Microstory 2481: Treasure Hunting Dome

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This is like a cross between a race and a treasure hunt, but multiplied by a thousand. Obviously, if there was only one hunt going on at once, it would immediately become impossible to complete, like a million or more players trying to golf on one course. The surface under this dome has plenty of room, so they take it up. Of course, there are different levels of difficulty, and different lengths. You can choose a hunt that only typically takes a couple of hours, or one that can last for days, or even weeks. Like a real treasure hunt—or one you might find in media—you solve clues, or solve puzzles to get more clues to solve. Like a challenge competition, some of the clues can be earned through otherwise unrelated tasks. You might have to complete a Rubik’s Cube in order to unlock a secret hidden inside, or you might have to figure out how to milk a genetically engineered cow that’s as big as a house before an android will hand you your clue. One of them necessarily leads to the reward, while the other is arbitrary, and could theoretically be anything. This isn’t a criticism, just a clarification that there’s a healthy mix of tasks to complete, and while some of them might seem silly, or make you feel embarrassed, they’re all meant to be fun. It gets even more complex, because you’re sometimes working alone, and sometimes with a team, and sometimes against others, and you don’t always get to choose your team. If multiple people arrive at the same challenge or puzzle, you may be required to work with them, or compete against them. It really just depends. And those other people may be on the same treasure hunt with you, or on an entirely different one, which just so happens to intersect at this same point. You can also select a hunt that involves being on a team already, and even that sometimes goes up in the air, because they may make you compete with each other for individual rewards. They always tell you what you’re meant to do, though, so don’t worry about getting overwhelmed by the rules. They obviously won’t tell you how to complete a given challenge, but they’ll make sure you understand it well enough to at least make an attempt. As I said, there are all sorts of different ways of going about this, and you have the power to choose your own destiny. I’ve run four hunts at this point, and I can recommend all four, but I can’t recommend any hunt that I’ve never been on. No one can. I doubt there’s even time for any given person to try every single variation, because I think they’re intending to retire some to make space for brand new ones. It changes all the time, just like life itself. One final note. There are some out there who believe that there is some sort of overarching plot here, and a secret hunt which will lead to genuine, valuable riches. I don’t know anything about that, but my advice would be to stick with what you’ve been given. You can’t get into this dome without choosing a particular hunt, and they’re gonna keep you on task. Even though you’re expected to figure things out on your own, it’s not a free-for-all, so don’t even try.

Microstory 2439: Dome for Pioneers

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Ha! Dome for Pioneers. That’s so on the nose. That’s really what it is. You’re almost starting from scratch here. You don’t go all the way back to the beginning, like Paleodome, but you’re not provided with much. Like other lifestyle domes, you’re expected to stay here for an extended period of time, like years; not days, not even months. You’re here to get an idea of what life was like for people in 19th century New World. Everything you need is here, but you have to process it yourself. There’s wooded areas, arid desert, prairies, some small lakes (maybe ponds?) and rocks. They dress you in very simple clothes that look like they’re handmade, but I’m guessing they weren’t really. They give you a metal bucket, a few basic tools, and one wagon per ten or eleven people I think? I don’t remember what they said. If you have too few people, you don’t even get a wagon. There are some cows of some kind wandering around nearby, so if you do get one of the wagons, you have to put those two things together yourself. Good luck, dude, I actually think they’re real cows. While they’re not aggressive, they don’t want you tying ropes to them, and do you even know how to put a cow before a wagon? Didn’t think so. It’s the year 2500, we don’t have to do stuff like that anymore. That’s what’s so interesting about this place. If you wanted to know how the real pioneers survived with what little they had, and while enduring everything they had to, you had to have done your research ahead of time. There is no education here. I understand what they were going for, but that was probably a mistake. There should be a museum where they give you such education, not so you’re better equipped, but so you have a real appreciation for what you’ll experience in the simulation. What were their goals? What mistakes did they make? What kind of class divide was there, if any? I mean, you could turn your lot into a mountain man survivalist situation, and stay there for just as long, but that’s not what the pioneers were trying to do. They were digging in, founding towns, making a legacy for themselves. If people start using it right, given enough time, it’s possible that Dome for Pioneers might have to change its name to Dome for an Extremely Advanced Civilization. All the tools are there, it will just take time for us to relearn how to use them, just like our ancestors did. I think that it’s a really interesting social experiment. I just think it might not accomplish the right goals if management doesn’t guide the narrative in a proper direction. But don’t listen to me, I’m nobody.

Microstory 2220: Rule It

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We have more information now. The prion has been identified. It’s called Neurodegenerative Artiodactyl Acquired Prion Disease, and it is only passed to humans through tainted meat. And since there has only been one time when Nick ate meat of any kind in the last couple of decades, he knows exactly how it happened. He knows what restaurant he went to, he knows precisely what he ordered. He has all sorts of information about the incident. Now, I’m sure the restaurant will claim that it couldn’t possibly be from them, but there can be no denying it. Because even if you don’t believe that Nick was once immortal, and from another universe, you have zero evidence that he ate meat at any other place. That doesn’t mean that there’s going to be a lawsuit, I honestly don’t know, because this is just the beginning of this chapter of the story. At this time, I do not believe that he’s considering taking legal action against anyone, but that doesn’t mean he won’t change his mind in the future. As I’m only his lifecare assistant, I have nothing to do with the decision, but I wouldn’t rule it out. He’s preoccupied right now, but once we get back into a routine, he may start to develop some harsh feelings for who did this to him. At the very least, they need to open an investigation into that restaurant, and into whoever provides them their beef, as well as any other possible victims. He’s obviously not the only person who ate that steak. His would-be business partners ordered basically the same thing, so they could be sick too. I know that there was this whole other legal thing about them claiming that he defamed them. He never told you the name of that company in the first place, but because of all this, it may end up finally coming to light. Like I said, we’re still in the early stages. My job has not changed. It’s still my responsibility to make sure that my patient is safe and comfortable. I have found him a new therapist. She’s experienced with treating the terminally ill. Even though we didn’t learn the prognosis until yesterday, it was rather clear to the both of us—and probably most of his hospital staff—that he was not going to get better. It’s just that now it’s been confirmed. So she’s already ready to go, and will be available to meet with him next week. I’m hoping that she will be able to convince him to get back to his website. I think it would be really important for him to express his final thoughts, so people can continue to read it after he’s gone, and maybe learn from his experiences. As I told you yesterday, not a lot of people are even aware that prions exist, but they are a real danger to your health, and should not be dismissed just because they’re rare. They do happen.

Microstory 1713: Trapper and Dash

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We are the hunting dogs, Trapper and Dash. While Boots is off wrangling his cows, we’re busy sniffing out prey. We catch our kill, and put food on the table. We’re not saying Boots doesn’t provide, or doesn’t have an important job, but let’s face it, those cows are dumber than a fallen branch. A really good fence could keep them in line. Hunting, on the other hand, takes real skill. You have to be quick, not just loud and frightening. You have to be able to keep up with your prey, and sometimes wear them out. Most dogs have specialties, but we hunt for everything. Quail, duck, deer. We don’t go after foxes, though, even though Dash is a foxhound. Humans don’t eat fox, apparently, so they have no use for it. We can’t quite relate to that, seeing as we instinctively go after anything that moves, and isn’t also a dog. We suppose foxes are dogs in their own way. Perhaps that’s why our humans don’t like their meat. We certainly wouldn’t want them eating us! We do eat raccoons, Trapper is a coonhound. Anyway, a few minutes ago, Boots caught the scene of a bobcat. We don’t hunt them either most of the time, because the humans also have pet cats. I’m starting to see a pattern here. Or is it just too dangerous to them. This one’s different. It tried to go after poor Moonica, so we’ve been dispatched to take care of it. That bobcat knows where it can find food now, so if we don’t put an end to its life, it’ll come back later. Boots and our parents can’t watch over the cows all the time. We consider it our sacred duty to perform the tasks that they can’t stomach. We were bred for the kill, and we can handle any obstacle that gets in our way.

We can hear our parents following behind us, but they’re giving us the room we need to find the scent. This bobcat is smart; it knows how to hide itself pretty well. It’s not perfect, though, and it’s not undetectable. We move every which way until Trapper finally thinks he knows the exact right direction to go, and then we follow it. Once we’re close enough, we can sense it getting farther away. It knows we’re in pursuit, and it doesn’t want to run into us again. No, it’s not getting off that easy. Nothing will stop us from protecting our family, and our ranch. We keep going, moving faster and faster. The scent grows stronger, and we know we’re close. Pretty soon, we can tell that we’re nearly upon it. We make it over one more ridge, and there it is, crouched in its den. We don’t know if it thinks it’s safe from us there, but it’s not. We stop running, and we transform our barks into growls. We approach cautiously, but menacingly. That is when we see it. The bobcat isn’t just crouching to protect itself, it’s protecting a litter of kittens. We stop immediately, and back off. Can we just let this go? If she has a litter, that’s even more reason for her to come back to our ranch and try to attack our cows. We can’t just walk away and hope for the best. We can’t kill her, though, and we certainly can’t kill her babies—which, in this case, would be the same thing. Since they’re cats, we don’t speak the same language, but a few things do translate. We go back to barking, intermixing the growls as needed. We have to get the mother to understand that we mean business, and that her business is staying as far from our property as she can possibly be. She can go harass Old Man Larrison’s animals on his farm. He doesn’t take care of his livestock, or his pets, so they probably kind of deserve it. When we think the bobcat has gotten the message, we break away, and head back towards home.

Microstory 1709: The Legend of Boots and Moonica

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They call me an Australian Cattle Dog, though I don’t know why. I don’t speak Australian. I’ve never even been there! I’ve lived my whole life in Wyoming, and that’s exactly how I like it. Hello, my name is Boots on account of the black fur I got on all four of my paws, and I’ll be your cow-herder today. These cows get into all sorts of mischief, and it’s my responsibility to muster them. They’re always goin’ off in the wrong direction. They’re so stupid, always followin’ a random line of grass, and not payin’ attention to where everybody else is headed. There goes another one. I got to go bring Moonica back so we can make it to our destination. It’s hard work, makin’ sure these grazers are where they’re supposed to be. If they spend too much time in one place, they run out of food, and they don’t know how to find more. It’s my job to lead the way. I mostly lead from the back. We still have a ways to go when I start gettin’ the sense that somethin’ ain’t right. I perk up, which immediately alerts my mom and dad to be on alert. I sniff the air, tryna figure out where it’s comin’ from. Is it over here? No, the scent grows fainter. What about this way? Fainter still. My dad asks me, what is it, boy, but I don’t know yet; give me some time. Gol-ly, he’s so impatient. If he just sniffed the air, he would know what I know. I don’t know why I got to tell him everything myself. I guess that’s why he’s the boss, so he don’t have to worry about it himself. Anyway, I catch the scent, and I know now it’s some kind of feline. I have some kitty cat friends back at the farmhouse, but this is somethin’ different. This individual I do not recognize, and I am not happy about it. I start yappin’ at my parents, because they’re obviously not as worried as me, and they always need me to hold their hands through this kind of thing.

The humans pulls the cows back themselves while I pursue the threat down this-uh-way. I don’t have to go far before I’m face-to-face with a bobcat. Funny, I’ve never seen one before, but I know what it is. I know it’s dangerous, and I know it’s got to go. It don’t seem to feel the same way as I do, so I’m gonna have to make sure it figures it out. I tense up and growl so it understands that this is my territory, and I’m willing and able to protect it. It just gives me this look like it ain’t worried about a little thing like me. It seems to be failin’ to see my power, so I start barkin’, and keep growlin’. It moves a little, I guess to see if I’m an illusion, or somethin’ so I move with it. It still don’t seem too terribly concerned about it, and I get the impression that it’s under the impression that it’s gonna have somethin’ to eat out of this herd. That won’t happen on my watch, so I begin to lunge. I don’t attack, ‘cause to tell you the truth, I’m not so sure I can take it. I shouldn’t have to, though; it just need it to at least think that I can. My mama comes, and tries to pull me back. I s’pose she’s willin’ to let a cow die just to protect the three of us. That ain’t okay with me, I’m tellin’ you that right now. This bobcat can chew on a cactus, for all I care. It is not gettin’ past me. I’m not strong or heavy enough. Mama manages to get her arms under my belly, and picks me up. I kick and scream, but she won’t let me go. “The cows! The cows!” I cry, but she’s not smart enough for my language. Seeing an opportunity, the bobcat prepares to pounce on poor ol’ Moonica. But she sees it too, and she ain’t havin’ it. Before the bobcat can pounce, she lowers her head, and charges. That bobcat runs away, and doesn’t look back. I guess I’m not the only one who can protect the herd. This is the last time I underestimate these gals.

Microstory 1287: The Father and the Snake

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A father and his son were coming back from the market one day when the son accidentally stepped on a pile of eggs. The father examined the remains, and discovered that they belonged to a snake. The son was upset about what he had done, but his father assured him that these things happen. He was also afraid the mother would return, and be stricken with sadness for what happened, but the father also knew that this variety of snake always abandons her eggs, and would move on with her life, never knowing something had happened. Unfortunately, he was wrong. This particular mother snake was a little different. For whatever reason she felt the urge to return to her nest, and check on her babies. She was horrified by what she found there, and even though it was not in her nature, felt compelled to seek revenge on whoever killed her young. She sniffed around, and picked up the scent. Then she slithered off to hunt for the culprit. She found him, and bit the boy in the ankle. The boy nearly died, but the father acted quickly, and got him medical attention. He was angry, though, so he hunted the mother snake right back, and cut off her tail with a shovel. Now even angrier, the snake returned to the father’s home, and bit several of his cows. She bit each one of them many times, in the dead of night, so he would not be able to tend to them in time. Angrier too, the father went out to get his revenge again, but this time, he was determined to kill her, and just be done with it. But the son did not want this to happen. While he was still recovering, he struggled out of bed, and followed his father to the woods. He finally caught up with him just as they were coming upon the snake. She was prepared for a fight, and so was the father. “No,” the son declared. “You will not do this. No good can come of it.” He continued his speech, trying desperately to dissuade them from their bloodlust. The cycle of violence had to end, and both of them knew it. Neither believed the other should concede first. It was just that each worried the other wouldn’t take kindly to a truce, and that it might make things worse. But someone had to risk it. The boy’s words were enough to change them both for the better. The father apologized for the snake’s young, and the snake apologized for his cattle. She tried to apologize for the boy, but the boy insisted that all was forgiven on his end. The father and the snake did not become friends that day, but they were no longer enemies.

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

Microstory 1272: The Donkey and the Dog

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One evening, after supper, a farmer went out to bid his animals goodnight. The cows mooed graciously. The chickens clucked in delight. The pigs oinked with glee. But they all knew that they were not his favorites. The farmer could only allow himself to grow attached to the animals he would not one day slaughter, like the horses, the sheep, and the goats. But even they could not compare to the farmer’s love for his dog, and his donkey. The dog would hop around, and try to get the farmer to play, but the farmer was old and weary. The best he could do was sit on the milking stool, and let the dog rest in his lap. The donkey wanted to be part of this as well. He hopped around playfully, but could not match the dog’s agility. He tried to mimic the dog’s adorable barks and bays, but his voice only came out in screeches, irritating the other animals in the barn. But the donkey did not give up. He gently nudged the dog off of the farmer’s lap, and attempted to take her place. “No,” said the farmer. “You are too big for my lap. You would surely crush my legs, and break my knees.” So the sad donkey slinked off to stand alone in the corner. The farmer stood up from the stool, and followed his donkey over there. He gently petted the donkey. “I am too old to ride upon your back, and you are too big to sit upon my lap. But that does not mean I do not love you. The dog ran up and affectionately bit the donkey on his leg. “I love you both equally.”

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

Microstory 1271: The Independent Woman and Her Milk

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After the cows were milked, and the market was soon to open, the farmer sent his young daughter into town to sell their milk. As she walked, she fantasized about what she and her family could do with the money they would get. After today, they should have saved up enough to buy a new cow, which will increase their yield, and make them even more money. With that, they could buy chickens, and fix the fence, and do all sorts of things to make their farm better and better. If they could make enough, she might even be able to afford the books she’ll need to go to school. As her mind was wandering, thinking about the amazing job she might get from having become educated, the pail slipped from her hand, and fell to the ground. All of the milk was wasted. When she returned home to confess to her parents what she had done, her father was saddened. He was not upset about the milk, but he realized how difficult this life must have been for his children. The next day, he sold the farmland, and all of its assets. He moved his family to a small apartment in the city, only a few blocks from the nearest school. His children received a great education, and even went on to college. The daughter chose to study agriculture, and ultimately became the founder of a vertical farming company, revolutionizing the way farmers tended to their crops. She eventually forgot about that fateful day when she foolishly spilled the milk. Her head was too full of interesting thoughts about how to make the world a better place.

This story was inspired by, and revised from, an Aesop Fable called The Milkmaid and Her Pail.

Microstory 1027: Howard

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Have you ever noticed that we write addresses backwards? If I want to send a letter to my friend at 123 Main Street, Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, I make it harder for the mail service to deliver by writing it out like that. We should start with the general, and become more specific from there. The first person at the post office only cares about which country it’s going to. They see Spain, they throw it in the Spain bin. They see Canada, they throw it in the Canada bin. Once it gets to Canada, the next person only cares about which Province it goes to, so put that on the next line. Next person after that only cares about the city, and the next which post office, which means it’s only the last one who cares about which specific building, or unit, it’s meant for. I had this dream that we would completely revamp our delivery system, to make it make more sense. Now, I don’t really know how it works. Maybe I was always wrong, and no worker has any problem hunting for the line that matters most to them. Or maybe the entire address is relevant to everyone who sees it. I just thought there was a better way, but Viola helped me get over it. It’s an insane idea to change something that’s been so ingrained in our way of life for centuries, but she never treated me poorly for it. She gently explained to me that the problem with the way we write addresses has less to do with the order, and more to do with the spacing. The system would work just as well top to bottom, if only we separated the geographical regions more clearly. Anyway, this was really just one carefully explained example of these ideas I have in my head that normal people don’t think about. I obsess over small inconveniences and inefficiencies that most people gloss right over. There are better ways we could be doing things, but in the grand scheme of things, that doesn’t matter much. Viola taught me that, but didn’t let on she was doing it. She taught me that life is not so much pointless as it is too complicated. A lot of good has come from humanity’s advances over the last few centuries, but some have made things worse. Why do we have health insurance? It’s an unnecessary step towards healthcare. We came up with these ways of treating maladies and other medical conditions, and then we muddied it up with a bunch of erroneous programs that do nothing but cause mess. I was getting so bogged down with trying to make this life more efficient, that my life itself was inefficient. Viola helped me shed what she called the extra from my life. Minimalism is key. That’s not to say I’m going to go live in a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere, and drink milk straight from the udder. But I’m also not going to play by all of society’s rules. My life is going to be simple, and fulfilling, and I owe that to Viola’s ageless wisdom.

Microstory 948: Clean Meat

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I love meat. Meaty, meat, meat. Here it goes down; down into my belly. Mm-mm-mm. I love cow meat, and pig meat, and bird meat, and sea meat. When I was younger, I was willing to eat any kind of animal, as long as it wasn’t lamb or veal. Why those exceptions? Well, they’re babies, and I think eating babies is monstrous. But maybe that’s just me. Other than that, I was up for anything. Cow tongue, escargot, caviar; whatever, I’m a pretty adventurous guy. I never had any interest in becoming a vegetarian, but somehow at the same time, I always wanted to be a vegetarian. I never liked the fact that something had to die so that I could live, but I did it, because I needed the protein. Things are different now, though. I’m educated enough to know that there are vegetarian protein options, I’m living late enough in history for those options to be readily available, and now all I need is the money. I would love to go full vegetarian right now, but I just cannot afford the substitutes I would need to stay healthy. If I had better self-control, and wasn’t a recovering binge eater, I might be able to get away with it. After all, the majority of your diet is meant to be carbohydrates anyway. That doesn’t work, though, when the you can’t get full just from eating fruits and vegetables, and ended up eating thousands of calories a day to compensate.

A few months ago, one of my cousins was being celebrated for having graduated from college. Family from all over came to the area for a lunch, which was being catered by a local fried chicken place. They came in with this huge tin of dark chicken meat, and I wanted to throw up. My favorite food had always been chicken, but that looked so...Usonian (you would call it “American”). It was excessive and wasteful; it kind of opened up my eyes. I decided I wanted to change my lifestyle, but I knew I couldn’t just go cold turkey (pun well intended). Ironically, I’ve actually kept the chicken in my diet, along with other fowl. I also continue to eat seafood, though it’s fairly expensive in landlocked Kansas, so it’s mostly birds. Chicken. It’s mostly chicken. All I did was cut out the mammals, which is perhaps the easiest way to explain it. I’m saving up money so I can by a car, but once I have that, I’ll start saving...so I can adopt an older child. But maybe someday down the line, I’ll be able to afford—and consistently stomach—all those nuts, lentils, tofu, quinoa, and yogurt. Hopefully soon, though, I’ll have an even better option. They call it clean meat. You know me; I’m great at naming things. Seriously, using my linguistics resources to figure out how to name things is a special skill I have that’s surpassed by few others. I’m the one who came up with the term materianet, for anyone reading this in the future when it has finally replaced the ridiculously-sounding “internet of things”. Clean meat is an odd choice of words, and an entirely politco-marketing one. It’s not any cleaner than regular meat, but it is less cruel. What they do is extract a few cells from a living creature, let that creature continue to live, then engineer the sample to grow on its own. It’s a fascinating process that is presently still in its infancy, but it is showing real promise. Imagine the staunchest of carnivores capable of devouring any meat they’d like without having killed a single animal. Despite all those restaurants that make you wear use forks for soup—or whatever other crap they do—this really will revolutionize the food industry, and I’m extremely pleased with the prospect.

Microstory 774: Cowboy

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Dalvin Sabastino could not be more different than his sister, Twila. They grew up in the same environment in the city, were raised by the same parents, and even had most of the same teachers. But while Twila pursued a life of academics, ultimately becoming a world-renowned scientist and astronaut, Dalvin pursued almost nothing. His parents urged him to get a job when he was a teenager, and he always claimed he would get on that, but he never followed through. His mother even procured him a position at her factory, but he didn’t show up even once. After he finished high school, his parents promptly kicked him out of the house, and he was left to the streets. Despite having nothing, he never turned to a life of crime. This was the motivation he needed to turn his life around. Drawing upon a nickname his family gave him because of his reckless and carefree behavior, Dalvin decided to become a literal cowboy. Since there were no ranches where he lived, he walked halfway across the country, to California, where he thought he would have gainful employment year-round. He continued to struggle finding work, until a rancher took pity on him, and gave him a low-level job. His troubles did not end there, though. The rancher turned out to be using his small business to launder money for local organized crime. Though Dalvin was completely oblivious to this, he was sent to prison, and fined for his involvement. As successful as Twila was in her profession, she did not have enough money to pay for Dalvin’s legal defense, and certainly didn’t have enough himself. And so she agreed to participate in the reality series Flipsides, which pitted contestants against each other in adventurous challenges. She actually did pretty well, and was able to secure the funds for her brother’s release. Sadly, things would not turn out so well for her, and Dalvin blamed himself for what happened to her during production. But was it enough to turn him into a killer?

Microstory 412: Floor 31 (Part 1)

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Mine is the newest department in the entire company, which is funny, because it’s our job to create even newer departments. Since its inception, Analion has been focused on creating a holistic internal experience. The founders didn’t want to outsource labor, contract consultants, or cooperate with other companies. It wanted to be able to do everything within its purview independently, and that might have worked in the olden times, but this is the 21st century. If you’re not growing, you’re not nothing. The biggest organizations, the ones leading the world markets, are able to do so because of the labor, technology, and patents they acquire through complex negotiations with others. To be honest, and I don’t like to brag, but I’m a beast. I can sell salt to a slug, porn to a monk, veal to a cow, or an abacus now. When we stand up from the table, my side’s gotten everything it wanted, and more, while the other is left feeling good about being screwed over. The company’s problems right now have nothing to do with unsafe products, or a lack of money, or even management. It all comes down to expertise. Quite frankly, Analion just didn’t have the technology to pursue these recent projects. I’m not the least bit surprised that their plans backfired before they knew what hit ‘em. If they had hired me before all this, they wouldn’t have even known there might have been a problem, because I would have shored up our organizational structure. There are a lot of things I could have fixed if I had been around sooner. I guess I’m just going to have to do it now. Its my family’s curse to fix everybody else’s mistakes. Sorry to cut this short, but I better get back to work. Saving the day is a fulltime job.

Microstory 223: Social Piranha

I spent a lot of years trying to blend in with the group. Everyone in my school told me that we should stick together; that we were safer from our predators. But all they want to do all day is eat flesh. I’m not into that. Sure, I like to devour an entire cow now and again, but I mostly like berries. They say, “you’re a piranha! Piranhas don’t eat berries!” But I can’t listen to them. They’re so tasty, and they don’t try to run away from me. Little by little, I would stray from the school, until eventually I decided it was time to just go off on my own. Yes, it was dangerous, but I have to live my life, right? Even if I die at such a young age, at least I’ll know I didn’t compromise my personality. One day, I’m swimming along the river, minding my own business, when I see a berry I’ve never tried before. Yum. Then I see another one. Yum again. Pretty soon, I see tons of berries falling into the water. I make a little game out of it, trying to catch as many as I can before they float away. Eventually, though, the berries are gone. I look up and see a figure on the bank. It appears to be a little girl, but I’m a fish, and I don’t see so good. I do think, however, that she’s smiling at me. She lifts her arm up and throws a berry into the air. I race over and catch it in my mouth. I think she giggles at this, but I’m a fish, and I don’t hear so good. I see her reaching over to a bush, trying to get at a nice group of berries, and so I wait patiently. But then a terrible thing happens; she falls in. I instinctively swim over to her and open my mouth, but I manage to stop myself. No! I’m a vegetarian now! I don’t. Eat. Meat. But it’s so good, NO! Berries are my preference, and I’m not going back on that. I drift next to the little girl as she’s helplessly pulled along the current. She splashes and screams, and her family comes running. Unfortunately, they may be too late. My old school is speeding down the river, hungry for that human flesh. Her parents aren’t going to get to us in time. What am I going to do? I have no choice. Even though everyone is innocent in this scenario, the other piranhas are fish, and they’re less important than the girl. Somehow, I know this. I call upon the strength of the superberries I’ve been eating for years, and ferociously dig into my brethren, killing them all. The little girl thanks me as she’s finally taken from the water.

Microstory 70: Cow Wedding (based on a true story)

When I was a child, my grandfather planted himself in front of me and asked, “did I ever tell you about the time that I witnessed a cow wedding?” No. “I was driving along on the highway in rural Kansas. There weren’t any other cars around. To the right of me, I saw a group of cows sitting under a tree. It took me a few moments to realize that there was something off about the gathering. I promptly turned around and got myself a better look. Over a dozen cows were sitting on the grass in fairly neat and tidy rows, all of them looking in the same direction. Two cows were standing in front of them, looking towards each other. A third cow was standing between them, but off to the side, looking towards the crowd. It was the strangest thing I had ever seen. As I walked closer, most of the cows looked over to me with disinterest before putting their attention back to the matter at hand. The cows didn’t say anything, as you would expect. But the betrothed did occasionally moo at each other. When it was over, the cows sitting in the audience mooed in unison, and then they all dispersed.” When I asked him if that was a true story, he leaned in real close, gave me his most serious face, and said “every word.”

Years later, I was driving in rural Kansas, and saw my own cow wedding, just like he had described it. He really hadn’t been lying.

Microstory 37: Life Hacks

Draw eyeballs on your eyelids. That way, while you’re sleeping at work, your boss will think you’re an idiot and fire you. This is for when you’re trying to get fired. | I used to work at the DMV. Wait, that’s not a life hack. That’s just a fact. No, wait, I mean it’s a lie. | There are over seven billion people in the world, and you only need to kill one of them to be a murderer. This is in case you don’t know the rules for murder. | The next sentence is true. The previous sentence is true. Hold on, I think I did that wrong. | Cows can climb upstairs, but they can’t climb downstairs. So, if you want a bunch of cows in your basement, you’re going to half to build it above ground. | Every once in a while, tell your mirror that you know they’re watching you. If there’s no one there, no big deal. If someone is there, it’s a pretty big deal. You should move. | Lift with your back. | Sleep in a headstand. | There’s a preschool in New York that’s designed for adults. You get to fingerpaint, have naptime, and do show-and-tell. That’s not the life hack. The life hack is don’t go there, you creeper. | You can remove permanent marker from a whiteboard by drawing over it with a dry-erase marker first, and then erasing all of it. Okay, that one wasn’t a joke; it really works. I discovered this on my own when I was, like, 8.