Showing posts with label eyes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label eyes. Show all posts

Friday, November 8, 2024

Microstory 2275: Now I Can’t Remember What

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This is finally Nick again. Kelly is typing this for me, but it’s my words. I’m really struggling to keep my eyes open. It’s not even that I’m falling asleep. It just kind of feels really uncomfortable to hold up my eyelids. They feel like huge weights on my face. I do occasionally fall asleep when I don’t want to, though, so it may take us a long time for us to finish this post. I would tell you to be patient, but this isn’t live, so by the time you read this, you’ll have known how long it took us to finish. I’m still in the hospital, as you can imagine, and I’m in quite a bit of pain. I’ve limited myself to regular OTC stuff because I don’t like how narcs make me feel. Before I could advocate for my own healthcare needs—back when I was on the brink of death, and totally out of it—they had me on morphine, or something or other. They continued to give this to me after my surgeries, because that was protocol, and I couldn’t tell them otherwise. It was probably for the best during this period, however, because the pain would have been unbearable, and the hallucinations were worth it if I could remember them. I started being able to remember them before I was lucid, though, so I can tell you about them, if you’re curious. The most common one was that every time I tried to shut my eyes to sleep, a cacophony of unintelligible voices would start to talk over one another in the hallway. I asked them to be quiet, but I think in the real world, I wasn’t saying anything at all. These people obviously didn’t exist. The scariest hallucination was when—sorry, I actually did fall asleep in the middle of this sentence, and now I can’t remember what I was gonna say. Maybe I’ll recall for a future update. I would have written it down earlier if I could have. I can barely move. I’ve not gotten out of this bed since they brought me in. Kelly has had to do things for me, even though she doesn’t work here. I’m hoping I’ll be able to stand up by tomorrow, and then shower on my own shortly thereafter.

Monday, September 2, 2024

Microstory 2226: Not Giving Up on Him

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If you’ve been following Nick’s social media posts over the weekend, you’ll know that his health fell into a steep decline. He was still alive, and still aware of me in the room, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds, and he had a hell of a time speaking. His tremors went away, though. He was very still. I made the decision to keep him comfortable, and let him have the weekend. I was going to monitor him closely, and check him into the hospital if he did not get better in the next two days. Well, he somehow did get better. He was awake and alert this morning, and able to form full sentences. Sadly, his tremors came back too. It’s like his body shut down to take a break, and now it’s back to how it was last week. So he’s not cured, or anything, but I see it as a promising development. The doctors aren’t so optimistic. This is an unusual symptom for the type of prion that he has, but it’s not unheard of. He’ll go through dips, and come out of them as if he’s gotten better, but then he’ll go right back down. They want to keep him overnight to get a better read on the pattern that he’s on right now, but the dips don’t necessarily warrant a permanent stay, which is good. They expect him to recover from each dip. Now, if he starts having trouble breathing, that’s when things have gotten too bad for me to be able to care for him alone. But until that happens, the medical staff are willing to accept his wishes to remain in a more comfortable and familiar environment. He’s with PT in the hallway right now, trying to keep his brain and body active. The best way to fight the misfolded proteins is to exercise the good proteins. The disease is slowly taking over, so he has to be as much himself as possible. I’ll encourage to keep trying to formulate his own words for these posts to stave off the inevitable for as long as possible. He agrees that this is a good idea. And who knows, he may find himself regaining the ability to type it all out himself. I’m not giving up on him just yet.

Thursday, June 13, 2024

Microstory 2169: Refund and Take it Down

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I came home today, a day earlier than we thought I would. I’m still not well enough to report for jail tomorrow, which means that I’ll incur some extra time to make up for it, and also as a punishment for missing it, but it wouldn’t make sense for me to go back when I’ll have to spend the entire time in the infirmary. I’m much more comfortable at home, and I’ve recovered enough to start taking care of myself for the most part. My neighbor will be checking in on me every once in a while, which she doesn’t have to do. My parole officer will be coming over too as a sort of welfare check. I think my therapist will show up, and not charge me for a quick session, but I’m not about that. I pay my way, I’ll tell you. I took sick leave from work, because I can’t keep my eyes open for long enough to get anything done, but hopefully I’ll be fully ready to go on Monday, so I will have only missed a week. It’s not even that I’m sleepy or tired. Have you ever seen anyone get hypnotized, even if in fiction? The hypnotist will describe weights on their subject’s eyelids. It kind of feels like that, but it also sort of feels like it doesn’t matter whether my eyes are open or not, I still can’t see very well. My surgeon thinks that that has to do with the medication that I’m on. Blurred vision is a known side effect of at least two of them. I’m gonna stop taking the narcotics, though. I’ve never done well with them, I personally can’t understand why people get addicted to these things. I’ve had to take multiple kinds over the years, and every single one of them has made me feel like crap. I’m going to be in a lot of pain while I rely solely on over-the-counter pain meds, but it’s nothing I’ve never experienced before. Pain and I have an understanding. It gets to do whatever it wants to me, and in exchange, I get nothing. I do want to circle back to that thing about my therapist. Not because of my therapist, but because of the money thing. Apparently, one of my readers started a CauseTogether.hope page for me. I want you to know that I have absolutely nothing to do with this, and I am currently working with the platform administrators to have all backers so far fully refunded, and shut the page down. I neither want nor need your charity. I’m making plenty of money, and I will be able to pay my own hospital bills. I shouldn’t have any lost wages from my time off, because the company I work for has great benefits. Really, please do not try to give me money. A nurse suggested that I could just regift it to charity, but no, I don’t want to reward this behavior. If I can’t get the page taken down, I’m donating it all to the nearest convicted serial killer, out of spite. You have been warned. Refund and take it down!

Saturday, March 5, 2022

Extremus: Year 34

Captain Kaiora Leithe of the Void Migration Ship Extremus wakes up with a throbbing headache. It’s unlike any she’s ever experienced before. It’s focused mostly around her eyes, which are red and maybe even a little misshapen? She goes over to her sink and flushes them out, which is an immediate relief. Her fingers feel smooth and oily now, like there was something in her eyes that’s coming out. That cannot be good. After drying off and taking another look in the mirror, she turns to teleport to the executive infirmary. A blinking blue light on her desktop device gives her pause. She’ll just take a quick look at the message, and if it’s not important, she’ll ignore it and leave, but if it’s really important, she’ll put off the self-care. Heck, it may even be about her eye problems. “Computer, play the message, please.”
An image of herself appears on screen. At first, present-day Kaiora believes the playback is frozen, but then the past version of her blinks. She’s just staring at the camera for a moment, seemingly waiting to find the words. “Good morning, Kaiora, it’s Kaiora. This is not a trick, I have something important to tell you. Authentication code shadow-schwa nine-eight-five-six-seven-three-oh. You may not be feeling great right now, but it’s going to be okay. According to the drug facts on the bottle, normal side effects include headaches, sensitivity to light, burning or itchy eyes, short-term confusion, irritability, and...”
“And what?” Kaiora questions.
“And fragmental phantom memories.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means that you’ll have flashes of the day that you lost, and while you’ll eventually also forget these fragments, you will remember that you had them, and that may cause the irritability.” Is this a recording, or is she actually responding to Kaiora’s questions?
“Did you eat all of the cookies?” present-day Kaiora asks, testing to find out whether there’s a real person on the other side of the screen.
“Anyway, it’s important that you don’t investigate, or try to remember anything that happened yesterday.” Okay, probably a recording. Probably. “You did this to yourself. You consented to the procedure, and no one else knows about it. I obviously can’t tell you why you erased your memories, but it was the right thing to do, and extremely necessary. On an unrelated note, do not look for Admiral Olindse Belo’s second disappearance. Make up a story about why and how she left the ship. The fact that it’s classified works to your advantage. You’re the Captain, you don’t have to tell anyone anything.” The recording of Kaiora breathes in deeply. “I think that’s it. I just wanna reiterate that everything’s gonna be okay. I have to go actually do the thing that you’ve already done, but...happy new year!” She smiles, and the picture freezes.
Kaiora frowns, and looks over at the clock. It’s not the new year. It’s February 2, 2303. She looks back to the screen, and sees the blue light blinking again. There’s a second message. She selects it.
Another recording of herself comes up. This one looks sad and nervous. “Captain’s log, January 2, 2303. I just woke up to find a message to myself. I was obviously meant to watch it yesterday. I don’t...I don’t know if it wiped more days than I realized it would, or if it, uhh...if I just didn’t wake up until now, or what. I can’t imagine it’s the second option. I mean, someone would have noticed the captain was missing for a day. I still don’t want to tell anyone that anything happened. I don’t know what happened, so there wouldn’t be much to tell. Past!Me didn’t want anyone to know about it, so I don’t either. I’m just gonna go through my day, and hope that no one asks me about yesterday. Ya know, if I agreed to—I dunno—release Halan from prison, or officiate someone’s wedding, I’m not gonna remember what they’re talking about. Hopefully, it will resolve itself by tomorrow morning, but I’m recording this in case something else goes wrong.”
Blue light again, a third message. This version of Kaiora is the most upset yet. “Captain’s log, January 3, 2303. I just watched two videos I evidently made for myself. I don’t remember December 31, I don’t remember January 1. I don’t remember January 2. In case you’re watching this on January 4, there’s a weird, silky, film on my eyeballs.” She lifts a little green bottle of eyedrops, and shakes it in front of the camera. “It’s probably memory-erasing stuff, but it’s empty now!” She throws it across the room. “So if you’re still feeling that tomorrow, something fishy is going on. I’m going to record another video at the end of the night, giving you a rundown of everything I did today. Like I said, I don’t recall the last few days, and that led to some awkward moments that made me look like an idiot. I don’t want Future!Me to go through that again. I’m still choosing to not tell anyone that I erased my memories, or that it apparently can’t wear off at some point. January 4!Me, January 5!Me, January 6!Me, and so on, you’re going to have to decide that for yourselves. I can’t make that decision for you, but I don’t think anyone should know about it, because it would really put Olindse in danger. Okay, so that’s it for now. As previously mentioned, I’ll record another one so you’re not lost tomorrow. Today. Your today, my tomorrow. ARGH!”
The blue light comes on again, but Kaiora ignores it, and navigates to the folder where the clips are being stored. There are 33 video files in there. Past!Her has made one for every day, presumably to catch the spotless minded new versions up on the goingson of the ship. Each one is several minutes long. It’s going to take, like, three hours to watch all of the rest. What captain has that kind of time? Wait, some of them are tagged obsolete. She must have rendered those ones redundant with further updates. Even so, this is not a sustainable solution. The memory wiper chemicals must be severely corrupted, or maybe just old and expired. If only she could find the bottle, it may provide some answers. Kaiora gets on her hands and knees by the dresser, and looks around on the floor, hoping it’s still there somewhere. No luck, but that’s not super surprising. A different past version of her probably grabbed it at some point, and may have decided to throw it away. Or one of them found it, and a different one threw it away, because the whole point is she can’t remember any of this!
Something has to change. This version of Kaiora has to break the cycle, or no one will. So she calls Dr. Holmes. “Hey, are you busy right now?”
I’ve been expecting your call,” Dr. Holmes replies. “Come on down.
Kaiora cleans herself up, and gets dressed. Then she teleports to the infirmary.
“Glad you could make it,” Dr. Holmes says. “Have a seat.”
Kaiora hops up onto the table.
The doctor begins a cursory examination; ears, nose, and throat. “Did you watch Episode 33?”
Oh, so she knows. “I stopped after the first three. So you’ve known about this the entire time?”
“No at all,” Dr. Holmes promises. She feels Kaiora’s lymph nodes. “You came to me yesterday, and said that something had to be done about this.” She finishes the exam, and begins to pull off her gloves.
“And...?”
Dr. Holmes takes off a necklace with a key on it. She unlocks a cabinet with it, and takes out a bottle, which she hands to her patient. “And I concocted this.”
“This doesn’t look like a very pleasant way to squirt something in my eyes.”
“That’s because it doesn’t go in your eyes. It’s a nose spray. One shot in each nostril before you go to bed. When you wake up, you should have your memories back.”
“You’re sure it’ll work?” Kaiora rolls the bottle in her hand.
“Only one way to find out.” Dr. Holmes takes a burnbag out of her pocket, and hands it to Kaiora too. Most of the waste on this ship is recycled, to the best of their ability. In fact, everything that can possibly be constructed out of aluminum is as such, because it has 100% recycle potential. There is no limit to how many times it can be reused, which makes it an invaluable resource in a closed system. Of course, they can mine raw materials from nearby planets by using a form of time travel, but that demands energy, and isn’t the best option in most cases. Still, there are some things that need to be destroyed, either because the waste is a health hazard, or because it contains sensitive information. A bottle of memory restoration solution is a little bit of both, because it could be used as leverage, or to gain knowledge of things that not even the original user wanted to keep. The best way to get rid of it is to place it in this bag, and teleport it to the stern of the ship, where the powerful force from charged relativistic plasma melts pretty much anything.
“You’ve not been able to test it?”
“Not in a day. You can wait, but...”
“No.” Kaiora takes the bag. “I’ll try it. I trust you. I don’t want to remember what happened, but it seems there is no other way.”
“Make a 34th video, just in case it doesn’t work,” Dr. Holmes advises.
“Thanks doctor, and...”
“And I already have this programmed to delete from my own memory tonight. It’s easy to target memories when you know they’re coming.”
“Thanks again.” After making a pitstop to drop her goodies off in her cabin, Kaiora heads for the bridge, where Lieutenant Seelen is waiting to go through the morning briefing. Once that’s done, she goes about her day, and doesn’t run into any awkward situations, even though she never did watch those latter highlight videos. No one seems to suspect a thing. It is a pretty big day, though, with a lot of running around, putting out fires. It feels like she’s busier than she has been lately, though that doesn’t mean much, because even with the videos, she wouldn’t have much idea what the past month has been like. At the end of the night, she is so exhausted that she jumps back to her cabin, and literally falls faceforward on the bed. She completely forgets to take the nose spray that the doctor gave her.
That night she dreams of Olindse Belo, jumping into a portal to the future. That’s it. That’s what she was so afraid to remember. They risk deconstructing the timeline if anybody knows even a little bit of what’s coming.
When she awakens, she remembers asking Dr. Holmes for help on Day 11, and that she has received the so-called memory restoring nose spray 22 times since then.

Thursday, October 21, 2021

Microstory 1739: Jana Crane

For the most part, Jana Crane tried to keep to herself. She kept her head down, did her job, and didn’t complain when the people she worked with treated her like crap. She tried to be as accommodating as possible, without being a pushover who no one respected. She was a factory inspector, who would go around her region, making sure that the businesses she was assigned to were maintaining health and safety standards. She was thorough and careful, and didn’t let anything slide. Forgetting to fill out your monthly logs completely is one thing, but not properly securing a piece of incredibly dangerous equipment was just something that could not be tolerated. Her reports were not meant to get anyone in trouble, but she saw them as a way for the companies to improve themselves, and prevent anything from going terribly wrong. It would be bad for the floor workers if one of them became injured, and bad for the employers if that injured worker sued the company, or otherwise cost them money. Everyone should love inspectors for preventing such tragedies. At least that was how Jana saw it, but no one else shared her sentiments, even people whose lives she was trying to preserve. Perhaps if she wore a cape, and a symbol of some kind on her chest, they would think differently of her. One person in particular could have done with a little more perspective. He was a floor supervisor who probably should have never been promoted, but far be it for Jana to judge the process. What she could judge, however, was how casual he was with the safety protocols. He didn’t worry about locking down the machines. He let his people go in there without safety goggles. He didn’t care about anything. If she didn’t know any better, she might think he was asking for a bad outcome. Sadly, she was the one who ended up in a bad situation. She gave him low marks too many times, and he had had enough. She was going to stop inspecting his work, whether she wanted to or not.

The last thing she saw before the darkness was his face. He wasn’t wearing a mask, or anything. He probably thought she wouldn’t recognize him, and since she wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a lineup later, he would get away with it. Or maybe he was just a moron who didn’t think things through carefully. That was the most likely reason he not only showed his face, but spoke to her after throwing the acid in her eyes, and made references to their previous encounters with each other. She screamed, but couldn’t cry, on account of the acid. She just tried her best to wipe the chemicals off of her face. She pulled her shirt off, and wiped some more. It got the excess off, but it didn’t stop the pain, and it wouldn’t give her her sight back. He didn’t laugh. He was angry; talking about how this was her fault, and if she had just ignored the infractions, this wouldn’t have had to happen. All this, like it was completely unavoidable. An unlocked chemical cabinet was unsafe, but he didn’t appear to recognize the irony. She could hear his footsteps grow fainter, so she started to reach out around her. Feeling around was taking too long, so Jana had to be bolder. By the end of this, she was going to have a lot of bruises, but she would live. Every second she waited would make it that much harder for the doctors to fix her eyes. She began to run. She didn’t run into anything, so she went faster and faster through the factory, all the way out into the cold, and over to a warehouse down the street, which she knew operated 24/7. Her vision was never quite the same after that, but she didn’t go blind, and the floor supervisor didn’t go free.

Friday, February 26, 2021

Microstory 1570: Vatutotew

Prompt
Some tiny little creature has been living in my utility room, and I know it’s not a mouse. I got a good look at it once, and I saw intelligence behind its eyes.

Botner
I think I’m scared to look at it again, because I don’t want to see just another grisly rat corpse on my kitchen floor. Or to know what it is that has been chewing up my animal crackers. The rats in the basement have been a constant thing. I’ve bought things that deter rodents, and I put small amounts of poison in the walls and floors. It’s always the same: for three weeks, they are gone. Three weeks. Then they come back. The wads of mouse poop in the utility room? I’ve never seen that before. I know I haven't been in the basement for a while. There are doors in the walls leading into the house, I think to keep me from getting killed. I think I should have all of my meals in the kitchen. Not so much for convenience’s sake, but because there are mice. I can’t find my glasses. I have one set, and one set that I am pretty sure they aren’t in. I’m pretty sure that they are in the damn utility room. And, you know what? I know my husband bought another pair of glasses, and I...

Conclusion
...have to wait until my birthday before he’ll give them to me. He probably hid them in the utility room too, which means, if I want to get a better look at the weird creature living in there, I’ll have to go in there first to retrieve the glasses. Even though I won’t be able to see very well, I can still protect myself, with a long-sleeve shirt, and elbow and knee pads. I look like an idiot, but I’m not taking any chances. If it turns out to be a mouse, then fine. If it’s a rat, then not as fine, but I’ll still probably survive. If it’s an evil alien bent on the destruction of the human race, then...then I don’t know, but I’m not going in there unprepared. I have a bat. I slowly crack the door, but then throw it open. It’s easier to see tiny animals when they move, so I would rather it scurry away fast than sneak behind me so I can’t even tell it’s there. Nothing. I see no movement. I lift the laundry basket, nothing moves. I open all of the cabinets, and shine a flashlight in them. Not there either. I open the dryer, but it’s insane to think something that small would exert enough force to get inside. I bend down to check the washer too, confident in the same assessment. It’s in there, staring at me, not like it’s scared, but confused as to why I’m in what it must think is its territory. It looks like a little furry human, gray, with a tail. It turns its head slightly, and looks at me more with one eye, which is something a person would do when sizing somebody up. It is as smart as I thought, or maybe even smarter. Finally, it extends an arm. “My name is Vatutotew,” it says politely. “Have I misidentified this room as abandoned?”

Friday, April 26, 2019

Microstory 1090: Lee

Seventy-three years ago, I was having a pretty bad time, and I didn’t think I would survive. When I woke up, it was any normal day in the 1940s. Back then, I was working full-time at my family’s farm, having dropped out of school, because it wasn’t like I was going to university anyway. I completed my morning chores, and was heading back inside to eat when I noticed something dripping from my eyes. Back then, it was pretty much illegal to have hay fever, so I was very worried watering eyes would negatively impact our revenue. I reached up, and discovered it not to be tears, but blood. I felt a little moisture on my ears, and found them to be bleeding as well. Then I noticed it coming out of my nose, and filling up my mouth. I wasn’t coughing up any of the blood, but I did have to keep spitting it out. I won’t gross you out with the details, but I was eventually bleeding out of every orifice. I wasn’t injured anywhere, so there weren’t any cuts, but if an opening already existed in my body, I was bleeding from it. This would have frightened the strongest of us, in any time period, so I was scared out of my mind. Though I wasn’t very well-educated, I did intuitively understand that I was too ill to be around other people. Whatever was doing this to me was most likely contagious, so I needed to get away from everyone. Unfortunately, that also meant I wasn’t going to receive any medical treatment, because remember, this was ancient days, so I couldn’t call someone on my cell phone. We had just built a new barn, closer to the farmhouse, but the old one was still standing, so I ran across the field, and hid in there, so I could plan my next move. Suddenly, I wasn’t alone. A young woman about my age appeared out of nowhere with a frown. She looked me over, and explained that she was trying to invoke a cure, but quickly realized that there was nothing she could do. She was apparently not born with the qualifications for this kind of job. She knew someone who could help me, but it would require me to leave my family, and never see them again. Recognizing that there was no better outcome, I agreed to let her send me away. She literally pushed me into one of the horse stables. I closed my eyes as a reflex for one second, and when I opened them, I found myself standing on a city street.

Another young woman was there waiting for me. She placed her hands on my neck, and cured me, just like the other one couldn’t. I still don’t know what it was I had, because I’ve never heard of anything quite like that before. I never felt sick; I just could not stop bleeding. Anyway, the second woman was obviously Viola Woods, and she reminded me that I would never be able to go back home. Time travel is something she was capable of doing, but while going forward is easy, the further back you want to go, the more difficult it is. And so she set me up with a new life in the here and now, urging me to restart my schooling as well. It’s taken a lot for me to get up to speed with my peers, but luckily I look a little young for my age, and enrolled as a freshman. Viola tutored me over the last four years, and even adjusted people’s memories for me. People don’t actually remember me living here as a kid, but they kind of get the sense that I’ve always been here, and they don’t ever question the fact that they can’t recall any specifics. In an attempt to pay her back, I would help Viola whenever she came back from her missions with physical injuries. I would treat her wounds, and while we waited for them to heal on their own, I would apply makeup, so no one would notice them. I have a new job now, doing the same thing as before. I’m not sure if I’m allowed to say who it is, but someone we all know has replaced her. I hope we both make Viola proud, and I hope someone gets justice for Maud, because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that she didn’t do it. If you’re finally just now talking to me, then she should be your next interview. Get her side of the story before anyone else.

Monday, March 18, 2019

Microstory 1061: Margaret

I’m so sorry I’m late. That’s never happened to me before, but I was so preoccupied with work that I didn’t even remember that we had this scheduled. I could have done it on my lunch break, like we had planned, but like I said, it slipped my mind. I did hear that Martin already told you what we were, and that the months we spent with this bond are supposed to culminate in some important moment tomorrow. I wasn’t particularly pleased that he just blurted out our secret, but sitting with you right now, Alma, tells me that he had no choice. Perhaps there’s a little bit of psychic power in you too? Hmm? Well, there’s something about the prophecy he told you that not even my twin brother knows about. I’m a lot better at hiding my personal thoughts from him than he is. He’s kind of an oversharer. It must be time I tell Martin that he and I aren’t the only ones who share a psychic connection. Soon after Viola gave us the gift, she gave it to my friends, Mae and Mattie as well. I imagine we’ll need the truth for whatever is meant to happen tomorrow. Like Martin, I don’t know what it’s going to be, but it’s big, and it’s probably related to the Viola tragedy itself, so you might want to keep your ear to the ground. Something tells me I should suggest you speak with Mae in the morning, and Mattie sometime the following day. I don’t know why, but it’s my intuition that you’ll need the full story before you move on to whomever else is on your list. Mae’s interview is going to be extremely important too, because she has an extra gift that Viola didn’t say anything about in the beginning, and only started happening a few months ago. She has a certain sense of the future. It’s always very hazy and hard to interpret—like those ink blot pictures therapists use to get into your subconscious, or whatever—but it always makes sense once we get there. The last one she showed us looked like this ominous darkened sky, full of cracks. The weather didn’t actually have anything like that, but our local meteorologist did start bleeding thick, black blood that no one can explain. Nellie can fill you in on that, if you’re interested, since her dad works at the news station. I don’t think it has anything to do with us. Still, maybe you should just go talk to Mae right now, in case there’s something about tomorrow you should know about. I don’t think I can tell you any more about the telepathy that Martin hasn’t already said.

Friday, March 15, 2019

Microstory 1060: Martin

Viola was the one who created me and my sister. Margaret is my twin, and of course, that has always been the case, but it hasn’t always been the way it is now. The bond between us has only grown in recent years, but the fist shift happened when we were eight years old. She and I weren’t very close when we were kids—which may sound strange to hear about a pair of twins—but when two people go through what we did, a lot can change. It wasn’t until recently that we developed the twintuition. It’s even more powerful for us. It’s not that we didn’t get along before, but we were born with incompatible interests, and differing worldviews. We were very nice and affectionate with each other, but we didn’t hang out, and we weren’t the kind of siblings who tell each other everything. She had her life, and I had mine, and it wasn’t looking like things were ever going to be different. Then ten years ago, the four of us were on a train, on our way to visit our big brother in college, who was probably the biggest thing we had in common. The authorities still don’t really know what happened, but our car somehow broke free from the rest of them, and tipped over. Besides our parents, seven other passengers died that day, while Margaret and I were the only two survivors. Our brother ended up dropping out of school, so he could take care of us, and we could never repay him for that. Had we been a bit older, we might have suggested we move out to Illinois for him, so he could continue his education, but we were too young to understand the situation fully. About three years ago, our brother, Marzo was diagnosed with a terminal disease. He wasn’t really given a prognosis, and he’s still alive today, but life got even harder at that point. One day, Margaret and I had just returned from leaving Marzo in the hospital for an overnight stay, when we found Viola waiting for us in the living room. She warned us that things would not be getting better, and couldn’t if the dynamic remained as it was. The details are a little personal, so I won’t get into them, but she basically performed a ritual over us, which gave us the ability to exchange thoughts, and see through each other’s eyes. I know it sounds far-fetched, but I’m telling you the truth. I can even get her in here to prove it. Or you can call her. What luck, here’s a deck of cards. Now, you pull one at random. Okay, show it to—was that your phone? It’s Margaret, isn’t it? She was already watching us. Boom. I don’t know how, but Viola did that. And I don’t know why, because our connection will apparently not be vital until—well, would you look at that? Tomorrow is the big day.

Thursday, July 19, 2018

Microstory 889: Healing Glass

I have no idea how I ended up at the site of this car wreck, but I know I have to get out of here. It must be raining, because the side of my face is wet, and I’m having trouble staying on balance. I slip and slide away from the cars, and start heading down the street. At first I think there are a whole bunch of obstructions in my way, but then I realize how silly I’m being. There’s nothing in front of me, but my own glasses, which are so scratched up and cracked that I just can’t see very well. I take them off to examine them, but quickly realize that the reason I have glasses in the first place is because I can’t see without them, so this isn’t doing me any good. Best I can tell, there’s also some weird red stuff on the frame. There must have been paint in one of the cars that crashed. I put my glasses on and keep walking, angry that my glasses are damaged when I didn’t even do anything wrong. A guy can’t even have a few drinks after a hard day of work without his glasses getting all jacked up. Thanks, Obama!

I reach for my elbow, and wince in pain. A couple weeks ago, I fell down the stairs of a hotel. It busted me open, which was bad enough, but now I’m dealing with this terrible infection, and I got fired. Apparently a guy can’t even take a couple weeks off of work without telling his boss to make sure he doesn’t use his arm too much. Thanks, Obama! Anyway, that just adds to my case. Before, the hotel would only have to pay my hospital bill, and my medicine, which were quite expensive. But now I can sue for damages, or whatever, since it caused me to lose my job. My elbow isn’t hurting that much right now, though. It’s my other arm that hurts when I try to check on my elbow. Let’s see, when did I last take my pain meds? I lift up my watch, which is cracked too, but I can see enough of it to tell that it’s only been an hour. Surely I can take another couple, though. I’m not operating any heavy machinery, am I right? I keep walking as I take the pills, just waiting for my glasses to heal themselves, but it almost seems like they never will. What a rip off. I mean, the lady at the eyewear store didn’t explicitly say that they can heal themselves, but I’ve heard of things that can do that, so I guess I just figured my glasses was one of those things now. Okay, now the rain is getting into my mouth. Oh wait, no, it’s coming out of my mouth. Does rain ever do that, and why is it red? Is that paint? Oh my God, now I have to sue someone for getting paint in my mouth. When did I last take my pain meds? I lift up my watch, which is cracked too, but I can see enough of it to tell that it’s only been an hour. Surely I can take another couple, though. I’m not operating any heavy machinery, am I right? I keep walking as I take the pills. That’s funny, I should have at least ten left, but now the bottle is empty.

Thursday, July 5, 2018

Microstory 879: Eyes Glued

Most people would say that I have superpowers, but a lot of the things I can do are uncontrollable, and I would say that you are the ones with powers. Your bodies have been refined over time by evolution, with each passing generation developing better and better traits to help them survive in the world. When your skin is cut, tiny little extensions of you race to the wound, and seal it up. When you’re dehydrated, you become thirsty; tired when you need sleep, itchy when something around you is not quite right. My kind, on the other hand—if I’m even of a kind at all—is stuck doing all those kinds of things manually. I use external instruments to measure my body, so I can stay alert to what it needs me to do, and that is always a lot of work. I do not experience thirst, but I still require water to transport nutrients, and lubricate joints. Sure, I can lose a limb, and put it back on later, but I also can’t heal myself, so if I don’t fix it quick, I’ll bleed out. I don’t know what I am, or where I came from. I woke up one day in the middle of the woods, and have lived years knowing nothing about myself. I often return to that spot for answers, but have found none, so I mostly just try to live my best life possible. The scientists who ended up lucky enough to respond to the claims of my existence can’t explain me either. Some wanted to call me Data, because I apparently act like a particular character in a TV show that I now feel compelled to avoid, on principle. Others wanted to name me Frankenstein, because my physical attributes most closely resemble a monster created through spare parts. But I was not born of amalgamation, and I was not built to specification, but rather modeled upon my creator’s vague memory of a generic human being, or so it would seem, because they didn’t do a great job. I believe I was designed as a prototype. I figure they left to die in the wild while my creator moved on a better version, but this is nothing more than speculation, because I really don’t much care who they are, or what they were hoping to gain.

I was found by a mother and daughter on a camping trip. They knew someone who knew someone working in the field of robotics. Of course, I am no android, but her knowledge has not been unhelpful in understanding how to deal with me. I suppose if I had to label my family, I would call her my mother. She cared for me like a mother would, and protected me from those who would exploit me for their own ends. I was fortunate to have her, as well as her colleagues, for I cannot say I would have turned out so well-adjusted if not for them. As unbelievable as it may seem, I lead a fairly normal life. I have a decent job where only a select few know that I do not consider myself human. The rest assume I have autism, and most of those treat me with kindness because of, in spite of, or unrelated to, that assumption. I do normal things, like set off fireworks, and cuddle with puppies. When I eat, I’m eating regular food, and just like everybody else, I have to make sure it’s not too much. My stomach might rupture if I fail in this, so that’s different, but still not too far off from how it is for you. Right now I’m at the beach for the first time, and I’m still not sure I like it. My mother thinks I’m capable of incurring first degree burns, and insists I spread sunblock on my skin. It’s oily, and gross, and I don’t like it. Plus, there’s sand in my eyes now, which is another advantage you have over me. You’ve evolved tears that can wash foreign particulates from your eyes, but I don’t, so it just won’t come out. I’m going to have to remove them entirely, which I know will be unsettling for the other beach goers, but we can just claim we’re filming a prank show, like that time I lifted a car to retrieve a soccer ball. No one seems to be paying attention, but neither am I. I reach into my mother’s bag, looking for those eye drops she uses for her allergies. Before I realize I’ve grabbed the wrong bottle, it’s too late. My eyeballs have already set into the fast-hardening super glue. If I had known this was going to happen, I would have made sure I didn’t insert them backwards. I can’t see a thing, but please, keeping telling me how great it must feel to swim underwater for two days straight.

Tuesday, April 3, 2018

Microstory 812: Water Shoes

I stumble out of the building, totally disoriented, with no memory of the last day or two. I don’t know what I’m running from, but I know it isn’t good. I woke up on a table, tiny little metal things holding my eyelids open. Someone must have given me something, because it’s brighter outside than I’ve ever seen it. I can make out a few shapes here and there, enough to keep from running out in traffic, but I can’t see any detail. I don’t see the shape of what’s coming for me, though, because I’m already feeling off-balance, and turning my head would just make it that much worse. I keep blinking as a run, thinking my eyes will adjust to the daytime, but they never do. It doesn’t even just look like the sunlight beating down on me, but like every surface I encounter is reflective. I land in a couple shallow puddles, then across some grass, and as I do, I hear fewer and fewer city sounds. I sense that whatever is chasing me is getting even closer, and since I don’t have any clue where I’m going, I may never be able to outlast it. I start to feel water leaking into my shoes, but one thing I can see is that I’m not walking through water. It’s just somehow appearing out of nowhere, and while it does so, I start to feel the tightness of my shoes less and less. Not until the last aglet is gone do I realize that my shoes themselves have turned into water. Somehow. What’s even more amazing is that the shoes stay on my feet, and continue to protect me from the rocks I’m now running on.

I don’t even feel the road beneath me. Still, the thing behind maintains its pursuit. Getting an idea from what’s happened to my shoes, I take a sharp left turn, and—despite my full eyesight not returning—deftly maneuver down the bank, and into a lake. Rather, I’m on top of the lake. I can run on top of the water, as it were nothing more than soft Colorado snow. I keep running, acutely aware that my tormentor has found itself unable to follow me here, but I can hear it scream at me. It’s definitely not human. Then again, I don’t feel human anymore either. The more I run across the lake, the more water splashes on my body, and as it does, that body part begins to feel less like itself; like I no longer have any feeling there. I begin to sink, but still, I never stop. It’s a pointless endeavor, as my body starts melting into a liquid state. Just before my head transforms, my last thought is of a once-lost memory. I remember now that I first experienced these symptoms a few days ago, and had found someone to help me correct the problem. I shouldn’t have run from them.

Saturday, November 18, 2017

The Departure of Hokusai Gimura: Chapter Four

“When are we?” I ask, recognizing some landmarks of the city. Night is falling.
“November 18, 2000.”
How does she know that?
As if reading my mind, she explains, “I have an innate sense of time. It’s one of my required secondary powers. Most time travelers don’t have it, which means they’re always getting lost. That’s why the world’s not even crazier than it is.”
“Did you send us here, or did that woman do it?”
“Kinda both, I guess.”
“Well, this is where we need to be. This is the day that Rothko Ladhiffe disappeared.” Suddenly, the sun disappears, as if the light in the sky was no more than a lightbulb that can be switched off.
Sanela shivers. “Something’s wrong here too. I’m the Screener. We shouldn’t be feeling the weather.”
“Come on, let’s go find RL.”
We’re several blocks from the Ladhiffe house, and since Sanela doesn’t trust her powers at the moment, we have to walk the whole way. We see zero signs of life on our way. Not only are there no cars driving home from the bar, or people setting their trash bins on the curb, but there’s nothing. It’s like this area of town was built overnight, and people haven’t moved in yet. As expected, RL’s house is empty, so we go back outside, hoping to run into him. It is then that we come across the special disappearing house. A figure is standing at the entrance, banging on the door.
“No,” I cry, like an inconsiderate audience member at a movie screening. “Don’t go in there!”
I reach the house just in time to see RL open the door, and steal a flashlight from the figure who was knocking on it, who’s turned out to be some other version of RL. “You won’t need this,” he says to himself. “Go inside. Trust me.” For some reason, the other RL complies with his duplicate’s orders, and steps in. I’m about to follow when the RL with the flashlight stops me. “Not you,” he says.
“Oh my God!” Sanela complains. “You can see us too?”
“Yeah, it’s this whole thing. Come on.”
RL then runs off, and we chase after him. “Rothko!” I keep yelling up to him. “I’ve been looking for you!” He ignores me, and leads us to the high school, only stopping once we reach the gymnasium.
“What are we doing here?” Sanela asks.
RL just steps into the equipment room and starts looking around.
“Answer her!” I demand. “What’s your problem?”
RL finds what he’s looking for in a baseball bat. “Sorry, we just don’t have much time. Take this.”
“He can’t take that,” Sanela says. “We’re not really here.”
“The rules are different in this dimension,” RL explains. “Take it.”
I reluctantly take the bat. “What is this for?”
“You remember your surrogate daughter, Hogarth?”
“I’ve never really considered her my—”
“You remember her, though,” he interrupts.
“Yes, of course.”
He points at the bat he’s just handed me. “Protect her.”
“From what?”
“You’ll see.” He starts looking around again, eventually deciding he now needs a basketball. “Somebody got a pen?”
I always keep a pen on my person, and have been doing so since I was a child. What kind of man leaves the house without a pen? my father would always say. It made an impression.
RL takes the pen, draws a sorry excuse for a cat on it, and stuffs it in my face. “Take a mental note of this. This is the most important basketball in the worlds. I’m going to leave the Rothko Torch in here for you. You will retrieve it in 2022, and then leave it in 2160. I would give it to you now, but I need it for something else first.”
“I’m so confused. Why don’t you come with us?”
“I have to save them all.”
“Save who?”
“You’ve already seen.”
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“One last thing before we part ways. I’m going to tell you something that no one else knows.”
“What is it?”
His watch beeps. “Shit. Remember the cat!”
“What did you want to tell me?” I ask hastily.
“The Rothko Torch,” he says, “it’s not one of a kind! There is one other. It’s in my—”
Time runs out, and we’re transported once again, apparently out of Sanela’s control. She can’t even sense what year it is. As I’m trying to figure out which direction we should go. Hogarth Pudeyonavic appears out of the darkness. She’s running with a woman I don’t recognize. Behind them are town residents Paul Harken, and a very pregnant Hilde Unger. They duck around a corner, and I’m about to run after them when I notice three men already chasing them. They don’t look like they have the best of intentions.
“The bat,” Sanela says simply.
They don’t seem to be able to see me, but they can definitely feel me. I lower the bat and use it to trip one of the pursuing men. The man in front got past me before I could stop him, so I toss the bat in his direction. It’s not a particularly elegant throw, but it does the job, hitting him in the face, and causing a nosebleed.
“Nice shot!” Sanela says joyously, but becomes ashamed of her schadenfreude, and calms back down.
The third man is still standing up, so I fix that with a quick jab in the back of his kneecap. I don’t know what his deal is, or why he’s chasing after Hogarth, but RL said to protect her, so that’s what I’ma do. Like I needed a reason.
A fourth man runs up and looks at the mess. “What happened here?” He carries with him an air of authority.
“Invisible force,” one of the henchmen replies. “Smith. Help. Please.” Maybe I hit him a little too hard.
“Where did she go?” the leader, whose name was apparently Smith asks.
“We don’t know.”
“Invisible force, you say?” he starts thinking it over. Then he takes the HG Goggles out of his pocket.
“How did he get those?” I ask, feeling my pocket to make sure mine are still there. “I still have them.”
“Time travel,” Sanela whispers. “He acquires them sometime later. Either that, or there’s more than one, like the Rothko Torch. I don’t know what any of these things are.”
Smith puts the goggles on and looks right at the two of us. “Ha-ha-ha!” he LOLs. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I answer simply. “Whatever you want with Hogarth, you can’t have it. I’ll see to that.”
He smiles and points to his goggles, and then to us. “You’ve lost your advantage.”
As if on cue, we all hear a basketball bouncing in the darkness. It gets quieter as it loses momentum, but then we see it roll into view. The cat doodle ends up on top when the ball stops at my feet.
Smith nods to the bat I’m still holding. “Wrong sport.”
I grimace at him and get down on one knee. I lift the bat like it’s Excalibur, and jam it into the ball. It pops, revealing the Rothko Torch, just as promised. I switch it on and shine it on Smith’s face. He cries in pain, instinctively trying to block the light with his hands, and then turning away. After I turn the flashlight off, I’m near guilt for what I’ve done. He’s trembling, down on his own knees, and trying to cry, but no tears could fall from those eyes. The HG Goggles have been burned into his face permanently. He’s been turned into a hideous monster by most accounts. It’s unclear what he sees, if anything, when he removes his hands, trying to look at at them. At anything. The intensity of Smith’s whimpers increase until they reach critical mass, and he lets out a shriek no human should be able to produce on their own. Vearden Haywood could probably hear it all the way back in 2017, it’s so loud.
Once he’s done screaming, Smith stands back up, working hard to force himself to push through the pain. “I can still see you,” he yells, not as loud as the shriek, but loud enough to strike fear in my heart, and likely Sanela’s.
“We have to go,” I warn her.
“I’m on it,” she says, lifting her hands to just in front of her face. She then pushes them outwards and upwards, driving the scenery away from them to make room for the next scene.
“When and where are we now?”
“2161.”

Saturday, November 11, 2017

The Departure of Hokusai Gimura: Chapter Three

“You’re a Matic?” Vearden asks. “Any relation to Mateo?”
“Yes, actually,” Sanela answers. “I would have been great grandmother.”
“You would have been...?” I ask.
“He went back in time to kill Hitler, which created a new reality; one in which he was never born.”
“I know of a device that can fix realities.”
She shook her head. “I know what you’re talking about. That’s for reality corruptions. This is just a new timeline. There’s nothing to fix. Thanks, though.”
“What does it mean that your The Screener?” I ask.
“I can show you the past. You won’t be able to interact with anybody, or anything, but you can watch.”
“So you can show me where Hokusai Gimura is?”
“I don’t know where she is, but I can take you back and let you retrace her steps. That is, if the powers that be allow me to do so. I operate at their behest.”
“So, how does this work? Do you need a picture of her, or a specific date and time?”
Sanelea takes a small bottle out of her pocket and removes the cap. “Lean your head back.”
I’m about to ask why, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll do anything. I lean back and let her drop one drop of some unknown substance into each of my eyes. It stings a little, but is at the same time pleasurable. I can feel a warm sensation pulsing through my veins, reaching every square inch of my body within seconds. After I’m done instinctively blinking, I open my eyes and find myself in what looks like The Construct from The Matrix. Sanela is here with me. She explains that this is The Antapex; another dimension. It’s not the first time I’ve been in one, so it’s no big deal, except that there is nothing here, which gives me a feeling of isolation and emptiness that I didn’t know was possible.
“What’s that stuff you gave me?” I start looking around even though, again, there’s nothing here but whiteness.
She walk around as mirror to me. “Nothin’ but my tears.”
“You mean anyone can do this if they just have your tears?”
“I can take you anywhere I want you to go,” she begins to explain, “tears or no. I gave you my tears so you can decide where, but you still need me to drive. If I just left you with a sample, you would only be able to observe your own past. We’re waiting here because it takes a few minutes for your mind to bond with the solution.”
“Is my body just slumped against the wall back at Vearden’s safehouse?”
“No, your body is here. You can only observe the past, but your body is still here.”
My head grows hotter, not feverish, but a heat the likes of which I’ve never experienced.
“Okay, this is it; we’re entangled,” she says. “Just think about when and where you wanna go, and we’ll go.”
I try to think about Hokusai, but my brain isn’t working right. The heat from that eye solution is overwhelming. My thoughts wander further and further back, until I’m hyperfocused on Escher Bradley, the child whose disappearance started it all. Suddenly, we’re back inside that wretched house. Escher is just opening the door, carefully but inquisitively. He places one hand on the inside knob while taking a cursory look at the foyer, causing it to break off. He puts the knob in his pocket and continues to explore.
“I thought we were looking for a woman,” Sanela notes.
“We are,” I say. “I took us too far back. This is the first person to go missing. Well, technically second, but I was a child during the first one.”
“Is this gonna help with your investigation?” she asks me.
“It could. I believe they’re all connected. I believe they’re all in the same place.”
“I don’t know how long the powers that be are gonna let me work this case,” she says tentatively. “We might want to hurry this along.”
The whole time, I’ve been watching Escher, but now I turn towards my guide. “Can you do that? Can you speed this up?”
“Speedwatch? Yeah, I can.”
“Keep us with him,” I order, somewhat rudely. “Wherever he goes, we go. I don’t want to have to run twice as fast.”
“I can do that too.”
She doesn’t seem to need to move a muscle to make this happen. We remain connected to Escher’s location as he moves, our feet sliding across the floor as mere observers, like a true three-dimensional movie. Everything moves at least twice as fast as real-time. She slows down sometimes so we can hear things he says, and sometimes speed up even more when little is happening. Escher, completely hopeless and alone, starts out by activating some kind of portal in the mural above the fireplace. He crawls up into it, and then falls back out, now in another dimension of his own, and somehow upstairs. He looks out the window to see his mother, who still apparently has her memories of him, and is wondering where he is. Escher tries to walk down the hallway, only to be transported to a basement. He begins to cry so much that a puddle forms from his tears. He ends up falling through it as well, as it has become a portal. He’s in a new basement, and just as trapped as before. I try to comfort and help him, acutely aware of how pointless my attempts are.
Escher continues to run through the maze of rooms, which could not possibly fit within the confines of a single-family home. Sometimes these rooms are basements, but not always. He hears noises, and sees dark masses pursue him. He keeps running for his life, eventually learning the power of what I’ve been calling the Escher Knob. Eventually he comes across a little girl named Effigy, but she is not what she appears to be. She’s a monster in disguise, and all but admits this outright. She shows him a magic mirror that reveals my first meeting his parents, when I was trying to investigate his disappearance. She later puts him through a series of incredibly dangerous challenges, eventually releasing him to the outside on what’s either an alien world, or Iceland...but probably an alien world.
“Pause it,” I ask of Sanela.
She complies, and also removes our lock on Escher, so we can move around the scene at will.
“Where are we?”
“I’ve no idea. I’m not a tracker, and I’ve never been here. I can tell you that it’s not Earth, nor is it in another dimension.”
“We’re on another planet. I had no hope finding them as long as I stayed on Earth.”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Sanela agrees.
“All right, play again, but at normal speed.” The scene continues, but now we can hear the dialog.
Effigy returns again, still in the form of a little girl, but maintaining no illusions that she is innocent. “You made it,” she says to him.
“Is this your world?” Escher asks.
“It is now. It’s not where I come from; just where I’ve been trapped. Until you came along.”
“What? What did I do?” he questions. “How have I freed you?”
“You're a little young for the physics,” she says dismissively.
“Try me. I’m smarter than you think.”
“The tests I put you through were not arbitrary,” Effigy says. “They served a very, very specific purpose. They are what ultimately allowed you to come here. Well, you could have come here at any time, I guess, but that would have been a waste. What I needed was a bridge, and you built that bridge for me. Thanks for that, by the way.”
“I don't remember building a bridge,” EB says, showing his youth.
“See? I told you that you wouldn’t get it. It’s not an actual bridge. “Then she mutters, “idiot” under her breath.
“Hey, leave him alone!” I shout at Effigy. For a second there, I think she can see and hear me, for her eyes dart at me ever so quickly.
“All right,” Escher says coolly, giving no impression that he might be able to see the two observers. “Calm down. Yeah, I’m young, but ya just gotta give me a chance. The challenges were...connecting the dots?” He guesses.
“Yes,” she confirms. “Particles needed quantum entangling and you got the chops to entangle them. Not everyone does, mind you, but you’re special.”
“That's lovely to hear,” Escher lies, almost convincingly.
“Well, you asked the question, and since you don’t like the answer, you wanna get all defensive. That is not my problem. In fact, you’re not my problem. Not anymore.”
“If I’m not your problem, then you can let me go back home.”
“Nah, sorry. Not possible. “You’ve done a brilliant job getting us here in the way I needed you to, which means you’re stuck here.”
“What?”
“Umm...sorry?” She does her best to pretend she has any empathy for him, or that she’s even capable of it.
“No, that can’t be true!” EB cries defiantly. “You have to have a way back to Earth, I know it! This whole thing is about escaping. That’s one of the first things you told me about yourself!”
“I thought I did, yes,” Effigy says. “But when I discovered that you could bridge worlds, I realized I had to take advantage of that. I can escape later. I have more work to do here.”
“I've been helping you this whole time,” EB says, near more tears. “I think I always knew that that was a mistake. I shoulda been stopping you.”
“You coulda tried, but you’re no match for my power, I’ll tell ya that much.”
“That might be true, but you said I have power of my own. I don’t understand it—but I will—and I will find a way to use it against you.”
She grimaces. “Good luck with thaaaaat. I’ma go get my friends so we can take the universe for ourselves. We certainly deserve it after what we’ve been through.”
“You're gonna lose,” he says, bolstering his own courage. “You may win a few battles here and there, but I’ll figure this place out, and you will ultimately lose the war.”
“Good luck,” Effigy repeats. Then she blinks away for one second. Escher doesn’t seem to notice that she never really left. He starts moving away, hopefully looking for shelter. “Sorry about that,” she says, apparently to herself. “That conversation went on longer than I thought it would.” She looks right at my face, like she can see me. “Are you gonna say something, or just stand there like an dumbass?”
“You can see us?” Sanela asks, shocked.
“Sure can!” Effigy responds excitedly.
“How is that possible?” Sanela takes out her special tear drops. She removes the cap and smells it, but she doesn’t really know what she’s looking for.
“That ain’t gonna give you no answers, honey. My power can’t be explained.”
“Who are you?” Sanela approaches Effigy with caution, and nudges her on the shoulder.
“Yes, amazing, I know.”
“This has never happened to me before,” Sanela says to me. “There’s something wrong with her.”
“Or something right,” Effigy suggests.
“You’re an alien,” I say.
“Very good. But even more alien than you could know. I’m not even from this universe. I was screwed over. And while The Shepherd got a cozy job in the military, I got stuck here.”
“We can’t let your friends come here,” I tell her. “Whoever they are, they have to stay wherever they are.”
She sports what must be her signature smirk. “Like you got a choice.” She apports a remote control into her hands, and points it at the two of us. “Act Two, Scene One.”
She presses a button, and apports us back to Springfield, Kansas.