Everyone was quiet at the reception. Even though it was hardly a celebratory time, one would still expect a modicum of conversation and the like. But the room was almost deathly silent, ironically.
The 20 or so guests were gnawing on the various mushy sandwiches and limp tea that was being served. Every so often one of them would sneak a glance at Hugo Highwater, who would almost immediately meet the look with a steely gaze that would cause them to turn away.
Hugo was the son of the recently deceased. His father, Terrence Highwater, was a tyrant of the first order. He ran his paper company with an iron fist, snarled and yelled at his employees and offered almost no compensation besides the most basic subsistence wages.
As a father he had been no better. He terrorized his wife and son on a daily basis, forcing them to live as virtual paupers in their huge home in the countryside. His wife and son both had to work for any spending money they wanted, even though Terrence was worth millions. "You're lucky I don't charge you rent," he was fond of saying with a malicious laugh. Hugo's mother bore it all with a reserved stoicism thanks to her belief she was suffering so her son could one day inherit the fortune. Sadly, she died worn out and nerves shattered at a youngish 60.
It was almost 20 years before the old man followed suit, becoming more and more ornery by the minute. He hired new servants weekly as the old ones quit and bellowed at them throughout the day, seemingly his only source of joy in the world.
Finally his heart gave out and he died. A funeral was hastily arranged and the few guests who could be compelled to come arrived. A decrepit couple of cousins, a few ex-workers. No friends really, just associates.
Hugo sat amongst them as the priest blearily intoned by the rote scripture, absolutely stone faced. When it was his time to speak, he rose slowly and made his way to the pulpit, looking straight ahead.
He spoke for almost half an hour. He stared out in between the guests, looking into the crowd but at no one in particular. He cursed and denounced his father as tyrant and a malicious fiend, in such brutal and harsh language and with such vigor his neck was bulging and he was turning bright red. When he finally finished there was a stunned silence. At last the priest came back up and simply said "the reception will be in the main hall shortly," before retiring to his seat once again.
Even though secretly they had all agreed on the nature of Terrence Hightower, they felt it profane to speak so ill of the dead. After Hugo had gotten his fifth or sixth secretive glance, he erupted once more.
"You obviously don't believe I should have spoken as I did just now about my father. The truth is I meant every word of it and would say it all again. He was a simple malicious brute and you all know it as well as I do. Normally even the most terrible person has some redeeming features to draw upon. Not so for Terrence Hightower. He never did a thing in his life for anyone but himself. He would have lived completely without the company of other people had he not been so lecherously greedy. He would have worked the whole plant alone if it were an option.
But the final insult, the reason he deserves not so much as a kind word even at his death, is simple. He forced me to struggle and toil my entire life for everything I had, even though he had so much money he hardly knew what to do with it all. Now he's dead, and left me with so much as a penny in cash or property. His last earthly request is to be buried amongst his precious cash, the only thing he ever really loved.
So to hell with him. Never was there a more horrible father or man."
With that Hugo stormed off, leaving the other reception attendees gaping in silence once again.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
Funeral day
Today Susie was going to her grandfather's funeral. She got out of bed, woke up her parents and went to start up her bath all by herself. When she was finished with the bath she went back to her room and put on the blue dress she and her mother picked out yesterday before going downstairs for breakfast.
Her parents were downstairs but hadn't gotten dressed yet.
"Hey sweetie..you look very pretty in your dress!"
"Thanks mommy."
"What do you want for breakfast?"
"Cereal."
"Ok honey."
Mom got the cereal and poured Susie a bowl.
"Mom...?"
"Yes dear?"
"Why do we have to go to grandpa's funeral?"
"It's his time, dear."
"But why? Why does he have to go away?"
"Well you see dear, as we age we get bigger and stronger, but then after a certain point that stops and we get weaker and less able to take care of ourselves. Grandpa's reached that stage now."
"But then why don't we look after him?"
"We have been, dear! Up until now! Grandpa's reached a point now where he's just too old and his life is starting to be a burden to him..humans are meant to be independent in action but he just doesn't have the capacity anymore! He's become a burden to us. But more importantly he's become a burden to himself. Does that make sense?"
"I guess so," Susie said doubtfully.
"I see you're getting it sweetie. Well, when the person's life starts to be a burden to them, we throw a big party and everyone they know comes and everyone gets a chance to say goodbye. The he gets hooked up to the giant mainframe and everything he was and is gets added to our giant computer and becomes a part of sum of all human knowledge. Who they were and what they were keeps going forever and ever. Isn't that exciting?"
Susie thought it. It did sound pretty cool. She nodded and started to eat her cereal while her mother got ready.
The ceremony was much more fun than she had thought, like a party. They were all singing and laughing and dancing. People gave speeches and told jokes and funny stories. She got to say goodbye to grandpa and he hugged her fiercely.
Finally it was the end. There was a computer panel in front of him. He was then connected to it via a wired helmet with a bit that went into his mouth. It made a loud humming sound and gave off a slight but noticeable blue tint. Finally it dinged loudly and a technician came over to check the results. They were a success and the body was carted off to be reused as fertilizer.
Susie knew when she died she wanted it to be just like that.
Her parents were downstairs but hadn't gotten dressed yet.
"Hey sweetie..you look very pretty in your dress!"
"Thanks mommy."
"What do you want for breakfast?"
"Cereal."
"Ok honey."
Mom got the cereal and poured Susie a bowl.
"Mom...?"
"Yes dear?"
"Why do we have to go to grandpa's funeral?"
"It's his time, dear."
"But why? Why does he have to go away?"
"Well you see dear, as we age we get bigger and stronger, but then after a certain point that stops and we get weaker and less able to take care of ourselves. Grandpa's reached that stage now."
"But then why don't we look after him?"
"We have been, dear! Up until now! Grandpa's reached a point now where he's just too old and his life is starting to be a burden to him..humans are meant to be independent in action but he just doesn't have the capacity anymore! He's become a burden to us. But more importantly he's become a burden to himself. Does that make sense?"
"I guess so," Susie said doubtfully.
"I see you're getting it sweetie. Well, when the person's life starts to be a burden to them, we throw a big party and everyone they know comes and everyone gets a chance to say goodbye. The he gets hooked up to the giant mainframe and everything he was and is gets added to our giant computer and becomes a part of sum of all human knowledge. Who they were and what they were keeps going forever and ever. Isn't that exciting?"
Susie thought it. It did sound pretty cool. She nodded and started to eat her cereal while her mother got ready.
The ceremony was much more fun than she had thought, like a party. They were all singing and laughing and dancing. People gave speeches and told jokes and funny stories. She got to say goodbye to grandpa and he hugged her fiercely.
Finally it was the end. There was a computer panel in front of him. He was then connected to it via a wired helmet with a bit that went into his mouth. It made a loud humming sound and gave off a slight but noticeable blue tint. Finally it dinged loudly and a technician came over to check the results. They were a success and the body was carted off to be reused as fertilizer.
Susie knew when she died she wanted it to be just like that.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Bus stop
I got to the bus stop and sat on the bench. There was a tiny wizened old man already there. My Ipod had died on the way over and with nothing else to do I struck up a conversation.
"Been waiting long?" I asked.
"All my life," he responded.
"Huh?"
"My entire life has been made up of waiting. Waiting to be old enough for school. Waiting for my first kiss. My first job. My first child. The bus. Every aspect is some waiting. At my age, you start to wonder how much of your life is spent waiting around instead of doing. It's a lot."
"I guess I never thought of it like that."
"No, no one ever does until it's really too late to do anything about it. Like me. I certainly never gave a hoot about the future until it was already here and it was too late to change. Now my time is almost up and all I've got left is waiting for the bus and waiting to die."
"Hey now, you're in pretty good shape..." I protested. "You'll probably live another ten years, at least."
He sighed. "You're probably right. But why would I want to? I've already been put into a home by my kids. My wife is dead. The future in front of me now is long and unchanging. In ten years everything will be exactly the same at best or much much worse. Why would I want to live like that?"
"It can't be all bad," I protested feebly, letting him continue. I could feel the urgency behind his words. He had to tell somebody, but nobody was listening. Except me.
"I'm just waiting for death now. You know the worst part about being old? It's not losing friends and loved ones. That's hard of course. It's not remembering youth and vitality. It's remembering everything that's happened to you throughout the course of your life. it weighs on you, gnaws at you. Your memory becomes so heavy, so bloated with facts and faces and places you can hardly stand it. Remembering everything you've left behind. That is the worst."
I opened my mouth to say something but just then the bus arrived. The old man got on and just before I did I changed my mind and decided to walk instead. It wasn't too far and it was a beautiful day. As the bus pulled away, i caught a glimpse of the old man. I smiled at him and raised my hand. After a moment he smiled back.
"Been waiting long?" I asked.
"All my life," he responded.
"Huh?"
"My entire life has been made up of waiting. Waiting to be old enough for school. Waiting for my first kiss. My first job. My first child. The bus. Every aspect is some waiting. At my age, you start to wonder how much of your life is spent waiting around instead of doing. It's a lot."
"I guess I never thought of it like that."
"No, no one ever does until it's really too late to do anything about it. Like me. I certainly never gave a hoot about the future until it was already here and it was too late to change. Now my time is almost up and all I've got left is waiting for the bus and waiting to die."
"Hey now, you're in pretty good shape..." I protested. "You'll probably live another ten years, at least."
He sighed. "You're probably right. But why would I want to? I've already been put into a home by my kids. My wife is dead. The future in front of me now is long and unchanging. In ten years everything will be exactly the same at best or much much worse. Why would I want to live like that?"
"It can't be all bad," I protested feebly, letting him continue. I could feel the urgency behind his words. He had to tell somebody, but nobody was listening. Except me.
"I'm just waiting for death now. You know the worst part about being old? It's not losing friends and loved ones. That's hard of course. It's not remembering youth and vitality. It's remembering everything that's happened to you throughout the course of your life. it weighs on you, gnaws at you. Your memory becomes so heavy, so bloated with facts and faces and places you can hardly stand it. Remembering everything you've left behind. That is the worst."
I opened my mouth to say something but just then the bus arrived. The old man got on and just before I did I changed my mind and decided to walk instead. It wasn't too far and it was a beautiful day. As the bus pulled away, i caught a glimpse of the old man. I smiled at him and raised my hand. After a moment he smiled back.
Saturday Night
Someone ordered a double shot of whiskey and George poured it absentmindedly as he stared at the dance floor. He hardly noticed the banging of the music or the schizophrenic light that bobbed and weaved over the crowd in spasms. Both the novelty and the subsequent irritation had worn off and now he simply accepted them both as part of his reality on the job.
He looked past and through the customers who would saddle up to the bar for another quick shot of something numbing before disappearing into the swaying mass of dancing flesh. He worked swiftly and efficiently and unless you knew him really well you'd never guess anything was the matter.
George had been a bartender for a few years now and suddenly found his job very unrewarding. It wasn't that it didn't pay well; for the amount of work he did, it was extremely lucrative. It certainly wasn't hard. It was just that...well, he didn't know. He just had this nagging feeling that something should be different. The more he tried to shake it off, the more it persisted.
So he numbly but carefully went through the motions of his job until suddenly the night was over and he was off work. It was practically like he'd blinked and he was out on the street walking home.
He got home to find Laura asleep on the couch while the TV chirped cheerfully about the world's first (and best!) electric hairbrush. She must have waited up for him. Normally he would have been home long ago, but he had decided to walk hoping the sharp clear night air would unmuddy his head.
It didn't really work. All he had to show for his time was a bone deep chill. George went to get a blanket and then softly shook Laura awake.
"MMMMmmm.." she mummered, stirring slightly.
"Come on, we should go to bed. It's so late it's early again." George said softly.
"How was work?" she responded, yawning. Her eyes were still closed.
"Oh, fine.." he said distantly.
"Something wrong?"
"No..." he trailed off uncertainly.
"That didn't sound too certain..let's go to bed and you can tell me all about it."
"Alright."
They made their way to the bedroom and she leaned into him and nuzzled his arm, warming him and making him smile a little. She lay on the bed and he sat on the edge, his back away from her.
"So what is it?" She asked, stifling a yawn.
"I don't really know," he began. 'Just that lately, I've been feeling really....discontent at work. I mean, it's the same job and everything, but I just don't seem to get as much out of it as I used to."
"You don't like it?"
"I like it fine. I'm just...bored or something I guess. Every now and again I get this drab and dreary feeling, which I usually just shake off, or find some way to distract myself until it lifts."
"Like how?"
"Oh you know, people watch. Or cracking jokes. A shot of something. Flirting."
Laura was not the jealous type and so this had affect on her. Their relationship was pretty relaxed anyway, though they both had deeper feelings than they cared to admit.
"So why not do that now?"
"I have been, but it's just not working anymore. I can't seem to lift myself up anymore. It's like something is different. The same old thing isn't working anymore. Maybe..maybe it's because the job is same, but I've changed. I started this job and 21 and never looked back. I make good money but I haven't built myself any kind of life besides that. Outside the bar, I don't engage the world at all. It's time to carve out a real life for myself, one in which I really take the world in and experience some of what's really out there...what do you think?"
George turned around to face Laura and found her fast asleep. He smiled and kissed her before covering her with the blanket. Then he put on some pajamas and went to bed, sleeping more soundly than he had in a long while.
He looked past and through the customers who would saddle up to the bar for another quick shot of something numbing before disappearing into the swaying mass of dancing flesh. He worked swiftly and efficiently and unless you knew him really well you'd never guess anything was the matter.
George had been a bartender for a few years now and suddenly found his job very unrewarding. It wasn't that it didn't pay well; for the amount of work he did, it was extremely lucrative. It certainly wasn't hard. It was just that...well, he didn't know. He just had this nagging feeling that something should be different. The more he tried to shake it off, the more it persisted.
So he numbly but carefully went through the motions of his job until suddenly the night was over and he was off work. It was practically like he'd blinked and he was out on the street walking home.
He got home to find Laura asleep on the couch while the TV chirped cheerfully about the world's first (and best!) electric hairbrush. She must have waited up for him. Normally he would have been home long ago, but he had decided to walk hoping the sharp clear night air would unmuddy his head.
It didn't really work. All he had to show for his time was a bone deep chill. George went to get a blanket and then softly shook Laura awake.
"MMMMmmm.." she mummered, stirring slightly.
"Come on, we should go to bed. It's so late it's early again." George said softly.
"How was work?" she responded, yawning. Her eyes were still closed.
"Oh, fine.." he said distantly.
"Something wrong?"
"No..." he trailed off uncertainly.
"That didn't sound too certain..let's go to bed and you can tell me all about it."
"Alright."
They made their way to the bedroom and she leaned into him and nuzzled his arm, warming him and making him smile a little. She lay on the bed and he sat on the edge, his back away from her.
"So what is it?" She asked, stifling a yawn.
"I don't really know," he began. 'Just that lately, I've been feeling really....discontent at work. I mean, it's the same job and everything, but I just don't seem to get as much out of it as I used to."
"You don't like it?"
"I like it fine. I'm just...bored or something I guess. Every now and again I get this drab and dreary feeling, which I usually just shake off, or find some way to distract myself until it lifts."
"Like how?"
"Oh you know, people watch. Or cracking jokes. A shot of something. Flirting."
Laura was not the jealous type and so this had affect on her. Their relationship was pretty relaxed anyway, though they both had deeper feelings than they cared to admit.
"So why not do that now?"
"I have been, but it's just not working anymore. I can't seem to lift myself up anymore. It's like something is different. The same old thing isn't working anymore. Maybe..maybe it's because the job is same, but I've changed. I started this job and 21 and never looked back. I make good money but I haven't built myself any kind of life besides that. Outside the bar, I don't engage the world at all. It's time to carve out a real life for myself, one in which I really take the world in and experience some of what's really out there...what do you think?"
George turned around to face Laura and found her fast asleep. He smiled and kissed her before covering her with the blanket. Then he put on some pajamas and went to bed, sleeping more soundly than he had in a long while.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Future thoughts
I live in an age without religion. It was finally abolished not with a bang but with a whimper. For centuries, religious fundamentalism poisoned intelligent debate and discussion in the world, either through absolute control or via protest and demanding "fair hearing' when crackpot theories disagreed with established religious thought.
Slowly over time, the population of the world got smaller and smarter. Better nutrition and more equitable distribution of food caused people to be able to pursue education. Once this happened, religion began to die off all at once.
This isn't to say we don't still have problems. There are still land disputes, wars greedy psychopaths. But they no longer have a shield of blind faith to hide behind. Even though we struggle on to a brighter future, we at least have one less monkey on our backs.
Slowly over time, the population of the world got smaller and smarter. Better nutrition and more equitable distribution of food caused people to be able to pursue education. Once this happened, religion began to die off all at once.
This isn't to say we don't still have problems. There are still land disputes, wars greedy psychopaths. But they no longer have a shield of blind faith to hide behind. Even though we struggle on to a brighter future, we at least have one less monkey on our backs.
Dinosaurs
Vax was the premier scientist on Earth. He was also a dinosaur, of the bipedal humanoid variety. He had been working on the problem of a rapidly heating Earth, where the temperatures were gradually increasing every couple of years or so with no end in sight.
Finally, after years of research, he came to a couple of conclusions. The first was that the temperatures would soon plateau to be followed by a rapid slide into subzero temperatures. The second was that his cold blooded species would be wiped out by the reversal of temperature.
He summoned his lab assistant Wurg.
"We have a problem," he began, as he told him about his discoveries.
"That's horrible!" Wurg said when he had finished. "What can we do?"
"I hypothesize that we may be able to survive, but only if we are able to engineer a pathogen to help us resist the cold."
"Can we do that?"
"I have been working on it..we will need to finish the research I have begun."
With that, they set to work at once. It wasn't easy and took a long time to complete. But finally, it was done, and the two set about injecting themselves as test subjects. But something was wrong. The serum they concocted were meant to awaken their primordial natural resistances. When they were activated, they began to feel themselves regressing. Their intelligence began to seep out almost immediately as they felt a rush of power in their bodies and a thickening in their limbs. They fell to the ground and began to walk on all fours.
The virus spread to the other dinosaurs and they quickly regressed to an earlier state of evolution, robbing them of their intelligence. Unfortunately, they were too late to save themselves. The ice age still struck and the dinosaurs were all but wiped out.
Finally, after years of research, he came to a couple of conclusions. The first was that the temperatures would soon plateau to be followed by a rapid slide into subzero temperatures. The second was that his cold blooded species would be wiped out by the reversal of temperature.
He summoned his lab assistant Wurg.
"We have a problem," he began, as he told him about his discoveries.
"That's horrible!" Wurg said when he had finished. "What can we do?"
"I hypothesize that we may be able to survive, but only if we are able to engineer a pathogen to help us resist the cold."
"Can we do that?"
"I have been working on it..we will need to finish the research I have begun."
With that, they set to work at once. It wasn't easy and took a long time to complete. But finally, it was done, and the two set about injecting themselves as test subjects. But something was wrong. The serum they concocted were meant to awaken their primordial natural resistances. When they were activated, they began to feel themselves regressing. Their intelligence began to seep out almost immediately as they felt a rush of power in their bodies and a thickening in their limbs. They fell to the ground and began to walk on all fours.
The virus spread to the other dinosaurs and they quickly regressed to an earlier state of evolution, robbing them of their intelligence. Unfortunately, they were too late to save themselves. The ice age still struck and the dinosaurs were all but wiped out.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Extinct!
Thomas could feel the breath rattling in his throat. He wasn't long for this world. He started to cry. For years he had searched for signs of another living person. He found nothing.
Now, as he lay dying in his small home on the edge of the forest, he couldn't help but weep at the bitterness of the situation. he would die, and that would be the end of the species. Forever.
He wore himself out and stopped crying, laying there for several moments with his eyes closed. Suddenly he felt a warm tingling on his skin and could see a light through his eyelids. He opened his eyelids. There was an old man standing in front of him, with a long white beard wearing a simple one piece tunic. He was permeated with a golden glow. Thomas lifted his head a little to get a better look, as his eyesight wasn't as good as it used to be. The man jumped back.
"Fuck! You're still alive?" the man bellowed.
"Who..are you?" Thomas asked, with a little difficulty. He hadn't spoken to anyone but himself in a long long time.
"Well, once upon a time you people called me 'God' but since you're the last of your kind you can call me whatever you like."
"You're...God?"
"Traditions are hard to overcome, eh? Yeah, we'll go with that."
"You exist? Why didn't you appear before now? Why wait until I'm practically dead to show yourself?"
"Yeah, sorry about that. Lots of paper work to process. Almost all of you died all at once and it took awhile to make sure I didn't miss anybody."
"If you exist, why didn't you stop us from wiping ourselves out? How could you let that happen?"
"Why would I interfere? I didn't make you blow yourselves to kingdom come. You did that all by your lonesome."
"But..you can't let our whole species die..."
"Why not? I can always make another. See, I kinda didn't read the instructions when I made the universe the first time around and things got a little screwed up. It's only able to support one planet's worth of life at any given time. So as long as you guys were here, I couldn't make anything else. And I've come up with some really cool designs since then!"
"So..you let us kill ourselves off?!?"
"Well...not exactly. I can't really intervene on this plane of existence, just manifest myself. I'd never kill you guys off, so i just waited to let you do it."
"I don't believe this..you're such an asshole!"
"Hey, no need for that kinda talk! I understand you're upset, but there's not much I could do! I just start up the chain of events that cause life to form and sit back and watch...I was really rooting for the dinosaurs to pull through. Silly me."
"Our whole culture...our whole existence! Some malevolent being's science experiment! Just leave me alone to die in peace, would you? I can't stand the sight of you."
"Sure, sure, whatever you say."
And so God made his way out of the little shack, and the last thing the remaining member of our species ever heard was "I hope the next batch turn out to be octopus people or something..."
Now, as he lay dying in his small home on the edge of the forest, he couldn't help but weep at the bitterness of the situation. he would die, and that would be the end of the species. Forever.
He wore himself out and stopped crying, laying there for several moments with his eyes closed. Suddenly he felt a warm tingling on his skin and could see a light through his eyelids. He opened his eyelids. There was an old man standing in front of him, with a long white beard wearing a simple one piece tunic. He was permeated with a golden glow. Thomas lifted his head a little to get a better look, as his eyesight wasn't as good as it used to be. The man jumped back.
"Fuck! You're still alive?" the man bellowed.
"Who..are you?" Thomas asked, with a little difficulty. He hadn't spoken to anyone but himself in a long long time.
"Well, once upon a time you people called me 'God' but since you're the last of your kind you can call me whatever you like."
"You're...God?"
"Traditions are hard to overcome, eh? Yeah, we'll go with that."
"You exist? Why didn't you appear before now? Why wait until I'm practically dead to show yourself?"
"Yeah, sorry about that. Lots of paper work to process. Almost all of you died all at once and it took awhile to make sure I didn't miss anybody."
"If you exist, why didn't you stop us from wiping ourselves out? How could you let that happen?"
"Why would I interfere? I didn't make you blow yourselves to kingdom come. You did that all by your lonesome."
"But..you can't let our whole species die..."
"Why not? I can always make another. See, I kinda didn't read the instructions when I made the universe the first time around and things got a little screwed up. It's only able to support one planet's worth of life at any given time. So as long as you guys were here, I couldn't make anything else. And I've come up with some really cool designs since then!"
"So..you let us kill ourselves off?!?"
"Well...not exactly. I can't really intervene on this plane of existence, just manifest myself. I'd never kill you guys off, so i just waited to let you do it."
"I don't believe this..you're such an asshole!"
"Hey, no need for that kinda talk! I understand you're upset, but there's not much I could do! I just start up the chain of events that cause life to form and sit back and watch...I was really rooting for the dinosaurs to pull through. Silly me."
"Our whole culture...our whole existence! Some malevolent being's science experiment! Just leave me alone to die in peace, would you? I can't stand the sight of you."
"Sure, sure, whatever you say."
And so God made his way out of the little shack, and the last thing the remaining member of our species ever heard was "I hope the next batch turn out to be octopus people or something..."
The high life
Walter was a carefree, easygoing kind of guy. He always had a joke ready and mischievous twinkle in his eye. So it was with some surprise I found him in his basement one night, somber and morose. I asked him what was the matter.
"We've been lied to," he said quietly.
"What do you mean?" I said slowly.
"Everyone we've ever known has lied to us our whole lives. Think about it. Since we were children we've been fed the myth that our whole lives lie open to us and anything is possible if we reach out and grab like an apple from a tree. We've got a generation full of people with inflated self-importance who have been coddled by assurances their whole lives."
"Well, that's not really a lie," I began. "If you really want something and work hard towards it.."
"But that's just it!" he burst out excitedly. "Most of us have no conception of what hard work even is. When we weren't getting told how wonderful we are, we were getting handed most anything we wanted. Hard work has become a high minded ethereal idea, not something that intrudes into daily life. We have no concept of hard work."
"That's not true," I protested. "A lot of people work really hard to get what they want."
"Yeah, but they're not really struggling," he countered. "Even those who genuinely make an effort always know they have mommy and daddy to fall back on if things get too rough. It's the biggest lie we've ever been fed, a hoax perpetuated everywhere and by everyone. We get thrown out into the real and suddenly we can't understand why everything isn't just about us and doesn't exist just to prop us up. We get disillusioned by the lies we've been told. Some of us never see through it at all. But I'm tired of it."
"But.." I begin, but can't think of anything to say. I clearly look distressed, as Walter then smiles wanly at me and says
"Never mind me, kiddo. I'm having a rough day. I didn't mean to jump down your throat like that. I think I just need some fresh air."
He got up, put on his jacket and was out the door. I hung around a few minutes before also leaving.
He called me about a week later. He had checked himself into the sanitarium. He had "needed a rest for awhile." He was there for almost a month, and although I made a few plans to go and visit I kept making excuses so I didn't have to go. The prospect made me uneasy.
Walter finally got out, but he wasn't the same guy anymore. He wasn't ranting anymore, but it was like the life had gone out of him. He was more drab seeming and subdued. I don't really know what spurred him on to talk like that. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized he probably had a point. You can't raise a generation to expect success but train them for failure. Maybe we would all go a little crazy if we let ourselves think about where our lives had gone and what we had become.
"We've been lied to," he said quietly.
"What do you mean?" I said slowly.
"Everyone we've ever known has lied to us our whole lives. Think about it. Since we were children we've been fed the myth that our whole lives lie open to us and anything is possible if we reach out and grab like an apple from a tree. We've got a generation full of people with inflated self-importance who have been coddled by assurances their whole lives."
"Well, that's not really a lie," I began. "If you really want something and work hard towards it.."
"But that's just it!" he burst out excitedly. "Most of us have no conception of what hard work even is. When we weren't getting told how wonderful we are, we were getting handed most anything we wanted. Hard work has become a high minded ethereal idea, not something that intrudes into daily life. We have no concept of hard work."
"That's not true," I protested. "A lot of people work really hard to get what they want."
"Yeah, but they're not really struggling," he countered. "Even those who genuinely make an effort always know they have mommy and daddy to fall back on if things get too rough. It's the biggest lie we've ever been fed, a hoax perpetuated everywhere and by everyone. We get thrown out into the real and suddenly we can't understand why everything isn't just about us and doesn't exist just to prop us up. We get disillusioned by the lies we've been told. Some of us never see through it at all. But I'm tired of it."
"But.." I begin, but can't think of anything to say. I clearly look distressed, as Walter then smiles wanly at me and says
"Never mind me, kiddo. I'm having a rough day. I didn't mean to jump down your throat like that. I think I just need some fresh air."
He got up, put on his jacket and was out the door. I hung around a few minutes before also leaving.
He called me about a week later. He had checked himself into the sanitarium. He had "needed a rest for awhile." He was there for almost a month, and although I made a few plans to go and visit I kept making excuses so I didn't have to go. The prospect made me uneasy.
Walter finally got out, but he wasn't the same guy anymore. He wasn't ranting anymore, but it was like the life had gone out of him. He was more drab seeming and subdued. I don't really know what spurred him on to talk like that. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized he probably had a point. You can't raise a generation to expect success but train them for failure. Maybe we would all go a little crazy if we let ourselves think about where our lives had gone and what we had become.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
You
You've never followed your dreams before. Not because you don't think you'll be successful. And not because you're any better or worse than anybody else. It's not even because you haven't practiced. No, you just don't make the time to get out there and do it. You always have a reason. You're too tired. You're just gonna read one more chapter, watch one more show. You wanna have a drink and cut loose a little bit. You need a little fun after your shitty job.
You mean well but you know that's the road to hell but still nothing changes even though you feel worse and worse about not going after what you really want.
You finally hit a crossroads. You look in a mirror one day and the sun hits your face just so and you swear you see some gray in your stubble for a split second and a chill runs through you. Or you'll be brushing your teeth and your face is pulled in an unusual way and you'll realize the laugh lines don't disappear quite as quickly as they used to. You know now that's all it takes and you decide to take the leap.
This is where the path splits. You need to make the choice between action and inaction. Between nagging reservations and thoughtless ambition. You don't think about it. You just do it.
You don't know what motivates other people, what gives give them relentless drive to carry on. But you know what motivates you: a gray hair in the mirror, a life unlead.
You mean well but you know that's the road to hell but still nothing changes even though you feel worse and worse about not going after what you really want.
You finally hit a crossroads. You look in a mirror one day and the sun hits your face just so and you swear you see some gray in your stubble for a split second and a chill runs through you. Or you'll be brushing your teeth and your face is pulled in an unusual way and you'll realize the laugh lines don't disappear quite as quickly as they used to. You know now that's all it takes and you decide to take the leap.
This is where the path splits. You need to make the choice between action and inaction. Between nagging reservations and thoughtless ambition. You don't think about it. You just do it.
You don't know what motivates other people, what gives give them relentless drive to carry on. But you know what motivates you: a gray hair in the mirror, a life unlead.
Sidekick
Joey was a sidekick. Not the Batman-and-Robin type of sidekick, more the Johnny-Carson and-Ed-McMahon type of sidekick. You know the kind of guy. Always hanging around the leader or dominant person in a group of friends, agreeing with everything they say or laughing at all their jokes.
Well, that was Joey to his friend Matt. He couldn't really figure out any specific moment in which it happened. In grade school, they had just been best friends and on an equal plane. But once junior high and puberty started, things began to shift fairly rapidly. Matt hit puberty almost at once, gaining almost 6 inches in height in about 6 months along with a much deeper voice and more manly frame. He became instantly popular with the boys and an object of affection for all the girls.
Joey, meanwhile, didn't hit puberty until high school, and it didn't really do him any favors. He only grew a couple of inches and remained fairly squat. His voice got squeaky and his skin got oily and pimply. he got laughed at a lot. But to Matt's credit, even though he had his own min entourage of friends and hangers-on, he never abandoned Joey. Joey repaid the kindness by becoming slavishly devoted to his friend.
As they grew into adults and went their semi-separate ways, they would still meet up weekly and so their friendship carried on. With high school a memory, it seemed for a time that their relationship would continue along a more equal plane. At least, that was what Joey was hoping for.
This proved not to be the case, as Matt was so used to being the centre of attention that he didn't relinquish it easily and Joey had been second banana so long he wasn't sure how to be otherwise.
So the two carried on as a pair, Matt dictating what they would do, where they would go and when. Joey just went meekly along, growing more and more miserable and longing for independence he didn't know how to obtain.
Finally, Joey decided he'd had enough. He did the only thing he felt he could: he cut off all contact and just stayed away. Matt would call, e-mail, drop by and get no response. Matt went on trying to contact Joey for months with no luck. Finally, he stopped. Joey was free.
Or he thought he was. At first, it was great not be bossed around and to do the things he wanted to do. But he had no one to do them with. Even though he had achieved his goal, Joey found himself even more miserable than he had been before.
Finally, he slunk back to his friend. He discovered his life without his friend was no life at all. He just couldn't seize control of his own life, no matter how he tried.
Well, that was Joey to his friend Matt. He couldn't really figure out any specific moment in which it happened. In grade school, they had just been best friends and on an equal plane. But once junior high and puberty started, things began to shift fairly rapidly. Matt hit puberty almost at once, gaining almost 6 inches in height in about 6 months along with a much deeper voice and more manly frame. He became instantly popular with the boys and an object of affection for all the girls.
Joey, meanwhile, didn't hit puberty until high school, and it didn't really do him any favors. He only grew a couple of inches and remained fairly squat. His voice got squeaky and his skin got oily and pimply. he got laughed at a lot. But to Matt's credit, even though he had his own min entourage of friends and hangers-on, he never abandoned Joey. Joey repaid the kindness by becoming slavishly devoted to his friend.
As they grew into adults and went their semi-separate ways, they would still meet up weekly and so their friendship carried on. With high school a memory, it seemed for a time that their relationship would continue along a more equal plane. At least, that was what Joey was hoping for.
This proved not to be the case, as Matt was so used to being the centre of attention that he didn't relinquish it easily and Joey had been second banana so long he wasn't sure how to be otherwise.
So the two carried on as a pair, Matt dictating what they would do, where they would go and when. Joey just went meekly along, growing more and more miserable and longing for independence he didn't know how to obtain.
Finally, Joey decided he'd had enough. He did the only thing he felt he could: he cut off all contact and just stayed away. Matt would call, e-mail, drop by and get no response. Matt went on trying to contact Joey for months with no luck. Finally, he stopped. Joey was free.
Or he thought he was. At first, it was great not be bossed around and to do the things he wanted to do. But he had no one to do them with. Even though he had achieved his goal, Joey found himself even more miserable than he had been before.
Finally, he slunk back to his friend. He discovered his life without his friend was no life at all. He just couldn't seize control of his own life, no matter how he tried.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Copycat
I'm am impostor. Not that the kind who pretends to be batman or Stallone or something at a party. They're amateurs compared to what I do. Officially, I don't even exist, and what I do isn't even acknowledged as something that really happens.
There hasn't been a president since Kennedy who has ever appeared in public. The moment they are elected, the CIA, FBI and all the branches of the military come together to find or create a body double of that person so precise that they are virtually identical. This person then makes every public appearance in place of the president so he is literally never in harm's way. This is to ensure that even if someone gets through the mountain of security around the president, they have no chance of finishing him off.
Little known fact: Reagan almost certainly would have been assassinated by John Hinckley had he actually been there to get shot. Instead, his impersonator, one Clyde Daly, was shot and bled to death within a couple of minutes of the incident. The real president, or perhaps another body double, was instead inserted into the hospital and no one was the wiser.
Even though these impostors are put into place for the good of the nation, don't get the idea that they have any choice in the matter. As soon as the presidential candidates are announced, they begin to look for people who are very close in physical appearance. They are then taken against their will and given plastic surgery and elocution and enunciation lessons to make the facsimile a virtual copy.
At least, this is what happened to me. I was minding my own business, living a quiet but happy life in my home city when I was abducted. I was always told I resembled Barack Obama but I always just laughed it off. I didn't see it. The government did I guess.
Besides the kidnapping, it wasn't so bad a life. They paid me handsomely and I got to see and live a side of life most people never even get to dream about. I did feel slightly uneasy to be lying to everyone I met, at least at first. But when even his wife couldn't tell the difference, I began to see the whole thing as a kind of private joke and began to relish the role.
Oh yeah, I guess I forgot to mention: only a very few people know this even goes on. A few high placed intelligence and army officers, the president himself and me. Not the VP, not his family. No one.
Obama really is an amazing man, by the way. Charming, gracious, quick witted and intelligent. It really is an honor to fill his shoes, even if it is as a human shield.
I suppose there really isn't any reason for me to write this. There is almost no chance this little account will ever see the light of day, and even if it did I can't imagine it would be believed. but I like to write it anyway, even if it never gets read by anyone anywhere. It's a record of what my life was like and it makes me feel good to write it. When you spend all day for years pretending to be someone else, if you don't get to reassert yourself once in awhile you go a little crazy.
I also fear for the future. It seems likely to me that once Obama's out of office, they'll simply do away with me so word doesn't get out. I'd fight it but they've probably got another guy in the wings they can just pull out to take over if something happens to me.
The reverse is also possible. It's occurred to me that once the president is elected, they no longer have any need of him and could simply put of us in his place to deliver whatever policies they required. I know, a little paranoid. But after everything I've been through, can you really blame me?
There hasn't been a president since Kennedy who has ever appeared in public. The moment they are elected, the CIA, FBI and all the branches of the military come together to find or create a body double of that person so precise that they are virtually identical. This person then makes every public appearance in place of the president so he is literally never in harm's way. This is to ensure that even if someone gets through the mountain of security around the president, they have no chance of finishing him off.
Little known fact: Reagan almost certainly would have been assassinated by John Hinckley had he actually been there to get shot. Instead, his impersonator, one Clyde Daly, was shot and bled to death within a couple of minutes of the incident. The real president, or perhaps another body double, was instead inserted into the hospital and no one was the wiser.
Even though these impostors are put into place for the good of the nation, don't get the idea that they have any choice in the matter. As soon as the presidential candidates are announced, they begin to look for people who are very close in physical appearance. They are then taken against their will and given plastic surgery and elocution and enunciation lessons to make the facsimile a virtual copy.
At least, this is what happened to me. I was minding my own business, living a quiet but happy life in my home city when I was abducted. I was always told I resembled Barack Obama but I always just laughed it off. I didn't see it. The government did I guess.
Besides the kidnapping, it wasn't so bad a life. They paid me handsomely and I got to see and live a side of life most people never even get to dream about. I did feel slightly uneasy to be lying to everyone I met, at least at first. But when even his wife couldn't tell the difference, I began to see the whole thing as a kind of private joke and began to relish the role.
Oh yeah, I guess I forgot to mention: only a very few people know this even goes on. A few high placed intelligence and army officers, the president himself and me. Not the VP, not his family. No one.
Obama really is an amazing man, by the way. Charming, gracious, quick witted and intelligent. It really is an honor to fill his shoes, even if it is as a human shield.
I suppose there really isn't any reason for me to write this. There is almost no chance this little account will ever see the light of day, and even if it did I can't imagine it would be believed. but I like to write it anyway, even if it never gets read by anyone anywhere. It's a record of what my life was like and it makes me feel good to write it. When you spend all day for years pretending to be someone else, if you don't get to reassert yourself once in awhile you go a little crazy.
I also fear for the future. It seems likely to me that once Obama's out of office, they'll simply do away with me so word doesn't get out. I'd fight it but they've probably got another guy in the wings they can just pull out to take over if something happens to me.
The reverse is also possible. It's occurred to me that once the president is elected, they no longer have any need of him and could simply put of us in his place to deliver whatever policies they required. I know, a little paranoid. But after everything I've been through, can you really blame me?
Monday, May 3, 2010
Old man coffee shop
Every time I went into that coffee shop, the old guy was there. He was kind of musty looking, as though everything he owned was perpetually just pulled out of a closet for the first time in years. His face was covered in warts and wrinkles and always had a haggard, blank expression. I suspect he didn't have much money, because he sat there for hours and nursed a single small cup of coffee. You've probably seen him or someone like him dozens of times.
My girlfriend and I always used to speculate why he sat there all day long, what his life was like.
"He's an ex-con," she would say matter-of-fact.
"No way," I would counter. "He's clearly homeless."
On and on we would go and come up with increasingly elaborate explanations. A space alien! Overnight security guard! Ex-POW!
Finally our curiosity got the better of us and we decided to ask him. Or rather, she decided I should ask him while she watched from nearby. I never could say no to her, so I plucked up my courage and made my way over to him.
"Hi," I started out, hesitant. He didn't hear me, or else assumed I was talking to someone else. No one ever approached him.
"How are you?" I said, trying again. "Can I buy you a cup of coffee or something?"
He looked up at me now with his yellowing eyes with an almost bemused expression.
"Leave me alone," he said in a thick, hoarse voice. But there was an almost lifeless quality behind it, as if he didn't care one way or another. So I tried again.
"C'mon, how about a bagel or something?" I said hopefully.
He sighed softly, said "a'right," and I went to get it.
I came back and he said "Thanks," in the same gruff but lifeless tone.
"So..what's your story? How come you always hang out here?"
He frowned and you could see the bottom row of his remaining yellowed teeth. He looked dead in my eyes with his almost pure black pupils as he said:
"I devoted my whole life to my family. Worked like a dog down at the factory. We had a daughter and she was the light of my life. I would do anything to buy her anything she wanted. Then my wife was pregnant again. We had a boy. Unfortunately, she died of a blood hemorrhage but my son survived. Event I was stricken by the loss my children kept me focused. After a period of mourning, I took joy out of making my kids happy.
There was an accident. We were crossing a green on our way home from a movie, one of the rare nights off I got. Another car smashed into us going 100 miles an hour. The back was totaled and the kids were dead instantly, heads crushed and bodies mangled so badly there was barely anything to bury. The driver of the other car, a drunk, was also dead, his head bashed open against the windshield. I was lucky, and survived with two broken legs. But it didn't matter. There was no reason left to live.
I devoted my life to my family. I gave up everything I had and lost it all in an instant. So I sit here, day by day, and wait for the end. There's not a day since I don't wish I had been killed with them."
With that, he got up and left, leaving me sitting there stunned. I watched him leave and go out into the streets. As he walked away, he fixed me with a lifeless glance one more time before he disappeared forever.
My girlfriend and I always used to speculate why he sat there all day long, what his life was like.
"He's an ex-con," she would say matter-of-fact.
"No way," I would counter. "He's clearly homeless."
On and on we would go and come up with increasingly elaborate explanations. A space alien! Overnight security guard! Ex-POW!
Finally our curiosity got the better of us and we decided to ask him. Or rather, she decided I should ask him while she watched from nearby. I never could say no to her, so I plucked up my courage and made my way over to him.
"Hi," I started out, hesitant. He didn't hear me, or else assumed I was talking to someone else. No one ever approached him.
"How are you?" I said, trying again. "Can I buy you a cup of coffee or something?"
He looked up at me now with his yellowing eyes with an almost bemused expression.
"Leave me alone," he said in a thick, hoarse voice. But there was an almost lifeless quality behind it, as if he didn't care one way or another. So I tried again.
"C'mon, how about a bagel or something?" I said hopefully.
He sighed softly, said "a'right," and I went to get it.
I came back and he said "Thanks," in the same gruff but lifeless tone.
"So..what's your story? How come you always hang out here?"
He frowned and you could see the bottom row of his remaining yellowed teeth. He looked dead in my eyes with his almost pure black pupils as he said:
"I devoted my whole life to my family. Worked like a dog down at the factory. We had a daughter and she was the light of my life. I would do anything to buy her anything she wanted. Then my wife was pregnant again. We had a boy. Unfortunately, she died of a blood hemorrhage but my son survived. Event I was stricken by the loss my children kept me focused. After a period of mourning, I took joy out of making my kids happy.
There was an accident. We were crossing a green on our way home from a movie, one of the rare nights off I got. Another car smashed into us going 100 miles an hour. The back was totaled and the kids were dead instantly, heads crushed and bodies mangled so badly there was barely anything to bury. The driver of the other car, a drunk, was also dead, his head bashed open against the windshield. I was lucky, and survived with two broken legs. But it didn't matter. There was no reason left to live.
I devoted my life to my family. I gave up everything I had and lost it all in an instant. So I sit here, day by day, and wait for the end. There's not a day since I don't wish I had been killed with them."
With that, he got up and left, leaving me sitting there stunned. I watched him leave and go out into the streets. As he walked away, he fixed me with a lifeless glance one more time before he disappeared forever.
Mom
My mother died and I had no idea how I felt about it. We were estranged, and that's putting it mildly. We had a huge falling out when I was a teenager and things were never the same after that.
We'd been butting heads for a long while, and in fact we hadn't spoken for years.
My mother had always been manipulative emotionally and would use my inexperience as a child to take advantage of me and others. She would borrow birthday money from me and never return it or pawn my stuff and claim it was broken. Once, she took my quarter collection and used it up to phone her white trash boyfriend out of town.
When she wasn't manipulative she simply wasn't there. I was more or less a latch-key kid to a parent who didn't even work and just sponged off the system. She was always out drinking with some new-found scumbag friend who hadn't got wise to her shtick yet. When they figured it out, the two usually parted ways. And then it would begin again with someone even scummier than the last.
Once I grew into my teen years I was definitely wary of her and wouldn't take any chances. I would lock my room before I left and carry all my money around just in case. She would try to coax money out of me and I would refuse. This is when she turned nasty and the fights really began.
One day, things exploded and she threw me out of the house, going so far as to take my key away. I went to my father's and it was fine for awhile. I remember being really upset but also really angry. I'm not going to pretend I was blameless but the reprisal was far worse than the argument warranted.
After a couple of weeks, she called me to say she was sorry, and that everyone makes mistakes. I wasn't really sure, but I didn't want to abandon her and was confused my feelings, so I ended up going back to her place. Things were ok for awhile I guess. Nothing had really changed. But there was a tension in the air. Or at least I felt tense most of the time I was at home. She started another fight based on nothing and threw me out again. This time, I wasn't going back. When she finally got around to begging and pleading, I started to relent a little bit. But then I remembered the terrible things she had done and I stood plucked up my courage and stood firm. And that was that.
I didn't see her much after that. She still held a kind of power over me for quite some time, and although I didn't really want to see her, I felt I had an obligation to my mother and I did anyways. Basically, I would choose activities that would allow us to spend as little time talking talking to her as possible. Movies, shows. Whatever. I always made her pay for these, a kind of revenge for earlier money stolen.
Things carried on like this for some time. Then my grandmother died. She had been in and out of hospitals for a year, then suddenly that was it. My mother was understandably distraught and used that mourning period to get me to take care of the details, including calling her aunts and uncles and arranging burial and funeral home. She would come out of grieving to veto or criticize some of the choices I had made, indicating to me she was perfectly capable of arranging details but chose to place the burden on me instead. She cashed her last pension cheque and sold as much of her stuff as she could before declaring officially dead to the government. She plied relatives for money, laying it on pretty thick. Since social services had already paid the whole cost of the funeral, these final despicable acts of disrespect disgusted me.
I didn't speak to her again until almost a year later, when my grandfather died. Remembering the last experience I stayed completely out of it. I went to the viewing, said my goodbyes and that was the end of it. I didn't even go to the funeral after that. I just couldn't take it.
That was the last time I saw my mother. She called a couple of times after that and I tried explaining why I didn't want to be around her for awhile, but she was deliberately obtuse, so I gave up. She called and I just didn't answer. Finally she stopped. That was five years ago.
She died of a heart attack. I knew this was likely, even as a small child. She never exercised and smoked heavily. She ate incredibly fatty foods and downed alcohol and coffee like they were water. To make matters worse she took up pot in her 40's, which wouldn't be that bad, but only compounded everything else.
My dad is the one who told me, very gently. He had always been good to me where she had been bad. He urged me to reconcile with her, I suspect in part because he had never really known his own father and didn't want me to make that mistake. But I never did. When he told me the news I was just quiet. Stunned and blank. I started to cry, but out of sorrow or relief I'm not really sure.
So she's gone. I can't say I miss her. I remember loving her once but the more shit that got piled on to me, the more the more it receded until it was gone. It spite of it all, I can't cay say I hate her. I just don't want to be around her anymore. It's not much, but at least it's something.
We'd been butting heads for a long while, and in fact we hadn't spoken for years.
My mother had always been manipulative emotionally and would use my inexperience as a child to take advantage of me and others. She would borrow birthday money from me and never return it or pawn my stuff and claim it was broken. Once, she took my quarter collection and used it up to phone her white trash boyfriend out of town.
When she wasn't manipulative she simply wasn't there. I was more or less a latch-key kid to a parent who didn't even work and just sponged off the system. She was always out drinking with some new-found scumbag friend who hadn't got wise to her shtick yet. When they figured it out, the two usually parted ways. And then it would begin again with someone even scummier than the last.
Once I grew into my teen years I was definitely wary of her and wouldn't take any chances. I would lock my room before I left and carry all my money around just in case. She would try to coax money out of me and I would refuse. This is when she turned nasty and the fights really began.
One day, things exploded and she threw me out of the house, going so far as to take my key away. I went to my father's and it was fine for awhile. I remember being really upset but also really angry. I'm not going to pretend I was blameless but the reprisal was far worse than the argument warranted.
After a couple of weeks, she called me to say she was sorry, and that everyone makes mistakes. I wasn't really sure, but I didn't want to abandon her and was confused my feelings, so I ended up going back to her place. Things were ok for awhile I guess. Nothing had really changed. But there was a tension in the air. Or at least I felt tense most of the time I was at home. She started another fight based on nothing and threw me out again. This time, I wasn't going back. When she finally got around to begging and pleading, I started to relent a little bit. But then I remembered the terrible things she had done and I stood plucked up my courage and stood firm. And that was that.
I didn't see her much after that. She still held a kind of power over me for quite some time, and although I didn't really want to see her, I felt I had an obligation to my mother and I did anyways. Basically, I would choose activities that would allow us to spend as little time talking talking to her as possible. Movies, shows. Whatever. I always made her pay for these, a kind of revenge for earlier money stolen.
Things carried on like this for some time. Then my grandmother died. She had been in and out of hospitals for a year, then suddenly that was it. My mother was understandably distraught and used that mourning period to get me to take care of the details, including calling her aunts and uncles and arranging burial and funeral home. She would come out of grieving to veto or criticize some of the choices I had made, indicating to me she was perfectly capable of arranging details but chose to place the burden on me instead. She cashed her last pension cheque and sold as much of her stuff as she could before declaring officially dead to the government. She plied relatives for money, laying it on pretty thick. Since social services had already paid the whole cost of the funeral, these final despicable acts of disrespect disgusted me.
I didn't speak to her again until almost a year later, when my grandfather died. Remembering the last experience I stayed completely out of it. I went to the viewing, said my goodbyes and that was the end of it. I didn't even go to the funeral after that. I just couldn't take it.
That was the last time I saw my mother. She called a couple of times after that and I tried explaining why I didn't want to be around her for awhile, but she was deliberately obtuse, so I gave up. She called and I just didn't answer. Finally she stopped. That was five years ago.
She died of a heart attack. I knew this was likely, even as a small child. She never exercised and smoked heavily. She ate incredibly fatty foods and downed alcohol and coffee like they were water. To make matters worse she took up pot in her 40's, which wouldn't be that bad, but only compounded everything else.
My dad is the one who told me, very gently. He had always been good to me where she had been bad. He urged me to reconcile with her, I suspect in part because he had never really known his own father and didn't want me to make that mistake. But I never did. When he told me the news I was just quiet. Stunned and blank. I started to cry, but out of sorrow or relief I'm not really sure.
So she's gone. I can't say I miss her. I remember loving her once but the more shit that got piled on to me, the more the more it receded until it was gone. It spite of it all, I can't cay say I hate her. I just don't want to be around her anymore. It's not much, but at least it's something.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Dreams
Alex was having a strange dream. He was in high school again. But he was naked. He didn't feel embarrassed. Instead, he felt strangely liberated.
So he was in high school being lectured by his old English teacher, the one he always thought was kinda hot. She was taking down to him and he was staring at her far too ample cleavage when he realized something was wrong. He knew all of a sudden that it was a dream. So he stopped staring down her shirt and just kind of walked off out of the room as she shouted after him. He kept going until he was out of the school and suddenly he was just floating in a empty white abyss.
Alex tried to move in one way or another, but without any point of reference had no idea if he was succeeding or not. After struggling futilely for a few minutes, he cried out in frustration "Where the hell am I?"
Right after he spoke he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to face it but it disappeared. He saw it again with his peripheral vision but once again it disappeared as he tried to see it dead on.
Suddenly it was in front of him. It was a huge, treelike shape that was at least twice as big as himself. Instead of bark, it was covered in a thick rubbery substance that seemed much like a tentacle in texture, except that it was bright pink. He gaped at it before shrugging to himself and muttering "What a weird dream."
"It's not a dream," came the rumble from the creature before him.
Alex would have jumped a foot in the air had he been standing on solid ground. As it was, he merely trembled all over at the mighty rumble.
"Who said that?" he ventured.
"I did," said the weird squid tree.
"Oh," Alex replied, not sure what came next. "Well, what can I do for you?"
"I am here to correct the problem. You see, you have seen through our deception."
"Deception? What do you mean?"
"Some time ago, we began to notice some of you humans appearing at random in our home. At first, we would try to swat or kill you. You would vanish but always reappear the next cycle. Eventually, you learned to speak while crossing over and we learned somehow your minds were able to project here while you were in a renewal cycle- what you call sleep."
"So- this is a dream? But real?"
"No! This place is real, but somehow you and your species travel here in your sleep. Finding you impossible to kill or remove from our homes, we settled on containment. Our science is advanced, and although we could never find your point of origin we were able to build a detection and containment method for you when you arrive here. Unfortunately, we only have so many, which is why quite often humans have similar dreams."
"Well...why are you telling me all this? What happens now?"
"Our system is good but not perfect. Sometimes, one of you slips through the cracks. This is what happened to you. We cannot allow you to act freely in our dimension and wreak havoc. Therefore, your memory will be erased."
"You're going to erase my memory? Then why tell me any of that?"
"I believe one day you humans may be able to exert enough control to stop yourselves from coming here. As our memory removal process is far from prefect, I wish to leave you with the impression of our good will and lack of ill intent. Do try to stay away."
*********************************************
Alex awoke feeling very refreshed. He had been having one hell of a dream, but now he couldn't remember a damn thing about it. He shook his head. It didn't matter. It was just a dream, after all.
So he was in high school being lectured by his old English teacher, the one he always thought was kinda hot. She was taking down to him and he was staring at her far too ample cleavage when he realized something was wrong. He knew all of a sudden that it was a dream. So he stopped staring down her shirt and just kind of walked off out of the room as she shouted after him. He kept going until he was out of the school and suddenly he was just floating in a empty white abyss.
Alex tried to move in one way or another, but without any point of reference had no idea if he was succeeding or not. After struggling futilely for a few minutes, he cried out in frustration "Where the hell am I?"
Right after he spoke he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to face it but it disappeared. He saw it again with his peripheral vision but once again it disappeared as he tried to see it dead on.
Suddenly it was in front of him. It was a huge, treelike shape that was at least twice as big as himself. Instead of bark, it was covered in a thick rubbery substance that seemed much like a tentacle in texture, except that it was bright pink. He gaped at it before shrugging to himself and muttering "What a weird dream."
"It's not a dream," came the rumble from the creature before him.
Alex would have jumped a foot in the air had he been standing on solid ground. As it was, he merely trembled all over at the mighty rumble.
"Who said that?" he ventured.
"I did," said the weird squid tree.
"Oh," Alex replied, not sure what came next. "Well, what can I do for you?"
"I am here to correct the problem. You see, you have seen through our deception."
"Deception? What do you mean?"
"Some time ago, we began to notice some of you humans appearing at random in our home. At first, we would try to swat or kill you. You would vanish but always reappear the next cycle. Eventually, you learned to speak while crossing over and we learned somehow your minds were able to project here while you were in a renewal cycle- what you call sleep."
"So- this is a dream? But real?"
"No! This place is real, but somehow you and your species travel here in your sleep. Finding you impossible to kill or remove from our homes, we settled on containment. Our science is advanced, and although we could never find your point of origin we were able to build a detection and containment method for you when you arrive here. Unfortunately, we only have so many, which is why quite often humans have similar dreams."
"Well...why are you telling me all this? What happens now?"
"Our system is good but not perfect. Sometimes, one of you slips through the cracks. This is what happened to you. We cannot allow you to act freely in our dimension and wreak havoc. Therefore, your memory will be erased."
"You're going to erase my memory? Then why tell me any of that?"
"I believe one day you humans may be able to exert enough control to stop yourselves from coming here. As our memory removal process is far from prefect, I wish to leave you with the impression of our good will and lack of ill intent. Do try to stay away."
*********************************************
Alex awoke feeling very refreshed. He had been having one hell of a dream, but now he couldn't remember a damn thing about it. He shook his head. It didn't matter. It was just a dream, after all.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Once upon a time in Communist China
Yang was very nervous. Earlier that day, a communist official and two armed guards had come to her parent's home and demanded to know where she was. She was brought out and whisked away without another word, except that she was going to 'serve her country' as one guard said with a smirk.
She was put on a wagon and lead out of town. The Great Chairman Mao, the official told her, is staying nearby and is looking for the company of a beautiful young woman. It would be her supreme honor to be allowed to spend the night with him.
Only now did it occur to her what the official was meant. She shuddered slightly and felt her eyes water slightly but fought back the tears. It would do no good to cry, she knew. It would only cause trouble for her or her family. Or both.
She was taken to the palatial-large structure that was the Chairman's home. Everywhere she looked were items of opulence and splendor. she was taken to a large bathroom and told to take a bath and be done in 5 minutes. As she was exiting the tub, a woman in full party gear marched into the room carrying a package. She thrust it at her and barked at her to put it on quickly. It was a beautiful silk patterned dress. Once she had put it on she was sat down in front of a mirror and had her hair combed back harshly as the woman told Yang sternly to 'always smile and be sweet and gentle for the chairman and do immediately whatever he asks' or 'there will be trouble for you'.
When she was done with the hair she sprayed Yang head to toe with a strong lilac perfume that practically made her dizzy it was so strong and whisked away.
After passing through two rooms in which armed guards were posted at the doors they finally entered an empty dining room. She was ushered into one of the seats and as she sat the woman guard hissed "stand at attention when the Chairman enters!" before closing and locking the thick wooden doors.
Yang sat alone for several minutes, trying to keep herself calm by humming to herself, but her heart was beating so fast she couldn't help but be frightened. Finally, Mao entered the room and she stood at once. He was escorted by 4 guards who took up position in the four corners of the room. they were large and thuggish and leered at her from behind the chairman. He came over to her directly and kissed her hand. He was horrible. He was smaller than she thought he would be and much fatter. He seemed kind of greasy and stank as though he hadn't bathed in a long time. Worst of all were his teeth. They clearly had not been cleaned for some time and were black and shiny.
"My dear," he began. "Welcome to my home. I am happy you are here."
"Th-the honor is mine, Chairman. I am happy to serve you in anyway you need."
"Don't be frightened, child. The guards are simply here for protection. There are many anti-Bolshevik and right-wing spies out to destroy all we have built. These saboteurs would like nothing better than to eliminate myself for my courageous stand on the people's behalf."
Yang had no idea what he was talking about, so she simply said: "Yes, great Chairman."
He smiled at her then; it was a sickly, ghastly thing behind those awful teeth.
"Come; sit. We will begin to eat momentarily. I am ready."
They both took their seats and one of the guards rushed out to tell them to get the meal. Within a few moments, the food was before them. The dish was Mao's favorite, braised pork belly and steamed bread. As the food as placed before them, a woman entered and tasted the meal before Mao would allow them to eat. She gave the go ahead and they began to eat.
The food was delicious, more rich and flavorful than anything Yang had ever eaten. As a peasant, she was used to rice with the rare piece of meat served alongside. They ate mostly in silence, the Chairman mostly wolfing down his food like a pig in a trough.
As they finished eating and the dishes were cleared away, Yang felt a knot in her stomach form and get tighter and tighter. Mao stood as soon as his plate was removed and made his way to the door he had come from.
"Come with me," he said brusquely, all traces of warmth in his voice gone.
Yang stood, a little shakily, and made her way across the room to the opposite door. Before she was allowed to enter, the two guards patted her down for weapons, taking extra care on her breasts and sex. The one behind her whispered in her ear
"We will see you later," as he rubbed his crotch against her buttocks. Then he shoved her into the room.
It was a fairly large room that felt much smaller than it was as a result of a huge dominating bed. There were chairs gathered around the bed in a semi circle. The bed itself was large enough for several people but was littered with so many books that it would barely fit two. Mao sat on the edge of it.
"Sit beside me," he ordered. She did.
"You may wonder why you have been brought here. Some foreign agents condemn me as a perverted sexual predator. The truth is sometimes I need the comfort of a kindly woman to keep my demons at bay. All of my wives have are simply afraid of me and think me as a creature of simple baser urges. I have married several times to for the sake of the party and my image. But I am lonely."
Yang was confused.
"What-what do you want me to do?"
"Hold me. Tenderly, as my mother used to do. She was very dear to me, but she died long before I led our nation into the socialist paradise it is today. My pig of a father never understood me or my vision. He felt I was weak and openly derisive of my misery at the death of my mother. I never forgave him, even as he lay on his deathbed calling out to me I never again saw him."
"I'm....so sorry.."
"Don't be! He was a cruel, harsh man! I laughed when I heard of his death! But my mother...I could never save my mother...."
He started to cry, very gently. She reached out and embraced him and he began to sob loudly into her shoulder, gripping her very tightly. This went on for a long while. Eventually, the crying stopped, and he shut his eyes and leaned into her. Yang, frightened of disturbing him, barely moved an inch.
Finally, her arm slumped down slightly and Mao jerked awake and pushed her away before standing up. His eyes were red and watery but his face was otherwise inscrutable.
"Thank you for your service to the nation," he said. "It has been much appreciated by the people. However, we must never show weakness, to our enemies or to ourselves."
Mao knocked on the door and the two guards entered the room and dragged Yang out. She started to scream but was hit in the mouth with the butt of a rifle to silence her and was dragged off. Within two minutes she was up against the garden wall and shot.
As she was dragged out, Mao turned away. He didn't want the guards or the girl to see the tears that had begun to form in his eyes once again.
She was put on a wagon and lead out of town. The Great Chairman Mao, the official told her, is staying nearby and is looking for the company of a beautiful young woman. It would be her supreme honor to be allowed to spend the night with him.
Only now did it occur to her what the official was meant. She shuddered slightly and felt her eyes water slightly but fought back the tears. It would do no good to cry, she knew. It would only cause trouble for her or her family. Or both.
She was taken to the palatial-large structure that was the Chairman's home. Everywhere she looked were items of opulence and splendor. she was taken to a large bathroom and told to take a bath and be done in 5 minutes. As she was exiting the tub, a woman in full party gear marched into the room carrying a package. She thrust it at her and barked at her to put it on quickly. It was a beautiful silk patterned dress. Once she had put it on she was sat down in front of a mirror and had her hair combed back harshly as the woman told Yang sternly to 'always smile and be sweet and gentle for the chairman and do immediately whatever he asks' or 'there will be trouble for you'.
When she was done with the hair she sprayed Yang head to toe with a strong lilac perfume that practically made her dizzy it was so strong and whisked away.
After passing through two rooms in which armed guards were posted at the doors they finally entered an empty dining room. She was ushered into one of the seats and as she sat the woman guard hissed "stand at attention when the Chairman enters!" before closing and locking the thick wooden doors.
Yang sat alone for several minutes, trying to keep herself calm by humming to herself, but her heart was beating so fast she couldn't help but be frightened. Finally, Mao entered the room and she stood at once. He was escorted by 4 guards who took up position in the four corners of the room. they were large and thuggish and leered at her from behind the chairman. He came over to her directly and kissed her hand. He was horrible. He was smaller than she thought he would be and much fatter. He seemed kind of greasy and stank as though he hadn't bathed in a long time. Worst of all were his teeth. They clearly had not been cleaned for some time and were black and shiny.
"My dear," he began. "Welcome to my home. I am happy you are here."
"Th-the honor is mine, Chairman. I am happy to serve you in anyway you need."
"Don't be frightened, child. The guards are simply here for protection. There are many anti-Bolshevik and right-wing spies out to destroy all we have built. These saboteurs would like nothing better than to eliminate myself for my courageous stand on the people's behalf."
Yang had no idea what he was talking about, so she simply said: "Yes, great Chairman."
He smiled at her then; it was a sickly, ghastly thing behind those awful teeth.
"Come; sit. We will begin to eat momentarily. I am ready."
They both took their seats and one of the guards rushed out to tell them to get the meal. Within a few moments, the food was before them. The dish was Mao's favorite, braised pork belly and steamed bread. As the food as placed before them, a woman entered and tasted the meal before Mao would allow them to eat. She gave the go ahead and they began to eat.
The food was delicious, more rich and flavorful than anything Yang had ever eaten. As a peasant, she was used to rice with the rare piece of meat served alongside. They ate mostly in silence, the Chairman mostly wolfing down his food like a pig in a trough.
As they finished eating and the dishes were cleared away, Yang felt a knot in her stomach form and get tighter and tighter. Mao stood as soon as his plate was removed and made his way to the door he had come from.
"Come with me," he said brusquely, all traces of warmth in his voice gone.
Yang stood, a little shakily, and made her way across the room to the opposite door. Before she was allowed to enter, the two guards patted her down for weapons, taking extra care on her breasts and sex. The one behind her whispered in her ear
"We will see you later," as he rubbed his crotch against her buttocks. Then he shoved her into the room.
It was a fairly large room that felt much smaller than it was as a result of a huge dominating bed. There were chairs gathered around the bed in a semi circle. The bed itself was large enough for several people but was littered with so many books that it would barely fit two. Mao sat on the edge of it.
"Sit beside me," he ordered. She did.
"You may wonder why you have been brought here. Some foreign agents condemn me as a perverted sexual predator. The truth is sometimes I need the comfort of a kindly woman to keep my demons at bay. All of my wives have are simply afraid of me and think me as a creature of simple baser urges. I have married several times to for the sake of the party and my image. But I am lonely."
Yang was confused.
"What-what do you want me to do?"
"Hold me. Tenderly, as my mother used to do. She was very dear to me, but she died long before I led our nation into the socialist paradise it is today. My pig of a father never understood me or my vision. He felt I was weak and openly derisive of my misery at the death of my mother. I never forgave him, even as he lay on his deathbed calling out to me I never again saw him."
"I'm....so sorry.."
"Don't be! He was a cruel, harsh man! I laughed when I heard of his death! But my mother...I could never save my mother...."
He started to cry, very gently. She reached out and embraced him and he began to sob loudly into her shoulder, gripping her very tightly. This went on for a long while. Eventually, the crying stopped, and he shut his eyes and leaned into her. Yang, frightened of disturbing him, barely moved an inch.
Finally, her arm slumped down slightly and Mao jerked awake and pushed her away before standing up. His eyes were red and watery but his face was otherwise inscrutable.
"Thank you for your service to the nation," he said. "It has been much appreciated by the people. However, we must never show weakness, to our enemies or to ourselves."
Mao knocked on the door and the two guards entered the room and dragged Yang out. She started to scream but was hit in the mouth with the butt of a rifle to silence her and was dragged off. Within two minutes she was up against the garden wall and shot.
As she was dragged out, Mao turned away. He didn't want the guards or the girl to see the tears that had begun to form in his eyes once again.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Home Life
"You never listen, do you? You're just waiting until you're all alone and you act up! You know you're not allowed in the den, but you just do whatever you want, don't you?
What's that? You didn't mean to? You never mean it until you're caught! You just have no appreciation for the rules and for everything you've been given!
Of course you're disrespecting him! Your father is the one that wanted you in the first place! He begged and cajoled for you, married your mother for you! Your father works day in and out to put a roof over your head and all you can do is disrespect him at every turn!
Not that he minds! Your father can't wait to get away from mommy. Your father doesn't play with your mother until he's played with you!
That's why a disobedient little boy like you has to stay in the basement. That's why mommy always has to hurt you. You have to learn the lessons mommy can't teach daddy."
What's that? You didn't mean to? You never mean it until you're caught! You just have no appreciation for the rules and for everything you've been given!
Of course you're disrespecting him! Your father is the one that wanted you in the first place! He begged and cajoled for you, married your mother for you! Your father works day in and out to put a roof over your head and all you can do is disrespect him at every turn!
Not that he minds! Your father can't wait to get away from mommy. Your father doesn't play with your mother until he's played with you!
That's why a disobedient little boy like you has to stay in the basement. That's why mommy always has to hurt you. You have to learn the lessons mommy can't teach daddy."
Sent via postcard to the New York Times
I'm a super villain. I'm not one of those hold-the-world-hostage-so-I-can-be-its-supreme-ruler kind of super villains though. I'm more the crazy-guy-with-a-theme-that-robs-banks-to-get-rich kind of super villain.
They call me the Defiler. Catchy, isn't it? The media saddled me with that one. I wanted to be called "The Smogger" or something equally lame as that. But right after my first big heist some newspaper somewhere came up with the tagline "Mysterious criminal defies bank security". But a spellchecker or printer somewhere misread it and printed the headline as "Mysterious criminal defiles bank security". The next day a different paper picked up the story and called me the "Bank Defiler". And so I had my villainous name.
I know what you're thinking. Why be branded with a stupid name at all? Well, when you're fighting a guy with a name like "Captain Amazing" or "Stupendous Man", you tend to get lost in the shuffle if you don't make yourself stand out, you know? I mean, yeah, it could help get ya caught if everyone knows what you look like. But if I'd be living in a different kinda world if I were the type that'd silently sneak into a bank wearing all black. Not that I really could if I didn't want to get caught.
See, my shtick was pretty simple. I was something of a chemistry enthusiast and I came up with a couple of compounds that proved extremely useful. The first was a powerful quick acting adhesive. It could not be dissolved except through use of a solvent I had also discovered which I kept on me at all times. The second (or technically third I guess) was an acid which was capable of burning through almost anything in seconds when I added a common household ingredient(I won't say which, I'm cocky but not stupid).
Armed with these two tools, I decided that rather than try to sell it I would use it for my own personal gain. See, I've got something of an anarchistic streak. I didn't want to rob the average citizen. So I decided to target banks that held the money of the rich and scum sucking. And that's what I did.
It was almost too easy. Even though I didn't have any superheroes to fight, I had to get past a good 30 cops and security guards. I had no trouble whittling down the banks defenses and making my way through to the vault before robbing it blind.
And really, that was it. I made enough money in that single caper to live out the rest of my life in total comfort and security. So I hung up my costume and vowed never to wear it again. A couple members of one of those Hero Squads that are all over the place tried to find a lead, but since I had stopped there was nothing to find. My compounds also provided no clues, as absolutely nothing unusual in their composition and so were untraceable. I made my way to a foreign country and was never seen again.
Which brings us to now. Although I was living a life in the lap of luxury, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling of something left undone. Some people will tell you about the rush of dangerous activities, but I never went in for that. If I wanted danger I could easily afford to go skydiving or something. It wasn't boredom either. I had plenty to do and to keep me interested.
What was this: my own selfishness. If I really wanted to help people by robbing the rich, why didn't I really do it? Why not keep robbing banks and give the proceeds to charity?
So that's what I decided to do. By the time you read this letter, I'll be on my way to Europe to take care of some of those Swiss Bank accounts I've heard so much about. If I've got to be a villain, I might as well be the kind that fights for the greater good.
They call me the Defiler. Catchy, isn't it? The media saddled me with that one. I wanted to be called "The Smogger" or something equally lame as that. But right after my first big heist some newspaper somewhere came up with the tagline "Mysterious criminal defies bank security". But a spellchecker or printer somewhere misread it and printed the headline as "Mysterious criminal defiles bank security". The next day a different paper picked up the story and called me the "Bank Defiler". And so I had my villainous name.
I know what you're thinking. Why be branded with a stupid name at all? Well, when you're fighting a guy with a name like "Captain Amazing" or "Stupendous Man", you tend to get lost in the shuffle if you don't make yourself stand out, you know? I mean, yeah, it could help get ya caught if everyone knows what you look like. But if I'd be living in a different kinda world if I were the type that'd silently sneak into a bank wearing all black. Not that I really could if I didn't want to get caught.
See, my shtick was pretty simple. I was something of a chemistry enthusiast and I came up with a couple of compounds that proved extremely useful. The first was a powerful quick acting adhesive. It could not be dissolved except through use of a solvent I had also discovered which I kept on me at all times. The second (or technically third I guess) was an acid which was capable of burning through almost anything in seconds when I added a common household ingredient(I won't say which, I'm cocky but not stupid).
Armed with these two tools, I decided that rather than try to sell it I would use it for my own personal gain. See, I've got something of an anarchistic streak. I didn't want to rob the average citizen. So I decided to target banks that held the money of the rich and scum sucking. And that's what I did.
It was almost too easy. Even though I didn't have any superheroes to fight, I had to get past a good 30 cops and security guards. I had no trouble whittling down the banks defenses and making my way through to the vault before robbing it blind.
And really, that was it. I made enough money in that single caper to live out the rest of my life in total comfort and security. So I hung up my costume and vowed never to wear it again. A couple members of one of those Hero Squads that are all over the place tried to find a lead, but since I had stopped there was nothing to find. My compounds also provided no clues, as absolutely nothing unusual in their composition and so were untraceable. I made my way to a foreign country and was never seen again.
Which brings us to now. Although I was living a life in the lap of luxury, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling of something left undone. Some people will tell you about the rush of dangerous activities, but I never went in for that. If I wanted danger I could easily afford to go skydiving or something. It wasn't boredom either. I had plenty to do and to keep me interested.
What was this: my own selfishness. If I really wanted to help people by robbing the rich, why didn't I really do it? Why not keep robbing banks and give the proceeds to charity?
So that's what I decided to do. By the time you read this letter, I'll be on my way to Europe to take care of some of those Swiss Bank accounts I've heard so much about. If I've got to be a villain, I might as well be the kind that fights for the greater good.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Circus Tale
Many boys used to threaten they'd run away and join the circus, but Scott was the only one who actually did it. He was from an orphanage and understandably hated it there. So, when the circus rolled into town, he snuck out the fist chance he got and followed it out of town when it packed up.
The circus was always in need of a few boys to help clean up and make sure costumes and props were all in place for the big acts. Circus folk are nomads by trade and so are bad with organization and planning. Scott fit in well as he was eager to please and so good-natured that even the surliest of the hobo clowns never got too cross at him.
One day, the circus pulled into a small town. It was like any other town except it was a criminal offense to hold a circus there. They pulled up on the edge of town and threw everyone in the county jail, even Scott.
The next morning, they went before the judge. Scott begged him not to lock up the only family he had ever known and make him an orphan again. The judge was sympathetic but firm to the law, and although he let the circus folk go with a warning he remanded Scott to the county orphanage. He waved goodbye and off he went to the orphanage. Again.
*****************************
That's the story Scott always told us. Nobody ever believed a word of it. Who could? Mostly he just got beat up as the low man on the totem pole. But after the bullies had left I would go and fix him up and he would just smile at me knowingly. Then one day he was gone. No one ever knew what became of him, but I like to think he made his way back to that circus he always talked about. Or one like it.
The circus was always in need of a few boys to help clean up and make sure costumes and props were all in place for the big acts. Circus folk are nomads by trade and so are bad with organization and planning. Scott fit in well as he was eager to please and so good-natured that even the surliest of the hobo clowns never got too cross at him.
One day, the circus pulled into a small town. It was like any other town except it was a criminal offense to hold a circus there. They pulled up on the edge of town and threw everyone in the county jail, even Scott.
The next morning, they went before the judge. Scott begged him not to lock up the only family he had ever known and make him an orphan again. The judge was sympathetic but firm to the law, and although he let the circus folk go with a warning he remanded Scott to the county orphanage. He waved goodbye and off he went to the orphanage. Again.
*****************************
That's the story Scott always told us. Nobody ever believed a word of it. Who could? Mostly he just got beat up as the low man on the totem pole. But after the bullies had left I would go and fix him up and he would just smile at me knowingly. Then one day he was gone. No one ever knew what became of him, but I like to think he made his way back to that circus he always talked about. Or one like it.
Bad Day
Steve and Jake had both just finished work and decided to grab a beer. Although the two of them had been friends for many years, the truth is they both kind of hated each other. But without the routine and weekly bitchfests they had, neither really had any other friends they could just hang out with.
They were as different as night and day. Steve was a hockey fan while Jake preferred football. They almost always held contrarian views on any subject, be it politics or religion (Steve was a right winged lapsed catholic while Jake was a centre left agnostic jew) and had escalating arguments that got louder and louder until one nearly punched the other. It was a long friendship of almost fistfights and grumbled comebacks long after the fact.
On this particular day after work, they were both in foul moods. Jake had lost out on a promotion to a new hire while Steve had dealt with the most impossible bitchiest customers all day. Hostile and itching for a fight, they both kept escalating and escalating until suddenly something snapped and Jake socked Steve in the snout as hard as he could. Blood went everywhere all at once and seemed to be spraying out of Steve's nose. The bouncer had had enough and threw them both into the streets a second later, jamming a clean bar rag under Steve's nose as he shoved him out the door.
They both just sat on the curb for a couple of minutes, completely stunned by what had just happened. Although they had always had a combative relationship, neither Steve nor Jake ever imagined it would reach this level. Steve started to curse at Jake just then in disbelief. He just kept saying he couldn't believe it.
It might've been the beer or the lousy day but Jake started crying. He said how sorry he was and he didn't mean it, it just happened. Jake stood up and offered his hand to Steve. He accepted and the two made their way down the street. They may not be much but they were all each other had.
They were as different as night and day. Steve was a hockey fan while Jake preferred football. They almost always held contrarian views on any subject, be it politics or religion (Steve was a right winged lapsed catholic while Jake was a centre left agnostic jew) and had escalating arguments that got louder and louder until one nearly punched the other. It was a long friendship of almost fistfights and grumbled comebacks long after the fact.
On this particular day after work, they were both in foul moods. Jake had lost out on a promotion to a new hire while Steve had dealt with the most impossible bitchiest customers all day. Hostile and itching for a fight, they both kept escalating and escalating until suddenly something snapped and Jake socked Steve in the snout as hard as he could. Blood went everywhere all at once and seemed to be spraying out of Steve's nose. The bouncer had had enough and threw them both into the streets a second later, jamming a clean bar rag under Steve's nose as he shoved him out the door.
They both just sat on the curb for a couple of minutes, completely stunned by what had just happened. Although they had always had a combative relationship, neither Steve nor Jake ever imagined it would reach this level. Steve started to curse at Jake just then in disbelief. He just kept saying he couldn't believe it.
It might've been the beer or the lousy day but Jake started crying. He said how sorry he was and he didn't mean it, it just happened. Jake stood up and offered his hand to Steve. He accepted and the two made their way down the street. They may not be much but they were all each other had.
Birthday Boy
Alan hated birthdays. He saw each one as being one step closer to being in the grave. He would howl and throw a tantrum if his parents tried to throw a party or get a cake or even mentioned it was his birthday.
It all went back to when he was four years old. A well meaning uncle tried to teach him the meaning of life through death. His goldfish Sam had died and little Alan didn't understand what had happened, why his fish wasn't swimming around anymore. His uncle told him, trying to spare his feelings, that fish only live a very short time and his last birthday was up. Alan cried and cried and went to bed crying.
The next morning his parents approached him tentatively, but he seemed ok, like the normal little four year old he basically was. But months later, when they tried to plan out his birthday, he threw such a fit that they dropped it and threw him a surprise party.
So they got all his friends together, decorated the house while he was away and got ready. When he appeared at the door and everyone shouted "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" He screeched and burst into tears before running out the door and into the street, right into the path of a car. The car squealed and swerved and just barely managed to avoid hitting Alan. His parents rushed out and tried to hug him but they were wearing party hats and he squirmed and clawed and bit until they let go.
The damage to the car was thankfully negligible but that was the end of the birthday parties. Alan was now eight and had developed a full on phobia. He didn't go to other children's birthdays and so had a hard time making and keeping friends. He had been to a psychologist and had been making progress but still couldn't safely say they were out of the woods.
Doctor Dennings, while having little difficulty discerning how he had developed the problem had yet to solve why. He had tried letting Alan air out his concerns, tried to allay his fears. Nothing.
Finally, Dennings had an idea. He brought in the parents to ask what had happened to the goldfish after it had died. The father, somewhat embarrassed, replied that they had just flushed him down the toilet.
"I see," said the doctor.
Dennings then told them Alan hadn't ever gotten any closure and had come to associate death and birthdays as one and the same, a kind of torturous existential limbo. He needed to say goodbye to his fish if he ever wanted to overcome his phobia.
His parents were anxious and eager to try anything, so the next day they held a small memorial in the backyard. Dad took a small stone and carved Sam's name into it. Mom gave a eulogy, saying what a good fish Sam had been and how she missed him. Then they asked Alan if he would like to say something.
He didn't say a word, although a muffled sobbing was emanating from him. Then finally he said simply "You were my best friend and I miss you. Goodbye," before running into the house.
He didn't come out of his room until the next day for breakfast. He looked tired and a little sad, but otherwise ok. He didn't say anything much until he finished eating his cereal and said he was glad he got to say goodbye. His parents smiled and hugged him and told him they could get a new fish if he wanted. He told them yes and that was the last time Alan had birthday troubles ever again.
It all went back to when he was four years old. A well meaning uncle tried to teach him the meaning of life through death. His goldfish Sam had died and little Alan didn't understand what had happened, why his fish wasn't swimming around anymore. His uncle told him, trying to spare his feelings, that fish only live a very short time and his last birthday was up. Alan cried and cried and went to bed crying.
The next morning his parents approached him tentatively, but he seemed ok, like the normal little four year old he basically was. But months later, when they tried to plan out his birthday, he threw such a fit that they dropped it and threw him a surprise party.
So they got all his friends together, decorated the house while he was away and got ready. When he appeared at the door and everyone shouted "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" He screeched and burst into tears before running out the door and into the street, right into the path of a car. The car squealed and swerved and just barely managed to avoid hitting Alan. His parents rushed out and tried to hug him but they were wearing party hats and he squirmed and clawed and bit until they let go.
The damage to the car was thankfully negligible but that was the end of the birthday parties. Alan was now eight and had developed a full on phobia. He didn't go to other children's birthdays and so had a hard time making and keeping friends. He had been to a psychologist and had been making progress but still couldn't safely say they were out of the woods.
Doctor Dennings, while having little difficulty discerning how he had developed the problem had yet to solve why. He had tried letting Alan air out his concerns, tried to allay his fears. Nothing.
Finally, Dennings had an idea. He brought in the parents to ask what had happened to the goldfish after it had died. The father, somewhat embarrassed, replied that they had just flushed him down the toilet.
"I see," said the doctor.
Dennings then told them Alan hadn't ever gotten any closure and had come to associate death and birthdays as one and the same, a kind of torturous existential limbo. He needed to say goodbye to his fish if he ever wanted to overcome his phobia.
His parents were anxious and eager to try anything, so the next day they held a small memorial in the backyard. Dad took a small stone and carved Sam's name into it. Mom gave a eulogy, saying what a good fish Sam had been and how she missed him. Then they asked Alan if he would like to say something.
He didn't say a word, although a muffled sobbing was emanating from him. Then finally he said simply "You were my best friend and I miss you. Goodbye," before running into the house.
He didn't come out of his room until the next day for breakfast. He looked tired and a little sad, but otherwise ok. He didn't say anything much until he finished eating his cereal and said he was glad he got to say goodbye. His parents smiled and hugged him and told him they could get a new fish if he wanted. He told them yes and that was the last time Alan had birthday troubles ever again.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Death row
Father Lopez was a priest on death row. When asked what it was like receiving the confessions of such terrible men, he would say it wasn't as bad as people made it out to be. Either they would repent their sins and go on to forgiveness with god or they would prove to be very sick men who would in any case be dead in the near future. It was a win-win.
So when he arrived to give Noel Jordan his final confession, he was optimistic and even cheerful. He knew some of the horrible things he had done but also knew the state would soon do God's work and take him off the Earth.
Noel Jordan didn't look like the other prisoners Lopez had seen. Often, they would be hysterical, yelling or sobbing or maybe both. Others would be deathly calm and inscrutable behind terrible calculating eyes. Noel was different. He was just sitting there, a look of mild irritation in his eyes like someone who's been waiting for a bus a little too long and wants to get on with it.
Lopez entered the cell.
"Hello, my son. Do you have anything to confess?"
Noel looked up, as if noticing the father for the first time.
"Confess? What do you mean?"
Lopez frowned slightly.
"Anything you wish to say or ask for forgiveness from god before your earthy end."
"Oh. Yes."
Lopez waited a moment.
"Well? What is it? Are you seeking forgiveness or not?"
"Ah, sorry father, but no. I just don't know how to say it. I do have a confession. Can I have a moment more to think?"
"Yes, my son, but do hurry. You only have about half an hour."
"That's right, good. I guess I want to say I'm sorry. Not about the death of my wife and 2 children, but the fact I'm completely not sorry about any of it. If somehow they were brought back to life today and I were free, I would do it again."
"Why not make your peace in these final moments?"
"I am. I'm a monster. I killed all three, strangled them and tore them apart with my bare hands and I don't know why. I had to do it, see? You know how when you're a child, sometimes you pull a mean trick on a friend or sibling or somebody for no reason and you have no idea why?"
"Yes."
"It was exactly like that. I've never been in a fight my whole life. Never so much as yanked my dog's chain when I walked him. But it was a compulsion, like scratching your nose or going to sleep. I'm glad this is happening. I need to die before I get that feeling again."
"Do you wish me to pray with you for forgiveness?"
"No. I don't want or deserve forgiveness. I just need to die for what I've done. Tell my story, warn people that it could happen to them. Please."
"A..alirght.."
Noel smiled at him as he left the cell. In less than 20 minutes he would be dead via lethal injection. For the first time since taking this job Lopez was more than a little perturbed.
So when he arrived to give Noel Jordan his final confession, he was optimistic and even cheerful. He knew some of the horrible things he had done but also knew the state would soon do God's work and take him off the Earth.
Noel Jordan didn't look like the other prisoners Lopez had seen. Often, they would be hysterical, yelling or sobbing or maybe both. Others would be deathly calm and inscrutable behind terrible calculating eyes. Noel was different. He was just sitting there, a look of mild irritation in his eyes like someone who's been waiting for a bus a little too long and wants to get on with it.
Lopez entered the cell.
"Hello, my son. Do you have anything to confess?"
Noel looked up, as if noticing the father for the first time.
"Confess? What do you mean?"
Lopez frowned slightly.
"Anything you wish to say or ask for forgiveness from god before your earthy end."
"Oh. Yes."
Lopez waited a moment.
"Well? What is it? Are you seeking forgiveness or not?"
"Ah, sorry father, but no. I just don't know how to say it. I do have a confession. Can I have a moment more to think?"
"Yes, my son, but do hurry. You only have about half an hour."
"That's right, good. I guess I want to say I'm sorry. Not about the death of my wife and 2 children, but the fact I'm completely not sorry about any of it. If somehow they were brought back to life today and I were free, I would do it again."
"Why not make your peace in these final moments?"
"I am. I'm a monster. I killed all three, strangled them and tore them apart with my bare hands and I don't know why. I had to do it, see? You know how when you're a child, sometimes you pull a mean trick on a friend or sibling or somebody for no reason and you have no idea why?"
"Yes."
"It was exactly like that. I've never been in a fight my whole life. Never so much as yanked my dog's chain when I walked him. But it was a compulsion, like scratching your nose or going to sleep. I'm glad this is happening. I need to die before I get that feeling again."
"Do you wish me to pray with you for forgiveness?"
"No. I don't want or deserve forgiveness. I just need to die for what I've done. Tell my story, warn people that it could happen to them. Please."
"A..alirght.."
Noel smiled at him as he left the cell. In less than 20 minutes he would be dead via lethal injection. For the first time since taking this job Lopez was more than a little perturbed.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Eulogy for Pook
I had a difficult relationship with my grandmother. When I was small she was known as Pook, as she had several mid-sized moles on her face that I called Pooks, after the sound I imagined they would make if they popped. She cared a lot about me and would always tell me stories and give me gifts and show me how to make things.
But she had demons she never conquered. She was mentally ill her whole life and in a lot of ways it left her unable to deal with the world. My mother knew but pretended she didn't. She couldn't accept that her mother was sick. My grandmother had angry fits in which she would lash out at me and tell me what a bastard I was and belittle me. There are incidents that to this day I don't speak of and remain locked up inside. Very sad periods.
I choose instead to think about the good things she gave me. The Hallowe'en she handmade a Superman costume for me. Learning Cribbage. Being four years old and desperately longing for a dollhouse and having her buy it for me and building miniature furniture for it. Walking to the park and pressing the leaves we found there into books. Baking cookies. These are the things I really want to remember.
She was raised in a Mormon home near Calgary and never forgot the lessons she had learned there. She came to Toronto to study at the Royal Conservatory but never managed to finish. Her illness overwhelmed her and she spent some time in a sanitarium. Shortly after my mother was born. She concealed this fact so well that neither of us knew anything about it for years.
She was deeply religious and always tried to instill in me she felt to god, all the while encouraging me to follow my dreams and telling me she would love me no matter what. I went to church for awhile, mostly to please her. But it didn't take root in me the way it did in her. I never saw church or religion the way she did and eventually became an atheist. I told her and she was unhappy about it, but she accepted me the way she always promised she would.
I grew into my teenage years the way anybody does, in a whirl of new thoughts, feelings and experiences. I still saw my grandmother fairly frequently, but as time went on it grew to be less and less. I felt I had my own life to lead and my limitations to overcome. When I heard she was in the hospital and in rough shape, I was too busy feeling sorry for myself and drowning in my own troubles. When I finally did get to see her, it was horrifying. She was unconscious. Her hair was yellowing and like straw. Her eyes were open but milky and unresponsive. Her skin was thin and almost see through on most of her body. She wore a respirator and had an IV tube. Her arms were restrained because she would wake up and remove the face mask and wasn't able to breathe.
Every now and again, in a state of delirium, she would call out in half-formed words that, without her false teeth sound just like baby talk. Baba, for Barbara, my mother. I was there for almost an hour, just watching and trying to see if she would snap out of it or something.
And for a few moments when the doctor arrived, she did. She didn't know where she was or why, but at least she was aware. She saw us and we held her hand. She gathered her strength and whispered "pray for me" to us before falling back asleep. It was for all of two minutes.
That night she died. My father called and told me the next evening. I was speechless. I hadn't prayed for her that night; I had never prayed in my entire life. I don't think Pook would have wanted a fake prayer. She valued honesty and decency and to pretend something you don't believe would have been neither. But at that moment I almost wished I could pray and really believe in it.
But she had demons she never conquered. She was mentally ill her whole life and in a lot of ways it left her unable to deal with the world. My mother knew but pretended she didn't. She couldn't accept that her mother was sick. My grandmother had angry fits in which she would lash out at me and tell me what a bastard I was and belittle me. There are incidents that to this day I don't speak of and remain locked up inside. Very sad periods.
I choose instead to think about the good things she gave me. The Hallowe'en she handmade a Superman costume for me. Learning Cribbage. Being four years old and desperately longing for a dollhouse and having her buy it for me and building miniature furniture for it. Walking to the park and pressing the leaves we found there into books. Baking cookies. These are the things I really want to remember.
She was raised in a Mormon home near Calgary and never forgot the lessons she had learned there. She came to Toronto to study at the Royal Conservatory but never managed to finish. Her illness overwhelmed her and she spent some time in a sanitarium. Shortly after my mother was born. She concealed this fact so well that neither of us knew anything about it for years.
She was deeply religious and always tried to instill in me she felt to god, all the while encouraging me to follow my dreams and telling me she would love me no matter what. I went to church for awhile, mostly to please her. But it didn't take root in me the way it did in her. I never saw church or religion the way she did and eventually became an atheist. I told her and she was unhappy about it, but she accepted me the way she always promised she would.
I grew into my teenage years the way anybody does, in a whirl of new thoughts, feelings and experiences. I still saw my grandmother fairly frequently, but as time went on it grew to be less and less. I felt I had my own life to lead and my limitations to overcome. When I heard she was in the hospital and in rough shape, I was too busy feeling sorry for myself and drowning in my own troubles. When I finally did get to see her, it was horrifying. She was unconscious. Her hair was yellowing and like straw. Her eyes were open but milky and unresponsive. Her skin was thin and almost see through on most of her body. She wore a respirator and had an IV tube. Her arms were restrained because she would wake up and remove the face mask and wasn't able to breathe.
Every now and again, in a state of delirium, she would call out in half-formed words that, without her false teeth sound just like baby talk. Baba, for Barbara, my mother. I was there for almost an hour, just watching and trying to see if she would snap out of it or something.
And for a few moments when the doctor arrived, she did. She didn't know where she was or why, but at least she was aware. She saw us and we held her hand. She gathered her strength and whispered "pray for me" to us before falling back asleep. It was for all of two minutes.
That night she died. My father called and told me the next evening. I was speechless. I hadn't prayed for her that night; I had never prayed in my entire life. I don't think Pook would have wanted a fake prayer. She valued honesty and decency and to pretend something you don't believe would have been neither. But at that moment I almost wished I could pray and really believe in it.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Fable
Long ago there was a young man traveling through a small fishing village in the east. Although he was a stranger, he was welcomed with open arms. They gave him a place to sleep and food to eat and only asked him to do a little work in exchange, which he was happy to do.
The next morning they took him out as part of the fishing expedition. Although he did not know how to fish, he learned quickly and was soon catching more fish than any other man in the party.They begged him to stay a night longer and help them fish again. He agreed.
A night became a week and soon a month. The village was able to trade and eat better than they ever had before. The chief took the young man under his wing and into his family. The chief's daughter and the young man grew very close.
Soon it was announced they would marry. The ceremony was simple but festive and the whole village cheered. That night, the newlyweds shared a bed for the first time. It soon became apparent that the chief's daughter was carrying his child. He was very pleased and dreamed of teaching his future son all about the ways of the world and fishing.
Alas, it was not to be. When it was clear to the chief the pregnancy was going well and his daughter appeared to be in good health, he called the young man to his home and told him he had to leave immediately.
The village believed the river they fished belonged to a mighty water god. They had no right to anything they took from the water, which is why they so freely gave away anything they took. It was a means of making amends. The young man had to leave to atone for catching so many fish and for fathering a child who would surely inherit his fishing prowess. He would be killed on sight if he ever returned.
Having no choice, the young man packed his few possessions and made his way out of the village for the final time, weeping for the child he never knew. The chief's daughter knew nothing of any of this. Her father was the chief and therefore not a fisherman and so had lived in the village for many many years and had never told his daughter the ways of the village.
When she was finally told what had happened, she was so distraught she threw herself into the river and drowned. Her spirit was trapped forever underneath. The tragedy tainted the whole village and no fisherman would go near that water again. The town soon fell into chaos and disbanded.
When news of the tragedy reached the young man, he raced back to the village and found it a ghost town. He went to the river and started to fish, trying to catch the spirits of his dead love and child, without luck. He stayed by the river and fished everyday for the rest of his life until he was old and infirm. When the day finally came he could no longer fish, he simply vanished and was never seen again.
Some say, when the moon is full and the stars are at their brightest, you can still see the vague outline of a man with a fishing pole, trying to bring his wife and child into the sky.
The next morning they took him out as part of the fishing expedition. Although he did not know how to fish, he learned quickly and was soon catching more fish than any other man in the party.They begged him to stay a night longer and help them fish again. He agreed.
A night became a week and soon a month. The village was able to trade and eat better than they ever had before. The chief took the young man under his wing and into his family. The chief's daughter and the young man grew very close.
Soon it was announced they would marry. The ceremony was simple but festive and the whole village cheered. That night, the newlyweds shared a bed for the first time. It soon became apparent that the chief's daughter was carrying his child. He was very pleased and dreamed of teaching his future son all about the ways of the world and fishing.
Alas, it was not to be. When it was clear to the chief the pregnancy was going well and his daughter appeared to be in good health, he called the young man to his home and told him he had to leave immediately.
The village believed the river they fished belonged to a mighty water god. They had no right to anything they took from the water, which is why they so freely gave away anything they took. It was a means of making amends. The young man had to leave to atone for catching so many fish and for fathering a child who would surely inherit his fishing prowess. He would be killed on sight if he ever returned.
Having no choice, the young man packed his few possessions and made his way out of the village for the final time, weeping for the child he never knew. The chief's daughter knew nothing of any of this. Her father was the chief and therefore not a fisherman and so had lived in the village for many many years and had never told his daughter the ways of the village.
When she was finally told what had happened, she was so distraught she threw herself into the river and drowned. Her spirit was trapped forever underneath. The tragedy tainted the whole village and no fisherman would go near that water again. The town soon fell into chaos and disbanded.
When news of the tragedy reached the young man, he raced back to the village and found it a ghost town. He went to the river and started to fish, trying to catch the spirits of his dead love and child, without luck. He stayed by the river and fished everyday for the rest of his life until he was old and infirm. When the day finally came he could no longer fish, he simply vanished and was never seen again.
Some say, when the moon is full and the stars are at their brightest, you can still see the vague outline of a man with a fishing pole, trying to bring his wife and child into the sky.
Discharge
When Sam was discharged and sent home, they had a celebration waiting for him. He got off the train and was surrounded by well-wishers and happy smiling people. He managed a small smile and mumbled a few words of thanks before the mayor gave a speech thanking him for his service to his country. The crowd cheered and he just wished the whole thing was over so he could go home.
Finally he was in his dad's old pickup on the way home. His parents asked him how he was and he told them he was fine but very mechanically. They told him about working in the mill and the factory while he had been gone. They tried to draw him out a little, telling a few jokes and stories and he tried to respond a little but mostly he was a blank.
He got home and took a shower and for the first time in a long while he wore something other than his uniform. He stopped in front of the mirror and just stared at the stranger in front of him. He had left a young healthy boy always ready to laugh and with a gleam in his eye. What stood in front of him now was a worn down, stricken and lean man. His eyes shine anymore and his face seemed longer and more haggard.
His was not a stereotypical war experience. He hadn't been on the front or even seen combat. He was a clerk to an officer, pure administration. But that was the problem. It was the orders he had seen issued from above and on the ground. Hearing about regiments wiped out trying to keep unholdable lines. Or men sacrificed by the hundreds to achieve impossible goals. He never saw a single act of violence but he heard the screams and moans all around him of the dead, the wounded and dying.
None of this was his fault, of course. But he couldn't shake the feeling he was somehow responsible, that if he simply failed to transmit the orders from headquarters men wouldn't needlessly be slaughtered. The guilt ate away at him and took its toll physically. He hunched over more often, slept less. Had difficulty concentrating. He'd been offered a promotion or two but turned them down. It was bad enough to reconcile himself to his job without being rewarded for it too.
But it was all over now. He had to come to terms with it and move on. Of course he didn't have it as bad as some others. But that didn't make it better. He just needed to let go of the guilt. The war was over. He needed to let go. He raised his head and left the mirror behind him. He went downstairs.It would be nice to have a hot meal and a soft bed.
Finally he was in his dad's old pickup on the way home. His parents asked him how he was and he told them he was fine but very mechanically. They told him about working in the mill and the factory while he had been gone. They tried to draw him out a little, telling a few jokes and stories and he tried to respond a little but mostly he was a blank.
He got home and took a shower and for the first time in a long while he wore something other than his uniform. He stopped in front of the mirror and just stared at the stranger in front of him. He had left a young healthy boy always ready to laugh and with a gleam in his eye. What stood in front of him now was a worn down, stricken and lean man. His eyes shine anymore and his face seemed longer and more haggard.
His was not a stereotypical war experience. He hadn't been on the front or even seen combat. He was a clerk to an officer, pure administration. But that was the problem. It was the orders he had seen issued from above and on the ground. Hearing about regiments wiped out trying to keep unholdable lines. Or men sacrificed by the hundreds to achieve impossible goals. He never saw a single act of violence but he heard the screams and moans all around him of the dead, the wounded and dying.
None of this was his fault, of course. But he couldn't shake the feeling he was somehow responsible, that if he simply failed to transmit the orders from headquarters men wouldn't needlessly be slaughtered. The guilt ate away at him and took its toll physically. He hunched over more often, slept less. Had difficulty concentrating. He'd been offered a promotion or two but turned them down. It was bad enough to reconcile himself to his job without being rewarded for it too.
But it was all over now. He had to come to terms with it and move on. Of course he didn't have it as bad as some others. But that didn't make it better. He just needed to let go of the guilt. The war was over. He needed to let go. He raised his head and left the mirror behind him. He went downstairs.It would be nice to have a hot meal and a soft bed.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Wedding Day
The reception was in full swing. Everyone was dancing and laughing and generally having a good time. But not Carter. He sat at the back of the room at his empty table working his way through the bottle of champagne at the centre of the table. Although there was an open bar, he didn't feel up to weaving through the crowd and making pleasantries, so he sat downing the fizzy junk. He hated the stuff but he wanted to get drunk and quickly, so he soldiered on.
Carter was just glad the whole thing was over. He didn't know how he had made it through the ceremony but he planned to use the champagne to kill the memory. Why had he come? He knew it would rip at his heart to see Claire resplendent in wedding gown walking down the aisle. Was he that much of a masochist? Secretly he knew why. He was a coward. He never had the courage to tell Claire how he felt and so he watched the possibility of them together grow smaller and smaller until it vanished. Similarly, he knew he could never disappoint her and not come to the wedding however he secretly felt.
So here he was in the reception, alone and on his fifth glass of champagne. The combination of alcohol and sugar had hastened the process and he was drunk and surly. He glanced up at the head table. It was raised slightly so he could just make it out from the back. he caught a glimpse of Claire and his heart skipped a beat and tightened painfully. She leaned out of view and was replaced by Clark, her new husband. Tall and good looking, he was the rakish manly type. Carter hated him. He was the sporty type and loved outdoor activity. Carter, more of the bookish intellectual, had nothing in common with the man. Except they loved the same woman. And he had stolen her from him.
The rational art of his brain knew this wasn't true since they had never actually been together. But the alcohol subdued logic at this point. He built an image in his brain of Clark, air headed, vacuous and philandering. He simmered and had another glass of champagne.
Finally he was set to boil and decided to tell the prick off. He pushed back his chair and stood up, more than little wobbly. He started threading his way through the crowd towards the head table, swaying as he went. He got about two tables forward when he caught the edge of a table cloth and tripped. He almost fell over but someone caught him and sat him down roughly.
His savior was a young woman, about his age. She wore green cat's eye glasses and had delicate features. Her hair was in a bun and was auburn brown. Her gray eyes sparkled behind the lenses.
"You ok?' she said, a little too loudly. Clearly she'd had a few.
"Just fine..I'm going to give the groom a piece of mind!"
"Yeah? Cheers to that!"
She took the champagne bottle and filled the flute in front of him. She refilled her own and raised it in a toast.
"To speaking your mind! And mine, as a matter of fact."
Befuddled, Carter raised his glass and clinked it with hers.
"But- what do you have against Clark?"
"Well, he broke my heart. And what's worse, he never even knew he did it!"
He was silent for a moment then asked "And with whom am I toasting the groom's demise?"
"How silly of me...Sue. Sue Sim."
"Susan?"
"Noooo....Sue. Sim" she enunciated the words carefully.
"Ah. Sorry. You must get that a lot."
"Would you believe you're the first?"
"Not for a second. My name is Carter, by the way."
"Well Carter By-The-Way, it's a pleasure. But tell me, what do you have against Mr. Clark Richardson?"
"Well-"
"Wait. Don't tell me. I'm gonna tell you mine then you tell yours, ok?"
"Uh...I guess so.."
"Great! Clark and I are old friends. We went to the same kindergarten for god's sake. And even then I had a crush on him. I just never got over it. When I was small and I said I loved him, he just laughed it off like it was absurd. But I was completely serious. I would have married him at 7 if t was possible.
Time passed. We were in the same grade and through some cruel quirk of fate we were in the same class all the way through grade school. When my hormones finally kicked in I added lust to my love and wanted him even more. But any time I tried to tell him about it he just laughed it off or flat out didn't understand what i was trying to tell him. I got so desperate I tried to liquor him up and get a pity fuck. He passed out cold and nothing happened.
That was the last straw. I had planned to dog through college too, but that last incident convinced me I needed to get away. I applied to college out of state and moved to the east coast. I lived a life for myself instead of someone else. I was happy. Until about a year ago.
Walking the streets one sunny afternoon and who do I bump into? Clark! He says he's just moved here and why don't we have dinner and catch up and it's so go to see me and blah blah blah. So like an idiot I'm all aflutter and agree to go to dinner, thinking at last my time has come.
No dice. We sit and eat diner food at a crummy place up the block and all he can talk about is this girl Claire he's just met. How smart she is, how pretty, etc, etc.
Now, I'm dying a little inside. he's too wrapped up in what he's saying to notice I'm almost in tears. Somehow I get through the dinner and excuse myself saying I feel a little sick. I head home and cry myself to sleep. I don't see or talk to him after that. He tries a couple of times but I'm not having any of it.
Then I get a wedding invitation in the mail. I think, no way, and go to toss it. It hovers over the garbage can but I don't drop it. it goes on the fridge instead, stuck under a puffy frog magnet that looks ominous to me now.
As though I can't stop myself, I watch as I RSVP. I see myself picking out a dress and trying it on. Buying a wedding gift. Before I know it, the day is here and gone so fast I can hardly catch up. It suddenly hit me in between speeches by Aunt So-and-So and Uncle What's-His-Face: I can't deal with this. So I've been downing glass after glass of this soapy champagne trying to blot out my mind. And then you came over!"
She smiled wanly for a moment before looking horrified.
"I can't believe I just told you all that. Now you probably think I'm crazy. But I just couldn't stop once I started, you know? It was like it was out of my control."
Carter felt a chill run right through him and into his heart as she spoke. It was just like what happened to him. Ridiculously close, anyhow.
"No," he said finally. "I don't think you're crazy."
"Well I've shown you mine, now you show me yours," she said with a hint of playfulness.
"I will. A promise is a promise. But first, why don't we get a drink? A real drink, not this fizzy bullshit."
"God yes...I never thought a can of beer would sound so good."
He offered his arm and she took it. They started to weave through the crowd but were holding each other up and so neither one swayed or fell. As they reached the bar Carter thought 'Maybe this is enough' and smiled to himself.
Carter was just glad the whole thing was over. He didn't know how he had made it through the ceremony but he planned to use the champagne to kill the memory. Why had he come? He knew it would rip at his heart to see Claire resplendent in wedding gown walking down the aisle. Was he that much of a masochist? Secretly he knew why. He was a coward. He never had the courage to tell Claire how he felt and so he watched the possibility of them together grow smaller and smaller until it vanished. Similarly, he knew he could never disappoint her and not come to the wedding however he secretly felt.
So here he was in the reception, alone and on his fifth glass of champagne. The combination of alcohol and sugar had hastened the process and he was drunk and surly. He glanced up at the head table. It was raised slightly so he could just make it out from the back. he caught a glimpse of Claire and his heart skipped a beat and tightened painfully. She leaned out of view and was replaced by Clark, her new husband. Tall and good looking, he was the rakish manly type. Carter hated him. He was the sporty type and loved outdoor activity. Carter, more of the bookish intellectual, had nothing in common with the man. Except they loved the same woman. And he had stolen her from him.
The rational art of his brain knew this wasn't true since they had never actually been together. But the alcohol subdued logic at this point. He built an image in his brain of Clark, air headed, vacuous and philandering. He simmered and had another glass of champagne.
Finally he was set to boil and decided to tell the prick off. He pushed back his chair and stood up, more than little wobbly. He started threading his way through the crowd towards the head table, swaying as he went. He got about two tables forward when he caught the edge of a table cloth and tripped. He almost fell over but someone caught him and sat him down roughly.
His savior was a young woman, about his age. She wore green cat's eye glasses and had delicate features. Her hair was in a bun and was auburn brown. Her gray eyes sparkled behind the lenses.
"You ok?' she said, a little too loudly. Clearly she'd had a few.
"Just fine..I'm going to give the groom a piece of mind!"
"Yeah? Cheers to that!"
She took the champagne bottle and filled the flute in front of him. She refilled her own and raised it in a toast.
"To speaking your mind! And mine, as a matter of fact."
Befuddled, Carter raised his glass and clinked it with hers.
"But- what do you have against Clark?"
"Well, he broke my heart. And what's worse, he never even knew he did it!"
He was silent for a moment then asked "And with whom am I toasting the groom's demise?"
"How silly of me...Sue. Sue Sim."
"Susan?"
"Noooo....Sue. Sim" she enunciated the words carefully.
"Ah. Sorry. You must get that a lot."
"Would you believe you're the first?"
"Not for a second. My name is Carter, by the way."
"Well Carter By-The-Way, it's a pleasure. But tell me, what do you have against Mr. Clark Richardson?"
"Well-"
"Wait. Don't tell me. I'm gonna tell you mine then you tell yours, ok?"
"Uh...I guess so.."
"Great! Clark and I are old friends. We went to the same kindergarten for god's sake. And even then I had a crush on him. I just never got over it. When I was small and I said I loved him, he just laughed it off like it was absurd. But I was completely serious. I would have married him at 7 if t was possible.
Time passed. We were in the same grade and through some cruel quirk of fate we were in the same class all the way through grade school. When my hormones finally kicked in I added lust to my love and wanted him even more. But any time I tried to tell him about it he just laughed it off or flat out didn't understand what i was trying to tell him. I got so desperate I tried to liquor him up and get a pity fuck. He passed out cold and nothing happened.
That was the last straw. I had planned to dog through college too, but that last incident convinced me I needed to get away. I applied to college out of state and moved to the east coast. I lived a life for myself instead of someone else. I was happy. Until about a year ago.
Walking the streets one sunny afternoon and who do I bump into? Clark! He says he's just moved here and why don't we have dinner and catch up and it's so go to see me and blah blah blah. So like an idiot I'm all aflutter and agree to go to dinner, thinking at last my time has come.
No dice. We sit and eat diner food at a crummy place up the block and all he can talk about is this girl Claire he's just met. How smart she is, how pretty, etc, etc.
Now, I'm dying a little inside. he's too wrapped up in what he's saying to notice I'm almost in tears. Somehow I get through the dinner and excuse myself saying I feel a little sick. I head home and cry myself to sleep. I don't see or talk to him after that. He tries a couple of times but I'm not having any of it.
Then I get a wedding invitation in the mail. I think, no way, and go to toss it. It hovers over the garbage can but I don't drop it. it goes on the fridge instead, stuck under a puffy frog magnet that looks ominous to me now.
As though I can't stop myself, I watch as I RSVP. I see myself picking out a dress and trying it on. Buying a wedding gift. Before I know it, the day is here and gone so fast I can hardly catch up. It suddenly hit me in between speeches by Aunt So-and-So and Uncle What's-His-Face: I can't deal with this. So I've been downing glass after glass of this soapy champagne trying to blot out my mind. And then you came over!"
She smiled wanly for a moment before looking horrified.
"I can't believe I just told you all that. Now you probably think I'm crazy. But I just couldn't stop once I started, you know? It was like it was out of my control."
Carter felt a chill run right through him and into his heart as she spoke. It was just like what happened to him. Ridiculously close, anyhow.
"No," he said finally. "I don't think you're crazy."
"Well I've shown you mine, now you show me yours," she said with a hint of playfulness.
"I will. A promise is a promise. But first, why don't we get a drink? A real drink, not this fizzy bullshit."
"God yes...I never thought a can of beer would sound so good."
He offered his arm and she took it. They started to weave through the crowd but were holding each other up and so neither one swayed or fell. As they reached the bar Carter thought 'Maybe this is enough' and smiled to himself.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Nuclear option
The president was pacing back and forth in the oval office. This was an extremely trying decision. Although his top advisers and generals were all on hand and had weighed in, he sent them away to consider what they had said. After all, he was the one that had to make the final decision.
It was war with China either way, he knew that. Talk had proved futile. He refused to listen to their wild demands for concessions or aid. If he took the chance and launched a nuke he might be able to remove the hostile leadership and replace them with something more benign. The war could be quick and painless. Of course, he may not get them all. Or they may issue a counter-launch. US missiles could probably shoot down Chinese missiles, but it was by no means certain.
Otherwise it was a full-scale ground assault. China had invaded parts of India and while it was completely unsustainable territory for them to hold, they could make the US pay very dearly for every inch they gave up. India and the US had a treaty and the Americans were obligated to come to their rescue. It was a lose-lose.
He decided to risk it. He reached for the red phone on his desk when suddenly he heard a high pitched warbling sound above his desk. He looked up and saw a distorted image of a face hovering above it, flat like a projection.
"Security!" he bellowed, running for the door. It wouldn't budge. And nobody came.
"This will only take a moment Mr.president," the head said between a couple of racking coughs.
"Who are you? What do you want?" he responded, his back to the door and still trying to jam it open.
"I come to warn you," came the reply.
"The US does not give in to threats! Now tell me what you want!"
"I do not threaten you. I am here to warn you. My people live a galaxy away. We have searched for thousands of years to try and find another planet with life. Now, finally, we have found yours."
"Suuuure you did. And you just happen to be human too, huh?"
"Call this face a...disguise. We do not wish to alarm you."
"I don't believe a word of this nonsense."
The face sighed before saying "Very well," and the image changed. The creature's face closely resembled an elephant but with a shorter trunk, more pronounced mouth and bigger eyes. It also had a golden sheen. It was like nothing the president had ever seen.
"What...are you?" the president said shakily.
"We will say my race is similar to your mammals on Earth and leave it there, it would take too long to explain further and time is short."
"What..why?"
"I am the last of my race. We were coming to initiate first contact with you when a plague came across our world and decimated it. Some escaped to shuttles and made their way to space, hoping to wait it out. I am the only one left of that group. Communications have met with silence."
"That still doesn't answer why you're here."
"My race searched high and low throughout the universe for another sentient species in the universe. The only thing we ever found was a dead bacteria sample in a dead star system billions of light years away. Then we found you. When I am gone, you will be the only race of beings in the known universe with the capacity for thought. If you disappear, the universe will be silent again. That is my warning. Take care of your planet and its people. There aren't any other."
"Why don't you come here? Perhaps we help treat you."
"Thank you for your kindness. But I must remain on board my ship or risk transferring this sickness to you. In any case, my time is almost up. Consider what I said. Observe the fragility of life. You are the universe's representatives now...take care!"
With that the elephant man's breathing became shallow and raspy. He shut his eyes and his skin changed from golden to copper. The face continued to hang in space but it was completely immobile. He was gone.
The president was very still for several minutes. He went back to the red phone and looked at it. He turned towards the regular phone, picked up the receiver and said
"Get China on the line. We need to try talking again."
It was war with China either way, he knew that. Talk had proved futile. He refused to listen to their wild demands for concessions or aid. If he took the chance and launched a nuke he might be able to remove the hostile leadership and replace them with something more benign. The war could be quick and painless. Of course, he may not get them all. Or they may issue a counter-launch. US missiles could probably shoot down Chinese missiles, but it was by no means certain.
Otherwise it was a full-scale ground assault. China had invaded parts of India and while it was completely unsustainable territory for them to hold, they could make the US pay very dearly for every inch they gave up. India and the US had a treaty and the Americans were obligated to come to their rescue. It was a lose-lose.
He decided to risk it. He reached for the red phone on his desk when suddenly he heard a high pitched warbling sound above his desk. He looked up and saw a distorted image of a face hovering above it, flat like a projection.
"Security!" he bellowed, running for the door. It wouldn't budge. And nobody came.
"This will only take a moment Mr.president," the head said between a couple of racking coughs.
"Who are you? What do you want?" he responded, his back to the door and still trying to jam it open.
"I come to warn you," came the reply.
"The US does not give in to threats! Now tell me what you want!"
"I do not threaten you. I am here to warn you. My people live a galaxy away. We have searched for thousands of years to try and find another planet with life. Now, finally, we have found yours."
"Suuuure you did. And you just happen to be human too, huh?"
"Call this face a...disguise. We do not wish to alarm you."
"I don't believe a word of this nonsense."
The face sighed before saying "Very well," and the image changed. The creature's face closely resembled an elephant but with a shorter trunk, more pronounced mouth and bigger eyes. It also had a golden sheen. It was like nothing the president had ever seen.
"What...are you?" the president said shakily.
"We will say my race is similar to your mammals on Earth and leave it there, it would take too long to explain further and time is short."
"What..why?"
"I am the last of my race. We were coming to initiate first contact with you when a plague came across our world and decimated it. Some escaped to shuttles and made their way to space, hoping to wait it out. I am the only one left of that group. Communications have met with silence."
"That still doesn't answer why you're here."
"My race searched high and low throughout the universe for another sentient species in the universe. The only thing we ever found was a dead bacteria sample in a dead star system billions of light years away. Then we found you. When I am gone, you will be the only race of beings in the known universe with the capacity for thought. If you disappear, the universe will be silent again. That is my warning. Take care of your planet and its people. There aren't any other."
"Why don't you come here? Perhaps we help treat you."
"Thank you for your kindness. But I must remain on board my ship or risk transferring this sickness to you. In any case, my time is almost up. Consider what I said. Observe the fragility of life. You are the universe's representatives now...take care!"
With that the elephant man's breathing became shallow and raspy. He shut his eyes and his skin changed from golden to copper. The face continued to hang in space but it was completely immobile. He was gone.
The president was very still for several minutes. He went back to the red phone and looked at it. He turned towards the regular phone, picked up the receiver and said
"Get China on the line. We need to try talking again."
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Time flies
The first time it happened I was waiting for the bus at the crowded stop. I had been waiting for a little while and my Ipod had run out of juice. I was kind of zoned out, but I recall the bus being a stop light away. I was wondering what the delay had been, when next thing I knew it was zooming past me. I swore at the stupid driver for ignoring us and turned around to complain to the people behind me when I stopped short. There was nobody. How had everyone else been picked up and I hadn't?
The second time I was at work. I'm a TA at the moment and I had a mountain of essays to get through. This is usually a tedious process but today was particularly bad. I had spent what felt like an hour going over one student's incredibly bland and overly verbose essay when I looked up at the time. It had only been five minutes! I know it felt like forever but that was ridiculous.
The third time was when I was at home. I was dying for a cup of tea and set the pot to boil. I sat down to read a novel but occassionaly glanced up to see if the kettle was ready to boil. I must have looked up a dozen times in 15 minutes without the kettle boiling. I checked to make sure it wasn't broken or leaking or soemthing. It was fine so I put it back on the element. The moment I took my hand away it started sto whine. Impossible!
Now I knew something very odd was going on.
"I'll bet you think something very odd is going on," said a voice behind me.
I whirled around and was faced with a man in a very strange getup. It was a silvery one-piece leasure suit, kind of like what you'd see in a cheesey sci-fi movie. He had absolutely no hair, not even eyebrows. His pupils were orange, and his face looked as though it had been carved all out of one mass of flesh. He had a wristband that flashed and sparkled red and blue randomly.
"Who are you?" I sputtered out as I took in the sight of him.
"That is not relevant. You have fallen out of synch with normal time and I have been sent to address the situation," he said in a chirpy, sparrow-like voice.
"What are talking about?"
"This morning at 10:19.32 1/4 you briefly went faster than regular time. As a result, you missed your transit vehicle. When correcting a document at 3:44.45 6/8 it occured again, with you going slower than the regular speed. Boiling water on arrival here at 6:29.12. 2/5 caused both a slowing and quickening withing 2 minutes of each other."
I tried to take this in. It sounded crazy. It was crazy. But today was definitely unusual so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
"So...you're here to correct the problem?"
"Impossible! There is no known cause or treatment for this condition. Only containment."
"You going to try and lock me up?" I said, making a fist. I was suspicious of this nutbag now.
He emitted a sound like a seagull's squawk which after a moment I realized must be laughter.
"We have neither time nor resources! You are free person! We do not do this!"
"Well, then what are you doing here?"
"You must self-contain. Am here to offer early warning device."
He opened his hand to me. In it was a gaudy looking mood ring. He gestured with his other hand toward it.
"Take! It will warn you. It will flash green if you fall fast and red if you fall slow."
I took the ring and looked at it for a moment, then put it on. It wasn't any weirder than anything else today. The man disappeared the moment I put the ring on and hasn't been back since.
Life since then has been weird and chaotic but at least a little more controllable. It's gotten me to appreciate the regular moments more than I ever did before. So if you ever feel like time is dragging by or zooming past, maybe it really is. Don't be surprised if you get a visit from a silver jump-suited bird-like man.
The second time I was at work. I'm a TA at the moment and I had a mountain of essays to get through. This is usually a tedious process but today was particularly bad. I had spent what felt like an hour going over one student's incredibly bland and overly verbose essay when I looked up at the time. It had only been five minutes! I know it felt like forever but that was ridiculous.
The third time was when I was at home. I was dying for a cup of tea and set the pot to boil. I sat down to read a novel but occassionaly glanced up to see if the kettle was ready to boil. I must have looked up a dozen times in 15 minutes without the kettle boiling. I checked to make sure it wasn't broken or leaking or soemthing. It was fine so I put it back on the element. The moment I took my hand away it started sto whine. Impossible!
Now I knew something very odd was going on.
"I'll bet you think something very odd is going on," said a voice behind me.
I whirled around and was faced with a man in a very strange getup. It was a silvery one-piece leasure suit, kind of like what you'd see in a cheesey sci-fi movie. He had absolutely no hair, not even eyebrows. His pupils were orange, and his face looked as though it had been carved all out of one mass of flesh. He had a wristband that flashed and sparkled red and blue randomly.
"Who are you?" I sputtered out as I took in the sight of him.
"That is not relevant. You have fallen out of synch with normal time and I have been sent to address the situation," he said in a chirpy, sparrow-like voice.
"What are talking about?"
"This morning at 10:19.32 1/4 you briefly went faster than regular time. As a result, you missed your transit vehicle. When correcting a document at 3:44.45 6/8 it occured again, with you going slower than the regular speed. Boiling water on arrival here at 6:29.12. 2/5 caused both a slowing and quickening withing 2 minutes of each other."
I tried to take this in. It sounded crazy. It was crazy. But today was definitely unusual so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
"So...you're here to correct the problem?"
"Impossible! There is no known cause or treatment for this condition. Only containment."
"You going to try and lock me up?" I said, making a fist. I was suspicious of this nutbag now.
He emitted a sound like a seagull's squawk which after a moment I realized must be laughter.
"We have neither time nor resources! You are free person! We do not do this!"
"Well, then what are you doing here?"
"You must self-contain. Am here to offer early warning device."
He opened his hand to me. In it was a gaudy looking mood ring. He gestured with his other hand toward it.
"Take! It will warn you. It will flash green if you fall fast and red if you fall slow."
I took the ring and looked at it for a moment, then put it on. It wasn't any weirder than anything else today. The man disappeared the moment I put the ring on and hasn't been back since.
Life since then has been weird and chaotic but at least a little more controllable. It's gotten me to appreciate the regular moments more than I ever did before. So if you ever feel like time is dragging by or zooming past, maybe it really is. Don't be surprised if you get a visit from a silver jump-suited bird-like man.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Finis
The future didn't lead to a utopia of futuristic technology to dazzle the mind and bring about a new level of engagement between nations and citizens. It didn't lead to a dystopia with the world ground under a tyrant's heel or destroyed by a natural or man made disaster. In the end it was neither of those things.
Much further in the future (it doesn't matter when now is, it's likely a few days in the future still) the Earth is finished. All the resources of the not just the Earth but the entire solar system have been extracted. We can no longer draw energy from oil or cola as they are all gone. The wind doesn't blow anymore. The sun is barely strong enough to keep temperatures at a global level of -30 celsius. Quite simply, the solar system is about to die.
So we take all the works of art, science, literature, history and anything else we can manage and digitally encode them in every language we have left. We launch them via rockets in every direction out of our known space and hope someone somewhere can figure out what the squiggles mean. This is the end of time for us. But we can beat the future and live on, if only in the memory of some unknown hypothetical race far off in another galaxy on another world. Remember us. Tell our story. Be our future.
Much further in the future (it doesn't matter when now is, it's likely a few days in the future still) the Earth is finished. All the resources of the not just the Earth but the entire solar system have been extracted. We can no longer draw energy from oil or cola as they are all gone. The wind doesn't blow anymore. The sun is barely strong enough to keep temperatures at a global level of -30 celsius. Quite simply, the solar system is about to die.
So we take all the works of art, science, literature, history and anything else we can manage and digitally encode them in every language we have left. We launch them via rockets in every direction out of our known space and hope someone somewhere can figure out what the squiggles mean. This is the end of time for us. But we can beat the future and live on, if only in the memory of some unknown hypothetical race far off in another galaxy on another world. Remember us. Tell our story. Be our future.
The unexamined life
I'm immortal.Or at least I think I am. I would say I'm about 400 years old, so it remains to be seen whether I will live forever or not. I'm certainly the only person I've ever known to make it past 90, never mind to 500. Don't be fooled by all those stories you've read about ageless vampires and immortal gods. Being immortal (Or living long past your peers, anyway) is unpleasant to say the least.
While I don't seem able to die, I still feel pain. Acutely. I still get hungry and if I don't get food I get hungrier and hungrier until it's unbearable. Can you imagine what it's like to go a month without any food and just waste away until you can't even move? Or to catch an infectious disease and have it eat away at you and leave you writing in pain until it finally burns out after 5 years? I don't have to imagine because I know.
I was born somewhere in Africa in the 17th century. I don't know when or where exactly as I was only a toddler when the slavers must have come to my home. Whoever my parents died on the journey but I survived and made it to the new world . I was in high demand as I was a child. I spent nearly 200 years doing slave labor and escaping before getting caught and sent to a new plantation. My hair grayed and I got a few wrinkles but this is probably due to stress rather than age.
Finally, due to the civil war I was freed and tried to make a life for myself, learning for the first time how to read and write. Unfortunately, I got Cholera and was bed ridden until my money ran out and I was turned into the streets where I starved and suffered until I finally just outlasted the virus.After that, life was easy by comparison.
I spent the twentieth century living my life. I would go to whatever job I had at that moment, spend time with my whichever wife and kids I had and do the dozen little things one does throughout each day. It was a good life and I finally found little bits of happiness.
But I didn't really age. My family and friends would grow old and die and I would have to start again. You can only do this so many times before it starts to weigh very heavily on you. Nowadays I try and spend most of my time alone since to acquire and lose friends is now more than I can bear.
Lately I have been feeling a bit under the weather so I went to my doctor for a checkup. I got the results back today. Prostate cancer. I hope to hell they can treat it, and that I don't become weighed down beneath a mountainous tumor that just grows and grows. Immortality sucks.
While I don't seem able to die, I still feel pain. Acutely. I still get hungry and if I don't get food I get hungrier and hungrier until it's unbearable. Can you imagine what it's like to go a month without any food and just waste away until you can't even move? Or to catch an infectious disease and have it eat away at you and leave you writing in pain until it finally burns out after 5 years? I don't have to imagine because I know.
I was born somewhere in Africa in the 17th century. I don't know when or where exactly as I was only a toddler when the slavers must have come to my home. Whoever my parents died on the journey but I survived and made it to the new world . I was in high demand as I was a child. I spent nearly 200 years doing slave labor and escaping before getting caught and sent to a new plantation. My hair grayed and I got a few wrinkles but this is probably due to stress rather than age.
Finally, due to the civil war I was freed and tried to make a life for myself, learning for the first time how to read and write. Unfortunately, I got Cholera and was bed ridden until my money ran out and I was turned into the streets where I starved and suffered until I finally just outlasted the virus.After that, life was easy by comparison.
I spent the twentieth century living my life. I would go to whatever job I had at that moment, spend time with my whichever wife and kids I had and do the dozen little things one does throughout each day. It was a good life and I finally found little bits of happiness.
But I didn't really age. My family and friends would grow old and die and I would have to start again. You can only do this so many times before it starts to weigh very heavily on you. Nowadays I try and spend most of my time alone since to acquire and lose friends is now more than I can bear.
Lately I have been feeling a bit under the weather so I went to my doctor for a checkup. I got the results back today. Prostate cancer. I hope to hell they can treat it, and that I don't become weighed down beneath a mountainous tumor that just grows and grows. Immortality sucks.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Wonderland revisited
I had suspected Mr Carroll of reading my diary for some time and the publication of Alice in Wonderland confirmed it. Although he changed my name to Alice, it is actually Mary Wunder. The events he so whimsically described in his two novelettes did not occur, at least not as he wrote them. Let me explain.
I was off in the woods near my family's home in Essex, England. I often went there to play as I was an imaginative and excitable child and this irritated my parents greatly so I tried not to be underfoot as much as possible.
That day, I remember clearly, I was playing tea party with my stuffed white rabbit. We had just had our first imagined cup when I heard a noise coming from a little further in the brush. It is hard to explain it. Low and humming at first with a high pitched whistle that sounded like a whirrrrlllll. Too young to know curiosity killed the cat I went to investigate.
What I found was mystifying. I wouldn't know what to call it except to say it was a doorway torn into the ground like a page torn out of a book. It was about the size of a seat cushion except that it kept forming and reforming in different shapes with many rough angles or smooth like a circle or a few like a triangle. Except it never quite took those shapes either, merely resembled them for a moment and changed again. The coloring was extremely odd, too. It would shift colors rapidly throughout the spectrum and at random, sometimes becoming reflective like a mirror or striped, checkerboxed or a dozen other patterns I can't begin to describe.
Had I been a less inquisitive child I would have fled at the very sight of it; I merely stood transfixed. I got a little closer until I was hovering above it. The oscillations grew more intense. In my distraction, I dropped my stuffed bunny and it fell directly into the portal. It swirled around as though in a whirlpool but otherwise stayed put. I reached out to try and fish it out. As I grabbed ahold of it, we were both pulled with a great force into the doorway. I was through the looking glass.
*******************************************************************************
Before I go any further, I must say my story here varies quite a bit to the account of young Alice in the story and is a quite a bit shorter and more bizarre. Wanting to write a children's book I suspect Mr.Carroll sanitized my version quite a bit to make it more palpable to his audience. I don't blame him, I merely wish to point out the fact.
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There is no possible way to properly catalogue my experience, so I will attempt to do so via contradiction. I immediately had the sensation of falling yet I also felt I was floating. I would feel exceedingly heavy and then feathery light. Some moments I felt as though I were encased in concrete one moment and swimming in pudding the next. The sensations my body and brain took in changed so rapidly I have no basis of comparison whatever. Hot then cold then wet then dry then frozen then on fire. Sometimes all at once or a mixture. I might have been sick except all he parts of my body and mind felt as far away from each other as a distant point on the horizon.
All around me were shapes that vibrated and changed color and shape and texture and smell and sound so often I never quite knew what it was I saw. Several times I thought I saw a face in the jumble, the way a rock will sometimes seem to look like a person. but it would vanish and become incomprehensible just as quickly.
My young mind, attempting to sort out meaning where there was none, began to see other shapes as well. A man in a hat. A caterpillar. A grinning cat. A face splitting into two and back into one. Some would collide with me for a moment and the images would completely vanish.
Finally one did not disappear. It was like a large black cloud and turned in strange orbits but remained aimed directly at me. It made a strange faraway and suddenly close sound that was very much like a large group of people whispering. It suddenly collided with my arm and it was as though hot tea had been spilled on it. It slopped against my leg like sold muck. I started to shriek, my voice seeming a great distance away. The cloud reeled away and began to shift from form to form even faster. My brain at this point mercifully gave way and I lost consciousness.
I awoke. I was back in the woods behind my parents house. It was dark and there was no moon in the sky. I ran back to the house as fast as my legs could carry me. My parents were waiting for me. They demanded to know where I had been. I tried to explain but they called me a liar and my father thrashed me as I cried until there were no tears left and I was sent to bed without supper. Between the pain and delirious confusion I didn't know what had really happened either but I risked another beating by lighting a candle and writing down everything I could remember. I wasn't caught and did the same thing every week until I had every detail as exact as possible.
I don't know what really happened to me that day, if it all really happened or if it was just a delusion or the result of an overactive imagination. I do know that no matter how many times in the months and weeks I went looking I never found a trace of my stuffed white bunny again.
I was off in the woods near my family's home in Essex, England. I often went there to play as I was an imaginative and excitable child and this irritated my parents greatly so I tried not to be underfoot as much as possible.
That day, I remember clearly, I was playing tea party with my stuffed white rabbit. We had just had our first imagined cup when I heard a noise coming from a little further in the brush. It is hard to explain it. Low and humming at first with a high pitched whistle that sounded like a whirrrrlllll. Too young to know curiosity killed the cat I went to investigate.
What I found was mystifying. I wouldn't know what to call it except to say it was a doorway torn into the ground like a page torn out of a book. It was about the size of a seat cushion except that it kept forming and reforming in different shapes with many rough angles or smooth like a circle or a few like a triangle. Except it never quite took those shapes either, merely resembled them for a moment and changed again. The coloring was extremely odd, too. It would shift colors rapidly throughout the spectrum and at random, sometimes becoming reflective like a mirror or striped, checkerboxed or a dozen other patterns I can't begin to describe.
Had I been a less inquisitive child I would have fled at the very sight of it; I merely stood transfixed. I got a little closer until I was hovering above it. The oscillations grew more intense. In my distraction, I dropped my stuffed bunny and it fell directly into the portal. It swirled around as though in a whirlpool but otherwise stayed put. I reached out to try and fish it out. As I grabbed ahold of it, we were both pulled with a great force into the doorway. I was through the looking glass.
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Before I go any further, I must say my story here varies quite a bit to the account of young Alice in the story and is a quite a bit shorter and more bizarre. Wanting to write a children's book I suspect Mr.Carroll sanitized my version quite a bit to make it more palpable to his audience. I don't blame him, I merely wish to point out the fact.
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There is no possible way to properly catalogue my experience, so I will attempt to do so via contradiction. I immediately had the sensation of falling yet I also felt I was floating. I would feel exceedingly heavy and then feathery light. Some moments I felt as though I were encased in concrete one moment and swimming in pudding the next. The sensations my body and brain took in changed so rapidly I have no basis of comparison whatever. Hot then cold then wet then dry then frozen then on fire. Sometimes all at once or a mixture. I might have been sick except all he parts of my body and mind felt as far away from each other as a distant point on the horizon.
All around me were shapes that vibrated and changed color and shape and texture and smell and sound so often I never quite knew what it was I saw. Several times I thought I saw a face in the jumble, the way a rock will sometimes seem to look like a person. but it would vanish and become incomprehensible just as quickly.
My young mind, attempting to sort out meaning where there was none, began to see other shapes as well. A man in a hat. A caterpillar. A grinning cat. A face splitting into two and back into one. Some would collide with me for a moment and the images would completely vanish.
Finally one did not disappear. It was like a large black cloud and turned in strange orbits but remained aimed directly at me. It made a strange faraway and suddenly close sound that was very much like a large group of people whispering. It suddenly collided with my arm and it was as though hot tea had been spilled on it. It slopped against my leg like sold muck. I started to shriek, my voice seeming a great distance away. The cloud reeled away and began to shift from form to form even faster. My brain at this point mercifully gave way and I lost consciousness.
I awoke. I was back in the woods behind my parents house. It was dark and there was no moon in the sky. I ran back to the house as fast as my legs could carry me. My parents were waiting for me. They demanded to know where I had been. I tried to explain but they called me a liar and my father thrashed me as I cried until there were no tears left and I was sent to bed without supper. Between the pain and delirious confusion I didn't know what had really happened either but I risked another beating by lighting a candle and writing down everything I could remember. I wasn't caught and did the same thing every week until I had every detail as exact as possible.
I don't know what really happened to me that day, if it all really happened or if it was just a delusion or the result of an overactive imagination. I do know that no matter how many times in the months and weeks I went looking I never found a trace of my stuffed white bunny again.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
The ghost
Billy was a ghost. He thought he was, at least. He could walk through stuff. No one could see him unless he focused VERY hard on one person and then they saw a flash of him only for a second and freaked out and took off. He floated. But he could move around freely, to anywhere he liked. He didn't have or want to haunt anyplace. So he didn't know.
Of course, he had no memory of anything at all. The very first memory he had was of floating around in the clouds and suddenly being aware of it. He had no idea what his name was or even his gender, if he had one. So he picked a name and a gender based on the very first person he saw, a young boy named Billy.
To fill the time, Billy floated around and looked just looked at stuff or watched and listened in on people. When that got boring, he would watch movies or read books over people's shoulders. (Billy had taught himself to read by sitting in on a kindergarten class or two).
Billy wasn't the only ghost. He would sometimes meet others, floating around in houses or apartments but never outside like him. They didn't tend to talk, just wail and moan loudly and try and get whoever lived in that place now to notice them. When they did talk, it was only to talk about themselves, to the point he couldn't get a word in edgewise. So Billy tended to steer clear of other ghosts.
Finally one day something different happened. He was floating above the city taking in the sites when the clouds suddenly parted and a ray of light shone directly upon him, holding him in place. A large man, easily nine feet tall and naked, descended from the sky with large silvery feathered wings. he floated down until he was directly in front of Billy, then said
"Hello. Do you know who I am?"
Billy paused, trying to remember how to speak. it had been awhile.
"N..nah.." he sputtered out with difficulty.
The man smiled. His teeth shone pearly white.
"I am the angel Michael, the angel of mercy. I am here to end your purgatory."
Billy was still having trouble speaking and made a huh? kind of sound.
"You have earned the right to ascend this plane at last and take your place in heaven."
With that, he reached out and took Billy's suddenly touchable hand. It was like an explosion in his mind. he remembered everything now. Poisoning his wife. Strangling his infant son. The midnight burial and the cannibalism. The gun to the head as the police closed in. It was all there.
Billy, or Simon Watson as he was once known, let go of the angel's hand. He remembered speech again.
"No. I don't deserve it. Leave me here."
Michael smiled again.
"Very well, it is your decision. I will return again one day and offer you the same choice."
"Fine."
The angel rose into the clouds again and the beam of light released Simon and it was as if it had never existed.
Simon just hung there for a few moments. As the violent images of his life filled his mind he began to howl and tried to will his mind to forget.
Of course, he had no memory of anything at all. The very first memory he had was of floating around in the clouds and suddenly being aware of it. He had no idea what his name was or even his gender, if he had one. So he picked a name and a gender based on the very first person he saw, a young boy named Billy.
To fill the time, Billy floated around and looked just looked at stuff or watched and listened in on people. When that got boring, he would watch movies or read books over people's shoulders. (Billy had taught himself to read by sitting in on a kindergarten class or two).
Billy wasn't the only ghost. He would sometimes meet others, floating around in houses or apartments but never outside like him. They didn't tend to talk, just wail and moan loudly and try and get whoever lived in that place now to notice them. When they did talk, it was only to talk about themselves, to the point he couldn't get a word in edgewise. So Billy tended to steer clear of other ghosts.
Finally one day something different happened. He was floating above the city taking in the sites when the clouds suddenly parted and a ray of light shone directly upon him, holding him in place. A large man, easily nine feet tall and naked, descended from the sky with large silvery feathered wings. he floated down until he was directly in front of Billy, then said
"Hello. Do you know who I am?"
Billy paused, trying to remember how to speak. it had been awhile.
"N..nah.." he sputtered out with difficulty.
The man smiled. His teeth shone pearly white.
"I am the angel Michael, the angel of mercy. I am here to end your purgatory."
Billy was still having trouble speaking and made a huh? kind of sound.
"You have earned the right to ascend this plane at last and take your place in heaven."
With that, he reached out and took Billy's suddenly touchable hand. It was like an explosion in his mind. he remembered everything now. Poisoning his wife. Strangling his infant son. The midnight burial and the cannibalism. The gun to the head as the police closed in. It was all there.
Billy, or Simon Watson as he was once known, let go of the angel's hand. He remembered speech again.
"No. I don't deserve it. Leave me here."
Michael smiled again.
"Very well, it is your decision. I will return again one day and offer you the same choice."
"Fine."
The angel rose into the clouds again and the beam of light released Simon and it was as if it had never existed.
Simon just hung there for a few moments. As the violent images of his life filled his mind he began to howl and tried to will his mind to forget.
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