Showing posts with label bullies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bullies. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 4, 2025

Microstory 2357: Earth, July 7, 2179

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3
Dear Corinthia,

You should have received my custom read receipt that confirmed the plan for The Winfield Files, but in case you didn’t, we’re a go. They’re not the longest books in the world, but they’re not super short either. Still, I think we could each get the next one done within a couple weeks. I agree that our thoughts should be in the form of attachments. Yeah, we might have to wait for each other’s responses before moving on, so it may not be as neat as one installment per pair of letters, but I dunno. We’ll just have to wait and see how it goes. To answer your question, our relationship with the dome remains strong. Generally speaking, the immigrants aren’t having significant issues, though it’s a culture shock for many of them. In some ways, we’re different, but in others, we’re the same. It’s true that we’re mobile, but this thing is so large, and the engines are running so slowly, that you can’t really tell. The view is really the biggest difference. Still, they’ve designed it to simulate a normal dome as much as possible. We have dirt and sand and grass. Dad and I live in the platform section, instead of the dome proper, but all of the newcomers have been assigned housing outside, which I think they prefer, since it’s more like what they’re used to. Speaking of new friends, I have an idea about your neighbor. What your problem seems to be is that he doesn’t care how his actions affect others. You have to show him that you exist, and give him some reason to consider that in the future. Don’t complain about the noise, don’t yell at him. Endear yourself to him. First step is to ask him for help with something. How tall are you? If you have some artwork high up on the wall that needs to be adjusted, or a nut under your sink that needs to be tightened, ask him to do it. This especially works if he’s a man, because he wants to feel big and strong, but you can execute this trick with just about anyone. Just make sure it’s a simple task. People want to feel needed, not exploited. Once he’s done, thank him for taking the time, then invite him over for lunch, or a board game. Invite a couple other people if you feel uncomfortable being alone with him, but don’t make it a full-on party. You want him to see you as an individual, and to be reminded of his connection to you when he’s in the area, not the gathering over all. I don’t like the phrase kill them with kindness, but that’s what you’re doing here. This doesn’t work every time; some people are clueless, but my childhood bully stopped harassing me after I tried this. Give it a shot, and let me know how it goes.

Ready to start Book One,

Condor

Sunday, June 12, 2022

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 9, 2398

They teleported into the portal just as the time hit midnight, which they hoped would confuse the jump enough to send them where they wanted to go. This way they didn’t have to wait an entire year for something to go wrong with the reality hopper, and extraction mirror. It wasn’t the perfect situation, because it meant they couldn’t use the friend detector in tandem, but if the pattern held, either Marie or Olimpia would be waiting for them in The Third Rail. Neither Omega nor his partner, Valencia had any idea what it was, or what they would find there. Way out here in intergalactic space, there wasn’t anything to do but try to survive. It hadn’t even occurred to them to travel to other realities. They didn’t have much time to discuss it either way; Team Matic just needed to take a leap of faith.
Immediately, Mateo felt differently. He felt more normal; like he did when he was first alive. As for the jump itself, it wasn’t as jarring as the other ones. They all just landed softly on the ground in a big empty parking lot, and began to look around for clues. They were somewhere in a city that looked strikingly similar to early 21st century Earth. His initial thought was that it didn’t work, and they just went through the mirror to the past in the main sequence, but there wasn’t anyone here to extract, so that was unlikely.
“Spread out,” Leona ordered, “but don’t go too far. Let’s just figure out where we are first. Rendezvous point is that corner over there.”
“Do you feel that?” Mateo whispered to her. “That is, do you not feel it?”
“I do. We’re not connected anymore. Our superempathy is gone. That is not a good sign, I’m not gonna lie.”
“Guys?” Ramses asked before anyone else could walk too far from the group. “I recognize this from history class. I feel like it was in San Francisco?”
Leona walked over there, because she could no longer teleport either. A large structure could now be seen between the trees. “No, you’re thinking of the Coit Tower. We have one like that too. It’s the National World War I Museum and Memorial. This is Kansas City, and it’s not midnight. Though, you wouldn’t know it by my watch, which is not working.”
“Where can we go to get help?” Angela asked. “Where would one go?”
“The Salmon Civic Center,” Leona answered. “We’re probably a few miles away, assuming we’re in the right time period. Since I’m sure you’ve all realized by now that we can’t teleport, we’ll have to walk.”
“Poor you!” shouted a voice from a few meters away. “Walking, like a bunch of mortals! No beaming up here!”
“I’m sorry, sir, are you a traveler?” Leona asked.
“Yes, Captain, I am from the U.S.S. Enterprise. Reporting for duty. Beep boop, beep boop boop.”
“The robot is from Star Wars,” Mateo corrected.
“Whatever, nerd.” He started to walk away with his friends. “Don’t cross the streams!”
“I don’t think he’s one of us,” Angela pointed out.
They started their walk too.
“Anything on the friend detector?” Mateo asked Ramses.
“Dead silence, which doesn’t surprise me. Powers and time tech don’t work here at all, which worries me. This place is...”
“Wrong?” Mateo suggested.
Unsettling, I was gonna say, but that too.”
The walk shouldn’t have been so hard with their new bodies, but they were quite quickly exhausted and hungry. Fortunately, they were headed towards Allen and Richard’s restaurant, and if they found it didn’t exist in this reality, they would find somewhere to eat. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any money. Mateo’s magical wallet was completely empty, the pocket dimension inside of it probably having been destroyed when they came here.
That first group of bullies weren’t the only people they encountered that looked at them funny. Everyone was wearing tee-shirts, jeans, slacks, business suits, dresses, and pant suits. Their crew uniforms stood out here more than anywhere they had ever been. They were going to have to find some new clothes too. There was a slight chance they could remedy this soon. While Téa Stendahl’s clothing shop was technically located in The Hub on Tribulation Island, a branch sometimes reached all the way back to Earth in the Bran safehouse on the top floor of the Ponce de Leon condominiums. If such an intergalactic branch existed before whatever destroyed time tech happened, maybe that branch was simply severed, instead of retracted. Some of the clothes might still be in the safehouse. Mateo didn’t like their odds, though.
Around an hour later, they were at the spot. Richard and Allen’s restaurant had two sides to it. One was located on the inside of a secret little mall, where one could also find the club, the post office, the forger’s den, the bank, and a few other things. The outside, however, was accessible to the public, and should be right around—nope, not here. They were beginning to think this reality was generated through some other means besides a recognizable point of divergence. It may have resembled some point in history, but it wasn’t historically similar. They may not be able to find anyone to help them here.
“Excuse me, could you tell me the date?” Ramses asked a random passerby.
“It’s April 9,” she replied.
“And...the...?”
“You wanna ask me the year? Jesus, it’s 2398, cosplayer.”
“Is that a joke?”
She took out her phone, and showed them her homescream. April 9, 2398. Where the hell were they?
“Thank you,” Ramses said, politely, but with a frown. “There’s something very wrong with this reality. I’m starting to understand why we’ve all been warned never to come here. We may be stuck forever.”
“It’s not so bad,” came a familiar voice from behind them.
They turned around to find Marie, holding a bag of clothing in each hand. She didn’t seem surprised to see them, but relieved. They rushed over to her to engage in a group hug. “I can’t believe we found you,” Leona said happily. “You could have been in China, for all we knew.”
“Nah, I stayed around,” Marie explained. “I bet we had the same idea, to look for help in the Civic Center. It’s not there, by the way, nothing is. Someone was living in the Bran safehouse too, but I saved up enough money, and convinced them to sell a couple of years later.”
“A couple of years?” Ramses questioned. “How long have you been here?”
“Since 2394,” she replied. “Realtime. No time jumping here.”
“Do you know why?” Mateo asked her.
“Nope. Don’t know how I could find out. There aren’t any other travelers. This place is clean. I imagine that’s the point.”
“It also explains what’s happened with the technology here,” Leona said. “Without travelers, advancement slows. It doesn’t halt; we didn’t build the pyramids, or anything, but our people have contributed in small ways, and that adds up.”
“That’s basically what I surmised,” Marie agreed, “though I first died in the 19th century, so I’m not cognizant of very much of our secret history.” She looked from each face to the next. “Where’s Olimpia?”
“We don’t know yet,” Mateo told her. “There was a pattern forming, with each of us showing up a year after the one before, in another reality. As it turns out, you were sent to the past, so...Olimpia could be anywhere and anywhen.”
Marie frowned sadly. “Oh.” There was silence for a moment. “Well, you can stay with me, it’s a pretty large unit. We’ll figure something out later, and we’ll do it together...at last.”
“So, we’re not gonna jump to 2399 at the end of the day?” Mateo asked as they were walking across the street, towards the park.
“I don’t think so,” Leona answered.
“You’re not,” Marie clarified with a high level of certainty.
“Mateo and I might,” Leona said.
“I sincerely doubt it,” Marie contradicts. “I’ll give you a million dollars if you do.”
“Is that hyperbole, or do you have that?” Ramses asked. There was still a little bit of capitalism in his soul that came out every once in a while. He was indoctrinated into the belief and trust in it from birth, and that was not something that could just be cured, or surgically removed.
“Oh, I have it,” Marie said. “No powers, no pattern, no time tech, but I retained all of the skills we picked up in the afterlife simulation over the centuries. I can get any job I want. So could you, Angie.”
“I’m sorry you were alone,” Angela finally said something after reuniting with her alternate self.
“I’m not alone,” Marie contended sharply, and without elaboration.
When they arrived at the Bran safehouse—which surely shouldn’t be called that in this version of Kansas City—they discovered what she meant by that. A man was waiting for her in the kitchen, preparing them a meal. “Is this them?” he asked, unsurprised.
Marie smiled. “It is, they finally showed up.”
He wiped his hand on a towel, and shook theirs consecutively. “Very nice to finally meet you—there are supposed to be five,” he said to Marie.
“One’s still missing,” Marie said.
“Ah, I’m sorry to hear that, but at least you’re here, and that’s a start. Forgive me, I’m Heath Walton.”
They all looked at Marie, who snickered. “It’s a coincidence, but...I admit, it may be what drew me to him. Don’t worry, we confirmed that we’re not related. Though a version of me does appear to have existed long ago.”
“I’m glad you skipped over that time.” They nuzzled each other, and then kissed passionately, but comfortably. They had obviously been together for a while.
“Are you married?” Angela asked.
“We are,” Marie answered her. “We’re very happy.”
“How did you two meet, and how did you broach the subject of where you’re from?” Angela pressed.
The lovebirds looked at each other like they knew something special, which they probably did. “Do you want to tell it?” Marie asked.
“You better start,” Heath answered.
She giggled.
“Sorry, we’ve just never been able to tell this story before,” Heath added before it began.
“Well, when I first landed in this reality, I assumed that I had traveled through time. But that was fine, because I knew you all would be showing up soon. I was in the middle of a parking lot, though, and I felt very exposed, so I walked over to a building that had some stairs going down to the basement, or whatever. I sat there and waited. I waited for hours before another soul came by. It was Sunday, and he told me this wasn’t a good place to panhandle. I told him I was waiting for some friends, but he didn’t believe me, so he handed me twenty bucks. I couldn’t leave to go spend it, so he decided to go buy me a sandwich. I was dressed like a spaceman, of course, so he must have thought that I was just crazy. That food gave me enough energy to spend the night, so that’s what I did. Come morning, a couple of people who worked at that building didn’t take kindly to my being there, so they called the cops, who tried to remove me from the premises.”
“We’re so sorry,” Leona said.
“It’s not your fault. I don’t even blame Dalton anymore. It feels like destiny now. I admit, it was rough that first night, but then Heath found me.”
“How?” Ramses asked.
“Well,” Heath began, “my nephew came over, and started telling us a story about how a lady appeared out of nowhere in the parking lot. He was the only one who noticed and he was, uhh...eight at the time, so nobody believed him. He’s always had such a great imagination, and everyone assumed he was starting to realize that about himself, and make up stories on purpose. I don’t know if I fully believed him either, but he saw someone in that lot, and I just had this feeling that she needed help. I went out there looking, not thinking she would still be there, but I could see a ridiculous number of cop cars out there, and figured it had to have something to do with it.”
“He waltzed right through them and demanded they release me into his custody. He said I was his unwell sister, and thanked them for finding her. They still wanted to take me to a facility, but he insisted. He was so brave.”
Heath laughed. “I wouldn’t call it brave, but when your skin is even this dark, it can cause problems.”
“In the late 24th century?” Mateo questioned.
“Yeah, I think we’ve developed slowly in many ways,” Heath proposed.
“Anyway, I didn’t want to leave, but there was no other way,” Marie continued. “Now we know that you didn’t show up that day either, but we had always worried we missed that small window, because we had a couple years covered since then.”
“What do you mean?” Angela asked.
“I bought a camera,” Heath answered. At night, I snuck over there, shimmied up a lamppost, and attached it to the top. We could see the whole lot where Marie first showed up, and more. We kept an eye on the feed for a long time before somebody noticed it, and took it down.”
“By then,” Marie went on, “I had basically given up. I mean, it had been years, so we didn’t try to put another camera up. I’m glad I ran into you. I should have thought to always check on the days that fall on our pattern.” She shook her head. “So stupid.”
“Again,” Leona said, “we’re so sorry. Fault or no, Heath or no, I feel bad.”
“We need to put that camera back up,” Angela determined, “just in case Olimpia does happen to show up. And hell, maybe every traveler who gets stuck here comes in at the same place. It would be prudent to keep an eye out for them.”
“I can rig something up that will be virtually invisible,” Ramses offered. “You’ll be able to see it if you’re looking right at it, but it should be rather concealed. We could put one up on every lamppost.”
“Okay,” Marie agreed. “For now, Heath, we’ll refrigerate our planned dish for tonight. We’re goin’ out to celebrate; my treat. You should get changed, though.”

Friday, May 20, 2022

Microstory 1890: Forced Pair

I was one of two new kids when my family moved to a new town for my fourth year of primary school. I was nervous about fitting in, but I had no idea how difficult it would be. The other kid was—for lack of a more reasonable term—weird. He wore baggy pants, tight shirts, and a baseball cap that was missing the bill. He had a strange way about him, and didn’t seem to understand topical references. I was more or less normal. Quiet but responsive; capable of smiling, but not overly bubbly. I should have found a group of friends, and done so sooner than later. Probably because the teacher sat the two of us next to each other, everybody got it in their heads that we were friends. I didn’t know him, we had never met, and we didn’t hang out, but they started calling us inseparable. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t break free from this total misunderstanding. I suppose I could have tried harder, but that would have required me to say mean things about him, and I didn’t want to do that. He was an odd duck, but he was gentle, and polite, and he didn’t deserve the ridicule. So I eventually let it go, and decided things would get better when I was older. We were bound to be placed in a different class the next year, and it would go away on its own. I don’t know if the school caught wind of the rumor, or what, but that’s not what happened. It would seem that we were stuck together, so if my social life was going to be entirely dependent on this one person, I figured I might as well get to know him. At least I would have someone to talk to.

When asked about it, he would tell people that the cap was for religious reasons. They still thought it was funny, but it stopped them from messing around with it for fear of being labeled bigots. The truth was his parents were conspiracy theorists, though they would never use this term; they considered themselves believers. In particular, they believed in aliens, telepathy, and telepathic aliens. They didn’t want nefarious forces to read their minds, and they were under the impression that this special headwear could protect them from the brain scanners. The inside was lined with aluminum, which is a trick I recalled having heard of. But those were usually crude and cheap-looking. His was smooth and well-tailored; his parents had put some real time into constructing them. He wasn’t sure he believed in all that stuff, but he didn’t want to upset them, so he did as he was asked. We remained friends over the years, though we had to contrive common interests at first. Eventually we formed a genuine relationship, and I found myself feeling grateful that we met, and that the universe worked so hard to pair us up, as unlikely as it seemed at first. We went to college at an institution distant enough to allow him to stop wearing his hat, and it was there that we learned better how to blend in with the crowd. We found new friends, and our lives were good. There was never anything romantic between us, but there was a strong financial connection. We both wanted to be super rich, and to be in charge of a company. But what could we do? What were we experts on? Aluminum foil hats? I know it sounds crazy, but yes! We adapted the misguided paranoia into a lucrative business. You see, while mind-reading isn’t real, electronic scanners are, and as the world was becoming more and more reliant on digital technology, customers needed a way to protect their data. They can do this using signal-blocking material. We hold a number of patents for techniques that make this technology work. So even if customers don’t buy directly from us, we still make money off of nearly every sale. Who’s laughing now?

Friday, November 12, 2021

Microstory 1755: A Man Named Monoceros

Yes, Monoceros is my real name. Yes, it’s—more or less—the same as a unicorn, which is why that’s my twin sister’s name. No, my parents were not on drugs when they had us. No, I’ve never thought about changing it, and neither has my sister. It’s not even the most interesting thing about us, but it is related. Something went wrong while we were developing in the womb, which made both of us come out with slight protrusions on our heads, reminiscent of a one-horned animal. This protrusion lessened in my sister over time, which is kind of a ripoff, because hers is already a pretty name that people don’t make fun of very much. Mine is still here. In fact, I would say it’s larger, but my parents disagree, and say that my whole head is obviously just larger than it was when I was a baby. I’ve tried to wear an afro to cover it up, but that doesn’t look great on me, and kids would just make fun of that instead. The teasing and bullying got to be so bad that we left the area completely. The same people who gave us these unusual names actually packed everything up, and moved us across state lines just so I could start over with a new strategy. I can’t figure them out either. Perhaps they secretly regret giving us such insensitive names, and have since tried to become better people. This time, they spoke with the principal before the start of my sophomore year, and told her what my situation was. Not only did she have the advantage of being able to get ahead of the bullying before it ever happened, she proved herself to be kinder, and better equipped to handle someone like me. My sister was a little in love with her because of how good she was to me, but don’t worry. This isn’t a sad or disturbing story. I might even call it uplifting.

So what did I do to keep anyone from finding out what my head looked like? I wore a hat, and I claimed it was for religious purposes. My sister wore a variation of the same design to sell the lie. All of the faculty and staff were told this as well so that only the principal knew the whole truth. People get really skittish about religion, so they didn’t question me. Occasionally, a substitute teacher would take their opportunity to yell at me for it, but there was always at least one student in the class who defended me, and called them a bigot. That usually shut them down right quick. Even with those heroes, the kids at my new high school were generally about as mean to each other as they are anywhere. Some of them teased me anyway, because my name was still Monoceros, but a lot of them thought it sounded badass, so it evened out. One girl in particular said she liked it. On my first day, before everyone had learned about my fake religious hat, she called out a group of boys who were mocking me. She didn’t know anything about me, but she instantly showed compassion, and I think I fell in love in that very moment. She was so popular, but for all the right reasons, because she was nice, so people left me alone if they were worried about displeasing her. I know, this story sounds familiar. The awkward kid falls for the hottest girl in school, and they end up together, because they end up having a lot in common. Well, that’s not what happened. We went out on what turned out to be a platonic date, and I professed my feelings. She let me down easy, and told me that she just wanted to be friends. As you can see, we’ve stayed close all these years, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s married now, and so am I. She was the one who convinced me to take off my hat forever, and be confident in myself—to be confident as myself. So what about you? How do you two know each other?

Monday, March 29, 2021

Microstory 1591: Everybody Knows

Prompt
I walk into the warehouse and discover that everyone I have ever known is here...

Botner
...okay, not everyone. All those children that died are haunting me...some are still alive but more haunting than others. I am screaming again, running around and kicking and screaming like a wild animal. But no matter what I do, I am only making myself even more nervous. Every time I scream, I can feel the sharp pains in my body...my bones...my muscles. Every time I try to touch anyone, I only end up hurting myself. “MOOOOMMM!” I scream, standing in front of an old woman wearing a black shirt with blood stains all over it. I run into the woman and sit down on the ground next to her, too scared to cry. I stare at the woman for a long time. I don’t know what is going on, but it looks like she doesn’t want me to scream anymore. “Mommy!” I scream.

“Listen to me. You will find out what you are. But it won’t be easy...I know this,” the woman said. I look at her as she stands up and starts walking away.

“I don’t want to know what I am, mommy...” I say quietly. The woman stops and looks back.

Conclusion
“I am not your mommy.”

She leaves the warehouse, but there are still plenty of people here with me, and they all frighten me. I never realized how comforting I found it to leave all the people I’ve met behind. My elementary school bully, my middle school girlfriend, and the famous second baseman who once signed my baseball, are all in the middle of what must be an uncomfortable conversation. My high school science teacher, and the doctor who delivered me are talking too. I don’t know that I would say I ever really met my doctor, but who knows what kind of weird robot aliens from the future are in control of this, or what their rules are. I never thought I would have to see these people again, and I never wanted to, even those I liked. It’s just weird, they’re supposed to stay in the past. Everyone is pretty much ignoring me. I’m not invisible, but they don’t seem all that interested in asking questions of the man who ties them all together. They don’t want to know why me, or what they’re supposed to be doing, or what’s going to happen. Finally, a young woman walks up to me. I babysat her once a few years ago because there was an emergency at the hospital where both her parents worked, and it was too short notice to get a real sitter. “So,” she begins, “how do you know Mary?”

“Mary? Mary who?” I don’t know a Mary.

“Mary, silly,” she repeats. “Everybody knows Mary. She’s why we’re all here.”

Mary? I look around again, and realize that that’s not my bully, or my girlfriend, or my science teacher. That could be my doctor, for all I know, but I think I only saw his profile picture once. That’s definitely the second baseman, but he probably wouldn’t remember me. And this girl here? I don’t recognize her at all, I was mistaken. I was mistaken about all of these people. They’re all strangers, and none of them is here for me, I have nothing to do with it. A woman appears up on the balcony, and looks over the crowd. She’s shocked, and as frightened of everyone as I was when I first showed up. Oh, that’s Mary. Yeah, I guess I do know her. We met at a bar once, and had a nice conversation, but she rejected my advances. I guess I never bothered to catch her name.

Friday, November 20, 2020

Microstory 1500: Introduction to Poems

I’m not much of a poet. I wrote several of them in college for my Tumblr, and I can only hope that they were taken down at some point, because I lost my account information, no longer have the email address that was attached to it, and don’t even remember the web address. For as much as I call this a short fiction website, it is a creative writing website. I use a variety of formats, many of which one might call experimental. I’ve done all perspectives, most tenses, blocked dialog, nonfiction, fables, adapted dreams, and even fake news stories. A lot of my work can’t even be considered stories. They’re more anecdotal, where I give a run-down of the things that happened, while avoiding a beginning, middle, and end. Some are part of a series, while others stand alone. I have an ongoing series that I’ve posted pretty much every Sunday since 2015, and associated longer-form multiseries and single series that run on Saturdays. I’ve done everything else that fits in a blog format, so of course I have to do poetry. I don’t know how this is going to go, and I’m really nervous about it. If someone doesn’t like my regular fiction, I can generally take the criticism. When they say the flow is choppy, or the climax was anticlimactic, I can see where they’re coming from. But I don’t know what a good poem looks like, and I certainly don’t know how to replicate that magic. I’ve been through a lot of crap in my life—mostly when it comes to education and employment—but I’ve always had food on the table, a good family, and I’ve never experienced true emotional trauma. I also have shockingly bad memory, annoyingly so.

Several months ago, my dad was telling me about some bullies I had in middle school. I knew they existed, but I don’t really remember the things that they did to me; and not because my fragile mind blocked them out, but because that was all two decades ago, and it’s not important anymore. So if I don’t feel so much pain and strife—if I’ve never been a starving artist, or a soldier, or a victim, or a survivor, what can I say? I can absolutely put my feelings into words, but that’s not what poetry is, is it? Poetry is twisting those words until they become new words on the other side, so when someone tries to translate them back, they become less obvious, and more up to interpretation. How can I hope to move you with the poetry of my life if I don’t even think my own life moves me? Well, if everyone felt like Emily Dickinson, or Edgar Allan Poe, then I suppose everyone would be a poet. The only people who do poetry are probably the only people who should be doing it. So where does that leave me? With the compulsion to do it anyway, even if I don’t belong in this world. But again, how could I possibly accomplish this when I don’t really even have anything to say? I’ve realized that I’ve never had much to say before, but that hasn’t stopped me yet. A lot of writers use fiction to express their ideas, but I usually go a different direction. I use fiction to express other people’s ideas, to tell other people’s stories. I don’t see any reason I can’t do that here too. So as you’re reading this poetry, be gentle with your criticisms, because I’m a newbie, and none of these is from my true self anyway.

Wednesday, June 17, 2020

Microstory 1388: Bullies

School Counselor: Middle Schooler 1, do you have any idea why you two were brought in to see me today?
Middle Schooler 1: Because he’s bullying me.
School Counselor: No, because you’re bullying him.
Middle Schooler 1: He started it!
Middle Schooler 2: No, I didn’t!
School Counselor: What did Middle Schooler 2 do to you, Middle Schooler 1?
Middle Schooler 1: He stabbed me with a candy cane.
School Counselor: He what?
Middle Schooler 2: Oh, it wasn’t that big of a deal.
Middle Schooler 1: He sucked on it until one end was sharp, and then he stabbed me in the arm.
School Counselor: Is this true, Middle Schooler 2?
Middle Schooler 2: Wull...I guess.
School Counselor: Middle Schooler 1, why didn’t you report him to the principal?
Middle Schooler 1: Because I’m not a whiny little baby like him!
School Counselor: Now, you know we don’t call people names at this institution.
Middle Schooler 1: Whatever.
School Counselor: Did he break the skin? Do you need to go to the nurse?
Middle Schooler 1: No, I’m fine. But that doesn’t mean it’s okay.
School Counselor: Of course it’s not. Middle Schooler 2? You know what you have to do.
Middle Schooler 2: I’m sorry, Middle Schooler 1. Ugh.
School Counselor: That didn’t sound like a very sincere apology.
Middle Schooler 2: Well, he hasn’t apologized to me either!
School Counselor: That’s true. Why don’t you two apologize to each other at the exact same time. Okay? One...two...three.
Middle Schooler 1 and Middle Schooler 2: I’m sorry.
School Counselor: That was very good. Now. Let’s talk about why you two are so upset with each other.
Middle Schooler 2: He cheated off me on our homework. I know I shouldn’t have stabbed him, but it was annoying.
Middle Schooler 1: I wasn’t cheating. We were doing homework together.
Middle Schooler 2: Yes, but you weren’t supposed to just copy what I wrote. You were supposed to come up with the answers yourself.
Middle Schooler 1: No, we were working together.
Middle Schooler 2: You said you wanted to work together, but then you just had me do it myself, and copy it later. I didn’t even realize I did all the work until it was all finished. You tricked me.
Middle Schooler 1: I didn’t trick you. You’re smarter, so you finished it faster.
Middle Schooler 2: Don’t try to say nice things to me to get out of being in trouble. He’s still in trouble, right?
School Counselor: Neither of you is in trouble. You’re here to work this out, and I think you two are doing a pretty good job on your own, so I’m going to sit here with a game of sudoku, and let you keep going. I don’t want you to stop talking until you’re friends again, okay?
Middle Schooler 1 and Middle Schooler 2: Okay.

Wednesday, February 6, 2019

Microstory 1033: Warren

I was always a very gullible child, and it’s something I’m proud to be over now. Any number of factors went into me having severe trust issues; some of it probably genetic, but most of it had to do with how I was raised. I was born to an incredibly loving family, but I was also very sheltered. My family didn’t ever want to worry me, or disappoint me, so they just held onto every lie they thought would make me feel better. I was in double digits before a classmate callously, but methodically, explained to me how it would be physically impossible for Santa Claus to exist. I once missed an entire week of school because someone told me the government came up with a new holiday that lasted for six days. Conversely, I’ve come in to school on an embarrassing number of Saturdays. Still my parents skirted the issue, and didn’t try to do anything to help me get past this huge character flaw. I am nearing high school graduation, and I would not have been prepared for the real world if not for Viola. The worst thing that I ever let happen to me was the day after the end of middle school. I was walking my dog around Master Creek when I ran into a couple of kids from school who were acutely aware of my naïveté. You may think it’s bad that you can’t maintain healthy relationships, because some trauma has caused you to be too suspicious of others, but try having the exact opposite problem. Trust me, mine was worse. You don’t know what bad is. These kids convinced me that they found plants that were a special kind of lettuce that was genetically combined with sugar cane, which made it sweet. Well, I think you know where this is going. The plant turned out to be poison sumac. Don’t blame the kids, though. Both of them had experienced rashes on their skin before, and knew how easy it was to treat. What they didn’t realize is how much worse it can be for certain others, and when ingested.

They freaked out, but did the right thing, by calling emergency services, and getting me to a hospital. As you can see, I survived, and though I wouldn’t recommend it, I’m better than I ever was. Other than the bullies—who grew up to be two of the most generous and kind people you’ll ever meet, in part thanks to the horror they were responsible for—one other classmate came to visit me in the hospital. Yes, it was Viola Woods. She had heard what happened, and seemed to have some drive to keep it from happening ever again. She was perfectly normal when she walked into the room, but my mother thought one or both of us had a crush on the other, and wanted to give us some privacy. That was when Viola changed. She started breathing very deliberately and deeply. She shut her eyes on every exhale, and stared into mine with each exhale. Once she had completed her preparations, she placed her hands under my neck, and spoke. She gently, but firmly, ordered me to be more careful. She told me that some people can be trusted some of the time, but no one can be trusted all of the time. She told me to educate myself in a number of subjects, so that when I hear fake news—yeah, she used the term long before it became a political buzzword—I know how to debunk it. It may seem silly, but everything changed for me that day. I swear to God, I could literally feel my brain rewiring itself, absorbing all of her instructions as irrefutable. This was just advice, I cannot go against her commands. The last thing she did was give me a peck on the lips, which immediately relieved me of the pain the poison had caused. Then we never spoke again. I don’t know what she is, but she couldn’t be quite human. I’m not even convinced she’s really dead, because I don’t trust the people who are telling us that.

Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Microstory 667: A Weak Man Made Strong

Vilis Samuels was bullied as a child. He struggled in most of his classes, but had a fascination with history of the old world. He wasn’t the only one. We’re all very sad to say, but over the years, some of us have longed for the days when we were under the rule of the dirty communists. These defectors believe the communists to be all about equality and contentment, when really, they’re all about control. Of course these twisted thoughts would make people like Vilis outsiders wherever they went in the galaxy. Many succumb to their bad thoughts, and end up trying to return from whence we came. Vilis never likely gave up his childhood fantasies, but he did grow up to use his love of Lactea in the best way he could find, which was to help covertly keep track of their movements. What some people may not know is that, in order to maintain our secrecy against the Lacteans, we have to know what they’ve been up to. One of the longest-lasting organizations has been secretly returning to the old world, and reporting back. Vilis does not go on these missions, for it would be too dangerous to let him anywhere near people he may yet admire. It’s his responsibility to handle the reports from the agents in the field, making sure they’re filed correctly, and escalating any issues that may threaten our people. He is really just a clerk, and has never made much of an impression on anyone else. Upon watching the bulletin from the new Warriors of Mercy, however, he suddenly felt a surge of energy. This new power was physical, yes, with his muscles far exceeding the strength he had ever had before, but it was also more. Vilis became confident and self-assured, no longer allowing anyone to talk down to him. He demanded a promotion to field agent, which his superiors were helpless to decline. He’s lost his love of Lactea, and is shaping up to be one of the best intelligence agents the galaxy has ever seen. Only time will tell what comes of Vilis Samuels, but one thing we know from him, is that he never wants to be that same weak man he was before.

Thursday, January 19, 2017

Microstory 499: Champion

The Champion is very physically strong, and is often underestimated as nothing but a brute. He is, however, very soft-spoken and intelligent. He is skeptical of his own ability, though, and requires a lot of encouragement from others. He has no fear, and will try anything for its own sake. He will come up with many ideas during a brainstorm, and always needs someone else there to determine which ones are viable. He was bullied as a child, which caused him to overcompensate with his physique. One thing he didn’t take from his experiences is a bad attitude. It’s not that he doesn’t understand how grave the situation is, but he doesn’t see the point in dwelling over their problems, because he doesn’t think that’s going to help. He recognizes the devastation, so he doesn’t dismiss it, but he is also the first to see it as an opportunity. The galaxy has, up until that point, been massively divided. Perhaps now, they can learn to come together, and find solutions to their disagreements, so that everyone can find happiness. His primary goal in life is to work for other people. This does not mean literally, like he’s a born servant. He just feels more comfortable providing support for others, and picking up the slack when they’re drained, inadequate, or otherwise preoccupied. The Champion is always looking for the good in people, and this can sometimes get him in trouble, because if he doesn’t find it, he will fabricate it. He has an unreasonable desire to make everything perfect for everyone, and will not allow any sort of friction. Some disagreement is healthy for a group to function effectively, but it can be hard for him to accept this. You can always count on the Champion to have your back. You’re going to have to be prepared for him to have your opponent’s back too, though.

Thursday, July 28, 2016

Microstory 374: Guilty Pleasures

Click here for a list of every step.

I never liked the concept of guilty pleasures. Way I see it, if you like something, then you should either be proud of it, or you should stop. Really think about whether you should stop something. If you like little children, then yes, you should most definitely stop. If you’re an adult man, and you like My Little Pony, then only maybe should you stop. If you’re an adult straight man and you like the ballet, then no, you should not stop. I have a wide range of interests. I like writing, adventure sports, photography, pre-hospital medicine, musicals, urban fantasy romance novels, alternative rock, hiking, the opera, disco, dancing, and singing. I watch The Vampire Diaries, Project Runway, Jason Statham movies, YouTube documentaries on how to science, and just about anything else that isn’t sports, most scripted reality television, or the news. So when I say that an individual has a right to their guilty pleasures, what I really mean is that they have a right to like what they like. I heard a quote—from a television show, of course (Necessary Roughness)—which I actually believe to be a modern proverb, or maybe an aphorism. I can’t remember what they were talking about, but she said “don’t yuck my yum”. Our culture has had a long history on pissing on everybody else’s interests. These range from genocide of those belonging to a particular religion, to being harassed for playing Dungeons and Dragons. If any youngsters are reading this then first, I hope you didn’t read the one about sex I did the other day. But I also want to say that school life is total bullshit. I was picked on a lot when I was your age, I think. I don’t quite remember, because who cares? None of those people matters to me these days, and I always knew that. I never knew I would end up like this, that I wouldn’t be as successful as I wanted, but I did know that life goes so far beyond the playground. I assimilated a little when I was very young, but I eventually got over that. Let no one tell you that you’re not supposed to like what you like. You are just fine as is.

Luxury

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Microstory 127: Baldwin Grant


When Baldwin Grant was in tertiary school, he came under the rage of a bully. The bully would torture him both physically and emotionally, but he was always careful to never leave a mark, or any other proof that anything had happened. He was always so nice to everyone else, so no one believed Baldwin when he made his accusations. Baldwin’s anger over the matter seethed in his mind, and he formulated a plan. He had always hesitated to use his ability because of the ramifications for the spacetime continuum. There was no telling what could happen after one of his jumps, but the bully problem had developed beyond any other choice. With the help of his little sister, he discovered that he could take other people into the past with him if he so chose, and it was this feature that allowed his plan to work. One day, in the middle of class, he stood up from his seat, walked over to his bully, and just began beating him ruthlessly. The teacher and the other students eventually managed to pull him off, but the damage was done. Baldwin smiled and threw his consciousness back in time to the moment just before standing up, taking only his tormentor with him. All of the sudden, the bully jumped out of his seat and started freaking out, claiming that Baldwin had just attacked him. Unfortunately for him, from the perspective of everyone else, that never happened. Only he and Baldwin had any memory of the event. The bully never went back to school, but stayed home to learn by private tutor while receiving counseling and psychological treatments.

Baldwin continued to hone his skills and study his limitations. He could only experience a span of time twice at the most. If he went back one minute, and then waited for two minutes, then he could only go back one minute at the most, because he had just hit his wall. He would never be able to go back to an earlier moment in his life and alter some older decision. He could, however, send his consciousness to witness an alternate reality that would have sprung from that altered decision, allowing him to see what might have been. When Baldwin’s former school bully, Gregory Schuster caught up with him many years later, he thanked him; not for the beating, but for opening his eyes to his inner demons. Older and wiser, the two of them became incredibly close friends. Together, they opened up a private practice and used the second part of his ability to help people understand their mistakes, and put their pasts behind them so that they could find peace and move on. Baldwin would go on to become a mentor for Verner Holt in his own goal of helping people.

Thursday, July 30, 2015

Microstory 114: Persius Xylander


Persius ‘Percy’ Xylander’s ability might have been the most unusual one on a practical level. When he was nine years old, a group of bullies dared/forced him to eat a bullet cartridge they had found in the alley on their way home from school. In order to freak them out even more, he chose to not only swallow the cartridge, but to also chew it. They were horrified by this and a few ran away, but others were frozen. He swallowed and smiled, showing them the metal shards that were stuck between his teeth. He continued to taunt them by rabidly grabbing their backpacks, gnawing them to shreds, and swallowing the pieces. After he was finished with his meal, he wrenched back and threw up on a fence nearby. His vomit burned a large hole in the wood in a matter of seconds. All but one of the remaining bullies finally found the strength to escape. A boy named Blaise was fascinated by Percy’s ability, so he stayed behind, and they became fast friends. He was a bit of a science geek, so he performed experiments on Percy. As they grew older and bolder, the experiments became more dangerous. Blaise ultimately became a medical technician, primarily to gain access to hospital facilities. They continued to run their tests, even one time performing invasive surgery in a hospital wing that was under construction. They discovered that all of his bones, including his teeth, were made of a powerful type of carbon fiber that was somehow capable of healing itself. His skin and muscles were just as susceptible to injury, but he was still stronger and faster than the average human. His stomach produced an incredibly potent type of acid that was able to break down virtually anything, allowing Percy to consume normally unsafe materials. Both of them joined Bellevue when the time came. Blaise worked on the medical team, most of whom were normal people. Percy used his flair for the dramatic to go out in the field as a recruiter, working with Bernard Maly and one other.