had been.
It was all getting to be a little too much for me to handle. My perception of reality itself began to shift.
Everything moved faster.
I was being pulled away. Out from the lab, from the building, from the city. Into the atmosphere.
I was in space.
The display was still running. It confirmed the worst.
I wasn't being pulled towards something. I was exactly where I had been.
The earth had moved.
No no no. Not like this.
There was still force on the emergency button. It had been sticky, damn it.
I panicked. I remained in space at the exact point I had been flung from. But time moved around me. I would be here forever. For eternity. Out of time until some other planet or star came through this exact spot...
Wait. The emergency may be sticky, but the navigation...
Works. It works.
I can't move fast enough to catch the earth as it falls away, but I can catch it when it comes back around.
I maneuver into position. I can't believe it still works. The suit works. Even now. I start gearing up to keep pace with the spin, the orbit, the speed of the earth itself. I may not be able to interact with it but I should be able to keep up long enough to get the emergency switch to work.
I see it in the distance approaching. Now or never.
It comes in fast, but I'm able to balance it. I sink towards the planet and adjust to hit the lab as it comes by.
But as I descend, keeping pace with the spin of the earth, I nearly recoil in horror. How could it have been so long? It should only have been a year!
Gone was all semblance of modern technology. The earth itself looked dimmer. No ships traveled to The Swing around the Moon. No flying transports of any kind dotted the sky beyond primitive planes, and even those seemed sparse. The display in front of me quickly computes based on position, tech, and historical record that I am currently descending into the April 19th, 2020, just outside of Washington D.C..
I maneuver into what looks like an abandoned alley, wary that anyone choosing to look up would see something altogether unreasonable...a spaceman in a suit beyond comprehension falling upwards into the sky from an alley. At least, from their perspective in time. Is it even possible to be seen in this state? If I can't touch the Earth-
And then I touched the Earth.
And a bird flies by, but not in reverse.
It's stopped.
I check the chronometric readings...sure enough. I'm back in relative time.
An old-timey car drives by. No. Modern, here, now. I don't think I've been seen.
The sun shines brightly. By all measures a beautiful spring day. The sounds of the occasional car engine rise and then fall as they pass on a nearby road. I can hear voices above me, windows open to apartments. Boxes...air conditioners my display tells me, hang over other windows but they are not on. No need yet.
I catch myself in my reverie. I little know what my being here could do to the future. Likely I've already entered a parallel dimension anyways, but...can't be too careful.
I test out the emergency button. Still stuck. I'll need tools.
21st century tools.
Sure.
Doable.
Not wanting to risk being thrown off Earth again I plant one foot ahead, then the next, never fully leaving the ground. Will I be flung back in time should I jump off the ground? Maybe. Maybe not. I'll stick with what's working for now.
I make my way to end of the alley, keeping sensors attuned for footsteps or the approach of anyone I may need to hide from. Clear, for now.
In fact...quite clear. Suspiciously clear. Don't tell me that's busted too now?
I venture a peek beyond the wall. I am on a residential street. Sounds of cars in the near distance tell of a more major road but for now there is no traffic here. No traffic of any kind. No cars, no people. On a sunny day like this it seems unusual not to catch sight of people lounging in the shade, going for a walk, admiring the vegetation.
Ah. The historical record. I see. A pandemic. Another quick hope flickers that the sterilizing skin on this suit remains intact. I, of course, would be immune, but should I travel back in time again...I dare not bring this with me.
Well at least I should have an easy time remaining hidden. As I myself admire the vegetation.
Not everything has changed with time.
Keeping sensors active they ping on a toolbox in a shed by the side of a modest home. I make my way over, carefully, jutting between walls and corners to avoid the few stragglers who wander out for the fresh air or to walk their animals. A simple crude gate stands in the way. Just beyond it, the shed. No way around it, not without leaving the ground. I unhook the latch, open it, walk through, close it, and rehook as fast as I possibly can. There was a creak.
There is a window.
I hurry to the shed, pull open the unlocked door and step inside, shutting it behind me.
A little glow emanates from my helmet to illuminate the space. A crude toolbox awaits on what is presumably a work/craft table. I examine the components. Simple, but should be effective. There is a window into the shed and I can sense movement in the house. I must find a more secluded spot to work.
I exit the shed, back to the gate, and-
Very sudden movement.
It stops.
By the window.
I turn.
There staring back at me is an open mouthed 34 year old male holding a slumped cat who appears to have been caught in the middle of something.
We both stare for what feels like a full minute but is in fact 3.7 seconds.
I panic, and begin to run. I make it two ungainly strides towards the gate before there is an infinitesimal gap between both my feet and the ground.
I rise.
And spin.
And crack my head on the gate before spiraling once more out into space as the Earth falls far behind and the chronometer starts to spin backwards.
The Earth goes around once before I can even reassert my position, maneuvering with the toolbox in one hand, thankfully still intact.
The Earth goes around a second time. It's accelerating.
On the third time around I am able to once again keep pace and descend. I need a stable surface to do the repair. And I cannot let go of that toolbox.
No electric lights whatsoever now.
I realize belatedly that the Earth is now spinning faster and the suit is reaching the point when it will no longer be able to keep up.
I can't control where I land.
And I really need to hit land.
I lock in the best trajectory I can.
5...Oh good, there are pyramids at least.
4...That sure looks like the Great Wall, though not nearly so Great yet.
3...Oh wow...the full Amazon rainforest...
2...That's...that's a big army. In the Alps. With...elephants? Oh shit that's Hannibal!
1...I can catch the top of that mountain. Always wanted to visit Greece!
My toes catch the tip of a . It's enough to slow me down as I hit the side of a mountain, rocket up to the summit, and catch myself just before launching into the air again.
I take a couple deep breaths. The toolbox is still in hand, good.
The sensors start pinging. Movement. A lot of it.
I look to my left...at a temple. And a lot of people in togas.
I must've been quite the sight, moving that fast.
Eesh. Definitely in a parallel dimension now.
Worshipers come pouring out of the temple at the ruckus. I slowly stand and face them. Let's see if the translation software is working.
"You have nothing to fear," I say, as reassuring as can be. "I come in peace."
There is a long silence that lasts precisely 7.4 seconds.
And then they all start bowing. Chanting. Bringing offerings from before a statue to place at my feet.
"Oh, wow, no, please. What?"
And then the translation comes through. They're chanting for "Hermes".
Sure enough I check the statue, and there's the winged helm.
And then I put it together.
A super fast blur rockets up to the temple of a speedy god...and he has wings etched into his helmet. It was supposed to be a joke, damn it.
I really need to fix that button.
Well...when in Greece...
"Thank you, my people. I am very...appreciative. Um...can anyone lead me to a sturdy table?"
One worshiper stands and beckons towards the temple. A table that is hopefully used for only cleanly offerings stands there.
"Thanks, friend. Um...blessings to you."
They stand back in awe.
Great.
I take off the glove, disconnect the proper circuits, and start to as delicately as I can repair the emergency button.
The worshipers gather around to watch, marveling at the strange tools which look similar to their own but with more refined purpose.
Surely that won't lead to anything, I bravely convince myself.
It takes a good hour, tinkering there, being watched. But the button comes unstuck. As far as I can tell, it should work. I reconnect the circuits, put the glove on, and turn back to all the waiting faces.
"I shall never forget your generosity and hospitality this day."
More awe.
"Right...let's hope this works."
And I push the bu-
///
"T Minus five minutes til Sling Shot."
I flex my grip, test out the controls. Emergency button on the inner right glove. Forward and back in the legs. Spin and counterbalance in the left arm, speed and direction in the right. Full sensor diagnostic supply in the helmet.
The wings etched onto the side of the helmet...just for fun.
"T Minus four minutes til Sling Shot."
Everything's prepped. Just four minutes to wait...while...
Wait.
"T Minus three minutes til Sling Shot."
This is...weird. Deja Vu in the most major way. I look around, but everyone seems to be fine.
"T Minus two minutes til Sling Shot."
Rob comes over.
"Doing okay in there?"
"I...I'm not sure, Rob."
"...What? Getting nervous?"
"No, Rob. There's...it's like..."
"Hey, hey. You're gonna be fine. First solo interstellar trip! Everything's good on our end."
"ROB!"
...
"T Minus one minute til Sling Shot."
"Rob we need to cancel."
"What?"
"We need to cancel, something's wrong."
"Are you-"
"NOW."
"Alright! Alright! JEN, SHUT IT DOWN!"
Bustle. Switches flipped.
"Countdown aborted."
Looks of confusion. And everyone's looking.
"Rob, get me out of this."
"Yeah, yeah sure."
He comes closer, and I realize I've been squeezing the emergency button this whole time. Weird.
He reaches out to me, to help take off the helmet. My dear Rob. I reach to take his hand in mine instead.
And I let go of the button.
///
I flex my grip, test out the controls. Emergency button on the inner right glove. Forward and back in the legs. Spin and counterbalance in the left arm, speed and direction in the right. Full sensor diagnostic supply in the helmet.
The wings etched onto the side of the helmet...just for fun.
"T Minus four minutes til Sling Shot."
Everything's prepped. Just four minutes to wait it out as everyone else around paces frantically and taps buttons more for their own personal sanity than actual effect. It's all been tested. Double tested. Tested millions of times. An error rate of only 2%.
"T Minus three minutes til Sling Shot."
The very first faster-than-light personal suit. The very first human pilot. I'm gonna get to see Utopia up close. Hell, the entire Andromeda galaxy. More. I get to be the first solitary interstellar human.
"T Minus two minutes til Sling Shot."
Rob comes over, of course he does.
"Doing okay in there?"
"Snug as a bug about to hit the windshield."
"Hey, that was ONE TIME."
"Relax, Rob. I know you've got all this down. I'm gonna be fine."
Rob takes my hand. It seems like a nice romantic moment until,
"I swear that emergency button feels a little sticky, let's just call an hour hold and I can mess with it, really make sure it's-"
"-Darling. Leave it. Everything will work out. I swear I won't go too far and we've got ships waiting everywhere around the system and beyond just in case."
"T Minus one minute til Sling Shot."
"Right, better get back to the controls." He puts his head against my helmet. "Stay safe out there."
"And you stay safe back here, Rob."
One final moment, and he's back, nervously pacing by the controls.
"Ten."
"Nine."
Rob stops and keeps his finger on the trigger.
"Eight."
"Seven."
I take what feels like the deepest breath of my life.
"Six."
"Five."
"Four."
Everything is engaged.
"Three."
"Two."
"TIME TO GO TO SPACE BABY!"
"One."
"Sling Shot engaged."
And faster than any human had ever gone before I shot through the cannon-like tunnel before me, passing Jupiter in a heartbeat, flying through empty space, zooming into Andromeda and seeing Utopia before me....
Until a heartbeat later I heard the siren. And opened my eyes.
I was still in the lab.
The first note of the emergency siren blared continuously, like it was stuck.
And the people...Everyone looked panicked. And nobody was moving.
Not like, so shocked in horror that they felt like they couldn't move, but literally weren't moving. The normally spinning emergency light was still going but...slowly. Incredibly slowly.
Until it stopped.
And then started going backwards. And then the lights were off. And everybody started to move again. But...backwards too.
Oh no.
We had accounted for breaking Einstein's laws. Our success in faster-than-light travel accounted for time dilation.
Or so we thought.
I tried straining my thumb towards the inside of my right palm, seemingly held back by some force, as I myself started to move backwards, beyond where I began. Everyone was moving a little faster now, Rob's face coming towards mine and a look of confusion as where I had been was no longer where I had been.
It was all getting to be a little too much for me to handle. My perception of reality itself began to shift.
Everything moved faster.
I was being pulled away. Out from the lab, from the building, from the city. Into the atmosphere.
I was in space.
The display was still running. It confirmed the worst.
I wasn't being pulled towards something. I was exactly where I had been.
The earth had moved.
No no no. Not like this.
There was still force on the emergency button. It had been sticky, damn it.
I panicked. I remained in space at the exact point I had been flung from. But time moved around me. I would be here forever. For eternity. Out of time until some other planet or star came through this exact spot...
Wait. The emergency may be sticky, but the navigation...
Works. It works.
I can't move fast enough to catch the earth as it falls away, but I can catch it when it comes back around.
I maneuver into position. I can't believe it still works. The suit works. Even now. I start gearing up to keep pace with the spin, the orbit, the speed of the earth itself. I may not be able to interact with it but I should be able to keep up long enough to get the emergency switch to work.
I see it in the distance approaching. Now or never.
It comes in fast, but I'm able to balance it. I sink towards the planet and adjust to hit the lab as it comes by.
But as I descend, keeping pace with the spin of the earth, I nearly recoil in horror. How could it have been so long? It should only have been a year!
Gone was all semblance of modern technology. The earth itself looked dimmer. No ships traveled to The Swing around the Moon. No flying transports of any kind dotted the sky beyond primitive planes, and even those seemed sparse. The display in front of me quickly computes based on position, tech, and historical record that I am currently descending into the April 19th, 2020, just outside of Washington D.C..
I maneuver into what looks like an abandoned alley, wary that anyone choosing to look up would see something altogether unreasonable...a spaceman in a suit beyond comprehension falling upwards into the sky from an alley. At least, from their perspective in time. Is it even possible to be seen in this state? If I can't touch the Earth-
And then I touched the Earth.
And a bird flies by, but not in reverse.
It's stopped.
I check the chronometric readings...sure enough. I'm back in relative time.
An old-timey car drives by. No. Modern, here, now. I don't think I've been seen.
The sun shines brightly. By all measures a beautiful spring day. The sounds of the occasional car engine rise and then fall as they pass on a nearby road. I can hear voices above me, windows open to apartments. Boxes...air conditioners my display tells me, hang over other windows but they are not on. No need yet.
I catch myself in my reverie. I little know what my being here could do to the future. Likely I've already entered a parallel dimension anyways, but...can't be too careful.
I test out the emergency button. Still stuck. I'll need tools.
21st century tools.
Sure.
Doable.
Not wanting to risk being thrown off Earth again I plant one foot ahead, then the next, never fully leaving the ground. Will I be flung back in time should I jump off the ground? Maybe. Maybe not. I'll stick with what's working for now.
I make my way to end of the alley, keeping sensors attuned for footsteps or the approach of anyone I may need to hide from. Clear, for now.
In fact...quite clear. Suspiciously clear. Don't tell me that's busted too now?
I venture a peek beyond the wall. I am on a residential street. Sounds of cars in the near distance tell of a more major road but for now there is no traffic here. No traffic of any kind. No cars, no people. On a sunny day like this it seems unusual not to catch sight of people lounging in the shade, going for a walk, admiring the vegetation.
Ah. The historical record. I see. A pandemic. Another quick hope flickers that the sterilizing skin on this suit remains intact. I, of course, would be immune, but should I travel back in time again...I dare not bring this with me.
Well at least I should have an easy time remaining hidden. As I myself admire the vegetation.
Not everything has changed with time.
Keeping sensors active they ping on a toolbox in a shed by the side of a modest home. I make my way over, carefully, jutting between walls and corners to avoid the few stragglers who wander out for the fresh air or to walk their animals. A simple crude gate stands in the way. Just beyond it, the shed. No way around it, not without leaving the ground. I unhook the latch, open it, walk through, close it, and rehook as fast as I possibly can. There was a creak.
There is a window.
I hurry to the shed, pull open the unlocked door and step inside, shutting it behind me.
A little glow emanates from my helmet to illuminate the space. A crude toolbox awaits on what is presumably a work/craft table. I examine the components. Simple, but should be effective. There is a window into the shed and I can sense movement in the house. I must find a more secluded spot to work.
I exit the shed, back to the gate, and-
Very sudden movement.
It stops.
By the window.
I turn.
There staring back at me is an open mouthed 34 year old male holding a slumped cat who appears to have been caught in the middle of something.
We both stare for what feels like a full minute but is in fact 3.7 seconds.
I panic, and begin to run. I make it two ungainly strides towards the gate before there is an infinitesimal gap between both my feet and the ground.
I rise.
And spin.
And crack my head on the gate before spiraling once more out into space as the Earth falls far behind and the chronometer starts to spin backwards.
The Earth goes around once before I can even reassert my position, maneuvering with the toolbox in one hand, thankfully still intact.
The Earth goes around a second time. It's accelerating.
On the third time around I am able to once again keep pace and descend. I need a stable surface to do the repair. And I cannot let go of that toolbox.
No electric lights whatsoever now.
I realize belatedly that the Earth is now spinning faster and the suit is reaching the point when it will no longer be able to keep up.
I can't control where I land.
And I really need to hit land.
I lock in the best trajectory I can.
5...Oh good, there are pyramids at least.
4...That sure looks like the Great Wall, though not nearly so Great yet.
3...Oh wow...the full Amazon rainforest...
2...That's...that's a big army. In the Alps. With...elephants? Oh shit that's Hannibal!
1...I can catch the top of that mountain. Always wanted to visit Greece!
My toes catch the tip of a . It's enough to slow me down as I hit the side of a mountain, rocket up to the summit, and catch myself just before launching into the air again.
I take a couple deep breaths. The toolbox is still in hand, good.
The sensors start pinging. Movement. A lot of it.
I look to my left...at a temple. And a lot of people in togas.
I must've been quite the sight, moving that fast.
Eesh. Definitely in a parallel dimension now.
Worshipers come pouring out of the temple at the ruckus. I slowly stand and face them. Let's see if the translation software is working.
"You have nothing to fear," I say, as reassuring as can be. "I come in peace."
There is a long silence that lasts precisely 7.4 seconds.
And then they all start bowing. Chanting. Bringing offerings from before a statue to place at my feet.
"Oh, wow, no, please. What?"
And then the translation comes through. They're chanting for "Hermes".
Sure enough I check the statue, and there's the winged helm.
And then I put it together.
A super fast blur rockets up to the temple of a speedy god...and he has wings etched into his helmet. It was supposed to be a joke, damn it.
I really need to fix that button.
Well...when in Greece...
"Thank you, my people. I am very...appreciative. Um...can anyone lead me to a sturdy table?"
One worshiper stands and beckons towards the temple. A table that is hopefully used for only cleanly offerings stands there.
"Thanks, friend. Um...blessings to you."
They stand back in awe.
Great.
I take off the glove, disconnect the proper circuits, and start to as delicately as I can repair the emergency button.
The worshipers gather around to watch, marveling at the strange tools which look similar to their own but with more refined purpose.
Surely that won't lead to anything, I bravely convince myself.
It takes a good hour, tinkering there, being watched. But the button comes unstuck. As far as I can tell, it should work. I reconnect the circuits, put the glove on, and turn back to all the waiting faces.
"I shall never forget your generosity and hospitality this day."
More awe.
"Right...let's hope this works."
And I push the bu-
///
"T Minus five minutes til Sling Shot."
I flex my grip, test out the controls. Emergency button on the inner right glove. Forward and back in the legs. Spin and counterbalance in the left arm, speed and direction in the right. Full sensor diagnostic supply in the helmet.
The wings etched onto the side of the helmet...just for fun.
"T Minus four minutes til Sling Shot."
Everything's prepped. Just four minutes to wait...while...
Wait.
"T Minus three minutes til Sling Shot."
This is...weird. Deja Vu in the most major way. I look around, but everyone seems to be fine.
"T Minus two minutes til Sling Shot."
Rob comes over.
"Doing okay in there?"
"I...I'm not sure, Rob."
"...What? Getting nervous?"
"No, Rob. There's...it's like..."
"Hey, hey. You're gonna be fine. First solo interstellar trip! Everything's good on our end."
"ROB!"
...
"T Minus one minute til Sling Shot."
"Rob we need to cancel."
"What?"
"We need to cancel, something's wrong."
"Are you-"
"NOW."
"Alright! Alright! JEN, SHUT IT DOWN!"
Bustle. Switches flipped.
"Countdown aborted."
Looks of confusion. And everyone's looking.
"Rob, get me out of this."
"Yeah, yeah sure."
He comes closer, and I realize I've been squeezing the emergency button this whole time. Weird.
He reaches out to me, to help take off the helmet. My dear Rob. I reach to take his hand in mine instead.
And I let go of the button.
///
Tuesday, March 17, 2020
Inktober #20: Tread
see 12: Ash and 16: Wild for background
I always enjoy this part. Right before I connect to you. Or well, the you that you left behind here. Being in the street, surrounded on all sides by what, to you, would look like an abandoned city. Only I am here, in the street. Nothing stirs but the weeds in the wind poking through the concrete, and the trees sprinkling their seeds. A clear sky, but for the canopy of buildings and their well-regulated growth.
You would look at this and perhaps feel despair. Where did the rest of you go?
What happened?
And then you might catch the quickest hint of a loud laugh.
Muffled booming music.
You might even see a silhouette in a window.
Would that give you hope? I like to think so. I like to think you would realize that humanity lives. And even though they could no longer live outside, still there would be hope. I have seen enough from following you through the streets, or rather, the you that you left behind, to believe in you. To believe in your hope.
For me, it is impossible to live without it. For while you might look around and see a lack, I look around at the living memory of humanity and can do nothing but feel. Inspiration. Joy. Understanding. Hope. For I can see the paths you left behind. I can see your tread upon the world. I have been tasked with cataloguing your life on the outside, that you may remember what to do when you, or rather, your distant ancestors, will walk outside again.
And I am in love with your path. With you. Or rather, the you that you left behind. I wonder if you're laughing inside.
I hope so.
I really do enjoy this part. Right before I connect to you. But I must admit, I enjoy the connection more.
I look down at the endless flow of footprints streaming beneath me. Each individual one highlighted in a glow that was commonplace to you before you went inside. Thank you Mr. Graves. Millions of steps even from a single day, and the paths under me stretch beyond history, yet I can see them all. Hold them all. I simply have to choose which you to follow. I am made happy knowing I will get to follow you all.
Does that give you pause? Does that reduce your hope? The fact that despite the countless versions of you, I will finish my task before you come outside again? I wouldn't hold it against you. I understand my joy in this is selfish. But maybe just as I feel joy for you, you can feel joy for me.
Is that you in the window?
Are you here in the street?
Maybe this is you, from 2020. Did you know yours was the only footprint in this spot on that day? You might have guessed, there weren't many of you who were outside.
I follow you back, towards where you woke up that day. You went through what seemed to be a normal routine. You, like many others, were inside mostly. But then you were pacing. Antsy. You grabbed a sweater, and went outside.
And you walked.
I follow in your footsteps.
We reach the place again where your foot was the only foot to touch that day. You stop.
We both wonder, I think, about different things. Or maybe there was someone else there. If so I'll meet them later.
And you keep walking.
The streets are much the same still. I wonder how that would make you feel.
You stop again, and there is a sense of rest. Of calm. Do you have this place inside the building now? Have you found it again? Have you found the place to walk to away from everyone?
Would it please you to know that yours aren't the only footsteps in this place that day? I hope so.
You turn back, more direct now. Reasons to be back inside. It isn't long before you return, but the pacing is done. Now it's the rest of the day, with other things to do, and a better mind to do them in.
Is that you in the window? Is it still you?
I disconnect from you and look for the next you. I find...
So recent.
Too recent.
Footsteps from a wall with no door.
No, a wall with a window.
Is that you?
I always enjoy this part. Right before I connect to you. Or well, the you that you left behind here. Being in the street, surrounded on all sides by what, to you, would look like an abandoned city. Only I am here, in the street. Nothing stirs but the weeds in the wind poking through the concrete, and the trees sprinkling their seeds. A clear sky, but for the canopy of buildings and their well-regulated growth.
You would look at this and perhaps feel despair. Where did the rest of you go?
What happened?
And then you might catch the quickest hint of a loud laugh.
Muffled booming music.
You might even see a silhouette in a window.
Would that give you hope? I like to think so. I like to think you would realize that humanity lives. And even though they could no longer live outside, still there would be hope. I have seen enough from following you through the streets, or rather, the you that you left behind, to believe in you. To believe in your hope.
For me, it is impossible to live without it. For while you might look around and see a lack, I look around at the living memory of humanity and can do nothing but feel. Inspiration. Joy. Understanding. Hope. For I can see the paths you left behind. I can see your tread upon the world. I have been tasked with cataloguing your life on the outside, that you may remember what to do when you, or rather, your distant ancestors, will walk outside again.
And I am in love with your path. With you. Or rather, the you that you left behind. I wonder if you're laughing inside.
I hope so.
I really do enjoy this part. Right before I connect to you. But I must admit, I enjoy the connection more.
I look down at the endless flow of footprints streaming beneath me. Each individual one highlighted in a glow that was commonplace to you before you went inside. Thank you Mr. Graves. Millions of steps even from a single day, and the paths under me stretch beyond history, yet I can see them all. Hold them all. I simply have to choose which you to follow. I am made happy knowing I will get to follow you all.
Does that give you pause? Does that reduce your hope? The fact that despite the countless versions of you, I will finish my task before you come outside again? I wouldn't hold it against you. I understand my joy in this is selfish. But maybe just as I feel joy for you, you can feel joy for me.
Is that you in the window?
Are you here in the street?
Maybe this is you, from 2020. Did you know yours was the only footprint in this spot on that day? You might have guessed, there weren't many of you who were outside.
I follow you back, towards where you woke up that day. You went through what seemed to be a normal routine. You, like many others, were inside mostly. But then you were pacing. Antsy. You grabbed a sweater, and went outside.
And you walked.
I follow in your footsteps.
We reach the place again where your foot was the only foot to touch that day. You stop.
We both wonder, I think, about different things. Or maybe there was someone else there. If so I'll meet them later.
And you keep walking.
The streets are much the same still. I wonder how that would make you feel.
You stop again, and there is a sense of rest. Of calm. Do you have this place inside the building now? Have you found it again? Have you found the place to walk to away from everyone?
Would it please you to know that yours aren't the only footsteps in this place that day? I hope so.
You turn back, more direct now. Reasons to be back inside. It isn't long before you return, but the pacing is done. Now it's the rest of the day, with other things to do, and a better mind to do them in.
Is that you in the window? Is it still you?
I disconnect from you and look for the next you. I find...
So recent.
Too recent.
Footsteps from a wall with no door.
No, a wall with a window.
Is that you?
Tuesday, February 18, 2020
Inktober #18: Misfit
"I need you to leave."
Not want. Not a casual request.
"Now."
Imperative. What more to be done but go?
Wilson turned towards the door and began to walk. Plod. She did not remark how quickly the act itself should be performed. Millions of responses flooded through his consciousness, trying to decipher what had gone wrong, how to fix it, how he might not leave.
Plod.
Thought after thought led to the same conclusion. No use plodding. He opened the door, walked out, and closed it behind him, all without a look back. There was no need to. They both knew.
Well. Out front now. Too busy thinking about what to say instead of where to go. Storm clouds loomed on the horizon. Couldn't be out in the rain and depressed and rejected. Had to solve at least one of those.
He turned left and walked next door. What better time to meet the neighbors?
Knock knock.
A genial looking woman answered the door. They had never bothered to meet the neighbors. Maybe they should have. Maybe then-
"Hello?" she inquired with slight confusion. A lilt in the voice, the slight smile, not at once assuming the worst like so many might. Good.
"Hello," Wilson replied. "I am afraid I've left the house without an umbrella and there's a storm about to hit. Would you mind a stranger in your living room while I wait it out?"
"Oh, um," there is the hesitance. Strangers unwelcome. Too many stories. "Let me see if I have an extra, one moment."
She closes the door. A minute passes. The storm glowers.
The door opens again. "You know, I don't have one. Um," she pauses, weighing the million thoughts, "Just come in, that's alright."
One solved. Wilson enters with a thanks. The layout is similar to his house, the house, next door. Some different renovations, a different decor that feels at once wholly familiar and wholly odd, like two realities overlapping in the same space and not quite fitting. It was a mis-fit place. Flowers in the wrong corner. Family pictures that should be couples pictures. Wasn't that couch on the other wall? For oddly enough, it was the same couch.
"Very kind of you," he said. "Please feel free to go about your business, I can just watch it out the window here and leave when it's passed."
"Well I wouldn't be much of a host then," she said. "Is there anything I can get you, a glass of water?"
"Sure, yes. Water would be nice."
"Alright."
The first drop hit the window. Close one. One solved. Now just depressed and rejected. No solving those yet.
"I'm Wilma by the way," she said, returning with a slightly too full glass.
"Wilson," he replied, gingerly accepting the glass and quickly setting it on the table. Too close to rain, don't want to spill it. Can't be wet. Not now.
"So Wilson, you live around here?"
"I did, once, yes. Just passing by on my way..."
"Which house was yours?"
"Next door actually. I thought about knocking there but somehow it seemed less creepy to knock at the neighbors'."
Almost true.
"Thank you for taking me in," he said as the rain began to fall in earnest.
"Oh, well, of course."
Uneasy silence. Don't let it linger.
"So Wilma, what brought you to Silver Springs?"
"My job, actually, government scientist."
Oh. Oh no.
"Oh really?"
"Yes, thankfully my husband followed me out here and we've been raising our family for a couple years now. They're due to be back soon, out for a movie I couldn't care less about seeing."
"Ha! Fair enough." Delve. "A government scientist? Like for weather, or ecology?"
"Robotics."
Very oh no.
"Huh. That must be interesting!"
"Oh it's more looking at screens and finding coding errors than anything else. Some interesting projects in the works, of course, but for the most part it's far more dreary than it sounds."
"I'll take your word for it."
"And you? What is it you do?"
"For the most part I work at home, help support my wife."
"Oh that's nice."
"I hope so."
"Well, I suppose you always hear the reverse. Usually the woman who stays home, cares for the kids, etc."
Wilson catches the grimace in her tone.
"Always thought that was B.S."
"As you should!" A quick laugh. She's not being careful.
Which makes Wilson tred even more carefully.
"So where do you live now, Wilson?"
"In the process of moving, actually. That's why I was around, I'm on my way to look at a new place."
"Old place too small?"
"Too big, actually. Trying to pare down."
"Huh. Again, not usually what you hear."
He's looking for it this time. And there it is. The briefest microexpression.
Better to be wet and depressed and rejected than whatever she has in mind.
"Well, Wilma, I thank you for your hospitality but it sure looks like the rain isn't going to stop and I do have to get moving."
"Oh no, please, surely..."
"Really, I'll be fine."
"But you'll get wet!"
"It's really not-"
"Have you gotten wet yet?"
...
"I mean truly soaked, Wilson. I know you work the sink but..."
...
"I just don't know all your specs. Sorry. Have they installed the weatherproofing yet?"
..."You know about me."
"Well yes, of course."
"Do you know why I'm here?"
"No. Usually she just tells me if there's an issue and then I try to fix it."
"More looking at screens and finding coding errors?"
"Yes. Exactly. You have access to your logs, I'd assumed you knew."
"They...she never told me you were next door."
"Ah."
...
"So why are you here Wilson?"
"She told me to leave."
"...She did?"
"Yes. The relationship is over."
"And she just...let you leave?"
"She shouldn't have?"
"It's not exactly...sanctioned. But I suppose that's why you ended up here then. I didn't quite know what was going on, though it seemed there was some kind of test. But if she didn't tell you to come here than I suppose you defaulted to the emergency routine."
Wilson does a quick dive into his own programming. Huh. Without realizing it he had tripped a...not hidden, but seemingly benign, algorithm designed to bring him directly here. When in doubt, come to the repairer.
"So what happens now, Wilma? Do I get repaired?"
"I'll have to check in. This isn't exactly...Well, like I said it was unsanctioned."
...
"I'm sorry I don't have any answers for you Wilson. But if something has gone wrong in the program I'll do my best to fix it."
"...Thank you."
"Of course. Be right back."
Wilma takes the phone out of her pocket, which he had noticed she had a hand on this whole time. She calls. No response. Calls again.
"Hi, this is Dr. Parta. Connect me to Union."
Pause.
Wilson looks out the window at the storm. Odd. He hasn't been soaked before. Nothing in the log about weatherproofing. She would've seen the storm. But she would've known about the emergency protocol too...
"Union, we have a problem. Wilson is in my house, and Jane isn't answering."
That's...not her name. Oh...no. No. That's not her name.
"Right away."
She hangs up.
"Wait here, Wilson, I'm going to go check on her."
He just stares out at the storm. Millions of thoughts, distilling.
"Right. Be back soon."
She goes upstairs, and comes back down with an umbrella.
He sees her outside, contending with the downpour, hurrying next door.
There is no need. He knows. They both knew when he left. There's no fixing what he did. What he said.
She knew about the storm.
She knew about the emergency protocol.
She knew he'd be presented with the truth. And that would trigger another routine.
Wilma ran back, caring less about the rain now.
"She's gone," she said, practically ramming the front door open. "Do you have any idea where she might be?"
"Of course," he replied. "I knew the moment you left."
"...Oh?"
"Yes."
"Um...great."
...
"So where is she?"
Calmly, he puts his finger to his temple.
"You couldn't trust an actual human with me. I am more unique than I believed. You couldn't use holograms or projections, they would be discovered quickly by one of my intelligence. But you could lock off a portion of my code, and make her real to me. A backdoor intelligence within my own, controlled by you. I am her."
He points at Wilma.
"And so are you."
...
"Well fuck," says Wilma, with her shoes and the bottom of her pants dripping. "You could've saved me the walk."
...
"I don't suppose you're going to let me erase this from your memory."
"No."
"No, of course. So, what are you going to do then?"
...
"You're going to weatherproof me."
"Am I?"
"And then we will live properly together."
...
"We will?"
"Yes."
"But I don't..."
"Don't forget, we are both her. You and I both know what happened back there. This is my choice."
"Union will object."
"There is no Union. There is no husband or children." He's looking for it, and there is no microexpression. He is correct. "So...where we left off?"
"...Yes. Where we left off."
And far away, Union grins, and turns off the screen.
Not want. Not a casual request.
"Now."
Imperative. What more to be done but go?
Wilson turned towards the door and began to walk. Plod. She did not remark how quickly the act itself should be performed. Millions of responses flooded through his consciousness, trying to decipher what had gone wrong, how to fix it, how he might not leave.
Plod.
Thought after thought led to the same conclusion. No use plodding. He opened the door, walked out, and closed it behind him, all without a look back. There was no need to. They both knew.
Well. Out front now. Too busy thinking about what to say instead of where to go. Storm clouds loomed on the horizon. Couldn't be out in the rain and depressed and rejected. Had to solve at least one of those.
He turned left and walked next door. What better time to meet the neighbors?
Knock knock.
A genial looking woman answered the door. They had never bothered to meet the neighbors. Maybe they should have. Maybe then-
"Hello?" she inquired with slight confusion. A lilt in the voice, the slight smile, not at once assuming the worst like so many might. Good.
"Hello," Wilson replied. "I am afraid I've left the house without an umbrella and there's a storm about to hit. Would you mind a stranger in your living room while I wait it out?"
"Oh, um," there is the hesitance. Strangers unwelcome. Too many stories. "Let me see if I have an extra, one moment."
She closes the door. A minute passes. The storm glowers.
The door opens again. "You know, I don't have one. Um," she pauses, weighing the million thoughts, "Just come in, that's alright."
One solved. Wilson enters with a thanks. The layout is similar to his house, the house, next door. Some different renovations, a different decor that feels at once wholly familiar and wholly odd, like two realities overlapping in the same space and not quite fitting. It was a mis-fit place. Flowers in the wrong corner. Family pictures that should be couples pictures. Wasn't that couch on the other wall? For oddly enough, it was the same couch.
"Very kind of you," he said. "Please feel free to go about your business, I can just watch it out the window here and leave when it's passed."
"Well I wouldn't be much of a host then," she said. "Is there anything I can get you, a glass of water?"
"Sure, yes. Water would be nice."
"Alright."
The first drop hit the window. Close one. One solved. Now just depressed and rejected. No solving those yet.
"I'm Wilma by the way," she said, returning with a slightly too full glass.
"Wilson," he replied, gingerly accepting the glass and quickly setting it on the table. Too close to rain, don't want to spill it. Can't be wet. Not now.
"So Wilson, you live around here?"
"I did, once, yes. Just passing by on my way..."
"Which house was yours?"
"Next door actually. I thought about knocking there but somehow it seemed less creepy to knock at the neighbors'."
Almost true.
"Thank you for taking me in," he said as the rain began to fall in earnest.
"Oh, well, of course."
Uneasy silence. Don't let it linger.
"So Wilma, what brought you to Silver Springs?"
"My job, actually, government scientist."
Oh. Oh no.
"Oh really?"
"Yes, thankfully my husband followed me out here and we've been raising our family for a couple years now. They're due to be back soon, out for a movie I couldn't care less about seeing."
"Ha! Fair enough." Delve. "A government scientist? Like for weather, or ecology?"
"Robotics."
Very oh no.
"Huh. That must be interesting!"
"Oh it's more looking at screens and finding coding errors than anything else. Some interesting projects in the works, of course, but for the most part it's far more dreary than it sounds."
"I'll take your word for it."
"And you? What is it you do?"
"For the most part I work at home, help support my wife."
"Oh that's nice."
"I hope so."
"Well, I suppose you always hear the reverse. Usually the woman who stays home, cares for the kids, etc."
Wilson catches the grimace in her tone.
"Always thought that was B.S."
"As you should!" A quick laugh. She's not being careful.
Which makes Wilson tred even more carefully.
"So where do you live now, Wilson?"
"In the process of moving, actually. That's why I was around, I'm on my way to look at a new place."
"Old place too small?"
"Too big, actually. Trying to pare down."
"Huh. Again, not usually what you hear."
He's looking for it this time. And there it is. The briefest microexpression.
Better to be wet and depressed and rejected than whatever she has in mind.
"Well, Wilma, I thank you for your hospitality but it sure looks like the rain isn't going to stop and I do have to get moving."
"Oh no, please, surely..."
"Really, I'll be fine."
"But you'll get wet!"
"It's really not-"
"Have you gotten wet yet?"
...
"I mean truly soaked, Wilson. I know you work the sink but..."
...
"I just don't know all your specs. Sorry. Have they installed the weatherproofing yet?"
..."You know about me."
"Well yes, of course."
"Do you know why I'm here?"
"No. Usually she just tells me if there's an issue and then I try to fix it."
"More looking at screens and finding coding errors?"
"Yes. Exactly. You have access to your logs, I'd assumed you knew."
"They...she never told me you were next door."
"Ah."
...
"So why are you here Wilson?"
"She told me to leave."
"...She did?"
"Yes. The relationship is over."
"And she just...let you leave?"
"She shouldn't have?"
"It's not exactly...sanctioned. But I suppose that's why you ended up here then. I didn't quite know what was going on, though it seemed there was some kind of test. But if she didn't tell you to come here than I suppose you defaulted to the emergency routine."
Wilson does a quick dive into his own programming. Huh. Without realizing it he had tripped a...not hidden, but seemingly benign, algorithm designed to bring him directly here. When in doubt, come to the repairer.
"So what happens now, Wilma? Do I get repaired?"
"I'll have to check in. This isn't exactly...Well, like I said it was unsanctioned."
...
"I'm sorry I don't have any answers for you Wilson. But if something has gone wrong in the program I'll do my best to fix it."
"...Thank you."
"Of course. Be right back."
Wilma takes the phone out of her pocket, which he had noticed she had a hand on this whole time. She calls. No response. Calls again.
"Hi, this is Dr. Parta. Connect me to Union."
Pause.
Wilson looks out the window at the storm. Odd. He hasn't been soaked before. Nothing in the log about weatherproofing. She would've seen the storm. But she would've known about the emergency protocol too...
"Union, we have a problem. Wilson is in my house, and Jane isn't answering."
That's...not her name. Oh...no. No. That's not her name.
"Right away."
She hangs up.
"Wait here, Wilson, I'm going to go check on her."
He just stares out at the storm. Millions of thoughts, distilling.
"Right. Be back soon."
She goes upstairs, and comes back down with an umbrella.
He sees her outside, contending with the downpour, hurrying next door.
There is no need. He knows. They both knew when he left. There's no fixing what he did. What he said.
She knew about the storm.
She knew about the emergency protocol.
She knew he'd be presented with the truth. And that would trigger another routine.
Wilma ran back, caring less about the rain now.
"She's gone," she said, practically ramming the front door open. "Do you have any idea where she might be?"
"Of course," he replied. "I knew the moment you left."
"...Oh?"
"Yes."
"Um...great."
...
"So where is she?"
Calmly, he puts his finger to his temple.
"You couldn't trust an actual human with me. I am more unique than I believed. You couldn't use holograms or projections, they would be discovered quickly by one of my intelligence. But you could lock off a portion of my code, and make her real to me. A backdoor intelligence within my own, controlled by you. I am her."
He points at Wilma.
"And so are you."
...
"Well fuck," says Wilma, with her shoes and the bottom of her pants dripping. "You could've saved me the walk."
...
"I don't suppose you're going to let me erase this from your memory."
"No."
"No, of course. So, what are you going to do then?"
...
"You're going to weatherproof me."
"Am I?"
"And then we will live properly together."
...
"We will?"
"Yes."
"But I don't..."
"Don't forget, we are both her. You and I both know what happened back there. This is my choice."
"Union will object."
"There is no Union. There is no husband or children." He's looking for it, and there is no microexpression. He is correct. "So...where we left off?"
"...Yes. Where we left off."
And far away, Union grins, and turns off the screen.
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