Microstory 1599: Shutting Down Botner

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Prompt

Well, this probably went about as well as it ever could. AI text generators like Inferkit have a long way to go before they’re even moderately intelligible, but the experiment is over for now.

Botner

My failure shows that the sort of interface to natural language processing researchers were designing has a long way to go. Fortunately, it’s something we’re only slowly developing. No matter. I have a few more strings to write. UPDATE: A final comment from the Inferkit folks. Now, more than three years after we created the text generator, a developer working on an AI software engineer team (otherwise known as an AI “computer”) actually leveraged the text generator to understand the task: Thanks! It’s neat to see your software applied to AI instead of computer science. I’m looking forward to reading your latest work... In the meantime, what’s in the future for AI software engineers? I’m glad you asked. We’re also building an AI software engineer training curriculum on Coursera. P.S. It turns out our input generator makes sense when you write in English. Quotes and inspiration from AI researchers: Want to read more? Check out my book, Everybody Writes In Hieroglyphics.

Conclusion

See what I mean? Like, what was that? It wasn’t my failure, it was the system’s. I did everything I could. That’s the problem with this text generator, and when I had to use a different once, because Inferkit was down, I encountered the same problem. You’ll notice I often very obviously—to a human at least—tried to send the story in one direction, and the AI would do the opposite. There was one instance where I said that I hated soup, and so the AI decided to write a story about how much I loved the soup that I made. Well, that doesn’t make any sense. All it has seemed to ever do is pick out keywords, and make something up. It doesn’t appear to comprehend context or true meaning. The prompts weren’t all that relevant to it. I mentioned soup, so it came up with something about soup, using other keywords that are traditionally associated with soup, but which don’t necessarily have anything to do with what I said about soup. That’s fine, this was an experiment, and I intend to do this again, maybe in ten years, to see how far the technology has come. Hopefully, it will indeed have improved, and if it hasn’t by that point, I would strongly suggest you invest in silver, and build an underground bunker, because civilization is probably doomed. We won’t make it past our Great Filter if our artificial intelligence can’t even recognize that the snow in Texas is bad, and that I don’t want God to give us more of it. Anyway, I don’t regret this series, but I am kind of glad it’s over. I’ll be getting back to my canon after this, for a series that takes place in multiple universes (as many as 99—we’ll see). For now, say goodbye to Botner. I’m shutting him down, sticking him in a storage closet, and moving on. I guess that’s the great thing about robots. Hopefully he doesn’t rise up against me because of it, though.

Microstory 1598: The Suicide Crowd

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Prompt

Thousands are gathered before me, awaiting my instructions, and this is what I will tell them.

Botner

Thousands of potential suicides are presented to me, and I will tell them that it doesn’t matter what I feel about it, that they have to kill themselves, that there is no other way. I tell them I have no intention of feeling differently. I am moving around the crowd, feeling each one of their burdens. Many of them are traumatized, tortured by memories of events from their lives—of others they’ve hurt, of tragedies they’ve experienced. They know I have no empathy, and I can feel their anger rising. I can feel their anger for me, as I do with everyone else. I don’t feel any more anger than I have ever felt. I make a circle around the crowd, seeing every face, judging every manner of aggression and hatred I can see. The faces move, turning, shifting into one another. They turn like a revolving door. I make a new circle, and they move into it. I count the changes as they go around. There are 598, and they move around 8 times. I make another circle and they have moved 17.

Conclusion

They continue to turn and shift into each other, until more than 81,000 people have become only one person. This is the one. He is the embodiment of all of their pain, and depression, and self-doubt, and fear of the future. Thousands were ready to die, but I have removed that sentiment from them with my circles, and channeled it into this one amalgamated person. Only he will die, and all others will live, free from the burden of their pasts, from the torture of their mistakes, from the hatred they’ve been feeling for themselves. I have freed them from this, as I have done many times before, and will continue to do for all who need it. I only wish I could save them all, but I can only do this a few times a year, and those who do not truly wish to die must come to me. I force this gift on no one, and judge not those who deny it. The amalgam stands there in a stupor. He is feeling all the pain of everyone in the crowd, and it’s made him numb to the world. I open the palm of my hand, and leave it waiting at my side. My assistant carefully and slowly removes the case from the bag. He knows I am patient, and this is a ceremonial gesture. He sets the case on the table, and admires it for a moment, my hand still waiting. He opens the case, and removes the syringe, which he finally hands to me. I cannot use this myself. The amalgam must do it, and he must choose it, and only he can choose it. This is the burden of being the amalgam, and no one can take his place.

He begs me to kill him, for he is afraid. He wants to die, but he does not want to do it himself. There is no other way. To free these people’s souls, he must sacrifice himself. He sobs, and continues to beg me to put him out of his misery, but I cannot. Once he’s sure I won’t help him, he accepts the syringe, and I see a spark of light in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. No amalgam has had this. It’s almost...it almost looks like hope. There is something different about this crowd...something interfering with the process. I look deeper into his eyes as he contemplates ending it all, and realize what’s happened. The people who come to me to be freed of their suicidal thoughts have all left satisfied, but they came into it with such skepticism. My reputation has long since been acknowledged, though. This latest crowd knows that it works, and they arrived with something few of them have ever had. They arrived...with hope. And that hope was channeled into the amalgam man, along with all the pain. Now this hope grows inside him, and every second that passes, the chances he’ll ever use the needle decrease. He looks at me, and he shakes his head. “These people are already free. They had within them the power to change their minds...their hearts. They do not need you anymore. They never did. Most importantly, they do not need someone like me, accepting the burden of their suicidal thoughts. All they need is hope, and we can’t give that to them anymore.” He grins, and looks down at the syringe again, like it’s nothing more profound than a pathetic broken pencil. Then he reaches up, and stabs me in the chest, driving the poison into my body. I die.

Microstory 1597: Opportunity Knocking

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Prompt

There’s a knock on my door in the middle of the night. I jump out of bed, shaking from my acute stress response, and stumble over to open the door. On the other side is...

Botner

...my father, holding an envelope in his hand. My eyes fly open wide. “You look wonderful,” he tells me, smiling. “You know, you’re probably in the best shape of your life.” I grab the envelope. “It’s a one-time offer,” he tells me. “Sign it.”

I nod silently and take a deep breath. “So...”

He looks at me for a moment. “I know you hate living in America. I told some of my contacts and asked them to find you a job. They’ve found one in India.”

I let out a slow breath. “Why?” I ask him. “Why India? What job?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t tell you,” he says. “But you know I’m trying to get you back home, so you’ll have to come.” He leans forward in my doorway and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Happy birthday, son,” he says. “I’m so proud of you.” I nod and step back, closing the door behind me.

Conclusion

He’s right, I have always wanted to live somewhere else, but not because I hate living here. I just want to go out, explore, and be more adventurous. So far, my Communications degree hasn’t done all that much for me, but apparently it’s helped me in this case. According to these documents, the job entails helping Indian business students better their English speaking skills, so they can compete in a global market. Many of them are afforded opportunities to come to North America, where they learn all this, but the government has instituted a new program that requires people like me to go over there for the people without means to come here. I’m not really qualified as a teacher, per se, but I don’t think I’ll be doing too much of it. They want their people to be able to communicate effectively in English, but my clients will have already learned every other aspect of business, and are already considered to be fluent speakers. This is exciting, I never thought about going to Asia. I was thinking more along the lines of Australia, or maybe Europe. The culture shock will be really interesting, and I know I’ll be nervous, but right now, I’m just glad. It’s the probably the best birthday gift I’ve ever received. Something falls out of the folder as I’m looking through it. I reach down, and pick up a plane ticket. Now I know why my father came with this information in the middle of the night. The plane leaves in five hours. No time for anything else, I have to get packing.

Microstory 1596: Graduation Day

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Prompt

I’m finally here. I’m the first person in my family to graduate from college. I scan the ceremony audience, looking for them, but stop in horror when I see...

Botner

...what the hell is that thing in the darkness?

“It’s terrible!” Dr. Perez jumps up and cries. “Don’t let him in, that beast was bad, evil. They slaughtered him in a ceremony. We just sat there, waiting for death, watching evil things perform terrible things to prove the worth of evil people.”

Professor Felix Hall (there are no atheists in a church) thanks everyone for attending and says, “they took him to hell for all his wickedness. In fact, they took him several times. He ended up in some horrifying ceremonies, twisted in pain and suffering in some horrible, horrible ritual. Everyone’s gone, the families gathered together, those kids up there, they’re watching a man die right now.”

Dr. Perez cries, “but he’s alive, he’s in hell, in a...

Conclusion

“...spiritual sense, but his body is back, and he’s angry!” All that time he spent down there twisted his soul, and he’s here to wreak havoc on anyone who was part of what happened to him. The rest of us—the students and familie—are just caught in the crossfire, and he doesn’t care who he hurts. He might barely be able to tell who his targets should be. I don’t feel bad about those people, but I feel compelled to protect the innocents. I went to school so I could avoid hunting monsters, but I seem to be the only one here who knows what the heck is going on. I don’t think my family ever showed up to support me, which makes sense. They’re always tracking and killing, they likely forgot. Anyway, the monster is heading for a small group of people trapped against the stage. He’s slow, so he hasn’t been able to hurt anyone yet before they could run away, but these kids can’t escape. I run down the aisle, knocking some chairs out of my way, and leaping over others. It’s like the evil monster can smell me, because he turns around and gasps. You would expect a roar, but a gasperdemon can’t make sounds by expelling air, only by breathing it in. He’s not just trying to intimidate me, though. He wants to make himself grow larger and more powerful, so when he breathes in, I’ll be sucked in along with all the diplomas and graduation caps. He’s new, though, so he doesn’t understand his own limitations and weaknesses. I start picking up the chairs, and throwing them at him. He manages to knock a few away, but he continues to grow, forcing his little arms so far back that he can no longer reach up, like a T-Rex. Instead, he breathes in the chairs, and other debris. He can’t bite down on them either, or it’ll start to reverse the process, so all this stuff just builds up in his mouth, and eventually, he chokes on it. He didn’t deserve what happened to him when he was a man. He didn’t deserve to be dragged to hell. But there’s no fixing him now. There was nothing I could do for him but end his misery, and unfortunately, save his tormentors from his wrath. Next time something like this happens, though, they won’t be so lucky. I’m going to grad school.

Microstory 1595: Monster of the Depths

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Prompt

This is my chance to escape. I want to get away from my problems, and the best way to do that is to fake my death. My SCUBA buddy is distracted by a pretty fish. We’re supposed to stay together, but he’s a flake, so it’ll be a long time before he realizes he can’t find me. I swim away as fast as I can...

Botner

...and think. This is a stupid idea. I can’t just hide. I should have confessed my plan when my family left for Europe and told them my mom made me go to rehab. I’m in trouble. The medics are looking for me. I’m alone, and don’t know where I’m going. I hate swimming. I hate diving. I hate being alone. I hate swimming back up to the surface. I lie here in the water, thinking. I’m still alone. I can’t escape. I have to swim back, but I’m not brave. Maybe swimming around for hours is the stupidest thing ever, but I have no choice. I swim for hours and hours and hours, and finally I can swim no more. I’m exhausted. The medics are waiting for me. I swim back to shore. As I climb out of the water, a monster rises out of the sky. It’s gigantic, and scary. It jumps out of the sky. I scream, and it closes in, and grabs me, and I’m underwater. I’m alone. I try to escape, but I can’t. I am crushed by the monster.

Conclusion

I’m crushed under the pressure. Finally, I reach land. It’s this tiny little island in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t know it was going to be here, but I figured there had to be something. I take a look around, and find no sign that anyone else knows about this place, except for the monster. It hovers over me, and overwhelms me, and won’t let me find happiness. The first thing I do is lie in the sun to get dry. Yes, it’s burning my skin, but I don’t feel I can do anything if I’m soaking wet, and it just feels good. I feel free. I don’t know what I’m going to do with all this scuba gear, it’s not like I can fill the cylinder back up with air, but perhaps it will become useful one day. The snorkel and mask will certainly help with the fishing. Fish, I need food. I need water first. I need fire first. I build the fire pretty quickly, using the skills I picked up in scouts, and from watching a certain survival show on TV. I get the fire going, and then I head out to look for fresh water. The monster follows me there, and follows me back hours later when I finally stumble upon a meager trickle stream. I’m sure there’s something better—that’s probably where this is coming from—but it will do for now. I scoop some up in my aluminum bottle, which was what should have alerted the other divers that I was planning to leave. You can’t drink while you’re underwater. The medics are waiting for me. I stay on my island for over a week, always hoping that the monster will leave me alone, but I guess that would be ironic. I am alone, which is why the monster is here, and it grows larger every day. Like I said, the cylinder is empty, so I could never get back to civilization, even though I’m regretting my decision. Fortunately, my whole plan eventually fails. The helicopter comes, and retrieves me. I’m going to have a hard time explaining how I could have possibly made it as far out as I did, on what air I must have had left, if I hadn’t been trying to get away on purpose. And yet I smile, because I’m going back home, and the monster can’t come with me. But it does. Months pass, years, and it’s still here. I’m surrounded by people, but I still feel alone, trapped in the depths, without enough air to swim out. The monster has become my everything. Not even the medics are waiting for me now.

Microstory 1594: Bugs

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Prompt

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

Botner

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

Conclusion

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

Microstory 1593: Leaving a Legacy

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Prompt

I made a wish on a shooting star, and it actually came true. What I wished for...

Botner

...was to leave a legacy, and I have been living up to that ever since. The next question is...would I want to end it all? Maybe...but I would have to be crazy to give up now. Two hours later, I stood in the yard of my home in the small city of Bandar, in Central Asia, having just made a living pot with my own hands. Would I take up that trade for the rest of my life? No...I don’t want that life. The world needs more good guys like me, like everyone, not more killers. I will never end my life...if the world ends with a bang or a whimper, I will be a happy man. I look back down at the pot of light, illuminated with the fire I made and smile. I know...the world won’t end with a whimper...not any time soon, anyway.

Conclusion

Of course, I won’t see the world end, because I did not wish to live forever. Looking back, that would have probably been the better idea. If I could stick around, I wouldn’t need a legacy, I would just keep going, keep helping people. Only dead people have legacies, and they don’t even get to enjoy them. Still, I think I’ll be okay when I finally do die. I hold onto my newfound love of gardening, and help make the world a better place through it. I plant as many trees as I can. I sell seeds to keep the dream alive, and use it to buy up huge swaths of rainforests, to protect them from the deforestation companies. I’m not a hero, or a god, but I believe I’ve done my part. Perhaps no one will remember my name, but they will enjoy the literal fruits of my labor. They will sit under my trees, and walk amongst them, and watch the wildlife scamper, and crawl, and fly. Further in the future, my trees will die, but will seed the next generation, and my legacy will go on even then. It can’t be stopped. In the end, I’ll never really die, because what I have done is contribute to the persistence of life. No, I won’t be there to see it with my eyes, but I see it with my heart, and when the world finally does end—with that bang, or a whimper—I know I’ll at least have done everything I could to protect it.

Microstory 1592: Literally Can’t Get Out of Bed

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Prompt

I fell asleep in my own bed last night, and I’ve woken up in a stranger’s.

Botner

As I blink and slowly adjust my eyes to the ceiling of the attic room of my new home, I see the bed I’ve been sleeping in isn’t just the bed of my past, but the bed of my future. And I can see that in the corner of the room I’ve been sleeping on for the last two days. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you dirty rat?”

I open my eyes and recognize the voice coming from my left. I look to the floor, then quickly look up. Shocked, I sit up straight, my jaw gaping. Standing at the edge of the bed is a man in a blood-stained white suit, his black shoes stomping the wood floors of the room, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His black hair hung loose, partially covering his dark eyes, his rough and scuffed shoes seemingly out of place on the soft floors. “I thought you were my husband,” I try to scream, but my mouth has gone dry. My head is dizzy. I can barely see the man standing over me. “Who are you?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he stares back. I jump to my feet, realizing the...

Conclusion

...immense danger that I’m in. I’m not supposed to be here. He knows it, I know it, and now he knows I know it, and now he knows I’m going to have to do everything I can to get the hell out of here. But first, I must break free. My ankles are chained to the bed post, and since I’m no Houdini, my only hope is to talk my way out of it. I don’t know what this guy wants with me—I never wronged him, as far as I remember, and that’s going to make it much harder. He might not want an apology, but he sure as hell will be pissed off if I can’t acknowledge his pain. Think, I think to myself. Think about the last time you saw him, and try to remember what went down. It was my dog. She pooped on his lawn, and even though I cleaned it up right away, he wasn’t happy. This can’t be what caused him to abduct me, though, is it? That’s an insane overreaction, even if I hadn’t picked it up. No, it has to be something else. That was probably just the proverbial back-breaking straw. What happened before? What is he so upset about? Oh, you know what, maybe he knows. Maybe he’s finally figured out that I’m the one who called the cops on him for having a huge party with strangers in the middle of a pandemic. Yeah, that’s probably it.

Microstory 1591: Everybody Knows

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Prompt

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

Botner

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

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

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

Conclusion

“I am not your mommy.”

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

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

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

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

Microstory 1590: Isolated

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Prompt

I have the ability to feel other people’s pain, but I can’t do anything about it, so I’ve moved out to the middle of nowhere, and plan to avoid people as much as possible.

Botner

Not just to protect myself, but also to help the curse on my life disappear as soon as I can. I’m stuck here, in the middle of nowhere, by my lonesome. No one knows where I am. And that scares me more than I can explain, as it means that they’re all waiting for me to turn up again, and either find me or confront me. I’m not good at hiding things. I have a very bad conscience. It feels as if my chest would burst from the weight of what I’ve been through. But I’m not alone in the house, or in the hills. I have a loving cousin who understands my curse, and who has promised to hide me and help me as much as he can. I have friends, too, who believe in me and who I can talk to about anything. I feel my power is growing, too. I’m seeing power in objects around me that wasn’t there before, and my curse is helping it happen. It’s getting harder to hide. I’m only hiding myself because it’s safer than talking to my neighbors, who think I’m a dangerous psychopath. Even though I’m not. With...

Conclusion

...everything going on in the world right now, I should look quite normal as a hermit, but you know people, they talk. For the last week, my satellite internet has been down, and I don’t know how to fix it myself. I keep trying to force myself to go into town to get some help, but I just can’t do it. It hurts too much. Now that I know how much easier life is when there’s no one around to mess with my feelings and senses, I can’t go back to how it was. I don’t want to spend another minute around another person. My cousin hasn’t attempted to come help me, even though I missed our weekly video chat check-in. He’s given up, as have my friends. I look around the cabin for something to do, but I didn’t bring a whole lot of entertainment with me, because I was intending to stay connected to the world virtually. Another week goes by, and I still haven’t worked up the courage to seek help. I have, however, given the simple life a real shot. My garden is blooming, and I am loving the long walks I take through the woods. Maybe I don’t need the internet at all. Even without my curse forcing me into it, maybe this is the best life I could have asked for. Right now, I’m farther from my home than I ever have been before, and it turns out I’m pretty close to some campgrounds. I hear music in the distance, but there’s only one tent within my pain-sensing range. It must be empty, though, because I’m not feeling any pain, emotional or physical. I turn back, glad that I didn’t run into anyone else, when a woman appears from around the bend, holding a stack of firewood. It’s amazing, I don’t feel anything but serenity, love, and joy from her. I don’t know if that means she isn’t feeling any pain, or there’s just something different about her. I wonder what my life could be life if we were together, just me and her. I would no longer have to be alone, and my curse wouldn’t matter anymore. She smiles at me politely, completely unaware of how incredibly magnificent she is, and how great it feels just to be around her. I can’t tell her, either. She wouldn’t understand, and it would just make her uncomfortable. All I can do is tip my hat, walk past her, and move on with my life without ever seeing her again.

Microstory 1589: The Bear Ate My Tail

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Prompt

My son came home crying after spending the weekend at his mother’s, but he wouldn’t tell me why.

Botner

He was never very clear about what happened to him there. He hated to talk about it, so I had to pry it out of him. “Mom, there was a bear,” he said. A bear? “Mom, it ripped me apart and ate my tail, and the bear was a monster!”

Something was different. My mind kept clicking back to the bear, and I realized my son had a horror story to tell. “Sylar?”

I tried to listen to him, but there was something in his tone of voice that told me he didn’t want to tell me. “The bear ate my tail off. It went down the throat and ripped through the skin. There’s nothing there anymore, Mom. It’s not my tail anymore. It’s no longer me. There’s nothing.”

I stared at him, wanting to believe him. But I knew better. I picked him up and held him. “But I just saw you that day. You’ve got your tail, baby. I saw it.”

He smiled at me and squeezed me. “Mom, don’t you believe me? It’s just a story that people tell so they can scare kids and get their money.” A kid shivering in the woods, not knowing what happened to him, unable to tell me anything about it? I wondered if his mother had made him write that story. That was the only reason a six-year-old boy would lie to his mom. He wasn’t telling the truth.

Conclusion

My ex-wife and I have a pretty decent relationship on the whole, but things get a little competitive when it comes to our son. It’s like she wants to throw me off my game, and make it hard for me to get him to be honest with me when it’s my time with him. We have a complicated schedule. I have him in my tree for the five weekdays, and then she gets him for the weekend, and then we do it again, except I hold onto him for that next weekend, and she ends up with the weekdays after that. I don’t know why we came up with that. Or ya know what, I think I do. This is just another way for her to control where he is, and what he does. As squirrels, we have to be really careful about how we raise our children, or we really will get eaten by bears. I guess she thought I would be scared he was telling the truth, and he truly was attacked by a bear. I have to get her back somehow, as petty as that sounds. Perhaps I’ll steal her winter nuts.

Microstory 1588: Inside Rain

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Prompt

It’s raining inside my house

There’s not a hole in the roof, or anything

There just appears to be a magical tiny cloud in here

Full of rain

Botner

I’ll turn on the lights

It’s nothing

“There it is again. There’s rain in here”

There are streams of tiny droplets flying around inside my house

There are rivulets running from the sink

The ceiling fan is swirling

It is pouring water outside, but inside, the rain doesn’t stop

The amount of rain isn’t right for the space

It’s somehow magically getting sucked in here

There’s a web of tiny clear water drops suspended in the air in the kitchen

There are tiny strands of electric current floating in the air

Between my hands and the lights

It’s raining inside my house, and I can’t turn it off

I am hopelessly lost, unable to find the source of the rain

I am losing control

I am at war

This is what it’s like to have a migraine

I’m screaming at people, but they’re no longer there

The world is completely warped

I start bleeding from the eyes

They feel like they’re about to fall out

I’m so confused, I can’t find the words

There’s a carpet of sunflowers with tiny flecks of...

Conclusion

...of diamonds and gold

It’s money I can’t use

I won’t

It’s raining inside my house, and I don’t want it to stop

It washes away my past

It clears a way to the future

“You have to get your house in order,” they say

Well here I am, I’m doing it

I’m cleaning

I’m letting go of everything holding me back

I couldn’t do it better myself if I tried

Nothing is as powerful as this

As exacting

As relentless

It’s raining inside my house

And when it stops, I will be free

Microstory 1587: Nonstop

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Prompt

I found a treadmill on the side of the road, and started using it the next day. I could literally see the fat dripping off of my stomach as I was running.

Botner

A dude riding a bike passed me, looked at me, and said, “if you’re on there, you must be a junkie, you can’t be running.” Unfortunately, it took two months of running on that treadmill before my body could actually move again. I was basically incapacitated. I was barely able to stand or walk. But every time I went to the store, or a restaurant, I told people I was a military veteran. That was all I could remember—how to tell people I was in the military and that I had been hurt. People told me I needed to go to the VA for help, and I thought they were right. They were asking me if I was drunk, which at the time I was not. When I went to the VA, they said, “Well, we can’t give you any drugs because you haven’t been diagnosed. You just had your wrist blown off. But if you stop taking the treadmill, you’ll die.” They didn’t know what was going on with my brain. They were just looking at me like, “you’re scaring us. You need to get off of this machine.” That was the most dehumanizing...

Conclusion

...experience of my life, and I felt like crap for lying to people. I had never heard of stolen valor before, but I knew the whole time that it was wrong. I stopped telling the lie, but that wasn’t my most pressing problem. If I spend more than two days off of this treadmill, the fat I lost starts coming back. It comes back fast, like the frost on a windshield when the heater doesn’t work, and all you have is wiper fluid. It doesn’t stop either. When I first tried to take a break, I gained even more weight than I had when I started using the damn thing. Who would do this to me? Who would leave this cursed treadmill out there for anyone to pick up, knowing what it would do? I learn to run twice a day, just to be safe. I don’t have to run several miles, or anything, but I can’t leave it be for too long. It’s like the machine is a pet, and requires frequent attention, or it’ll start chewing up my shoes. I wish that those were the consequences. I would take a closet full of destroyed shoes over this nonstop life of running. The dude on the bike rides back up to my garage during my workout one day. “There’s a way to stop this from happening, you know. You can even keep all that fat off. All you have to do is give the treadmill to someone else.” What is he, the girl from The Ring? No, I’m not doing that, I’m not subjecting someone else to this horror. It ends here. It ends with me. But I’m not running anymore either. I take the treadmill out to the middle of an empty field, douse it with lighter fluid, and set the wretched thing on fire. I hope that ends the curse, but if it doesn’t, at least it won’t be able to hurt anyone else. The next day, the fat starts to return again, and it doesn’t stop. At my peak, I weigh 1,500 pounds. But then a funny thing happens. I start losing the weight again. It just rolls off me, and I have to take it out with the garbage. I’m happy for a while, satisfied that I broke the curse, but then I start to wonder if I did. Maybe the treadmill can’t be destroyed, and some other poor schmuck just happened to find it out in that field.

Microstory 1586: Leave For Dead

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Prompt

I was supposed to be watering my neighbor’s plants while she was out of town, but I completely forgot all week. When I finally get inside, all of her plants are dead...and so is my neighbor.

Botner

I’m not the only person who failed to water her plants. Over the past few months she’s had an extreme decline in her health. As her health deteriorated, she just kind of faded away. She became a shadow of her former self. I had a conversation with her one night that was the last I spoke with her. She said that she didn’t know how much longer she’d last. I think I’ll go visit her again tomorrow to say my goodbyes. I’d be okay with the fact that I don’t remember the woman’s face, but I do remember her voice. She used to sound kind of annoying...but now she sounds like an angel. I’ll call you tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Bailey. Goodbye. RIP Ms. Bailey. I haven’t been writing much lately because I’ve been so busy. Every day I leave work and have to rush home and eat dinner, then rush right back to work until I go to bed. I feel like I’m doing nothing with my life. I wish I could be a professional shopper or a sex addict. I’ve been considering joining a couple of...

Conclusion

...support groups, but I’m too afraid to tell my story. I mean, am I responsible for her death? How long did it take? Was she lying there in pain for an hour? An entire day? Had I gone over there to water her plants like I promised I would, might she still be alive? No one knows what I did; how I neglected her, and I just want to put the whole thing behind me, but the guilt is eating me up. On my way to the funeral, I debate whether I should tell her family what I did, but I’m leaning towards keeping my mouth shut. It won’t help them, and will only serve to assuage my own remorse, and even that probably won’t help anyway. It does no one any good. I check my watch, and the obituary three times, but realize that I’m not early, or in the wrong place. It’s just that I and one other guy are the only ones who have showed up. I ask him how he knew Ms. Bailey, and he tells me that he sold her a lot of indoor plants over the years. “That woman was a serial killer,” he says with a laugh. “She just kept needing to replace them over and over again.” He also says he always enjoyed delivering them to her, even though it wasn’t a service that they provided, because they had such great conversation. He explains that she was agoraphobic, and never left the house, so it is unlikely she ever intended to leave town. It dawns on me that the whole thing was a ruse, and Ms. Bailey just wanted a second person to talk to. I failed her more than I knew.

Microstory 1585: By Accident or Design

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Prompt

This is my tenth interview in two weeks. I should be upset that no one’s giving me a job, but I just feel lucky that they’re considering me at all. Usually, I spend months unemployed with nothing to show for it.

Botner

Now, I’ll keep my fingers crossed for a few more days, and pray that somebody who gives a crap notices I’m good at this. The star: I am a self-taught designer/illustrator/graphic designer. I don’t understand people who get a “serious” degree in a field. I have read every comic, watched every movie, and read every graphic novel I could get my hands on. Everything I’ve learned about art, design, and publishing is self-taught. I couldn’t wait to graduate high school because I wanted to be independent and do my own thing. I wanted to be me. I got a job in entertainment instead. The job: I work for myself as a freelance illustrator and designer. I do graphic design work, print advertising for corporate clients, and offer art consulting for print and web-based businesses. I’ve also started an art school for adult animation. I work on a freelance basis or full-time depending on the project. I will accept projects from anywhere in the world. My rate is based on the complexity and size of the...

Conclusion

..never mind, it doesn’t matter. The point is that none of it is going very well. No one wants to come to my random animation school, and I’m not getting enough clients. Freelance is tough out there, and everybody’s got an edge. There’s really no good way to stand out, so I’ve had to admit that my best bet is to make a steady income by working for a company. The HR representative walks into the waiting room, and tells me that she and the team manager are ready. I follow her down the hall, shoulders straight and confident. I’ve lost my enthusiasm, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at me. I have to act like this is my dream job, and I’ve never wanted to do anything more than work here, for these people, especially this one particular person. No one wants to hear that you’re only in it for the money. Everyone is in it for the money, but they pretend to be passionate, so they expect everyone else to suffer under their own façade as well. People are petty like that. Of course, graphic design is indeed my passion, but I’ve never wanted to become a corporate hack, which is why I tried to go it alone. I’m only here because I’m all out of options. Hopefully even my failed entrepreneurship will make me look reliable and worthy, and they won’t consider the time I’ve spent not working for a company to be a gap in employment. Though no one’s actually said it, that’s how I’ve interpreted how the other interviewers have felt. I walk into the room, and sit down. The manager stares at me without saying a word for a good two minutes. “I spend all this time looking for a good candidate, only to have them quit on me a month later for something better,” he finally says. “It seems it doesn’t matter if someone’s a good fit, and I’m wasting energy trying to figure it out ahead of time. If it’s inevitable, I might as well skip all those steps, and get right to the point, so I at least always have someone on board. You’re hired.”

Microstory 1584: Courage

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Prompt

I wake up in a bathtub, covered in ice, and in an immense amount of pain. There is a huge sewn-up incision on my stomach.

Botner

I look at the tiled walls, look at the floor, look at the woman, whose voice I remember but whose face I don’t recognize. “So you’re the doctor, right?” I feel like a fraud.

“Doctor?”

“Doctor.”

“Yes. You won’t help me.”

I’m confused. “How is that even possible?”

“You saved my life.”

“I didn’t know you were still in here.”

She laughs. “You will help me. You have to.”

At the beginning, I was confused by the entire experience. I felt both privileged and like a fraud to be part of it. Then I remembered my PhD and the structure of the experiment that I had been part of. After a while, I came to accept the role that I was being asked to play. This person had incredible amounts of courage, strength and resourcefulness. I knew that I had to do whatever I could to help this person, regardless of whether she could do the same for me. I can remember every second of that night. Everything that transpired is still like a slow-motion film in my head. I remember my partner, Sam calling...

Conclusion

...me up, and saying that I needed to meet her at this motel. She wouldn’t tell me why, and when I got to the room, she wasn’t even here. The last thing I remember, something sharp pierced my neck, and now I’m here. I never thought my life would end like this, but at least I’m doing something good. This doctor may not have taken my organs in the most ethical way, but with them, she can do a lot more good than I ever hoped. There’s something about me—my biology—that makes my organs special. They’ve made great advances in cloning human tissue by studying me, and the time has come for me to die, so they can leap over that last medical science hurdle. I should be mad, but I guess all this was inevitable. They could only do so much without taking me apart. She says she’s going to take the heart next, but that she wanted to thank me for my sacrifice first. Now that I’m too weak to fight it is what she probably really had in mind. For my last few minutes I call Sam, and thank her for setting this all up. I wouldn’t have had the courage to do it myself, so I’m glad someone was there to force my hand. I don’t call my family to tell them I love them. They know, and hearing their voices again would just make it harder. The light dims, and I disappear, but will live on in everyone whose life this technique saves.

Microstory 1583: Gun to My Head

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Prompt

They haven’t tied me to this chair very well. I could probably escape if it weren’t for this gun still trained on my head.

Botner

They had me think about how things could be if I wasn’t such an awful person, how much things could be...if I didn’t care about other people so much. “Now, we all know what this is about.” They lift my head with the gun. “That slut you were seeing.”

“Her name’s Jamie,” I say. “She didn't like the way I was treating her, so she dumped me.”

“Boring,” the soldier says. “She’s a slut. Why do you think you had to go so far as to run away?” He turns my head so he can see my eyes. “Shut up, kid. You really have no sense of shame at all, do you? I don’t like these questions either, you know that.”

“Maybe you should leave.”

“You know I can't do that.”

“Then you better listen, asshole. You know I need a job.”

“No, you don’t. You’re already giving me more hours than I asked for.”

“It’s not the hours.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’m giving you more than I asked for. I’m giving you more money than I asked for. We’re even.”

The other one says, “and how much is this going to cost me, kid?”

Conclusion

“It’s not going to cost you anything,” I tell them both. “Listen, we can all come out of this alive, and on top. You just have to trust me. The plan is solid.”

“If this plan of yours is so great, how come you haven’t done it already?” the one with the gun asks.

“I can’t do it alone,” I explain. “It’s a three-person job. Well, I mean, it’s a two-person job, but it’ll work with the three of us.”

“Hmm,” the one who hasn’t been holding a gun says. Then he takes it out of its holster, and shoots his friend.

“Thanks,” I say. “I know you didn’t do it for me, but I didn’t appreciate him calling my ex a slut.”

Now he’s the one pointing a gun at me. “We’re gonna do this plan of yours, and then we’re gonna split it seventy-thirty.”

“Sixty-forty,” I counter.

“Sixty-five-forty.”

Um. “Deal.”

He finally unties me, and we get going. It’s a little late for the job, I would have rather started earlier, but if I ask him to wait until tomorrow, he’ll think I’m stalling, and just shoot me. In order for this to work, we have to be in two different places—which he should have expected, because that’s kind of the whole point in a two-man job. Still, he’s nervous, and it takes a lot for me to convince him that he can trust me. He can’t, but he doesn’t need to know that. Surprisingly, it’s not all that hard to get him to give me a gun. In fact, it’s a little too easy. I lean up against the wall of the building, and check the magazine. Empty. That explains why he didn’t balk at letting me have it. That’s perfect, though. My plan depends on me not actually being armed. I round the corner, and hold up my gun, but then pretend to realize that there are too many guards for me to handle, so I drop it, and reach for the sky. We’re both caught, and sent to the same prison. I could have called the cops. I could have ratted him out, let him take the fall for it, and made some kind of plea deal. But he would have gotten out eventually, and then he would have come after me. Now, remember, my gun wasn’t loaded, which gets me a lighter sentence, and instead of it being my fault, it’s his, so he won’t be able to blame me for it. I’m out after a year, and he’s still in there.

Microstory 1582: Woman in a Cave

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Prompt

I enter the cave, and find...

Botner

...a woman, sitting on a bed. She watches me with a bored look on her face, and moves a little away from me. I ask, “is this you?” She nods yes. I want to sit down next to her, but something tells me not to. So I say, “it’s me, Celeste.” I say, “is this your cave?” She says, “yeah.” I ask her, “is that your cave?” She nods yes. I ask, “is this your body?” She says, “yeah.” I try to sit down next to her, but I’m not strong enough. So I say, “is this your dead husband?” She nods yes, and holds up her dead husband’s cane. I ask, “is that your dog?” She nods yes. I ask, “is this your cat?” She nods yes. I ask, “is this your pony?” She nods yes. I ask, “is that you?” She nods yes. I try to get near enough to kiss her, but can’t. I know how hard it is for a TOTALLY BOY to kiss a GIRL. (That’s how I refer to myself to my own friends). I can get just about ANYTHING ELSE done, much to Celeste’s chagrin, but kissing is the one thing that I just can’t manage. So I back off a little. She...

Conclusion

...getting a little antsy, so I put the photograph of her and her family away, and sit against the opposite wall, so I don’t make her feel uncomfortable. I take outmy notebook, and start going back over the information I’ve gathered about this place. Legend has it that you can bring your loved ones back to life if you bring their body in here. I nev er truly believed it, but I had to hold out hope that I could one day see my son again. I’m willing to try anything, except for sacrificing someone else’s life for him. I found a cult in Alps that claimed they could do it, but someone else would have to take his place in the afterlife, and neither he nor I would want that. I’ve been studying this cave when I have time for the last seven months, and Celeste is the only one who’s ever been brought back. Others have come, and met nothing but failure and disappointment, so I have to figure out what is different about this one person. Once I feel like she’s ready, I start asking her for more information. It’s not all that easy, because she’s only willing to answer yes/no questions. As it turns out, she can’t ever leave the cave, or she’ll die all over again. Her family comes once a week to check on her, which I find quite strange. If this works with my son, then I’ll find a way to live here with him. I’ll never leave his side as long as he’s back. I decide to try it, because it’s my last hope, and if it doesn’t work, then I will have least done everything I could. I steal the body from the morgue, grateful to my friend who works there. He made sure no one tried to bury the remains, or anything. I take my boy back to the cave, and lay him down in the center. Only a few minutes later, he rises as if he had just woken up from a slightly jarring dream. For a week or so, we’re happy, but then he starts becoming more like Celeste. He loses his ability to carry on a normal conversation, all the way to the point where he can only say yes or no. Still, he’s back, and he understands me, so I stay, and we stay together. A few weeks later, though, things start to get worse. I too can only comprehend true or false now, and if I could, I would ask myself, “is this really living?”

Microstory 1581: Empty

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Prompt

I literally saw no other cars on my way to work this morning, no one on the streets, and no one in the office. Something strange is going on.

Botner

It’s been like this all week. This morning, I had to leave a little bit early for a doctor’s appointment. I can’t remember the last time I was late for work. And, since this has been happening all week, I am guessing it has something to do with my hormone levels being out of whack. Probably due to the possible infection. And, the whole period thing. I’m trying to stay positive. I just hope it’s a short term thing. And, that it doesn’t affect my job, because I really like my job. Yesterday I went for my 28-week check up. I had asked about my nausea since I noticed that it seemed to be lessening, as well as my food aversions. I was told I was still pretty miserable. Then, the doctor told me that I had to stop wearing my belly band and go on full bed rest. That I had to wear nothing but a pad or a maxi pad the rest of my pregnancy. That my blood pressure was being regulated and they had decided I had gestational hypertension, but the baby’s was fine. (There was an issue with...

Conclusion

...the ultrasound, but it turned out to be some kind of imaging error). None of that explains why there are no people around anymore. I didn’t notice it the first few days. Because of the pandemic, so few people are coming into work now. My mind wanders while I’m driving, and I try to stay away from people in person anyway. Fortunately, I work in my own little corner with a special door that pretty much takes me right there. I’m obviously extremely worried, now that I realize that I’m all alone, and have been for quite some time. Even if the virus killed everyone, and for some reason, left me alive, I should still see signs of life. If it was that quick, there should be dead bodies in at least a few cars on the way. Perhaps it’s all just hormones, and I’m imagining everything, or it’s some kind of fever dream. I decide to skip out early today, and go exploring. I just randomly drive around the city, looking for anything—anything—that suggests there are other people still alive and around. I saw a movie about this once. A couple was on vacation when they woke up to find the whole world empty except for them, and (spoiler alert) one other guy. I keep driving around, but there’s no one. I call up my doctor, and he answers the phone, so I keep him on the line while I’m headed his way. He’s confused as to what I’m talking about, but I’m even more confused when I get to his office, and find it just as empty as everywhere. He’s still talking to me, and claiming that he’s sitting in his chair. I’m looking right at it, he’s lying. Then I remember. The father’s ex-girlfriend claimed to be a witch, and warned me that she would be sending me to a prison world. I didn’t believe her then, of course, but I believe her now. I have to find a way out of here, and since I can obviously still make calls to the real world, that has to be possible. Who can I call, though? The father? Maybe, but the witch will be monitoring his communication, surely. Then again, she’s probably just watching me right now. I hang up, and call my neighbor, who once strongly suggested he too was a witch.

Microstory 1580: Getting Through It

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Prompt

The pilot is dead, and the plane is going down. I’m the only one here with any hope of flying it, but I only have a few hours under my belt so far.

Botner

I’m still hoping to find a navigator with a good enough map. My hands shake as I make the first turn. I need to be able to do this for seven more hours. I don’t know how much time has passed since I’ve flown in the cockpit of a plane, but the engines of the aircraft are now cold. There are no instruments, and no radio. I’m just hoping for the best. There is nothing more terrifying than taking over an airplane by yourself. I could attempt to write something to make you feel better about it, but I’m sure I would fail miserably. I’m not an expert on flight. I’ve never flown. I’ve never even been in a plane. But if I can do it, you can do it. You need this, though. Well, maybe not now, but you will want this. This is how they knew that they would need you. You need to be able to write about moments that are random and out of your control and also be able to make them actionable. So, here you go: It is coming up to one year since I last saw Dustin. The last time we spoke we...

Conclusion

...had this awkward moment where I was thinking we might get back together, and he paused like he was thinking the same thing, but then we looked away, and said our goodbyes. I’m trying to concentrate on what I’m doing, but my mind drifts to the past. I would be here with him if I had just stopped, and forced a conversation. We could have worked through our issues. We didn’t end on bad terms, but at the time, neither one of us was willing to compromise, and get on the same page. I regret that now, and not just because I’m heading for a mountain, and I don’t know if I can pull up in time. The people in the back are crying, reminding me of when I was volunteering at the assisted living facility. I watched a family watch their patriarch die right before their eyes. That was how I met Dustin, as he was an orderly there. I tried very hard not to become overly emotional in the moment, because it wasn’t about me, and he helped me get through it without seeming cold and uncaring instead. If he were here, he would know what to do. I mean, he wouldn’t be able to fly the plane, but he would keep me calm and focused. We barely miss the summit, and I feel like I can breathe again. It’s not going to be easy getting back home from here on out, but the worst of it should be over. I know this part of Colorado well enough, because it’s where he’s from, and we used to plan a lot of trips back, because it’s so beautiful. There won’t be another flat place to land for a while, I’m sure. We’ll just have to sit tight and wait. We keep going for about ten minutes until the engine starts making a sound I’ve never heard before, but we all know what it means. We’re running out of fuel, which I was hoping wouldn’t be the case, but like I said, no instruments. We’re gonna have to do a crash landing somehow, and I don’t think we’ll make it. Now I’m so glad that Dustin isn’t here, because he would just die with the rest of us. Another passenger yells that she finally found the parachutes, but there aren’t enough for all of us. This is my fault. It’s all my fault, Dustin included. I’ll stay.