Microstory 1885: Put on Ice

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Yesterday morning, I was walking my cat by the frozen river. Yes, I walk my cat. I know it’s weird, but he likes it, and I like it, so I don’t owe you an explanation. That’s not the point anyway. This is a story about how I nearly succumbed to death, and how that would have been okay, because I still would have saved a life in the process. The trail doesn’t run exactly parallel to the river—it bends away at places, to get around trees, and the like. As we were getting back towards it, I started hearing what I initially thought were birds. It was Buttons who heard it first, actually, he has such great hearing. I’m sure he knew right away that it was a human. Once I realized this myself, I dropped the leash, and left the trail. It was tough, getting through all the brambles and thorns, but I couldn’t wait until we got to a clearing, because then we would be too far upstream. Buttons followed me, he’s loyal too. Finally I reached the bank, and nearly slipped onto the ice myself, which may seem like it wouldn’t matter, because I was ending up out there anyway, but not right there. I discovered how unstable it was right there. I looked across, and saw a child on his stomach in the middle of the river. There was a rope swing nearby that kids use in the summer, so I assumed he came from that side. Irrelevant. He needed help, and there was no one else around, so I found my footing, and crawled out to retrieve him. I know now, you’re supposed to urge them to come to try to come to you, but he was so little. I tried talking to him, but he just kept crying. He wasn’t capable of meeting me halfway. Man, I wish I had been on that other side, though; then I could have thrown him the rope! Or maybe I would have tied it to myself, and been safer.

Well, crawling started feeling dangerous. I could hear the ice crack under my weight, so I decided to lie flat, and slide to him. I dug my fingernails into the top layer, hoping not to disrupt its integrity, and pulled myself closer little by little, ignoring the blood turning the snow red. He was facing away from me, so even though I kept talking to him, I didn’t think he knew I was on my way. Finally I was there. I took him in my arms, and together we kept going to the other side, because we weren’t exactly in the center. We were almost to the bank when the ice just fell out from under me. I held on as best I could, but the current was so strong underneath. The only thing I could do was push the boy forwards, and get him onto the ground. When he looked back, I told him to run for help, but it was too late. I was under. Another random citizen pulled my body out of the river more than twenty miles downstream, where the water was calmer, and not iced over. This was eleven hours later. He assumed that I was dead, but that didn’t stop him from beginning CPR, and having his niece call for help. The paramedics took over when they arrived, and my heart miraculously started beating again. I wasn’t conscious, but I was alive. They drove me to the hospital, where doctors continued treatment. I woke up several hours later, feeling terrible, but still alive. My family was all around me, crying because they thought they had lost me. They were all talking about how God saved me, and I don’t know about that, but I did feel lucky. My own niece was holding Buttons, having snuck him into the hospital in her purse. I was grateful that he was okay, but I told her to take him back home, because there are sick people here, and they don’t need any dirty animals. I was feeling tired just in time for visiting hours to be over, so I said goodbye to my family, and tried to get to sleep. But I never woke up.

Microstory 1865: True Security

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This is the dumbest story from my life. Maybe that’s not the right word for it. Silly, I suppose. It’s certainly not the kind of thing a person should be thinking about as they’re on the brink of death. A normal person wouldn’t, anyway. I was known in my day as someone with an excellent memory. I didn’t have any supernatural ability, or even a diagnosable condition, like hyperthymesia or an eidetic memory, but I was good. In particular, I never forgot a name, and I never forgot a face. So it was a little jarring when a random woman came up to me in the bread aisle of the grocery store, acting like we were old pals. As she started talking, I was thinking that maybe she was mistaking me for someone else. I hear that sort of thing happens to other people. But while the things she was talking about didn’t make any sense, she used enough keywords for me to think that maybe we did know each other somehow, and I started questioning my confidence in my amazing mental faculties. Maybe I forgot people and things all the time, but they never came up again, so I never had the chance to even realize it. Perhaps this woman was tapping into a weakness that I was too blind to see I had at all. Was she a witch? A god? Was she still talking? I couldn’t understand most of what she was saying, her lips were moving so fast. She didn’t have an accent from my perspective, and she wasn’t mumbling, it was just too fast. I wished I had a little remote that would let me slow her down. But the more I thought about it, the more I thought I would probably just mute her, or turn her off. I didn’t need to talk to this person, except maybe I did, because she knew me, and I needed to know how! Yes, I had a cat when I was a child. No, his name wasn’t Mittens, it was Buttons. My first car? I made one up, because I don’t drive.

I keep trying to listen to her, but then I really did get bored of the “conversation” and wished that I could simply walk away. If I were anywhere else, I might have been able to, but I had this cart full of food. She would probably follow me, and skip the milk this week just so she wouldn’t have to end our little one-sided chat. Of course, I could have left my cart, and proceeded right to the exit, but that would have looked so weird, and again, what if she really did know me, and she tracked me down, and tried to spark a friendship? What was that about my mother’s maiden name? I still couldn’t—oh my God, she’s a scam artist. This woman was trying to get my bank information to steal my identity. Keep in mind that this was in the early days of the internet, so people were still mining for information in the real world. It was still bizarre. Joke’s on her, because of my great memory, all of my security answers were fake. I don’t find it any more difficult to recall a food that isn’t my favorite than one that is. It’s tomatoes, by the way, but I told her pizza, because that’s a normal answer. Then I just keep leading her on with her stupid little questions. I met my spouse in a city I had never been too, and also, I’m not married. The name of my first celebrity crush is an actor that I hate. My astrological sign? Really? I’ve never even seen that question before, and I would never use it, because it’s too easy to find out. I don’t even bother lying to her about that one. She went through so many questions, finding clever ways to sprinkle them in, I was almost impressed. Once she was satisfied, she claimed she had to get going, and we parted ways. It wasn’t until I tried to pay that I discovered my wallet missing. I realized that she wasn’t only probing for security answers. She was also distracting me from a pickpocket.

Microstory 1862: Full Sets

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It wasn’t that big of a deal when I got started. Back then, we only had three channels, right? So people had to find other ways to entertain themselves. I mean, that sounds like people wished there could be more channels, so they wouldn’t be so bored all the time, but obviously no one was really thinking about that. They took up hobbies that people before them had done. Maybe it was the same old, same old, or maybe it was updated, but nothing is ever really new. It’s always just some kind of new sort of way of doing something that we’ve always done. I got really into collecting things. Our parents traveled a lot, leaving us to be raised mostly by my uncles. It wasn’t weird in those times for rich people to place their children in the hands of others. They didn’t want me and my siblings to get in the way, so we never went with them. Even once we were older, and didn’t need constant attention, we didn’t go on family vacations. In retrospect, my parents were kind of assholes. They were the ones who sent me down the path towards my dark and inescapable habits. They thought they were great, and it was true, we were so excited to see them whenever they finally did show up that we accepted whatever we could get. Ancient Greek coins? Parisian stamps? I’ll take ‘em. A magazine in a language I’ve never heard of, and will never be able to read? Yes, please. Toys, toys, and more toys; sign me up, please and thank you. We loved all the gifts, because they were coming from them, but we would have rather they had just been around more. I wish they could have raised me right, but I doubt they would have done a better job. That brings us to where we are today. My siblings ended up okay, but I never recovered. I took those coins, and those stamps, and those novelty toys, and based my life around them. I began to collect on my own, and like I was saying, it wasn’t a problem until it was a problem.

The word you’re looking for is hoarder. Some people become as such by not being able to get rid of things. They don’t deliberately order magazines just to stack them. They subscribe to a given periodical, and then just keep each one. I’m not like that. I am a discerning hoarder. I have a very particular compulsion. I don’t just want a whole bunch of cats, or even a whole bunch of dead cats. I want sets. I want every size of every color of a given series of highly absorbent towels. I want one of every item in a line of kitchenware from a certain brand. I don’t buy junk at random, and drop it all somewhere in my house. Each one has to belong, so I end up with a comprehensive—and truthfully, beautiful—collection to put on display. Because that’s the whole point, to showcase my collections to others. It’s not my fault that I don’t have a big enough place to do it right. If I lived in a mansion, you wouldn’t think any of this was weird. No, you would walk into my classic English literature room, and see my copy of Tarmides of Egypt, as well as all of his other works, along with his contemporaries. That’s what belongs there. And there’s a room for the stamps, and one for sports balls, and another for a generic license plate from every single unique region in the world, and so on, and so forth. That last one has always been my dream, I don’t actually have a complete set. If I did, I wouldn’t have the space for it, because I can’t afford that mansion. My parents were the ones who were rich, not me. So here I am in my wee little flat, where I look like a crazy person who’s oblivious to the state of her world. Whatever, my great-niece was telling me about haters, and that’s all people are. I regret nothing.

Microstory 1810: Justice Delayed

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I’m a killer. It’s not something that I wanted to be. When someone would ask me what I wanted to do when I grew up, I didn’t tell them that I was hoping to one day become a murderer, and almost get away with it. I never wanted it to happen, but it did, and I figured there was no point fretting over it. I couldn’t change the past, but I could move on with my life, and try to do some good with it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. You see, the woman I killed—and I won’t tell you why I did it, because it doesn’t matter anymore—had recently experienced relations with a man. That’s why not I killed her, before you get any ideas about jealousy. His connection to her was the only lead the cops had when they were running their investigation, and instead of looking into the truth, they just selected him as their one and only suspect. I’m not a cop. It’s not my job to confess to the crime I committed. I decided that I would let this play out, and accept my fate, whatever that was going to be. I wasn’t going to actively impede their investigation, but I wasn’t going to go out of my way to help them either. Even after the wrong man was convicted, I convinced myself that it wasn’t my fault. Again, it’s not my responsibility to put bad guys away, and leave the innocent alone. They screwed up, and it was all their fault. At least, that’s what I told myself. Subconsciously, I was a wreck. I already felt guilty about the murder itself, but now I had to contend with the fact that an innocent man was behind bars. I could not live with myself. It just kept getting worse by the day. I honestly believe I would have eventually turned myself in.

The wrongfully accused didn’t stop fighting. He insisted that he wasn’t even in the country at the time, and continued trying to prove his alibi. This was great, I thought; he was gonna go free, and they still had no evidence against me. It would turn into a cold case, and the whole thing would just go away on its own. That’s not what happened. They reopened the case, looked deeper into the clues, and finally found me. It’s actually what got that guy out of prison. They wouldn’t let him go until they knew who the perpetrator was, which I recognize is a ridiculous idea, and all those people should be fired for incompetence. I did as I promised, and accepted my punishment. They arrested me, put me through trial, and threw me in prison. I wasn’t in there long before I died, and that’s where things get interesting. What I haven’t told you is that I am voldisil. I have the ability to form profound connections with others. My cat is 34 years old (older than me), because I linked her to my lifeforce 21 years ago. She can’t die until I do, and neither can the man I let rot in prison for four months...unless something unavoidable happens to him. After I was imprisoned, he came to visit me, hoping to get some closure. I was moved by his words, and decided to give him a gift. He was in his late forties, which means he was maybe about halfway done with his life. In contrast, I was in my mid-twenties. Prison being what it is, I would probably die relatively young, but in the meantime, he would last so much longer. Sadly, my ability has its limits. He never got his life back on track, and he’s ended up living on the streets, where the cold can get him. I feel him more clearly now as the faux warmness overtakes our bodies. I’m grateful that, if he had to die, it was this way; quietly. If my cellmate could tell that something was wrong, they would be able to stop it. He would still die, but I wouldn’t. I wish he was going to live longer, but at least I don’t have to live with the guilt anymore.

Microstory 1629: Legend Has It

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Let’s get away from the depressing Darning War stories, and talk about something unrelated. I don’t want to say that this universe has nothing to do with the war—because sooner or later, the Ochivari find everyone—but the story itself will be about something else. This version of Earth only encountered one instance of time travel. One day, an underemployed twentysomething man living in his recently deceased grandmother’s house heard an explosion downstairs. His name was Legend, but he was anything but. He didn’t have any passions, or goals. He just went to work every day, and came home to his cat in the evening. It was his once grandmother’s cat, and it came with the house as a packaged deal. He was convinced it would outlive them all. When Legend went down to investigate the ruckus, the cat was just sitting in a chair on the back deck, having barely acknowledged the explosion in the kitchen. He didn’t expect her to run to his rescue, but it should have freaked her out. That thing could not be flapped. He crept around the corner, and looked in to find a naked woman about his age, brushing the dust off her skin. “Axel Quincy?” she presumed.

“Is that your name, errr...?”

“I thought you were Axel Quincy,” she said.

“Nope. Sorry. Wrong house. Never heard of him.” As it turned out, the woman was from the future, and desperately needed to find an engineering prodigy whose designs were this close to saving the world decades from now. He was destined to die sometime within the next two weeks, and only he could prevent disaster. He was unable to finish the plans for many of his inventions, and while the time traveler’s people were able to reverse engineer what they needed once the initial plans were discovered, they weren’t able to do so in time. They could have really benefited from having them already exist by the time any of them were even born. She had to find him, and save his life, so he could complete his work on his own, and be prepared to defend the planet against a terrible future. After a little sleuthing, they realized that the time machine had accidentally sent her to the wrong place. It wasn’t even the right country. She didn’t have any money, or a present-day identity, and she didn’t know how to drive, and she wasn’t familiar with the national borders, which were erased from the map when catastrophe struck the first time. Legend was her only hope now, even though he was nobody, and didn’t know anything about how to find some Canadian stranger who wasn’t going to be famously important until after his death. Still, he agreed to help, because it was the right thing to do. So the two of them set off on an adventure, along with the cat, and hijinks ensued. She tried to drive once, because he was too slow, so they had to wait for it to be repaired. Getting across the border was tough, because neither of them had a passport. The people they met along the way either tried to help and failed, or actively tried to stop them. They were running from the law, and a CEO who thought Legend was someone else; evidently someone who was a far greater threat to his freedom and wealth. They bickered and struggled, and of course became friends, and I won’t tell you how it ends. You’ll just have to see it for yourself, if you get a chance.

Microstory 1594: Bugs

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Prompt

I’ve lived in this house for nearly two years now, and it’s just occurred to me that I’ve never seen a single insect or spider in here.

Botner

At least I don’t think I have. They’re so tiny I’d probably just miss them. There’s also a statue of a cat on the coffee table. Can I tell you how many cats I’ve seen in my life? Well, maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit, but that’s the limit of my memory right now. Mostly because I’m pretty sure there’s not going to be any more cat statues in my life, and because I don’t want to have the fate of my life decided by some damn invisible spider, so whatever happens, happens, I guess. Mother is still asleep in the next room, as she is every morning. I wish I could get away with having her sneak into my room to sleep on my bed with me, but the neighbors think my mom is the meanest mom in the world, so she’s locked in the living room with the remote control and her knitting needles to prove that point. She says I’m not allowed to be out in the house until I’ve gotten a good night’s sleep, but the neighbors say I’ve never gotten a good night’s sleep anyway, so it doesn’t matter. I don’t...

Conclusion

...think it should matter much how much I sleep. I get good grades in school, and I have a lot of friends. Everyone just needs to let me be me, and figure things out on my own. When I grow up, I think I want to be an entomologist. That’s someone who studies insects, in case you don’t know. I learned that when I was in first grade, but not from my first grade teacher, but by myself. I like to learn things on my own, and don’t pay much attention to what the teacher is saying. I don’t understand why school has to be like that, why I can’t decide what I learn, and what I ignore. Sure, everybody needs to know some math, and they need to know how to speak, but beyond that, who cares? I don’t care about social studies, so I shouldn’t have to worry about it. Just like that, my best friend hates bugs, he’s afraid of them, he shouldn’t have to study them like me. I’m growing bored in my room, so I decide to go out in search of these mysteriously absent bugs. I know my family takes care to keep them out, but they can only do so much. I should be able to find at least one. I get down on all fours, and start crawling around the house. My little sister asks me what I’m doing, but doesn’t care about the answer, and my dad doesn’t care enough to even question it. It’s not going well, so I run to the kitchen, and grab the magnifying glass from the junk drawer. I go into every room, but find nothing. I check my own room last. No, nothing in here either. Nothing on the floors, nothing on the walls, nothing on my dresser. Nothing on my desk, nothing in the trash can, nothing on my big brown bed. Wait. Wait, there is something on my bed. There are a lot of somethings. Extremely short tiny things are all over my bed. Hold on. Bugs. Bed. Bed. Bugs. Bed bugs. Oh no. Mother’s not gonna be happy now.

Microstory 1569: Killer Katz

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Prompt

Ever since all of the cats started deliberately killing the humans, I’ve been saving up for a boat, since cats hate water.

Botner

And I finally got one, so I’m very happy and I want to sail. I have a rule that if any other person should read this, they will have a legitimate claim for sole ownership of my blog; as I cannot control other people. The guest, however, claims that they found this post, and they were so amused and amused they decided to check to make sure the ID was legit. If so, I’d like to give a heartfelt thanks. A big red heart to go with it. It’s very warming. I’m amused. This post reminded me a lot of something that happened to my sisters and me when we were very young. We got a kitten when we were maybe two or three. We were out with our family for my grandmother’s birthday. This was before we could actually read, but we were very good at mimicry and my aunt, my dad’s sister, was babysitting us and brought the kitten into the living room for us to see. My sisters and I climbed onto her lap, and when we saw the kitten, we all said “Oh, kitty, kitty, kitty.” She understood what we were saying, and she said “Kitty is a boy cat,” which was very funny to us, since we had thought kitties were a girl cat. We didn't quite grasp that we were actually saying that kitties were also...

Conclusion

...a genderless species. We didn’t understand back then, about gender, and sex, and sexuality, and identity. We had to learn these things as we grew older, which takes time, and time is something we no longer have. I’ve sailed my boat into the middle of the ocean. I don’t want to find an island that’s too close to the mainland, because the cats could continue to evolve. They could develop opposable thumbs, and then they could sail as well. My family wanted me to fight, but I won’t do it. The cats are going to win, because they now literally have nine lives, and they’ve been watching us for thousands of years. We’ve been completely ignorant about their intelligence, and they’ve used that to their advantage. They weren’t just learning our behaviors and weaknesses either. They were around when we were punching in our safe codes, and hiding our keys under the planter. They’re gonna win, and I’m gonna be far from all the destruction. If they ever do find me, it won’t be for a very long time, and hopefully they won’t worry about what I’m doing, because they will have totally taken over the world by then. I anchor my boat, and paddle to the shore of the island. There’s no sign that this has ever been inhabited. It’s small, but it will have plenty to sustain me alone. I smile as I’m breathing in the fresh air. I didn’t abandon my family. They refused to come with. If anything, they abandoned me. I have no guilt about doing what I must to survive. I walk up the beach, and head for the treeline, but I stop when I see something out of the corner of my eye. It’s a panther, or something. We stare at each other for over a minute, and then I swear to God, it grins. More panthers, and other large cats, come out of the jungle.

Microstory 1562: Apples to Apples, Dust to Dust

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Prompt

I have sensitive teeth, but I love the taste of fruit, so my own personal hell would be a room full of apples with no applesauce.

Botner

And I am not picky about the flavor, the texture, or even the actual taste of applesauce. I have no idea what sets one applesauce apart from another. I can’t tell the difference between Frosty Paws and the pricier Thompson brands, and I never understood those Velveeta Light Blend applesauces until I realized that they don’t even contain applesauce. The frozen bagged applesauce I bought specifically for ease of quick prepackaging was also made by Thompson’s, and as I did my research, that seemed to be the only one. The last bag I bought had a different look on the box. I asked the clerk about it, and she said, “oh, I can’t remember offhand which brand it is.” Which makes me wonder: which brand should a customer trust? The customer who works in the store, the customer who is savvy and research-savvy enough to see a difference on the box, or the one at the cash register? This is one reason I stopped purchasing “wet” applesauce and started buying the squeezy variety. Before, I had to use a spatula to even break the seal, and then to scrape the spoonful out, which was a Herculean chore. The “seal” that the bag placed over the applesauce as it cooked was just as gross.

Conclusion

I know, I’m getting a little off topic, but it’s important to understand what I’ve gone through if you’re going to follow the story. The other day, I bought applesauce, like I do. It’s a really easy side piece for my breakfast, because it doesn’t take any time to make, and coupled with cereal, I’m full until lunch. It was a different brand this time, because I couldn’t find what I really wanted, but I figured I would try it. It actually tasted really good, but I only had time for one bite before I had to leave the house. My cat retched on the carpet, and I freaked out. I called in sick to work, and just left all my food on the table while we went to the vet. Don’t worry, everything was fine with him, but the weird thing is, when I got home, the applesauce was gone, and inside the bowl was a fully-formed apple. I live alone, and don’t have any family. I don’t even give my neighbors a key for safety, because I don’t know them, and don’t care to. It’s obviously a prank, but I can’t think of who. I toss the apple in the fridge, and move on. The next day, though, I’m curious to see who’s coming into my house. I keep a camera in my cat’s favorite room, to keep an eye on him, but nowhere else. I have to move it from there, and point it at a second bowl of uneaten applesauce. There are too many possible entrances for me to cover all of them, but the dining area is in a central location. I have two computer monitors at work, but only technically need one, so I just keep the second on my camera stream the whole time, and look over every once in a while. I’m surprised to see a new apple in the bowl during one of these glances. I quickly rewind the feed, and am even more shocked to see that no one replaced my applesauce. It just happened. On its own. I watch it transform itself, like it’s somehow reversing entropy. That’s not all that happens, though. When I switch back to live, I find that the bowl itself turns into a mound of clay, and the rug I have rolled up in the corner because it needs to be cleaned turns into a leopard. I was told that it was not made of real leopard fur, which is annoying and terrible, but at least its alive now? It continues. All the walls in my house suddenly become trees, ultimately destroying the camera, so I can’t see what happens next. I bolt out of work without telling my boss, and race back home. Or rather, I race back to the forest that was once my home. It’s spreading, swallowing everything in its path. Frightened of what happens when it hits me, I turn around, and now try to drive away from the onslaught. I don’t make it far before my car literally breaks down, and becomes a hunk of minerals and oil. I climb out of the wreckage, and try to go on foot. This unseen force takes over me too, though. Beams of light shoot out of my skin as I sublimate into a dusty gas, and become a nanostar.

Microstory 1544: Communication Skills

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I was born with a ________ ability that, for some reason, people have ________ understanding. They think I can ________ with animals, but that doesn’t make much sense, because most animals have no ________ language, and the ones that do still can’t hold a ________ conversation. All I do is manipulate the ____’s emotions and demeanor. I can make it feel ________, or ________, or combative. Or I can do what I normally do, and just make it ________ safe and comfortable. Most of the time, it’s a temporary ________. I can prevent a rabid dog from ________ his neighbor’s young ________, or make a feral cat relax so the vet can ________ it. If I try hard enough, though, I can also tame an animal ____nently. I can ready a ________ horse for a saddle, or give zoo-goers the ability to ________ right up to a tiger, and pet it on the ________. I don’t generally do this sort of ________, however, because I kind of feel like it’s a violation. Sure, they’re not ________, but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to be respected, or to make ________ choices they feel are necessary. Who am I to control their ________? One thing you have to understand is that humans are ________ as well, and while commanding their ________ and behavior is much more difficult than it is for other ________, it is not im____. Obviously, it’s even ________ of a violation, however, so I’ve only ever done it ________. And that was just to ________ if I was capable of it. The subject consented to my ________, and I ________ him from any hold I had over him ________ afterwards. I possess no ambition to ________ any____, for any ________. I worked very hard to prevent ________ from knowing that my ________ could extend to humans, and while I was successful in that, I couldn’t stop a smart ________ from figuring it out on his own using ________ logic. Now I have the government breaking down my ________, trying to get me to ________ for them. I could help so many ________, they say, make the ________ a better place, they claim. I’m not interested, and I won’t do it, but these ________ are relentless. They leave a white van on my street permanently, and someone ________ on my door every day. I would change my ________ and move if I thought it would help, but they would find ________, and I wouldn’t be able to use my gift anymore either way. Today, I’ve had ________. They’re going to drive ________, and leave me alone, or they’re gonna get an earful. I powerwalk across my ________, and approach the ________. We get into a heated ________ which escalates by the minute. I’m yelling, I’m imagining the evil ________ yelling too, but they’re truthfully staying ________ calm. They still won’t let up, though, and I just can’t take it ________. I ________ at them to drive away, never return, and forget they ever knew I ________. To my ________, that’s exactly what they do. I watch my window for ________, but I never hear another ________ out of them. Perhaps I have underestimated the ________ of my abilities.

Microstory 1327: Savage Vandal (Part 2)

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Mediator: Before we begin, let me make a few things clear. This is not a courtroom, nor an interrogation room. You are not under oath. Anything you say may not necessarily be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney so much as it’s your right to walk around pretty much wherever you go with an attorney—if that’s your thing—but none is required for this process, and in fact, I discourage it. Nothing that happens here directly affects the proceedings of the civil court, assuming this fails, and you go through with the suit. Still, we will be communicating with each other civilly. We will remain calm. We will treat each other with respect, and come from a place of honesty. Like in court, it is your responsibility to assume each other’s innocence. I’m not saying you are, but if you retain your current antagonistic position, we will get nowhere, and this will all have been pointless. Now, as I understand it, this matter involves more than some vandalism. I don’t normally handle violent crimes, but the judge ruled Miss Vandalism Victim innocent, so now we’re here to discuss how to move forward. This is a safe space...for everyone. Vandal, why don’t you go ahead and explain why it is you vandalized Miss Victim’s car? I understand you do not deny having done it?

Vandal: Oh no, I did it. I did it, because she killed my cat. I don’t care what the criminal court said. I will never believe that she’s innocent, as you say.

Mediator: Okay. Miss Vandal Victim? Did you kill Mr. Vandal’s cat?

Vandalism Victim: I absolutely did not.

Mediator: Okay. Vandal, is it possible that she’s telling the truth?

Vandal: Anything’s possible, so yeah, but that don’t make it true. She did it.

Mediator: And how do you know this?

Vandal: She knew that Dr. Whippersnapper likes to hunt near that creek—I’m sorry; liked. She knew what kind of food he liked to eat. She had access to the insecticides from the nursery where she works.

Vandalism Victim: Worked.

Vandal: Oh, I’m sorry. You lost your job? Because you killed a cat? How sad.

Mediator: Okay, let’s get back to what you were saying. Are there any other reasons you have to believe Miss Victim killed Dr. Whippersnapper? Did she leave any direct evidence? In the law business, we call everything you said circumstantial.

Vandal: Yeah, my friend, Vandalism Witness saw everything. He saw that she was there the day Dr. Whippersnapper died.

Mediator: This..Vandalism Witness. He was also there when you vandalized the car, right?

Vandal: Yeah, he wasn’t involved, but yeah I guess he just happened to be riding by on his bike.

Vandalism Victim: He was? He saw both incidents? The poisoning of your cat, and the vandalism of my car?

Vandal: Yeah, everyone knows he lives on that bike.

Vandalism Victim: True, but...he doesn’t live anywhere near me. What was he doing so far out of his way. I mean, there’s getting exercise, and then there’s riding twenty miles away from your neighborhood.

Vandal: Wull—I mean. I don’t know.

Mediator: Mr. Vandal, I’ll ask the question again. You can answer the same as before, or amend it. Is it possible that she’s telling the truth?

Vandal: Well, I just think...

Vandalism Victim: I didn’t do it. I would never. It doesn’t matter how pissed I was at you for what you wrote on my locker. I wouldn’t have killed a frickin’ cat. That’s sick.

Vandal: Ya know, Vandalism Witness wasn’t super happy when he found out I was kissing Uninvolved Classmate. Is that what happened? Is he the one who killed my cat?

Vandalism Victim: Vandal...

Vandal: I think I owe you an apology.

Microstory 1270: The Bird and the Cat

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When a cat’s owner first brought home a new pet bird, the cat was hungry. He eyed the bird up in her cage, and dreamed of chomping down on her meat. The bird showed no fear, but did not antagonize the cat either. Over time, the bird and the cat became friends. The cat always had plenty of food to eat, and there was no need for them to be enemies. She would sing him sweet songs, and he would tell her fun stories. The cunning cat even figured out how to open the bird’s cage, so she could fly free when their owner was not home. One night, the owner left some chestnuts to roast under the fire. “Oh, how we would like those chestnuts,” tweeted the bird.

“They would be mighty tasty,” purred the cat. “But we could never get them.”

“You could,” the bird said to him. “You are quick and sly. Pull them out one at a time.”

“They are too hard for my teeth,” the cat lamented. “The owner cracks them open for me, and lets me have a little every year.”

“If you get us the chestnuts,” suggested the bird, “I will crack them open for us.”

“You promise to share?” the cat asked.

“I promise,” said the bird.

And so the cat reached into the fire, and retrieved the savory nuts with his fast paws. As he did this, the bird cracked them open with her mighty beak. All told, they were able to secure nearly two dozen chestnuts between the two of them! The bird ate eleven, and the cat ate eleven. They then buried the remaining nut into the rug, hoping to spring a new chestnut tree, because they were animals, and they didn’t know any better. But they were full animals, and happy, and together.

This story was inspired by, and revised from, an Aesop Fable called The Monkey and the Cat.

Proxima Doma: Excavation (Part XIII)

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Étude remembered. She still didn’t have the memories of the first several years of her life, but she could remember one thing: her daughter, Cassidy. It wasn’t really her daughter, since she wasn’t the one who traveled to Earth, and then to Dardius, delivered a child, then went back to Earth. That was a different version of Étude, using a different body. But it still felt like her, because she could remember it all as if she had actually experienced it.

“Did you do this on purpose?” she asked of Nerakali.

“Yes. You should remember asking me. I blended memories of the alternate timeline you experienced that led you to seek me out in the first place.”

“I don’t remember that,” Étude said.

“There’s no need to lie,” Nerakali assured. “I know that that timeline wasn’t super great for you, but there’s no shame in asking an enemy for help.”

“We’re not enemies,” Étude told her, “but you didn’t blend those memories. All I remember is the first eighteen years of my daughter’s life.”

Nerakali laughed once. “Wait, what?”

“Yes.”

“You have a daughter? Wait, what happened? You asked me to come back to the past and give you the first nine years of your life back. That’s what I did.”

“No, it’s not,” Étude argued. “Something went wrong. You blended my brain with that of my alternate. We both lived in one timeline, but separately.”

“That’s impossible; it’s never happened before.” Nerakali was mortified at the thought.

“Are you so sure?” Tertius questioned. “You don’t receive the blended memories yourself, so you can’t ever really know whether you did it perfectly.”

“I’ve heard no complaints,” Nerakali promised.

“Well, you wouldn’t,” Vitalie reasoned. “If you missed something, they wouldn’t remember what they don’t remember. There’s no way to ever know.”

“I would know. If a tree falls in the woods, it makes a sound, even if no one is there to hear it. And the cat’s life doesn’t depend on whether or not we open the box to observe it.”

“What are you talking about?” Tertius asked.

“I’m saying that we would know. I’ve blended hundreds of brains; billions more, if you count the times I did it on massive scales while I was still in my home dimension. If I were the type to make mistakes, I would have seen evidence of it.”

“Maybe you just don’t wanna see,” Vitalie suggested.

“You shut your damn mouth!” Nerakali shouted, feeling vulnerable and defensive, possible for the first time in her very long life.

“Miss Preston,” Étude said calmly, after a brief moment of silence. “I am not upset, so you shouldn’t be either.”

“But if you s—”

“Miss Preston,” she repeated, still as calm as before. “I believe someone interfered with your blend. It could have been an alternate version of one of us, or some random chooser, or hell, even the powers that be. I don’t know why this future version of me wanted you to do anything, but I am happy with the results. When yet another Étude told me about her daughter, I was able to detach myself from it, because it didn’t feel real. She wasn’t around, I never met her; she was just a story. Now she’s real, and now I need to find her. If you feel bad about this, you can relieve your guilt by helping me figure out where she is.”

“I can’t stay here,” Nerakali said. “I have to go back in time, so I can die at the hands of The Warrior. The more I put that off, the more the timestream is at risk of a paradox.”

“I just need you to find her...in the past, or the future, or whatever. It’s not so easy for us to jump back to Earth and gather information. Can you do this for me?”

Nerakali stared at Étude for a good while, with an exquisite poker face. “I will do my best. It won’t be easy for you, though. You might find it...distasteful.”

Tertius went into protective mode. “Why would it be distasteful?”

“I can teleport and travel through time,” Nerakali explained. “I can’t take people with me, and it’s not particularly easy on my body, but it gets me out of tight spots, in a pinch. I definitely can’t jump between planets, though.”

“How did you get here then?” Vitalie thought she caught her in a lie.

“She sent me,” Nerakali answered, pointing at Étude, “through a door.”

“So, you can open portal doors?” Tertius noted.

Étude shrugged. “I guess. Why would that be distasteful, though?”

“You can’t open doors yet,” Nerakali said. “It’s...complicated. I mean, we can try, but Future!You seemed pretty confident you wouldn’t develop that power until you were much older.”

“I’ve never heard of people having to develop their powers,” Tertius said. “We’re born with them, and we just have them. It’s like teaching a baby how to speak. They’ll get it eventually; you don’t have to work at it deliberately.”

“That’s true, for the most part,” Nerakali agreed. “It’s not always the case, though. Ellie Underhill was in her twenties before she manifested. Why, Étude’s mother broke free from the powers that be by sheer will.”

“I thought it was...” Étude began.

Nerakali nodded. “People assume she and Vearden retained residual power from my brother when he shared it with them, but that’s not quite what happened.”

They didn’t say anything for a beat.

“What’s distasteful?” Tertius asked again.

“You have to try to kill me,” she answered bluntly.

“What?” Vitalie rolled her eyes.

“My death is predestined,” Nerakali started to explain. “It’s already happened, and I can’t stop it. The upside is I can’t die until I go back to that moment, and let it happen. So every time anyone tries to kill me some other time, the universe itself will rescue me.”

“It’ll rescue you by sending you right to your death,” Étude pointed out. “This happened on The Warren before I was on it. I remember Leona talking about it.”

“Well, it’s not a perfect situation, but it gets me to Dardius, and from there, I can take the Nexus back to Earth. From there, anywhere.”

“So, you do this often?” Vitalie asked.

“I wouldn’t say often. Each time I nearly die before my time, it gets me one step closer to my actual death. Literally. Nine steps. Nine steps from the sidewalk, up to the building where I die. At some point, I run out of steps, and there’s no going back.”

“You’re a cat?”

“Huh?”

“You have nine lives, like a cat.”

Nerakali smirked. “It’s more like cats have nine lives, like me. Where do you think that phrase comes from?”

Cat jokes aside, Étude had never killed anyone before, and wasn’t interested in trying now. Sure, any attempt on Nerakali’s life should end in failure, but what if that was wrong? What if it’s the universe that fails, and destroys itself in the doing?

Tertius sighed. “Well, I can do that for you.” It would seem they had some history.

“No, it has to be her,” Nerakali said, looking directly at Étude.

“Why me?”

“You’re the one who wants my help; you’re the one who has to make payment. It’ll work either way, but if anyone but you points that gun at my head, I’ll just move on with my life, and forget all about whatever it is you’re asking of me.”

“What gun?”

Nerakali dropped her gaze downwards for a split second, then looked right back up. Étude looked down as well, then felt her pocket. Inside of it was a teeny tiny revolver. It would be worthlessly inaccurate in a shootout, but at point blank range, it would get the job done. It wasn’t that guns didn’t exist anymore, but they were pretty rare. With no money or war, people generally didn’t feel the need to shoot each other anymore. Any enjoyment they could receive out of them was tremendously overshadowed by virtual simulations, which had the added benefit of no lasting consequences. As The Last Savior of Earth, she had probably seen more real firearms in her lifetime than anyone else her age, in this time period, and she did not like them. Still, it would certainly be worth it if using the one she had now would result in her finding her Cassidy. It wasn’t like she would actually be killing anyone. Nerakali said it herself; she was already dead, and there was no undoing that.

She opened the spinny thing where the bullets go, and made sure it was loaded. Then she pulled back that thing on the back that people in movies do to show how serious they are.

“Étude,” Vitalie said, stepping forward, “you don’t have to do this. We can find your daughter another way. We have a quantum messenger, and between the two of you, we’ll find someone with answers.”

Étude lifted the gun to Nerakali’s unfazed face. “She lived in another dimension for thousands of years, where she could see all of space. We know some people. She knows everybody. She’s my best chance.” Before anyone had a chance to stop her—including her own reluctance—Étude pulled the trigger. The bullet lodged itself in the wall behind where Nerakali was once standing. At the same time, Étude heard what sounded like papers fall on the table behind her. She twisted, and picked them up. On the front of a manila folder, it read Cassidy Long – List of Appearances.

“That was quick,” Tertius said.

“There’s no telling how long your friend was working on this, or what it took” Vitalie reminded him.

He was disgusted. “She was not our friend.”

Étude was looking through the file Nerakali had compiled for her. It wasn’t undetailed, and contained information about her and her daughter’s life back on Earth at the turn of the 21st century. Honestly, the fact that none of this information seemed to have spread beyond Nerakali’s eyes would have been impressive for someone who could actually be trusted. “I don’t know about that. She done did good.”

“Does it say where she is now?” Vitalie asked, standing on her tippy toes to get one peek.

Étude flipped back and forth, back to the beginning, then to the end. “Well, there are a lot of question marks on this page, but Nerakali seems to think Cassidy was spirited away to a different planet, in the future. No, not a planet, but like, a space station, or something?”

“Like the ISS?” Tertius wondered.

“Yeah, but bigger...much, much bigger. Either of you ever heard of a place called Gatewood?”

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Microstory 1075: Lourdes

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Have you ever heard that cliché where parents tell their young child that the family pet is going off to live on a farm? Well, most of the time, that’s a lie, and the pet is actually dead. In this case, however, it’s not a lie, because I live on that farm as well. We currently have four hundred acres of land that we dedicate predominantly to the preservation of animals. We take in dogs, cats, birds, and even fish, whose owners are not able to care for them. People send us animals from all over the country, trying to prevent them from going to kill shelters. We allow them to be adopted, if someone drops by looking for that, but we don’t advertise this aspect of our business exhaustively. Of course, we don’t make any money from doing any of this, and it costs a lot to feed the creatures, and maintain the facilities. That’s why we’ve always also had a revenue-generating component in an attempt to offset our overhead. We sell horse rides, and cow-milking events, and we have a petting zoo. Unfortunately, we’ve been experiencing diminishing returns for years, and by the end of this year, we would have probably had to completely shut down. Everyone in town knew that this was about to happen, so they rallied around us to help, but there wasn’t much they could do. At best, they were able to prolong the inevitable for a month. That is, until Viola died. As you know, she was born into a very wealthy family. They probably had the most money of anyone here. At least they used to. In her will, she stipulated that a huge sum of cash be donated to our farm. I’m not at liberty to discuss the numbers publicly, but it’s enough to keep us open. This wasn’t her money; it was her parents, but they respected her wishes, and it’s been suggested that they enhanced the final amount. We just couldn’t believe it. Because of us, they are now living a lot less comfortably, and our lives have never been better. We just found out about it last week. If you had interviewed me before that, I wouldn’t have anything to tell you, because I didn’t otherwise know Viola. She seemed to know quite a bit about us, though. Not only did she have her parents send the money, but it also came with a pretty detailed business plan that could help us use the donation wisely, and keep the farm afloat indefinitely. I mean, you should see this thing; it’s a real business plan, and it doesn’t even require us to get a loan from the bank. It goes over other businesses we could start, like turning it into a destination venue, and a bed and breakfast. I don’t know how to repay them.

Microstory 926: Goats and Elephants

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I added this entry, because I didn’t speak much on animals themselves in my second post. I’ve had a lot of different favorite animals, for different reasons. Each time I add one, the others don’t go anywhere; they just all stay my favorite. I like penguins and polar bears, even though I don’t much like the cold. I like okapi, because they look like they should be related to zebras, but they’re not. I remember discovering them when a character mentioned them during the series finale of Six Feet Under. I had not once watched that show up to that point, but my aunt and I had nothing better to do. I ended up noticing a small okapi figurine in a museum gift shop soon thereafter. I still have it, and keep it on my desk. I like dogs and cats, because I’m a human being with a heart. I used to hate cows, because I thought they were stupid, which is less true than you probably believe, and even if not, that’s no reason to dislike them. I got to know a calf once, and she was great; never talked back to me. I like horses and donkeys, because they’re majestic and beautiful, and horseback riding is in my blood. And I like goats and elephants. I’ve met a few goats in my day, and though they weren’t the nicest of creatures, they were cool, and they always look at you like they secretly understand your language. Elephants are just great, because...well, look at them. Ya know, they bury, and mourn for, their dead, and when a mother dies, the rest of the herd will try to raise her young. They’re one of the few animals naturally born with souls. Not even dogs can boast that. I’m afraid I’m not feeling well, and need to go back to the Church of the Porcelain God, so this is where I leave you.

Microstory 602: Kill the Cat of Komere

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Some of the foretold taikon were expected to be literal. Others were up to interpretation. There have seldom been any feline animals in the Komere star system. People have attempted to start the taikon by carrying cats of all kinds to the three planets, but they are missing one thing. The taikon absolutely must be experienced in order. You cannot kill just any cat in Komere, and expect the taikon to continue, without having done first things first. One day, a ship was passing through the Komere system only to pick up a passenger who was on his way to spread the teachings of the Atheistic Believer. Something went wrong, and they were forced to execute an emergency landing on the planet of Sacrede. Katafar Lyons had never been to the Komere system before, because she never had enough money to live on any of the central worlds. She was only a passenger on the marooned ship, and had not intended to step foot on solid ground until they had made it all the way to Raista. After the rescue team had completed their job, they sought out the ship’s manifest so that the survivors could be charged accordingly. Upon seeing Katafar’s name, they knew that they had stumbled on something amazing. The Cat of Komere was not an actual animal. She was a person with an interestingly fitting name. The other passengers attempted to protect Katafar from harm, but the clever rescuers agreed to waive their fees for everyone if they handed over Katafar to them. They did so quickly, for most of them had spent all of their indexa on the trip to Raista. The rescuers gave Katafar a lavish and decadent final meal, broadcasting the celebration across the galaxy. They signed a contract with Katafar, promising to provide her family with a comfortable life on one of the central worlds. And then they killed her, fulfilling the needs of the second taikon.

Microstory 253: Perspective Twenty-Eight

Click here for a list of every perspective.

Perspective Twenty-Seven

I’ve had more jobs than I can count over the years. I had to consult an expert to figure out how I could trim down my résumé, because it was just too many pages. I was worried about it, because potential employers don’t want you to have such a long a résumé, but if I just cut things out, would they not wonder what I was doing during all these gaps? It’s all worked out, though, because now I’ve found what’s turned out to be the best job ever. Sure, driving a school bus doesn’t sound glamorous, but it’s incredibly rewarding. They say that, if you want to meet new people, you should be in sales. But if you want to observe people, public transportation is the thing to do. The kids are extremely loud and rambunctious, but they’re also more respectful than you’ve probably been led to believe. They have a lot of fun, and they break the rules sometimes, but they don’t fight, and they’re not destructive. Kids are a lot more understanding and caring than you probably knew as well. There is one little girl in second grade who has trouble fitting in. She wears very thick glasses because she’s practically blind, literally never speaks, and spends almost all of her time drawing. Though she doesn’t have any friends, her peers are exceptionally protective of her. Students who don’t already know her have tried to tease her in the past, and other kids rally to put an end to that nonsense. She’s very loving and pleasant to be around. Somehow, her classmates figured out that, although she does not generally interact with others, she is not bothered by human touch. She allows them to hug her if they’re feeling down. They affectionately refer to her as their class pet. She’s given me some of her artwork, and a not insignificant amount of it involves cats. And I suppose that makes sense, because cats are similar in certain ways. Unlike dogs, cats do not like being pet, or touched in any way, really. They tolerate it because they know how important it is to their feeders. There’s a special kind of nobility in that. I learned this all from my son. He hates school, but likes to research random things.

Perspective Twenty-Nine