Microstory 2149: A Million of Anything

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 2

As you might have deduced from the title, I’ve reached one million readers. Is that right? Is it deduce, or is it induce? I’ve heard that deduction comes from removing all wrong answers, but that’s probably wrong, and I really don’t know what induction is. Here’s the thing, I have a pretty decent vocabulary, but there are still some concepts that I struggle with. I’m also very logical, but I’ve also always particularly struggled with explaining my logic through accepted standardized terms, like straw man or if and then. I can tell you my logic, but I’m not going to sound very smart while I do it, and I’ll stumble over all of my words on my way there. In seventh grade, I was failing English class. We were on a topic called Greek and Latin Roots and Stems. I was paying so little attention that I didn’t even know what that meant. I’m sure I was daydreaming a lot. I didn’t crack open my workbook once, and in fact, would just leave it in my locker. We had a test the next day so I actually had to call a classmate, who gave me hers to photocopy. It was kind of late at night, and really weird, and humiliating, and my dad was angry with me for it, because like I said, it was twelve or thirteen, so he had to help me with everything. So anyway, I got the workbook, and started looking through it, and I’m like, “this? This is what my teacher has been talking about? I know all this. It says that -ing means continuous action, because of course it does. This is why my teacher called my parents, and got me in trouble?” Needless to say, now that I understood what I was missing, I aced the test, and ended up with one of the highest grades of all classes combined. So I’m pretty good at language.

Still, it’s still not clear to me how you induce something, at least not in any practical sense, and my definition of deduction may come from my strong sense of linguistic morphology, not from how the word is actually used in this subject. I remember intuiting that the word division meant separating objects in half when I was a toddler, which misses the fact that it’s not always by half specifically. Why am I talking about this? Oh yeah, a million readers. A million people read my stories now. Well, a million unique IP addresses access my website on a regular basis. I think it goes by the month, but it’s the middle of May now, so is that based on April’s metrics, or is it just from thirty days ago to now? I’m not entirely sure how to read this section of the blog service. Whatever, I’ll take it, I trust the analytics. For years, this is what I wanted, for people to read my stuff, and to keep coming back for more. I’ve never been great at non-fiction, so I didn’t think it would turn out like this, but I guess I didn’t think I would travel to a different world either. Or different worlds, as it were. I wonder how many readers I would be able to get if people in all of the universes that I’ve been to could navigate to the site as well. That would be a lofty goal, and I should really just be focusing on what’s here and now. Thank you. Thank you for reading. I’m sure my alternate self on my homeworld is super envious of me right now. Oh yeah, he’s pissed. I can feel it. His readership still sits at approximately zero. He would take a million of anything if it also meant a million readers, even slaps in the face. I’m not going to celebrate this milestone, because I have a binge eating disorder, which is triggered by the mentality that positive events should be marked with food, but I’m glad anyway. Let’s see how long it takes to get to two million, and then after that, I think the next one should be five billion?

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 16, 2398

« < » > Table of Contents

Finland. That’s where they want to go. Mateo doesn’t remember a whole lot from school, but he does recall a classmate of his once getting into an argument with their math teacher. The teacher claimed that the shortest distance between two points is a line, and she illustrated this using a geographical map. The student argued that it didn’t matter if the line was the shortest, because it wasn’t the fastest. Going that direction meant trudging through thick brush, and over a lake or two. It meant crossing straight through streets, and climbing over buildings. The fastest route was to get on the freeway, pass the destination just a little until the next exit, and cut through the city. The teacher insisted that this wasn’t what she was trying to teach, and he contended that she should be. Mateo recalls one quote quite clearly when his classmate said, “if what you teach us can’t be applied to the real world, then why are you trying to teach us anything at all?” He failed the assignment, and came this close to flunking out of the class.

To get back home, their shortest route would take them pretty much directly southward until hitting mainland Norway. There they could resupply, repair The Olimpia to its former glory, and contact their friends back in Kansas City with reliable cell service. They can’t do that, though, because in addition to it being the most direct route for them, it simultaneously creates the shortest distance between the island of Svalbard and the United States government, who they know they can’t trust. To protect Amir, and all the locals of Vertegen, they have to take the scenic route. Fortunately, they have a way to create a distraction in the form of Russia.

The Republican Federation of Russia bears an even more tumultuous history here than its counterpart in the main sequence. It has been on the sidelines of nearly every major world war since the first one. Funny enough, it doesn’t seem to experience much direct conflict with other states. It’s just been known to wait until the hostilities between two or more parties begin, and then choose a side. Some xenophobes might chalk this up to them making their choice randomly. A number of political cartoons, comedy sketches, and modern memes feature a blindfolded Russian leader throwing darts towards a map, or some variation therein. The reality is that Russia always chooses to back the belligerents whose victory would spell some kind of success for Russia. Russia chooses Russia is a slogan from a certain social awareness organization that is always trying to help people understand this.

The Russian government holds no convictions, and has no strong feelings about any specific faction. They are probably the least religious nation in the world—or maybe just when accounting for its sheer mass. The presidents have run their nation like a business, accepting benefits to their economy wherever they can find it, be it with a neighbor, a former enemy, or even a terrorist sect. At the moment, the United States is its biggest competitor, because while citizens of the U.S. would deny, deny, deny, their social practices are not without their similarities. They would never work with terrorists, but freedom fighters are just fine, and the difference between the two can often be found only in the nuance of personal perspective. So while Mateo labeled Russia the enemy, they are in fact more like a rival, and the Olimpia’s presence within their territory is no more dangerous than meeting an industry colleague for coffee in the cafeteria on the first floor of their office building.

Still, as stated, this is a distraction. If the team is spotted making their way through the White Sea, this will be all that Senator Honeycutt—and anyone else involved in all this—will focus on. They won’t even consider the possibility that they were once on Svalbard, or make any attempts to retrace their steps at all. It’s been a long journey, but thanks to Mateo’s new knife, not as long as it could have been. They’ve not had to stay on the surface of the water for the whole trip. Short bursts. They can stay in the air for a limited amount of time, which is what has allowed them to cross the distance as fast as they have so far, but they’re running out of power, and they need a new tactic. Leona may have come with the solution. “Well, if you have this thing, why can’t you just replace the solar panels altogether?” Solar power has been providing them enough energy to fly for a little bit, but they use that energy faster than it can come in, which is why they always have to drop back down to the water.

“I don’t know how to work this knife,” Mateo explains. I can’t get it to replace the entire panel. I can either replace part of the framing, or an individual...what did you call them?”

“Tiles,” Ramses helps. “Each time he stabs a panel, it only destroys that specific tile, and spits out a new one. I can’t figure out why efficiency is so low. It could be one or more of the tiles, but which ones?”

Leona takes the knife from Mateo, and examines it. Before anyone can stop her, she downs the rest of her water, sets the cub back on the counter, and tries to stab it. Nothing happens. “What did I do wrong?”

“You accidentally aren’t your husband, Mateo,” Angela says.

“What?”

“Only he can use it. We’ve both tried.”

“Well, I suppose I had to try too, given our connection, and the fact that some of that Existence water is still swimming through my veins.”

“Well, that was my favorite cup,” Angela laments.

“Then you shouldn’t have let me use it.”

Mateo chuckles once. He takes the knife back, and stabs the mangled cup himself, which generates a pristine replacement.

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Leona shouts. “Okay, it makes a new one; it’s quantum duplication, whatever. But why does it make an unbroken one? It goes back in time to before it was damaged? How far back in time? How much damage does it correct? What if there was a dent in it that had been there for twenty years?”

“These are all questions that none of us can answer,” Ramses tells her.

“Did you try asking the Rakripa where they got it, and what they thought of it?”

“Yes,” Angela says, looking suddenly tired. “I asked them a lot of questions. Communication was difficult, and I eventually learned that it wasn’t only because our languages aren’t mutually intelligible. They were cagey. They were nice...but they didn’t want us to stick around. So we didn’t.”

Leona sighs. “Where is that lantern thing you were talking about?”

Ramses goes back down to engineering to retrieve it. “I’ve been all over this thing. I don’t think anything else needs to be replaced. What we need is power.”

“And I’m going to get it for you,” Leona says. She sets the lantern on the counter, and arranges her husband in front of it. She adjusts his arms and hands like a sexy golf instructor, or a pottery ghost. “Okay. Go for it.”

Microstory 1857: Bad One

< > Table of Contents

I moved to a new school for fifth grade. My family didn’t move homes, but the district built a brand new primary school, and the zones had to be redrawn, meaning kids were pulled from the surrounding areas who hadn’t been studying together until now. Looking back, I don’t know how my new teacher could not know about our situation ahead of time, but I remember sitting in that classroom—nervous as all hell—and becoming the center of attention without ever wanting to. I’ve never liked crowds, and I don’t like people to stare at me. I feel more comfortable with a small group of friends, so I was already feeling rather uncomfortable, because all of those friends were still at my old school. There I was in the back corner, looking around for any clue as to who might become my friend, when I heard my name being called. Estera Nowicki. I acknowledged my attendance at the same time as another girl. We each turned our head to look at the other. She kindly explained that hers was the name that was called, and I had to explain that that was my name. The teacher looked down at the sheet. There were two of us, which she had apparently assumed to be some kind of typographical error. That was a little funny, but the names weren’t exactly rare. We had a laugh, and then one classmate suggested that one of us go by our middle name, which I said was Aleksandra. The other Estera scoffed. That was her middle name too, I had to be lying. I don’t know how I could have known as much about her without social media to look it up, like some kind of private detective, but she was convinced. It took some questions to the main office to confirm that yes, there were two Estera Aleksandra Nowickis in the same class.

Something had to be done to avoid the confusion. I mean, some of the kids were already confused, and there was probably nothing we could do about that. One boy suggested that we were long lost sisters, which was obviously dumb, because that would mean that our shared parents gave their sororal twins the same exact first and middle names, and then gave one of us away to a couple with the same surname. It was a coincidence, but again, we couldn’t move on without making sure there wouldn’t be any further ambiguity. I would have been perfectly fine going as Aleksandra. Honestly, I always thought it was a bit prettier. Sure, it was hers too, but as long as only I actually used it as my main name, it should’ve been fine. She wasn’t okay with that. As soon as I expressed my idea, she decided that she wanted to use it instead. Annoying, but whatever, I could be the Estera. No, she didn’t like that either. No matter what I said, she just wanted to be difficult, and pretty soon, we all realized that we had spent almost the entire morning on this, and hadn’t learned a single thing yet. I even recommended I go by Dosia, after a famous scientist named Dosia Zajac who I came to admire after presenting a report on her the previous year. The other Estera claimed to like her too, so now she wanted to be known as Dosia. I’m certain that she hadn’t even heard of her until that day, this was getting to be so ridiculous. The teacher—bless her heart—found it impossible to keep control of the classroom. Lines were being drawn. Some favored me, while a few were on her side. But they eventually swayed over to me when they realized how insolent she was being. So the rest of the students came together, and decided that it was no longer our choice what either of us was going to be called. She was given a nickname that probably haunted her for the rest of the life, while I came to be forever known as Good Estera.

Microstory 1304: State School Candidate

< > Table of Contents

State School Candidate: I don’t even know why I’m here. My brother went to this school, and he didn’t have an interview. This ain’t exactly ivy league.

State School Admissions Interviewer: We don’t do many interviews, no, except for certain programs. Are you interested in pre-law, pre-med, or engineering?

State School Candidate: No?

State School Admissions Interviewer: Then you’re only here because your parents requested it.

State School Candidate: Oh. Did they have to pay for that?

State School Admissions Interviewer: No, that would be illegal.

State School Candidate: I see.

State School Admissions Interviewer: It doesn’t matter if you want to be here or not; let’s just assume that you do. As a hypothetical, if you really wanted to do this interview, what would you want to get out of it?

State School Candidate: I guess I just need someone to tell me I can make it?

State School Admissions Interviewer: Have people been telling you that you couldn’t?

State School Candidate: All the time. Teachers, principals, other students...

State School Admissions Interviewer: Why would they think this of you?

State School Candidate: I’m not a great student. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a bad one either. I’ve never failed a single class, I show up on time, and I do the work. I just don’t get good grades.

State School Admissions Interviewer: I’m going to be honest with you, that would be worse than if you didn’t do the work.

State School Candidate: Why?

State School Admissions Interviewer: Well, even when I’m not conducting interviews, I meet a lot of students, and some of those students have had really terrible grades. For the majority of those kids, it’s because they didn’t try; they didn’t realize their potential. The dropout rate is, in fact, predominantly due to unrealized potential, but that can be learned, practiced, improved. On the other hand, there are some who really want to do well, but they still struggle with the material. I’m not calling you stupid, but I think you’re smart enough to know that not everyone can be Stephen Hawking. The only question is how far from being Stephen Hawking are you? The further you are, the less chance you have at succeeding. Take a moment to ask yourself that question in your head. Then answer out loud the only question that really matters: do you think you can succeed in higher education?

State School Candidate: Well, I’m very not Stephen Hawking, yet I know the answer you’re looking for is yes. I’m afraid I can’t give you that, though.

State School Admissions Interviewer: No, the answer is indeed yes. You can do this. Were you diagnosed with a learning disability?

State School Candidate: No, not per se—

State School Admissions Interviewer: Then I don’t care what your grades were in high school. What no one will tell you is that much of what you learn in college is introductory; or sorry, can be introductory. You can sometimes skip the one-oh-ones, but if you don’t, then they generally assume very little foreknowledge of the subject. They do this because, even though colleges and universities require a high school diploma at the very least, they can’t be sure what you learned, and what you didn’t. They have to get everyone in class up to speed, which makes any prior experience almost meaningless. Almost. Someone who has never had any education in their entire lives won’t be able to go to college, unless they were born with that Stephen Hawking-level intelligence, and they just get it. Someone who never went to high school would even probably have trouble. But someone—anyone—who managed to graduate high school, is smart enough for college; I guarantee that. You have to rely on good advisors, and tutors, and study groups, and professor office hours, but you can do this.

State School Candidate: I never expected you to say any of this. I figured you were just going to ask me to guess how many books are in the library, so you can gauge my capacity for logic.

State School Admissions Interviewer: No, that’s stupid. What I told you is the truth, and is what matters. A lot of schools will let anyone in for one simple fact: they’re getting paid for it. They don’t care if you’re smart enough, or whether you graduate or not, because they’ll get money out of you until you officially fail. They see it as a win-win, because they can’t take money from the ones they reject. We are not like that. We want you to do well, which is why our test policy is unconventional, and we spend so much money on resources designed to give you the tools you need to learn the material. It does neither you, nor us, any good if you just keep getting bad grades because all you had access to were the lectures.

State School Candidate: So, you think I should apply?

State School Admissions Interviewer: You definitely should, but don’t forget to find an advisor. They’ll make sure you have what you need. Few who do this alone do well.

State School Candidate: I think I can remember that.

Microstory 1285: The Boy and the Chocolates

< > Table of Contents

A class of young school children was on a field trip to the mall in the center of town. There were many fascinating specialty stores there that were able to keep the children busy for hours. One sold all sorts of art supplies, while another was dedicated to music. There were restaurants of all kinds, and even a small theatre where the students sat to watch a local production of a popular play. There was also a candy story, which the students were specifically warned not to enter. A half hour before they were set to leave the mall, however, the teacher revealed that they would indeed be going into the candy store, but that they would be going in together, and in an orderly fashion. The kids were all so very excited. The owners of the candy shop were a friendly couple who liked to bring joy to children’s lives. So they agreed to a deal where each student would be allowed to take on fistful of candy from one of the dozen or so jars that they had laid out on the table for the occasion. The children were very good. Each one stood patiently in line, and waited their turn. One boy amongst them was a little different than the others. Due to a condition he had had since birth, he was rather large for his age, and he always felt a little out of place. His classmates weren’t too terribly mean to him about it, but he did experience a few jokes here and there. One thing he loved was chocolate; probably more than anyone else here. He could live off the stuff for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, when it came to be his turn, he found that he could barely fit his hand inside the jar, let alone grab a fistful of sweets, and pull them out safely. It was a rule that each child would only be able to take as much as they could in one go, but it was looking like he wasn’t going to get very many. He reached as far as he could, but the best he could do was grasp one piece between his index and middle finger; one lousy piece, and it wasn’t even his favorite kind. “Surely we can bend the rules this one time,” one of the shop owners said. “We shall pour some into his hand.”

“Only if that’s okay with the rest of the students,” the teacher said.

The boy was saddened, for he did not think his classmates would let him do things differently. But he was wrong. They gladly gave him permission, with no hesitation. After all, they had already received their own candies, and weren’t going to get any more, whether he got his own fill, or not.

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

Microstory 1235: Catania Porter

< > Table of Contents

Catania Porter discovered her time power when she was seven years old. On the first day of second grade, she learned the hard way that a boy in her class was deathly allergic to peanuts, but they were living in a time before email, so requesting other parents to not send peanut-based products with their children was difficult at best. She felt responsible for having brought the sandwich, and if there was anything she could do to help, she had to try. This was also before the epinephrine autoinjector was invented, so the teacher didn’t think there was anything anyone could do about it before the ambulance arrived. Fortunately for him, when it came to what existed when, Catania had no apparent limits. She instinctively summoned the life-saving device into her own hand, ignored her shock at what she had just done, read the instructions quickly, and jammed it into her friend’s leg. The other students, and their teacher, asked Catania what she had done, but she played dumb. The autoinjector disappeared as quickly as it had first come, and no one could prove that it was ever there. For the rest of the school year, and beyond, everyone knew that it was Catania who had saved the boy’s life, even though they didn’t understand how. They didn’t call her a witch, or a freak, or anything like that. They liked and respected her, and it was this reaction that led her into choosing her life’s path. Despite everyone’s curiosity, she continued to keep her ability a secret, while she practiced and studied it. Much like Ruby Nelson, Catania had the ability to find anything in the universe, at any point in its history, past or future. The two major differences were that she could also summon the things she found to herself—a skill known in the business as apportation—and that this power had no negative impact on her psyche. Still, it wasn’t guaranteed that she would do great things with this power. There were endless possible applications she could have chosen. She could have smuggled drugs from one country to another, completely subverting the borders, or any of the space in between. She could have broken people out of jail without being caught on security cameras. She could have stolen money from banks, or taken anything else she desired, from anywhere else, all without leaving her home. But none of that would have made sense to her; not with her personality. Helping people get what they needed was intuitive for Catania. It never crossed her mind to collect meaningless possessions for herself when she could be far more useful as a sort of superpowered assistant. People proved to be pretty grateful. So this was what she did with her life, delivering special requests from people—particularly choosing ones—that the powers that be decided against commissioning The Courier to handle instead. She also helped regular humans who had no idea that she had any time power, and thought she was just a really good investigator. For them, she would find missing cats, and misplaced keys, and misdirected mail. These types of jobs were the most rewarding for her, so she eventually started really focusing on those, and kind of leaving other time travelers to their own devices.

Microstory 1076: Nettie

< > Table of Contents

Before we get into this, I would like to extend my gratitude to you for taking this huge project on. I know that it doesn’t impact me all that much, but Viola was a good friend of mine, and she obviously can’t show you appreciation herself. Now that we’re seniors, we’ve branched out into our own preferred subjects, but over the last four years—in a school this size—there was no one in your grade level you didn’t share at least one class with. There was one exception to this. Throughout our entire respective school careers, I didn’t take one class that Viola was also in. Sometimes we were taking the same course at the same time, but we weren’t in the room together. If nothing else, there’s a strong possibility for two students to be in physical education together, because they only have a couple giant meeting sessions, but we didn’t have that either. I broke my leg in the summer before high school began—slipping on the rocks, trying to cross a stream, like an idiot—so I had to wait to take it when I was a sophomore anyway. Of course, I haven’t exactly conducted any scientific studies, so maybe this sort of schedule happens all the time, but it certainly doesn’t seem to. The only reason any of this is important to my story is because Viola was the kind of person that you couldn’t miss. If you never shared a class with someone else, it might have escaped your attention, but if you never got to see Viola, you noticed. She seemed to notice as well, because near the end of last year, she started making a point of visiting me at my locker. This behavior continued all through the following summer break, and up to her death. She became a quite important confidante for me. I could tell her any and all of my secrets, and know that she wasn’t going to abuse her power. I think she helped a lot of people in this way; just by listening to them. I always imagined she would grow up to become a therapist, or something. It wasn’t until after she was gone, and you started working on this series, that I learned there was a lot more to her. She never showed me any magic tricks, or proved she knew things about the world that she shouldn’t have. I’m still not sure I believe all the supernatural stuff people claim about her. There was no single instance where she changed my life forever, or altered my perspective. She was just a good friend. She seemed to always know what the people around her needed most, and I guess all I needed was someone to talk to.

Microstory 1074: Guy

< > Table of Contents

I’ve always hated my first name, but I hate my middle name even more. I’ve thought about starting to spell it G-A-I, but I’m not Jewish, so would that be really insensitive? I would really like to just come up with something better and unrelated for people to call me, but it’s really important to my father, because it was really important to my mother, who died in childbirth. I don’t wanna talk about that, though, because it’s a difficult topic, as you can imagine. It also has nothing to do with this story, so I don’t know why I mentioned it. Let’s talk about Viola, which is what you’re doing here. The cosmos has finally given me permission to tell you the story of what happened between us; how she not only saved my life, but that of everyone at the school. I had recently returned from a trip to another country. It’s kind of racist if I just tell you which continent I went to, but it’s even worse if I name the nation itself, because it’s not their fault. It’s mine, and I take full responsibility, and I thank the goddess every day that she fixed it for me. I came back with a really bad virus that Viola said didn’t even have a name. Well, I didn’t know I had it before I went to school one day, and by the time I started presenting symptoms, it had spread throughout the whole school. I mean, this thing worked quickly. It took at least a day for me to show any sign of it, but only two hours before everyone else did. No one actually died, but it was becoming quite clear to me, and confirmed by Viola herself, that that’s where it was headed. I recalled rumors that Viola could cure diseases, so I hoped she would do it for us, but she said she didn’t have the bandwidth for that many people. It was impossible to contain when you factor in temporary contractors, and seniors who sneak off campus. Fortunately, there was a solution. I just don’t really understand it.

Apparently, whatever virus I had was lying dormant in my system, and only reacted to something in the school, or maybe it was the school itself? She said I could have spent years with it, and it not cause any problems until I walked back into that building. I was, like, what, was the school built on a hellmouth? She didn’t laugh at this, nor did she act like she didn’t know the reference. She just stayed silent. Anyway, she tried to explain what she would have to do to save everybody’s life, but I don’t exactly have a doctorate in temporal mechanics, so most of it went over my head. If I’m understanding this correctly, she reversed time, and then placed me in a pocket dimension. No one at the school realized that anything was different, but that’s not what solved it, because then history would just repeat itself. So she also created a pocket dimension, which was an exact replica of the school, and only the school. I was the only one there, except for Viola, and one other student. Lottie somehow managed to show up, and had no clue what was going on. I think I did infect her, but Viola was able to cure just this one person. I dunno. Maybe everyone at the school was in the pocket dimension, and the three of us were still in the real world. I’ve heard people talk about something called the upside down. Is that a thing? I don’t watch science fiction movies, so I couldn’t begin to follow the logic. The point is that the next day, everything was totally cool. I was cured, Lottie was cured, and no one knew what I did. I only bring it up now, because it just feels right. If not for Viola Woods, your family wouldn’t have been able to safely move here. The world deserves to know that.

Microstory 1072: Lottie

< > Table of Contents

Let me tell you about a dream I once had. I know, I know; nobody’s interested in listening to other people’s dreams, but I promise that it’s relevant to your question about my relationship with Viola. Most of my dreams can be pretty fantastical and bizarre, and this was no exception, but it started out so normal that it felt like any regular day. I woke up, got dressed, and went to school. I was the only one there, though. I didn’t even hear a vacuum, or the chanting of the magic club. I checked my phone, and it wasn’t the weekend. There also wasn’t some nationally recognized holiday. There should have been no reason for the school to be closed. I was about to leave when I heard singing. I waited to listen, and discovered that the singing was getting closer. Someone I couldn’t see was walking towards me, down the empty hallway. I turned around and watched as Viola literally faded into view out of nowhere, and as soon as she did, the singing stopped. I asked her what was going on, and she said that school had been cancelled for no reason at all. Everyone should have gotten the message, and she didn’t understand why I missed it. I was just surprised to be the only one. You would think at least one other student fell through the cracks. I then asked her what she was doing there, and just like her, she said it was her job to tell me what was happening. Anyway, I don’t have anything better to do, so we spend the day together there. We watch a movie that we find in one of the English classrooms; I can’t remember what it was. We conduct ultimately disappointing unauthorized experiments in the chemistry lab, and we fix a car in the industrial arts wing. I am about the furthest a person can be from a mechanic, but we worked on it for a long time, and got it running again. Looking back, that probably messed with someone’s assignment, but we figured we were helping.

I don’t know why we did all this, or what it was meant to accomplish. This didn’t have an incredibly profound affect on my life, and I didn’t really change for the better. It was a lot of fun, and I’m glad it happened, but what we did that day wasn’t the weirdest part. The weirdest part was that after what would have been normal school hours, I went back home, and never woke up. I experienced time exactly as it was meant to be experienced, I could read text that I had never seen before, and when I needed to use the restroom, I was fully able to. These are all common signs that you are not dreaming. That’s the first twist. I lied to you, because this was not a dream at all. This actually happened, and at no point did I believe it wasn’t real, until we reached the second twist. The second twist is that not a single person had any recollection of a day off of school. I tried to tell people about it once classes resumed the next day, but they had no idea what I was talking about. We all knew it was Thursday, and I had memories of being only one of two people here on the Wednesday prior, but everyone else thought things had gone on as normal. They could even recall information they learned in their Wednesday classes. But I know I wasn’t dreaming, and when I asked Viola about it, she refused to explain fully, but did assure me that I was the one with the right memories, and it was everyone else whose minds were messed up. I never did figure out why it was this happened, but I always attributed it to her, and now I know it must have been. If you ever learned how she did this, or why, please let me know. She must have had a good reason.

Microstory 1069: Oscar

< > Table of Contents

They call me Oscar the Delightful. I’m not a particular happy person, but I’m also not at all grouchy. It was just really important to my peers that they come up with something pseudo-clever. That’s the way it is with normal people. They like to come up with things, and have inside jokes, and they like to recall what they know; see it return to action in some other way. People are obsessed with the familiar, and despise the unknown. When you’re a child, everything is new, and you accept your new reality, because you’ve been given few reasons not to. But as you grow and mature, you start to become jaded, and the things you liked when you were little solidify themselves as the most important components of your history. If you were raised to be racist or homophobic, for instance, it’s difficult to break free from that notion, because those terrible lessons whoever raised you taught you remind you of a time when you were comfortable, and had everything provided for you. An animal will always return to where it know it’s given food. Lots of people think that those who were dealt a crappy hand are the worst kind of people, but in many cases, they’re the best of us. They lack this inescapable nostalgia, which—yes—can make them irritable, or hard to work with, but it can also make them more flexible, and even empathetic. They’re not tied down by the rules of yesteryear, and can better recognize the needs of the future. If they were quote-unquote cared for by racists homophobes, they’re less likely to maintain those convictions themselves, because it’s not like they feel some closeness to those people, so they can’t trust their beliefs. It is my theory that the hard knocks are the ones who progress society better than anyone. People who feel too comfortable about the way things have always been aren’t going to make much of an effort to change it. But the people whose lives sucked because of the past are going to do anything they can to change the status quo. Sometimes that means staying on the fringes of society, and participating in criminal activity, but it can also mean great things for us. Then there are the idealists, like Viola Woods. She saw how broken the world was, and felt a drive to fix it. She was raised by wealthy parents in a safe town—recent events notwithstanding. She could have lived a very comfortable life until she died an old woman, surrounded by her loved ones. She was killed because she put herself out there, and at risk. She made herself known, and painted a target on her back. That’s not to say any of this is her fault; I mean quite the opposite. She was killed because people don’t like good people, who try to improve the world, because remember what I said about nostalgia? It becomes written in your bones, and Viola threatened that, whether she was in the right, or not, which she was. She died because she was brave, and since I grew up in a similar household, under the same tax bracket, I think I could be doing more to better my world. I am excited to read this full series, because while you may have started it to get to the bottom of her murder, it can also help us understand who Viola was, and perhaps break free from our personal inhibitions.

Microstory 1068: Mabel

< > Table of Contents

I think you’ve been going about this all wrong. I get that you’ve been trying to get an idea of who Viola was. That’s called victimology, and it’s an important component to any murder investigation, but it really only tells us part of the story. Even if you wanted to focus exclusively on this aspect, you’re interviewing far too many people. Most of these stories aren’t going to have anything to do with her death, as interesting as they may be on their own. Lots of people know any given individual who has died, but that doesn’t mean they were at all involved. Let me try to put in another way. Let’s say you’re a detective, who’s just caught a murder in an alleyway. You get on your hands and knees, and discover a cigarette butt on the ground near the guy’s body. You run a DNA test, and discover the man who smoked that cancer stick was John Doe. John Doe immediately becomes your prime suspect. Why? You haven’t linked the cigarette to the death. All you’ve done is linked both the cigarette, and the body, to the alleyway, but that doesn’t mean they’re related. He could have smoked that days before. Let’s say forensics can estimate the amount of time it’s been lying there. He could have dropped it, walked back into the noisy nightclub, then two minutes later—BOOM—the victim is shot and killed, by someone completely different. Do you kind of see what I’m saying? You’re trying to gather as many clues as you can, and hoping they fit together into a pretty picture, but that’s not how life works. It’s messy, and confusing, and you’re always left with tons of missing pieces. What you need are the keystone pieces. Have you even considered speaking with her parents, or any other family members? What about her nearest neighbors, or anyone who was by Masters Creek around the time of death? The police are pretty sure they know what happened, so I’ve heard that didn’t do a lot of canvassing. Of course, this is a really small town, and they didn’t send for a brooding detective from the big city with a complicated past to handle this for us in the span of ten episodes. They did their best, but I am quite certain there’s a lot they missed, and also quite certain what they missed was not part of the random population of this year’s graduating class. Somebody was there we don’t know about, and I suggest you try to figure out who that was. You’re an aspiring investigative reporter, Alma. You know what you need to do. I get that you’re kind of on a roll, and it sounds like you’re well beyond halfway done, but do remember my advice once you’re finished with this series. I don’t think we’ll have the whole story if you stop there.

Microstory 1057: Earl

< > Table of Contents

My name is Earl, and I don’t like to talk about what happened to me last year, but I’ll do it, because you’re somehow making me feel like I need to. Edgar was a bad person back then, and I still don’t quite understand what happened to him, but that’s not really important, is it? What we really want to know is why he was ever so horrible? What made him that way? Only he could truly answer that, but the original Edgar is dead, and so is Viola, so I’m going to have to do my best. The way she explained it to me, there are those in this world who are born with a corrupted sense empathy, but not no empathy at all. Most people can experience, to some extent, other people’s emotions. Someone with reverse empathy, however, will feel the opposite emotion. Happy people make them angry. Sad people make them feel joyful. Do not mistake this for schadenfreude. A sufferer of this affliction will actively seek out the misery, and if they can’t find it, they’ll create it. It’s not that Edgar derived pleasure out other people’s misfortune, but his brain was literally processing the information the wrong way. When the original Edgar was hurting our friend, he wasn’t actually trying to kill him. He was just trying to undo his own physical pain. I don’t really remember what had hurt him in that case, but it certainly wasn’t the first time. He first told me about what he was when we were in middle school. That’s a really trying time for kids, so there was plenty of anguish and angst to satisfy Edgar’s needs, and he didn’t even have to do anything to get it. He just had to walk the halls, amongst all those growing boys and girls, who were so self-conscious about their lives. But then he got into high school, and things started changing for him. Our classmates were figuring out what they were good at, and what they wanted to do with their lives. They were making a point of having fun, and rebelling against their parents. Worst of all, they were discovering sex. Sex was the worst for Edgar. The ultimate pleasure, to translate to the ultimate torture. I spent years helping him get through his affliction, even going so far as to harm myself, but it stopped being enough, and I couldn’t do it on my own. He started trying to recruit others, and when I tried to stop him, he persuaded me otherwise, using a hypnotic power that I did not yet know he even had. I’m not sad he’s dead, because it really is the best for everyone, including him. I’m only sad about Viola, because how many others are there out there with reverse empathy, whom she could have helped? Perhaps now...falls to me.

Microstory 1041: Archie

< > Table of Contents

Most people think that my full name is Archibald, and because it’s kind of an antiquated name, my peers like to use it instead. My real name is actually Archer, which my parents desperately want me to be using instead, but then I’m constantly fighting this belief that I’m good at archery. Archery isn’t the last thing I would be doing, but I’m not interested in sports, and I don’t want anything to distract from my true message. I’m an active and healthy person, but my primary concern is promoting a well-balanced diet, and removing all the terrible things that the corporations put in our food. A lot of people probably don’t remember that I too ran for student body president, as a fourth candidate. Almost no one voted for me, though, because I was honest with my campaign promises, and they were not promises anyone wanted me to keep. When I started dating my girlfriend, Martha last year, I gave her my password to a certain movie and television library, because she isn’t eighteen yet. She’s stopped having very much time for it, but her viewing habits are still impacting my recommendations. She’s obsessed with learning, and finds documentaries to be the best source of her education, so I started seeing a lot of stuff on there that I wouldn’t normally watch. One of these such docs was about how corn is basically destroying the country. I won’t get into specifics here, because the topic needs its own monthly periodical, for Christ’s sake, but the takeaway is that there’s corn in everything, and the toxic waste it produces is harming the environment as much as fossil fuel. I ran my campaign on changing the way this school does business, and my fellow students either didn’t like it, or were totally indifferent. I wanted to overhaul our lunch menu, and get rid of all the magazines. Why would we get rid of magazines? Well, there’s corn in them too, which is insane. I mean, we shouldn’t be consuming so much paper anyway, because corn isn’t the only thing that’s causing us to head towards the apocalypse, but try telling that to a group of self-involved hormonal teens. Anyway, Viola was the only one who really paid attention to what I was saying, but she also realized that there was no way I would win. Instead of trying to support me, which probably would have been a waste of time, she modified her own campaign to better reflect the values that I was trying to push. As you know, she didn’t win either, and the both of us have always suspected this to be the reason, but that didn’t mean what she did was pointless. Though Riley ultimately won the election, people actually started listening to my warnings, and things are changing. The menu is still filled with tons of unhealthy ingredients, but there’s a lot less high fructose corn syrup than there was before you got here. You couldn’t walk ten meters without running into another soda machine, but they’re all gone now. I didn’t do that; Viola did, and the greatest sadness is that this revolution is only one of what could have been very many that she popularized. What other great change could she have inspired in this world if she hadn’t died so young? That’s what I wanna know.

Microstory 1033: Warren

< > Table of Contents

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.

Microstory 1020: Ruth

< > Table of Contents

My time is very valuable, so I hope we can keep this interview short and efficient. A little bit of background. For the record, my name is Ruth. I’m class secretary, and hope to one day become a real secretary. Not as in, assistant, but a cabinet member. That may sound like too lofty a goal for a small town girl born to a middle class family, but I know what I’m doing, and I’m right on track. I have high aspirations for my life, and I don’t need this scandal getting in the way of that. For the record, I had nothing to do with what happened by the river that day, and was not at all involved in Viola’s death. For the most part, she was a diplomatic person. She loved to be loved, and she was willing to change her entire personality to fit in with whoever she happened to be around at the time. My God, I’m so sorry. Whomever. Get it together, Ruth. Anyway, my point is that I may have been the only person in the whole town that she didn’t like. We were quite similar—she and I—except that I have more trouble connecting with people, since I’m so mindful of order. We weren’t friends, but we were very close. This is our story. She was a lot more fun and relaxed, and people liked being around her, but I too care about the people around me, which is why I want to serve my country. We competed in everything, from grades, to sports, to the position of class president. We both lost out to that ineffectual, feckless cad, Riley, because he promised the school he would put brawndo in the water fountains. It’s not a real drink! Even he meant it as a joke! Whew, sorry about that. Calm and centered, you are worth it, Ruth. Well, no one ran for class secretary, so our apathetic principal decided to let Viola and I fight for the position once Riley took the top spot. She would have told you that she gave it to me to be nice, but I negotiated my way into it. She didn’t realize what she had really lost until later, so she’s never forgiven me for it. Our rivalry would have gone beyond the walls of this school had she survived through graduation. On a personal level, I am most upset with her murderer for taking that motivation away. Her tailgating me pushed me to be my best, and drove me to reach my goals. Oh dear, was that a terrible thing to say? Of course her death is sad on its own, and requires no selfish feeling of loss, or particular qualification. For the record, I did not dislike her as she me. I felt nothing but admiration for her. While she lacked the discipline to realize her own potential, I lack the social grace that she possessed in spades. The truth is that I miss her as much as anybody else, even though we were frenemies. I can only hope that she carried even half the amount of respect for me as I do her.

Microstory 1006: Ralph

< > Table of Contents

Hey. I heard it through the bovine that you have this crazy idea to interview everyone in the senior class, to get their reactions to Viola’s death. Do you have any battle plans laid out, or do you intend to just run around blind. I have this school wired. I know who is who and who they do. You should start with the kid here who knew her the least. Let’s see, we have a few contenders, but I’m gonna have to go with Edna. She’s the newest student after you, so she doesn’t know much of anyone yet. In a town this small—so tight-knit—it’s hard to break in if you’re an outsider. Next, you’ll want to get the Vance interview out of the way. He’s kind of a douchebag, and he rejects everything about Blast City, so he’ll have little to contribute to your investigation. Blanche should technically come after that, because she’s a sociopath, and doesn’t care about anyone. But I worry if you talk to her, she’ll depress you so much, that you’ll just give up. Louise was overprescribed anxiety medication—but you didn’t hear it from me—so she’ll lift your spirits high enough to handle the Blanche storm. After that, you got Giorgia. She’s a lovely girl, ultimately from Italy. She had a lot of problems when she moved to town a few years ago. We don’t get a lot of visitors, you see, and people can be quite insensitive and ignorant. We’re all a lot more woke now, but she’s kind of been soured on us. She and Viola weren’t close, but she’ll have nice things to say about her, which you’ll need, again, after the Blanche storm. I know this is a lot of information, and I’ll write it all down for you. Maybe I could help on a more permanent basis. I can set up microphones, and transcribe your notes, or whatever you need. I don’t work for the newspaper, but like I said, nothin’ happens in this school I don’t know about. Oh, a little more about me? Well, I’m pretty quiet, and almost invisible, like the janitor. I talk to a few people sometimes, but only because they think I have some weird secret, like I’m a vampire, or a narc. Mostly I just observe, which is easy when nobody notices you’re there. Don’t worry about me, though, I’m totally fine. I’ve never tried very hard, and was always just biding my time until college. Viola’s death showed me that this is part of real life too—that the stakes are real—and I will always be waiting for the future if I don’t start living in the present. Anyway, I wish I had realized that before, and put myself out there. As much as I know about this place, there’s still a lot that I’m not privy to. If I had just been more open, she and I might have been friends. I got to get to class, but I’m looking forward to working with you. I’ll have that list ready for you tomorrow morning.

Microstory 1005: Giorgia

< > Table of Contents

Contrary to popular belief at this school, I actually speak perfect English. See? I have a bit of an accent, but I play a pretty good North American. Lots of people seem to think I’m an exchange student, but I’ve been living in this country for nine years, so no. I kind of feel like a sitcom token foreign character, where when I say something, people just laugh and pretend I didn’t make any sense. This happened so absurdly often when I first moved here that I eventually gave up trying to connect with most people. I have my small group of friends, who all know me well, most of whom are in different grade levels, so I don’t really need anyone else’s validation anymore. I will say that Viola was one of the few people outside my friend circle who got that I’m an immigrant. I have full citizenship, as do both of my parents, and we didn’t even have to climb a wall to get it. I was born in Italy, but my family is very whimsical and spontaneous. We didn’t plan on coming to Blast City, per se. But after spending years in the city, our paperwork went through, and we felt we needed to make another decision. Since no globe would have a town this small on it, we couldn’t spin it like before, but my mom did close her eyes and point randomly on a map. So yeah, that’s how we ended up here. I think they wanted to leave again, but were worried about destabilizing my education, so that will probably be happening sometime next year, or even near the end of this year. I’m not going to college, which is one thing Viola and I had in common. You asked for a specific defining moment between the two of us, but there wasn’t really anything like that. She greeted me in the halls, and asked me how my cat was doing. She learned a few Italian phrases, but unlike others, who just want me to teach them curse words, she was doing it out of genuine interest. I think that’s probably why so many people think they had some kind of special connection to her, and maybe it’s even partly why someone killed her. She went out of her way to find common ground with everyone she met, even if it meant fabricating something that wasn’t there before. Fabricating isn’t the word I’m looking for. And again, that’s not because English is technically a second language; I’m just not articulating perfectly. Devising; that’s a better word. If for instance, she encountered someone who liked tennis, she would put on a pleated skirt, and give it a shot. She may not like it, and she may never do it again, but she will always have that bond with that other person. I guess, she doesn’t have it anymore. We do, though. We remember her, and we each have that one thing that she made us feel isn’t stupid, or uncool. In the end, I’m glad we weren’t really close friends. The light from a person like that belongs to us all, and I wouldn’t have wanted to bogart that.

Microstory 1004: Blanche

< > Table of Contents

I’m sorry, I don’t know what you want for me, but I’m not going to cry over someone I didn’t know. Thousands of people die every day, you expect me to mourn for every one of them? No? Just the ones in some arbitrary geographical radius? No, that can’t be right either, because I know people who live in Chile, and Mongolia. I bet you would care about them too, but not about all the other Chileans and Mongolians. Look, all I know about Viola came from rumors and second-hand conversations. I’m not going to comment on a topic on which I am not an authority. I have my own problems to deal with. My parents are worried that I’m a sociopath because I didn’t shed a single tear, or even attend the memorial service. Just because I’m not emotional about everything, doesn’t mean I’m not emotional about anything. But if you really need it, I will give you a story of a notable encounter I had with her. You’re new, so you may not know this. In a town so small, we basically have two stores. You can shop at the snooty rich joint, or you can come to the regular place that’s been here almost as long as Blast City itself. Viola Woods and her ilk do not shop at the old store, because it’s beneath them. They literally built the new store on top of a slightly taller hill, just so they could look down on us. Yet there she was one day in the valley, I guess to get a look at the funny little normal people who shop there, or in my case, work there. It didn’t look like someone had dared her to do it, but she didn’t look comfortable either. Maybe it’s just that her parents have never let her go in before, and she didn’t know where anything was, but she stood out like a sore thumb. And that’s about it! She bought a few single-serving boxes of cereal, some milk, and I think a magazine. She paid in cash, then she walked out. This was about a year ago, and she never came back. Real brush with grace, I know, I almost fainted. I sure do hope the rest of your interviews are more interesting than this, because you’ve just learned everything there is to know about the infamous duo of Viola and Blanche.

Microstory 1003: Louise

< > Table of Contents

I would like to thank you for doing this at my home. Ever since it happened, I have just been unable to return to school. Mommy and daddy says I have anxiety, so I’m taking these pills, which make me a little loopy. Would you like something to drink? I have tea, or just hot water. What did you want to ask me? Viola, right. Well, you know I always felt quite close to her, even though she probably wouldn’t have called us friends. I suppose you could say we were kindred spirits. She had an excellent sense of style, just like me. We listened to all the same music, and. [...] Sorry, was I saying something? Viola, yes. What a lovely young woman. Daddy always wanted me to end up with someone like her, but I admit, I’m more into the edgy girls. Don’t get me wrong, she was a wild one, when she let her inhibitions go. I saw her at a party once. Dancing all over the couches and coffee table, pretending that the floor was lava. Granted, this was at a sleepover when we were in first grade, but she hasn’t lost that spark, ya know? Or I guess, she hadn’t, until...ya know. Oh, tea’s ready. Where was I? Viola, of course. Her death had a really big impact on me. When something like that happens, it just really makes you take stork [sic] of your life. We’re all gonna die one day, and there’s nothing we can do about it. She was a lovely young woman, though, and didn’t deserve to leave this plane of existence so young, and so gruesomely.

Did you hear the rumors about how they found her? This abandoned building on the edge of town, covered in—oh, I tremble at the thought. If you ever find my body like that, please clean me up, and move me somewhere more proper, like The Alston. That’s such a nice place; both my parents are members, as are Viola’s. I saw her there a few times, and we would play this game where I would try to talk with her, and she would pretend I wasn’t there. Just like at that party, she was always using her imagination. We can all learn a lot from Viola; from her life, not her death. She was kind to everyone, except maybe me. How’s your tea? What was I talking about? Viola, indeed. Why, that sounds like the title of a television show. Viola, Indeed. Wednesdays at nine. Or perhaps Indeed, Viola. I’m still working on it. I’m afraid I lost myself again. These pills have really done a number on me. Sometimes I dream that I’ve flushed them all down the toilet, but then I wake up and realize that would be impossible, so I take another two and forget about it. I’m really only meant to take one a day, but I’m twice as anxious as my doctor thinks. Back on track, Louise, get back on track. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but she wasn’t as nice of a person as everyone makes her out to be. She was cold and dismissive of me, for no reason. We had so much in common—we were both rich—so we should have been friends. I never did understand what she didn’t like about me. Don’t get any bad ideas, I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking. Unlike some of my more...suspicious classmates—no offense—I believe they caught the murtherer. Murther most foul, that was. Or is it fowl? Which is birds, and which is bad things. I can never remember. How’s your tea? Where is your tea? Did I not give you tea? Where’s my tea? The whole pot is missing. Another mystery for Blast City’s finest.

Microstory 1002: Vance

< > Table of Contents

You’re interviewing the entire senior class for this? No, that doesn’t sound ambitious so much as reaching. What do you hope to get out of this series? It’s not like the suspect pool is limited to a hundred people. Anyone in town could have killed her, and I do mean anyone in it, not just the people who live here. It’s not like we have a giant wall preventing other people from getting in. She was discovered on the edge of town, so anybody could have snuck in and done the dirty deed without anyone else noticing someone suspicious. If you’re just trying to get an idea of who Viola was, you’re still doing too much, because I didn’t know her at all. As crazy as it sounds, my family moved back to this town just before I started high school four years ago. My grandma got sick, and my mother desperately wanted to move us all to somewhere familiar. That’s right, we were all living in the city, but since grams was on her last legs, mom wanted to surround her with people she grew up with. Of course, my grandmother was over a hundred by the time she died, so everyone she knew growing up was already dead anyway. Plus, all the buildings and streets have changed, so it was really a stupid idea. Kind of like this interview. Sorry that was mean, but I just call ‘em like I see ‘em. Anyway, I know you’re not here to learn about me. Viola seemed like a cool chick, but we weren’t friends. I have my own group of friends in Coaltown, so you wouldn’t know them, but that’s a whole list of other suspects you could look into, if you have a million years lying around. Viola and I were lab partners once, so I’ve been to her house, which was apparently kind of a rare event. Her parents are not like anything you would think would raise someone as gentle and pleasant as Viola. Their house is littered with posters and decorations from all over the world, but I know for a fact that they haven’t stepped foot outside of Mineral County. My father works at the travel agency, so if they had left, we would know about. So I guess Viola’s parents are just obsessed with the idea of traveling, but have never been brave enough to do so. They’re certainly rich enough to do it. She doesn’t work, and he’s the big boss, so they would have time for it too. Maybe that’s why they’re so unpleasant. I don’t know how Viola survived that. Though I suppose, she didn’t. I dunno, they’re weird people. You should be interviewing them. You want me to say something about Viola herself? Well, she was lovely, of course. I’ve no clue why anyone would want her dead. I couldn’t have finished that lab project without her. I’m not dumb, but I have no motivation to do well in school, since you don’t need much education to be a flight attendant. All I care about is languages. It makes it a lot easier having someone else rely on me to make sure they do okay. That’s really it. Like I was saying, I know Maud, but I didn’t know Viola.