Microstory 2195: Should Not Have Jumped

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I had this whole thing planned. I was going to welcome our first staff members with a little party. It wasn’t going to be a huge celebration, but I thought it was a good idea to give people the chance to meet each other in a more social environment. I, for one, do not like parties. Crowds make me uncomfortable, and I tend to say the wrong thing. I’m much better in a professional context. Jasmine pointed out that we would just have to keep doing this every time someone new came along. A lot of them are starting on Monday, but not everyone, and I guess I just wasn’t thinking it all the way through; probably because of everything else I have on my mind. It makes sense, to wait until we’re all together. We can call the early days the soft open, and then have a grand opening party later on. I’ll have to find someone else to eat this ice cream cake. I cannot keep it in the house, because I can eat the whole thing myself at once, and I will. Don’t test me. So we’ll work first, and wait for the party. I should have not jumped the gun, and maybe I shouldn’t have told you about it—I don’t know—but it’s fine. There’s nothing left to say. Who knows what I’ll be able to divulge in this setting next week? I’ll have to feel the situation out with my new and growing team.

Microstory 1740: Hercules Wagon

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I just found a dead body. It’s a fifteen-year-old girl, who is—I mean was—one of two of the last remaining residents of Cepheus, Kansas. Everyone else who once lived here either left, or died already. Technically, anyone in the world could have killed her. I can’t rule out any of them, except for myself, but there is one person who is my prime suspect right now. Her father is the only one I know of who was here at the time. They were supposed to go fishing today, I know that much, but I’m not a coroner, so there is no way for me to know how long ago she was killed. It could have happened anytime within the last month, but I feel like the smell would be worse if she had been lying here for longer than a few days. Plus, food is something that I do know a little bit about, and I can tell you that this ice cream that spilled all over the floor only went bad recently. It looks like she dropped the bowl, slipped on it, and hit her head on the corner of the counter. Or maybe that’s just what her dad wants us to believe. I mean, where is he now, right? A month, a few days; either is plenty of time for him to contact the authorities if it really was an accident. Running makes anyone look suspicious, so he’s only making it harder on himself. I simply cannot let the trail go cold, and I can’t rely on the sheriff to do his due diligence. He’s going to rule it an accident, and not even look at the damn facts. She’s dead, and the dad’s gone. They need to investigate, or even call in the FBI. No, he can’t be trusted. I have to go on the hunt, or no one else will. Sure, I’m just a rural area supply transporter, but I know these woods like the back of my eyelids. If the killer is hiding somewhere around here, I’ll find him. You can bet on that.

I get back in my wagon, and head to what’s left of Main Street, hoping to find some evidence of where my suspect could have gone. There aren’t a whole lot of locations around here, and of course I’m well aware that he could be in Peru by now. If I killed my own teenage daughter, accident or no, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to stick around unless I wanted to get caught, consciously or no. I never pegged him for much of a bright boy, so I expect he’ll turn up sooner or later. These abandoned buildings are a pretty decent place to hide if you’re not worried about someone like me being on the hunt. Not in the old general store, not in the one restaurant still standing, not in the playground slide. It’s covered in mold, though. Someone should really do somethin’ about that. Where could that guy be? I head farther out to check the fishing hole, and the run-down cabin nearby. No one has been here in weeks, by the looks of it. Maybe he’s camping out on the prairies, or in that trailer that someone abandoned deep in the forest a couple of decades ago. Man, pretty much everything around here is falling apart, isn’t it? I still can’t find him, so I decide I need to get some perspective. One thing I didn’t try that they always do on those crime shows is inspect the scene. I can’t believe I was so dumb that I didn’t really even look for clues around the body. Maybe I’m not a bright boy either. When I get back to the house, police lights are flashing in my eyes. The sheriff has finally shown up. Took him long enough. He has some colleagues with him from neighboring counties. I get out, thinking it’s time I fill them in on what I know. I don’t get to say much before they slam my face into the hood of my own truck, and wrap handcuffs around my wrists. Apparently, they found the father lain neatly in his casket in the cemetery. He probably died before her. Now I’m the only suspect. I shouldn’t have run.

Microstory 1720: Lone Resident of Cepheus

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I’m in a small town in Central Kansas called Cepheus. It’s Northwest of Hays, and Southeast of Great Bend. When I was born, there were only eleven people here. Now that my father has died, I’m all that’s left. I know that I’m supposed to contact someone about this. The county sheriff knows our situation, and is aware that I have no family elsewhere, as far as I’ve ever been told. I’m fifteen years old, though, and after some careful thought, I decide that I can take care of myself. What would it accomplish, being around other people? I only ever cared about my family, and the one other family we knew, who are all gone too. I bury father in the cemetery, for which we were already permitted to do so. For practical reasons, though he was young and in fairly decent health when it happened suddenly, we were prepared for the eventuality. He even already picked his casket. It was in the barn waiting for him when his time came. Once I’m done with the ceremony, I return to our home, make what was his favorite dinner, and go to bed. The next day, after breakfast, I return to my studies. Just because my teacher isn’t here anymore, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t continue to get an education. He gave me the tools I would need to go on without him, including ultrafast satellite internet. All my friends are on here, I have access to infinite entertainment, and I see no reason why my lifestyle should change. He won’t be able to go fishing with me this weekend, but I can still go by myself. I’ll even take a case of beer to sit between our seats. I never touch the stuff, but I’m sure I’ll find it comforting. It reminds me, as I’m making sure a case is still in the fridge, that I’m going to run low on certain supplies soon. The last remaining residents of Cepheus stayed for a reason, because we didn’t want to interact with the world anyway. Still, we couldn’t ever produce everything ourselves, like shaving cream, and medicine. For that, we waited for the Hercules wagon.

The next wagon won’t arrive for another few days, but I’m not sure if it’ll ever come now. We receive regular resupplies of certain items, which we use up monthly, but we send for special requests as well. I failed to do that yesterday since I was so busy taking care of my father’s final resting place. We always have special requests, and if we don’t, it usually means we’re on a long camping trip. That’s okay, I have plenty of produce from our little garden, homemade dairy from our goat, Mr. Milks, and enough nonperishables to survive in a doomsday bunker for five years. It’s going to be the little candies that I’ll miss the most. It’s never on our list, but the driver always comes with them anyway, free of charge. I shrug off the worrying about the wagon, and get back to my book, A Tale of Two Cities for my classics assignment. In fact, it’s the last assignment my father gave me, which means I’ll have to begin testing myself once I complete the report. I can always call the driver later if I do decide I want him to come after all. When I’m finished with the chapter, I head for the kitchen to treat myself to a bowl of Mr. Milks’ ice cream. It’s not the easiest thing to make, so we don’t do it often. It makes more sense to stick to the milk, cheese, and butter. Like an idiot, I drop the bowl on the floor, and worse, I don’t notice that one piece of porcelain slid far from the spill. I slip on it, and bash my head against the corner of the counter. Unable to move, I watch the blood from my head wound mix with the dessert, and now I realize why father told me to leave town when he was gone, and join society. The driver doesn’t find my body for four days.

Microstory 86: The Intersection

When I was your age, people used to control the operation of cars. They would push a button with their foot, and turn a wheel with their hands to make it go. And their movements would be regulated on the streets by lights. Green meant go, and red meant stop. The vehicles weren’t deeply programmed, and they couldn’t talk to each other. They would even run into each other, sometimes killing the passengers. It was a dark time. During the transition to heavier automation, the traffic lights on one of the busiest intersections of the city shut down. All the lights turned to green. Fortunately, no one in the front of the lines took that seriously, so they didn’t collide with anyone else, but they couldn’t go anywhere either. I was eating ice cream on a bench with my grandfather when a man pulled his car onto the sidewalk next to me. He stepped out and walked to the middle of the intersection. He started waving his arms around, directing the cars manually. Keep in mind that he was just a normal guy, and this was not his job. He just took it upon himself to help. Before too long, the traffic was moving smoothly. A technician drove out and started to fix the lights, and two cops came by to arrest and replace the man. I and the other people on the corners starting booing and yelling at the cops. Before they could resolve the situation, a human driver who wasn’t paying attention to the road crashed into and killed all three of them. The following year, the last of the holdout states passed laws allowing driverless vehicles.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 28, 2021

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Mateo was devastated to find out that he had killed his father. His mother assured him that he was “an old man” and it had absolutely nothing to do with the time jump. This was, of course, completely ridiculous. Old or not, Randall had died at the exact moment that he had tried to travel through time by holding Mateo close. Leona pointing out that he didn’t die until getting to the hospital, but that did nothing to dissuade Mateo from his position on the matter. He had ruined Kyle’s life during the first jump, and he couldn’t be sure as of yet that retaining his friendship with Leona wasn’t detrimental to her happiness. And now this. He needed to get away from those he loved. Things would only get worse. The leaving part wasn’t what was hurting them. It was the constant returning. It was time to rip off the band aid. As long as they didn’t know where he was come midnight, they would never be able to find him.

In the meantime, Carol gave him a suit so that they could visit his father’s grave. They were going to hold a belated private ceremony for Mateo’s benefit. They had asked the priest to carve out some time so that he could say some prayers. It was, afterall, the anniversary of the death, so it was not such an unusual request. After that was finished, they dismissed him so that they could speak of him alone. Mateo said a few words, “Randall was my father for my whole life, even though we’re not related. He taught me everything I needed to know to be a man. He taught me to be strong and careful, wise and spontaneous, interesting and deserving. He had always managed to take time out for me, and he was my best friend.

“When this...thing happened to me, he kept a cool head. Sure, I wasn’t around for the first year scare, but when I came back, it was almost like I had never left. I fell right back into place, and all thanks to his understanding attitude. We were spending a lot of time trying to figure things out, but not all of it. We made sure to get into our obligatory political discussions, and we were planning on fishing Sherwood Lake next week in 2026. Say what you will, but I will never forgive myself for depriving the world of more Randall Gelen.” The other two didn’t argue with him anymore about it. They walked away to give him some time to pray alone.

After the service, they went out for ice cream. There was a small shop downtown where Randall used to take him all the time. It closed down a few years before Mateo’s disappearance, but they kept going there anyway. They would buy cones from the chain that put their beloved shop out of business, and eat on a bench in front of where it used to be. It had turned into a toy store, but was now an electronics store. He and Carol spent the rest of the time telling Leona stories about Randall. To their surprise, she had a few stories of her own; of times they had spent together, apart from the other two. Apparently, she had thought of him as a second father.

Mateo hadn’t slept in a while, so they went back home and let him have a nap. But he didn’t go to sleep. Instead, he packed. He thought about what kind of essentials his aunt Daria would have. He knew that she always had water and layers of clothing. She also probably kept a supply of toiletries. A pocket knife, flashlight, headache relief medicine, and as many small bills as he could get his hands on were also on his list. He wrote a short note to his mother and Leona, apologizing to them, and claiming that he was opting for a life of anonymity in New York City. Lastly, he stole his mother’s credit card.

After sneaking out of the house, he knocked on Frida’s door and asked to borrow 200 bucks. She agreed, not having any clue that he would never be able to pay her back. It wasn’t his proudest moment, but it had to be done. After being declared missing, he lost his bank account. They couldn’t set up a new one because he wasn’t a real person anymore. The legal obstacles they would have to deal with would be just too much. Simply renewing his card or verifying information throughout the year would be functionally impossible. He was stuck with cash, which was a problem. Time was running out for paper money. Anyone who had chosen not to set up their fingerprint identity with the government still had a smartphone to pay for things. Paying with cold hard cash was still just as easy as before, but it made you stand out, and people were suspicious of you for it.

He walked all the way to Kyle’s condo and asked for a ride to the train station. Kyle was more than happy to help out, having gotten far beyond the point of recovery. He was the happiest Mateo had ever seen him. He and his husband were in the process of adopting a child. “It’s nice to see you, man! It’s been forever, so where the hell are you going now?”

“I have some business in Los Angeles,” Mateo lied. Once they arrived at the train station, he paid for a ticket to Chicago. He then went back to the car and handed Kyle the credit card. “Please get this back to my mother, whenever you get a chance. And apologize to her for me.”

“She doesn’t know you’re going?”

“Goodbye, my old friend,” Mateo said. Then he walked away. He turned back and watched as Kyle drove off. Once he was out of sight, he walked down the road and stuck out his thumb. He was only trying to go about 160 miles, but it took him the entire day to hitchhike. There were a few moments in between drivers that he was pretty sure he would be in the middle of nowhere for the jump, but several hours later, he was finally at the Lincoln, Nebraska train station. He found a corner to hide in. Midnight came and flung him one year into the future. At that moment, he raced around and purchased a ticket to Salt Lake City, Utah. It was the last place anyone would look for him.

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Microstory 33: Livewire (True Story III)

In third grade, I lived in the same town as my grandparents. Before that, we lived in a different state. After that, we moved about an hour away. My sister and I would spend a lot of time at their house, especially after school. One day, my grandfather and I were walking down 7th Street to get some ice cream. I hear some sort of loud noise and look up. An SUV is flipping over, twisting to its side, and crashing into a utility pole. A power line breaks away from its connection and swings down to the ground, landing about ten feet from us. It sparks and shakes around a bit. My grandfather shoots his arm out as a useless barrier between me and the wire, but we don’t move back from it. Looking back, I can’t imagine why we didn’t run. It quickly died and stayed in one place. I can recall only bits and pieces of what happened next. At some point we left, but I remember seeing the aftermath from the same vantage point the entire time. The man in the sedan opened his door and stuck his bleeding leg out while waiting for help. The two women in the SUV that had crashed into him and hit the pole had to be removed through the sunroof, and carried away using backboards. I distinctly remember thinking how lucky they were that their car even had a sunroof; and being sickened by the knowledge of an alternate reality where they didn’t, and died because the rescue took too long. I don’t think we ever discussed this with anyone afterwards. I can’t be sure we even ever told my parents. But I do think about it every once in a while, and mourn for the alternate reality where we left for ice cream five seconds earlier, only to suffer the wrath of that livewire.