The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 27, 2509

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Boyd managed to convince the group to stay one more day so he could shore things up with his people. It wasn’t that tall of an order, and they figured it was the least they could do. This was some kind of alternate version of Castlebourne, and once they were gone, what would become of it? Would Pacey make an effort to keep it running, or would these AI androids just start to degrade and wither away? Ethics demanded them to do what they could while they were still around to try.

Come midnight central, everyone jumped forward to the future, including Romana and Boyd. They immediately made their way back down to the vactrain, and navigated it to Castledome. Unlike last time, nothing went wrong, and they actually reached their intended destination. It wasn’t flooded or on fire. They just stepped out, and waited for Octavia to find what she was looking for. The way she was feeling around on the tiles of the train station made it seem like a platform nine and three-quarters type of situation. If there was a way to cross back and forth between these two versions of Castlebourne, it couldn’t be something that any rando could stumble upon accidentally. She couldn’t seem to find the right tile, though, so she started tapping on every one of them one by one. Perhaps the special sequence was different on either side.

While they were waiting, Mateo, Leona, and Olimpia wandered over to the other side of the ring, and fully into the dome. Mateo hoped to have a personal conversation about their relationship, but Leona tilted her head clear down to her shoulder, struck by something surprising. “What is it?” he asked.

She kept staring at the castle in the distance. Finally, she said, “it’s a mirror.”

“What’s a mirror, honey?” Olimpia asked.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice it in any of the other domes. Look at the castle. It’s flipped.” Leona pointed. “That spire should be on the other side.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right.”

Leona’s eyes widened. She powerwalked right back through the ring, and into the station where Octavia was still trying to find the secret entrance. She went over to the opposite wall, and tapped the tiles in the same order that Octavia had when she made her first attempt.

The tube sealed up, and they heard the rush of wind indicating the train that they had taken here was now gone. Then the weird part happened. With more rushing wind, the two halves of the vacuum tube separated from each other, split down the middle where the doors once met. As a cloud of gas filled the space left behind, a second set of doors materialized, identical to the first. They then opened, triggering the rematerialization of the tube as well. Inside the pod—which was much smaller than the usual train car—was Pacey, standing there as cool as an autumn day.

“Can we go?” Mateo asked Pacey.

Pacey smirked. “I dunno. Can they?” he posed to Octavia.

She separated herself from the group, and stepped closer to Pacey, but did not step into the vacpod. “I think we’ve made our main point, but they’re not done learning.”

“Ah, crap. Really?” Mateo questioned. “Friends become enemies? What the hell did we ever do to you?”

Octavia smirked now too. “It’s not about friends becoming enemies, Matt. It’s about enemies becoming friends.” She nodded ever so slightly towards Boyd.

Mateo turned his head towards Boyd quite dramatically. “This whole thing has been about this guy?”

“You need him,” Pacey explained. “Bronach is too powerful to defeat without someone equally powerful.”

“But him?” Mateo pressed. “I mean...maybe Arcadia, or something.”

“Arcadia is not that big of a deal,” Octavia contended. “She gets most of her power by conscripting others, and keeping them behind the proverbial curtain, so it looks like it’s all her. Boyd operates on his own.”

“That’s the problem,” Leona countered. “He’s not a team player.”

“I know hundreds of homo floresiensis bots who would beg to differ,” Pacey reasoned.

“I was being tested too,” Boyd realized.

“Did it teach him to stop being such a pervert?” Mateo asked.

“Oh,” Octavia said dismissively. “Your daughter’s hot. Stop acting like everyone should pretend that they don’t see that. Plus, she’s well into adulthood. She just aged, like two years, right before your eyes. She makes her own choices.”

“Paige would never do this,” Leona said. “Who are you?”

“I am Paige,” Octavia insisted. “I’m just one who’s been through some shit. You’ve led multiple lives. You know what I’m talking about. I did this for you, so you could end it. Soon enough, the Exin Army is going to find their way to Castlebourne, and everything that Team Kadiar worked for will be wiped out in an afternoon, along with millions of totally unsuspecting visitors from Earth, and the rest of the stellar neighborhood. You can’t stop their advance, but you can end the Oaksent regime. The empire is a mess of factions, not because they disagree with each other, but because it’s designed to be compartmentalized. Use that to your advantage. Confuse them, and neutralize them.” She took a breath, and glanced around at the station. “This world is a playground. Some of the domes that we mirrored from the original are dumb, like Heavendome. Others are for relaxation, like Raindome, so you can take your breaks there. The rest are training facilities. That crystal goes both ways. Instead of putting someone else on your pattern, it can take you off. Stay here, keep practicing. Prepare yourselves for the Ex Wars. The train will still be waiting for you when you’re ready.”

“I don’t like to be tricked,” Ramses said to her.

“A necessary component of the lesson,” Octavia claimed.

“A faulty one,” Ramses argued. “We didn’t go looking for Boyd because we wanted him on our team. We went there because your boyfriend told us that we had to. So what’s the real lesson? That you’re the powerful ones here? If that’s true, then okay, but...I’m not sure how that would help us end a war.”

Octavia and Pacey seemed decidedly stumped. “However flawed our plan might have been,” Pacey said, “he’s here now, and I don’t see you ringing his neck.”

Ramses winced. “Well, we can be civil; we’re not savage animals.”

“That’s all it is?” Octavia asked. “You don’t see any good in him, even now?”

“I didn’t say that,” Ramses replied.

“All right, all right, all right. Your pitch is over,” Leona determined. She turned to address the team. “We’re gonna vote on what we wanna do. Will we stay here and train?” she asked with airquotes. “Or will we get our powers and patterns back, and go back out to do whatever we want in normal space?” She looked over her shoulder at Pacey. “Including everything we need to use our tandem slingdrives.”

Pacey shrugged his shoulders, closed his eyes, and nodded.

Leona went on, “all in favor of staying here for an indeterminate amount of time?”

No one raised their hands.

“All in favor of leaving this place behind with our respective toolboxes.”

Everyone raised their hands, except one.

“Boyd, are you abstaining?” Leona asked him.

He’s surprised that she even said his name. “I get a vote?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Yeah, I—I wanna go. I don’t need to stay any longer.”

“Okay, cool.” Leona clapped her hands. She bent over to take the crystal out of her bag, then held it out between herself and Pacey. “I don’t care how this thing works. Just undo what you did. Put us back the way we belong.”

Neither Pacey nor Octavia made a move.

“Are you still holding onto our agency?” Leona questioned.

“No,” Pacey said, disappointed. “But it can’t be done here. Turning off the crystal is fairly simple, though not necessarily obvious. It holds a tremendous amount of temporal energy. You need to block that energy. What do you know blocks that?”

“Lemons?” Olimpia suggested.

A few of them kind of laughed.

Pacey smiled. “She’s right. Dunking it in a bowl of citrus juice would do it. But if you want to exercise some control over what it does—and you don’t want an explosion—you need the harmonic equivalent to citrus.”

“The sound of lemons?” Olimpia pressed.

“Yeah, in a way. Boyd knows what I’m talkin’ ’bout.”

They all looked at Boyd who was a little awkward about it. “There was music involved in one scenario when I was trying to find a way to transport the Buddha’s hand citron to the future. It’s hard to explain, but they converted the genome sequence to sound, and that allowed it to be...it doesn’t matter. All DNA can be translated to music. You just need to pick a reasonable method, and be consistent with it. There are multiple methods, though. Dave had to find the right one for—Pacey, do you want us to use the same method, or what?”

“That’s up to you to decide,” Pacey answered.

“Does that mean that any method will do,” Angela pressed, “or is this another challenge?”

“That’s up to you to decide,” Pacey repeated.

“Great. Boyd, you’ll be our expert,” Leona said. “These two are no help.”

Boyd scoffed. “I wasn’t actually involved in generating the music,” Boyd started to clarify. “I was the boss. Making someone else figure it out for me was part of the thrill. I just heard the highlights afterwards. Which is how I know that playing the entire piece from start to finish will take something like two years.”

“You mean...two days?” Marie asked with a smile.

“Let’s just get back to the real world, and then we’ll make a plan,” Mateo suggested. “There’s nothing for us here.” He then looked directly at Pacey, and added, “if you wouldn’t mind...”

Pacey obliged, stepping out of the vacpod, and off to the side.

“Are you two, like, a thing?” Mateo went on while everyone else was stepping into the pod.

Pacey and Octavia exchanged a look. “Just because we work together, and have the same goals, doesn’t mean we’re hooking up.”

“That’s why I asked,” Mateo retorted. “Because I didn’t know the answer. Don’t be so defensive. You’re the antagonists in this situation, you know that, right? If someone were to write this tale down in a history textbook with any semblance of accuracy, the students would not be rooting for you. Whether the ends justify the means or not, most people don’t like dirty means.” Amidst their silence, he deftly stepped backwards into the pod too. “Just remember that the next time you come across someone you think needs to be taught a lesson.” The doors closed with perfect timing, sending them away and home. Hopefully, that is.

The pod stopped, and the doors reopened. A blackness came flooding in. Dark particles immediately swarmed all around them. Now that Octavia no longer needed Mateo’s protection, he redirected it. He wrapped his arms around Boyd’s body, and endowed him with his EmergentSuit nanites. Everyone else was able to just activate their own suits. They couldn’t talk, though—not in this world. They had to rely on their long histories with each other, and their empathic connections. The other six huddled around Mateo and Boyd. They engaged their tandem slingdrives, and dispatched them all to real, normal space.

Mateo fell straight to the floor, coughing uncontrollably. It felt like the dark particles had entered his body, which didn’t sound possible. According to Ramses, they were just neutrinos, which couldn’t interact with regular matter. Whatever was causing it, he couldn’t stop it, and neither could anyone else. He just kept coughing and coughing until he either passed out or died. He couldn’t tell which.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 1, 2398

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When Angela Walton was first alive, she was a pretty submissive girl, as was common in those days. She didn’t believe in the things that her family did, but she wasn’t outspoken about it either. Her father was patient enough to let her wait to marry a man she loved, but that was about as lenient as he could tolerate to be, and he lost that patience when her fiancé disappeared. She would marry who he chose, and that was final. It wasn’t until after her death that Angela started to find herself. The interesting thing about the afterlife simulation is that it wasn’t millennia beyond the technological limitations of the living world. For most of its history, it was only ever moderately more advanced, despite the fact that the devisers were from the future, and could have always included modern tech. They chose not to in order to keep the residents comfortable, and feeling safe. Teaching a mammoth hunter to use a microwave oven is probably just asking too much. So for the longest time, the virtual worlds pretty faithfully resembled the real world, because that’s all those people knew. That would change in the future, when science fiction began to open up people’s imaginations, but there was always one thing that was shockingly progressive.

According to Tamerlane Pryce, he put no effort into regulating the way society manifested itself in the construct. He claimed to have let the people decide for themselves. This is likely not entirely true, but not totally inaccurate either. Based on some few and far between studies that dead researchers tried to conduct over the centuries, it would seem that the act of death alone is enough to alter an individual’s worldview. That is, they gain perspective simply by passing on, and often lose a lot of the prejudices and hate they once lived with. The theory was that this process was fostered by the fact that everyone dies alone. When John Doe makes the transition, he does so removed from all the people who fueled his beliefs and preconceived notions. The people he meets now have either been there for some time, or they came from other parts of the world. That’s what philosophers imagine Pryce regulated—knowingly or not. He set up a system that grouped newcomers together through a filter of diversity, and studies have proven that living in a diverse area is the number one cause of acceptance and love. What this all means is that racism, sexism, and other biases are harder to hold onto when borders have been removed, gender roles have been ignored, and no one can rise to power without deserving it.

When Angela rose to power, it was after centuries of hard work. She had to shed her old identity, and her old personality, and pretty much become a completely different person. If not for the fact that she looks the same as she always has, no one who knew her before her death would recognize her now. She doesn’t take other people’s crap anymore, and she doesn’t just do as she’s told. If you want her to trust in your choices, you have to prove that you’re worthy of making them, and if you don’t, she’s going to decide for you. Maintaining a normal job in a mundane world is a skill that Marie honed for four years before the rest of her team showed up. She learned to listen to the words of lesser men, because she would lose it all if she didn’t. Angela has yet to learn this lesson, and her meeting has demonstrated just how far she has yet to go. None of Marie’s training could have prepared her to suffer through all that bullshit. She speedwalks to the bathroom at her first opportunity, and retches into the toilet.

Microstory 1796: Rounded

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I love round numbers. Truthfully, I probably only held out this long so I could reach my hundredth year. Tomorrow is my birthday, and when that clock strikes zero, I plan to die. Where I live, the new year begins in the middle of the day, so my family is here to celebrate with me. They didn’t have to do that for me, squeeze into my nursing home room. I’m sure the younger ones would rather be at a party, and the older ones are too exhausted to spend this much time out of the house. I appreciate it, but I worry about how awkward it’s going to be when I pass. Only my youngest grandson knows what’s going to happen. He’s only six, but he’s so smart. He doesn’t think I’ll be able to pull it off, so I bet him a hundred dollars. He pointed out that he won’t be able to pay me if I end up being right, but it wouldn’t matter anyway. I don’t need money where I’m going, and I’m going soon, whether it’s at exactly 0:00, or not. He’s going to get a hundred bucks out of this, and it will teach him to focus his attention on safe bets. That’s the kind of lesson I’ve always tried to teach my kids. You don’t have to worry about what’s going to happen in the future if you rig it in your favor. Don’t play it safe, or you won’t get anywhere, but have an ace up your sleeve at all times. Don’t let others stack the deck against you. I’ve been unresponsive for a few hours now, but what my family doesn’t know is that I can still hear everything they’re saying. They’re talking about me, of course, and not even watching the clock. The elders are sharing stories with the youngsters. Man, I had a fun life, and I die here with no regrets. My son is talking about how I taught him how to get the job he wanted by basically not taking no for an answer. He snorts as he laughs. That’s not how it works anymore. Employers don’t like pushy people. Anyway, it worked for him in the 1960s, and he’s where he is now because of it.

They don’t notice when I pass at precisely when I meant to. My grandson positioned himself next to my vitals machine. I told you he was smart. So alarms don’t go off, he sneakily switches the little device on my finger to his own. It just keeps measuring, thinking that he’s me. He places his finger against my neck, waiting for a pulse that never comes. Still he tells no one. He lets them tell their stories, blissfully unaware that I’m gone. His parents think it’s so sweet that he’s holding my hand, but he’s really only doing it to maintain the lie. I taught him well, I tell you. They continue to tell stories for another thirty minutes until the nurse comes back in to confirm what she suspected. Grandson doesn’t apologize. He says he wanted the family to enjoy the beginning of the new year, at least for a little bit. The nurse leaves to begin the process. Meanwhile, my family decides that he’s right, or maybe they don’t want to argue about it. I was old and it was my time. There are some tears, even from those I wouldn’t have thought would produce them on this occasion, or didn’t think they would themselves. They keep going with the stories, though, trying to keep it light for the younglings. They know what’s going on, and the adults want them to feel comfortable with death, rather than being afraid of it. It takes a long time to get my body out of the room. My son’s wife is relieved. This kind of behavior would not have been tolerated on her side of the family. Death is something to be feared and ignored. She felt it was disrespectful for them to stay in here with a dead body. She tried to stay quiet, but everyone felt her disappointment. Me, I’m happy. I’m so happy that they stayed with me after I was gone. I felt so loved in the end.

Microstory 1603: The Dichotomy of it All

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Flipverse seemed like an okay brane in the beginning, especially once people realized that they could commune with their deceased loved ones. There was no inherently nefarious reason that they could do this. The people who set up the system didn’t do so as part of some grand plan to harm humanity, and they weren’t as evil as some others of their kind, but they weren’t particularly fond of humans either. They were Maramon from a universe called Ansutah, and were only in Flipverse when The Crossover suffered a cataclysmic failure. Stranded, they created the afterlife world for reasons I’m not able to detect, but everything bad that happened as a result of it was because of human error, or unforeseen consequences. Things took a turn for the worse near the beginning of the 21st century, when a dark organization rose from the shadows, and decided it was time they took over the United States. Their power was fleeting, but their impact was everlasting, and profound. This was how the universe earned its name. From there on out, those in power found that they could only ever hold onto it for a short period of time, until another appeared to take their place. Each new faction formed in response to the last, and promised that things would be better under their rule, but it was actually just different. A hunger for power and control pervaded everything in this universe, starkly contrasting the period of peace that preceded this age, and making everyone’s lives more complicated by the year. Everything was about some sort of dichotomy, from the living world versus the underworld, to the wealthy versus the wanting. Even the most popular reality show contest was about pitting two groups against each other that were distinct for reasons unrelated to the competition itself. This wasn’t only about two sides literally fighting against each other, but a society that was no longer capable of allowing two opposing forces to co-exist. There had to be conflict, and there weren’t many people left who wanted to see things return to normal, or reach some form of enlightenment. The interesting lesson from this story is not that civilization kept falling, but that it kept getting back up. They kept trying and trying, and even when things grew worse, most people involved only intended to do what they felt was best. It is for this reason that Flipverse ended up becoming a vastly important strategic position in the Darning Wars.

Microstory 1299: The Soldiers and the Ceasefire

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If you’ve never heard of the Christmas Ceasefire, I’ll bring you up to speed. Starting on Christmas Eve in 1914, hostilities between British and German soldiers during the Great War (what you may know as World War I) halted temporarily. Opposing forces not only allowed each other to bury dead and repair trenches, but even came together to observe the holiday. They sang songs and played games in the area between their two sides—generally known as no-man’s land. I’ve heard this story told a million times, and in case you’re wondering, it’s not a fable. It really happened, and it happened as it’s been told. According to sources, I’ve never heard any embellishments or alterations, probably because the original story seems so beautiful on its own that it doesn’t need to be changed to teach the lesson. But what exactly is the lesson? Well, if everyone who has ever told it is to be believed, the magical Christmas truce is meant to teach us that we’re all human. We all have red blood, and we want the same things, and we don’t have to fight each other to get them. Those things are true, more or less—though I would contend that I don’t give a crap what species you are, or what color your blood is; I’m not going to hate you for who you are anyway. The problem is that the Christmas Ceasefire story is an absolutely dreadful means of teaching this lesson. Why? Well, because the British and Germans were killing each other on and before the 23rd, and they continued to kill each other well after the 26th. The war raged on, and did not end until November of 1918. It was also not exactly the last war ever.

There’s this Latin phrase people like to say: si vis pacem, para bellum. It translates to if you want peace, prepare for war. People hear phrases like this, and they’re so short and concise that they don’t really question whether they’re true or not. It’s another example of an aphoroid, which I mentioned in the introduction to this series. In this case, people believe the phrase to be true only because history is littered with war. That’s all we seem to know, but guess what? When I was three, I didn’t know that two plus two was four. I had to learn it later. I recognize that sounds reductive, but I feel the analogy stands. We can learn to live in a world without war. We can achieve peace without it, and we can maintain that peace without the threat of it. The world has been changing ever since it coalesced, and I see no reason for it to stagnate just because we’re here. So I don’t really have a revised version of the Christmas Ceasefire story, because I don’t believe the problem lies in the story itself, but what people have taken from it. It’s great that the soldiers took a break from killing each other for a couple days, and it’s great that it wasn’t an isolated incident. What’s terrible is that these nations felt the need to fight in the first place. Ceasefires should be rare, because war should be rare, if not completely a thing of the past. The human race was built on a foundation of violence and hate, but the thing about foundations is that they are not immutable. All we have to do is tear it all down...and build a better foundation in its place.

Microstory 1269: The Tortoise and the Rabbit

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A rabbit was bragging to a tortoise about how much faster he could run. He kept goading the tortoise, and challenging him to a race. The tortoise was wise, and he understood his own limits, so he kept refusing. But the rabbit did not let go of this. He had already beaten all of the other animals in the forest in races, and the tortoise was the only one left. He knew he could beat him too, but he desperately wanted to prove it, so there could be no question. He also wanted to see the look on the tortoise’s face after he ran all the way to the finish line, and then ran back to mock him further. Finally, the tortoise agreed to the race, and of course, he lost. He barely made five steps before the rabbit came running back to laugh at him. Some of the animals laughed at him too for trying, even though they too had lost to the rabbit. The tortoise merely walked off, and carried about his life, not even bothering to reach the finish line. Meanwhile, the rabbit tried to move on as well, but he couldn’t. He was still stuck in the glory days. Now that he had become fastest in the forest, there was no more to accomplish, and it hadn’t really gotten him anywhere. The tortoise ended up living forty times longer than the rabbit, but even so, his life also ended in death. All the other animals who had tried to race the rabbit died as well. No one remembered them, nor cared who was the most skillful. Over the years, more rabbits raced more tortoises, and it always ended the same.

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

Microstory 1268: The Fables and the Introduction

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At some point, on or before March 2, 2015, I read an Aesop Fable called The Scorpion and the Frog. It’s about a frog who tries to help a scorpion cross a river, but before they reach the other side, the latter stings the former, which of course, drowns them both. The moral of the lesson here is that people can’t change, but I call bullshit on that. In fact, this whole series is going to be about calling bullshit on some of the terrible lessons I found during my research. I only have room for thirty-one fables, so I can’t cover them all, but that’s not the point. By reading these, as well as the original texts—which I’ll link for you—maybe it’ll help you become a more critical person. You see, when the average individual reads this fable, they accept the lesson it gives them, but just because someone wrote it down for you, doesn’t mean it’s right. I’m not talking about misinterpreting the moral here; I’m talking about a bad moral, which I believe is harmful to society, even in some small way. The reality is that fables are by no means indicative of the way things are in general, even though they purport to be. If you read a single news article about a black man going out and stealing a car, you might conclude that black people are bad, and/or that they’re thieves. What the article doesn’t do is tell you about all the white people that steal the cars, or—more importantly—all the good things that black people do, or even the good that that particular man has done in his life. You’ve only read one article, and no matter how many articles you read, you haven’t read everything about everybody. You can’t read these little #MondayMotivation, #TransformationTuesday, #WednesdayWisdom, #ThursdayThoughts, and #FearlessFriday posts, and expect to truly learn something from them. Life is not a series of snapshots, sewn together to tell a story, and easily teased apart when you want to tell a shorter part of the story. The whole story is what holds the lesson. Don’t take me to mean you can’t ever share stories. Just be careful. Everyday is a chance for improvement, but more to the point, all days combined are available for improvement.

So when I read that story about the scorpion and the frog, I decided to rework it into a fable that I believed to be superior. In the end, the scorpion does not sting the fox. (I likely changed the animal just because I like foxes.) The lesson here is that you can’t put people in boxes. Each individual is an array of characteristics which, even knowing every entry into the array, is not enough to understand them. If you think you know a person, you are doing them, and yourself, a disservice by presuming they could never do anything unexpected, or perhaps better. So while I hope you get something out of these updated fables, don’t focus on any one of them too much. Use them to question the world a little more, and not simply accept what’s been put in front of you. There are people out there, especially on social media, who are working really hard to find some way of summarizing some incredibly complicated issues in 280 characters or less. Be wary of these. Even if they come with some truly good advice—and aren’t just meaningless aphoroids (look that word up, and keep it in the back of your mind at all times)—they only give you part of the story. Life is complicated, and you can’t boil it down. It takes a hundred years to understand a hundred years of it, and despite what people tell you, there aren’t really any shortcuts. Those people are trying to sell you something. Even if they’re not asking for your money, they’re asking for your attention. That’s what I’m doing right now, and this installment keeps getting longer, because I keep realizing how impossible it is to simplify the lesson. So I’ll end it here, so you can move on, and I hope that these Revised Fables aren’t just as absurd as the ones that I’m trying to improve.

PS: Speaking of length, these stories will be a lot shorter than normal, but still probably longer than most original fables.

Microstory 1053: Addie

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I was never a singer. I joined Random Spans under the assumption that I would not have to sing. But all that changed when Pearl started being able to come to rehearsal less and less, and it started looking like I was going to have to fill in for her. I wouldn’t have even considered it, but Chester and Bert—God love ‘em—are even worse than I am. Of course, the obvious solution is to just find a replacement, but those two were really dragging their feet. Pearl didn’t really feel like she could be honest with them about how her lifestyle was going to have to change because of the baby. Guys have trouble wrapping their brains around what goes into carrying, delivering, and caring for a child. That’s not to say a father’s life doesn’t change too, but it’s different for mothers. Pretty much your whole life revolves around this living creature, and any moment you’re not with them, you’re comparing whatever it is you’re doing to being with them. Everything you see will remind you of your child, or remind you that you would rather be with your child, or that you’re glad to have a break from your child. So Pearl left, leaving me to pick up the pieces of our band, even though I was not equipped for it. Fortunately, I had a great friend named Viola, who was able to help me out with it. Had she not died, I probably never would have heard whispers of other crazy stories about her, so I’m only telling you this, because I know it’s not going to shock you any more. She definitely had powers, and I have tangible proof of it. When I was a kid, my older sister used to make us put on plays and musicals for our family during the holidays. She wrote, starred in, and directed all of our productions, but the rest of the grandkids were expected to participate. So I actually have a lot of experience singing; more than enough to know that I had a terrible voice. You can hear for yourself how bad I was. The videos are unlisted online, but I can get you the links, if you want to risk your ear drums. The point is that this all changed as Pearl’s tenure in our band was winding down. Viola started giving me vocal lessons a few times a week. I don’t know how she found the time to help me, and help all those other people, but I’m grateful for it. I don’t really know what she was meant to be teaching me, but it was all nonsense. Nothing she said during our lessons was at all logical, but I realized later that it didn’t matter. She wasn’t actually teaching me to sing, but instead imbuing me with the power to sing, and using the lessons as cover. To be sure, I don’t know how she did that either, but I know that’s what she did, because she wasn’t the first vocal coach I’ve had, and nobody improves that quickly without supernatural assistance. This whole frontwoman thing might just work out after all.

Microstory 988: Video Games

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My parents weren’t the richest of people when I was born. I grew up having everything I needed, though, and didn’t realize all the amenities I was missing until we moved to the suburbs of Kansas City. I always had food, and a safe space to sleep, but I’ll never totally know what my parents had to sacrifice to make sure that was always the case. One thing we didn’t have that all our friends did was a video game console. Because my dad’s work needed to keep up to date with the latest technology, we were never without a computer—if only as a hand-me-down—so we used that for some gaming, but they were mostly educational, if not just Tetris. I played a little at friends’ houses over the years, but I never really got into them. Whenever anyone asks me if I play Fortnite, or whatever is the current trending game, I have to be clear on my reasoning for not participating. My family likes to spend time together watching TV, and I’m a writer, so it’s just that I have other forms of entertainment. Many other people who don’t play are like that because they think video games are dangerous, or will rot your brain, or at the very least, they’re a waste of time. I am absolutely not like that. Video games are not just okay, they can be a valuable tool for child development, and even into adulthood. Video games, especially today, teach you a number of skills in a fun and exciting way. You’ll learn problem-solving, critical thinking, teamwork, healthy opposition, and failure. That last one is profoundly important, never more so than now. These days, when the only achievement awards that are given out are for participation, it is vital that children learn how to persevere in the face of failure. Unrealistic Disney lessons, and overly positive parenting, are threatening the next generation’s ability to cope with the real world. You are not always going to get what you want, and you’re not going to excel at everything you try, and that’s okay. Even when I myself was a child, I hated this nonsense that anything is possible as long as you believe. Billions of people believe that God has a unique and personal interest in their well-being, and judging from all the goddamn dead children, that’s obviously completely untrue, so belief alone does nothing. You can’t do anything just because you put your mind to it. It takes opportunity, natural talent, and a hell of a lot of practice. It also takes true passion, and most people are only truly passionate for a handful of things. We need to be encouraging our children to find their strengths, and not exert so much energy on improving weaknesses; not none, but also not 100%. If everything goes well in a video game, it’s not any fun. Overcoming a challenge is so much more satisfying than simply being given something. There is little to no scientific evidence that violent games cause real world violence, so let your kids play, if you can afford it. They will grow up to be well-rounded individuals with respect for the amount of effort that is required to contribute to society. If they continue to play into adulthood, that’s great too. They’ll be okay, as long as they don’t do it too much, but isn’t that true of anything? Even water is poisonous if you drink enough of it.

Microstory 859: Wash Out

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The last thing I expected to find when I went out for what was to become my last day of work as an exterior cleaner was a bunch of people sunbathing on top of a roof. This was no nice and flat roof, by the way. I was at a very steep angle, but they were just lying there, wearing nothing but their smiles. I didn’t see any other ladder around save mine, so I couldn’t figure out how they got up there. Perhaps they did have a ladder at some point, but then someone stole it, and they were taking it in stride. I asked them if I had the right address, and they confirmed that this was exactly where I was meant to be. I asked them if they were going to move, so I could clean it, but they just laughed and stayed put. I called my boss up, and she said all I could do was start my work, and hope they wise up, and get off on their own. I was incredibly uncomfortable doing that with such toxic chemicals, but if I went over to the other side, and started off slow, maybe it would all work out. Before too long, I had stalled long enough, and was drawing dangerously near the sunbathers. As if this was the first time they realized I was even there, they all hopped up as soon as I got too close, and flew away. I was so stunned, I slipped off the roof for the first time in my whole career. Of course, I was perfectly fine, strapped into my harness, so I just hung there for I don’t even know how long. I couldn’t figure out how they had done it. They actually flew. Humans. I had heard rumors that some guy had learned how to fly in his dreams, and managed to bring his lessons into the real world, but like most others, I didn’t believe it could be true. But I’m here to tell you, folks, that it is one hundred percent true, even though I obviously can’t personally prove it to you. I sought out the teacher—my now boss—immediately, and started my lessons. Unfortunately, what we discovered is that not everyone is physiologically capable of flight. We can predict the likelihood of your success, but we need quite a bit of information first. So yes, it is absolutely imperative that you fill out these health histories with perfect accuracy, and go through the rigorous physical assessments. You don’t wanna end up in a chair like me, do you?

Microstory 789: Walking Stick

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So I was thinking about how often I gravitate towards nonfiction when I’m trying to write fiction. Sometimes a topic speaks to my personal life, and I feel I need to be real in that moment, rather than leaving myself out of it, which is what fiction writers are meant to do. If you’re writing something, you need to choose one side or the other; made up, or real life. It shouldn’t be both. Only so many people can get away with writing themselves into a story, and I’m not sure I’m one of them. My Creative License doesn’t say I’m not allowed to, but it doesn’t say I am either, and I don’t keep good enough records to know whether I’ve paid enough of my dues. On the other hand, this is my website, and my book, and I can damn well do whatever I want. I don’t answer to a publisher, or an agent—though I wish I did, so if you know anyone, hook me up. When I was working on the plan for this series, I decided I wanted them all to take place in my recursiverse canon. But certain titles seemed to suggest this was not practical. Before I got too deep in it, though, I realized they could still all be canonical, but that any story could take place in any universe. I made a spreadsheet of each universe that I own, so I can keep track of it, which has made me realize that my universe is on that list. Now, I know that sounds like I think I own the real universe, but here’s the thing...I do. So when I was thinking about what story I could tell that involves a walking stick, I realized I know no better story than mine.

I come from a family of walkers. Not all of us have always done it, more specifically, so passionately, but we all do it now. During the summer before high school, I went to New Mexico with a small group of boys and their fathers in my Boy Scout troop. There’s a huge camp there for backpacking. I believe we went about fifty miles, but you would have to ask my father for confirmation. One time, we were sitting with our guide, who would only be with us for part of the trip. He asked us to go around the circle and tell the group why we wanted to do this. When they got to me, I started tearing up, and said that I just wanted to prove that I could. A few days later, I was having trouble keeping up, and my then-undiagnosed autism was making it hard for me to vocalize my feelings. I ended up flying into a rage, and throwing the walking stick my father had given me to the ground, where it broke apart. I eventually had to acknowledge that this meant I had failed in my goal. I was unable to prove that I “could do it”. Because though my fight with my father didn’t last forever, and I made it to the end, I had done it with an albatross of my own shortcomings. I’ve continued to carry around these character flaws my whole life, when I would really be better off replacing them with a walking stick. A few years later, just under the wire, I achieved the rank of Eagle, which many believe to be the greatest achievement a man can make. I do not believe that, for reasons including the fact that their sociopolitical positions stunted the exploration of my sexuality, and prevented me from finding out who I was. But still, scouting was something my father and I did together, and I do not regret it. To commemorate this milestone, he made me a brand new walking stick. A decorative one. A beautiful one. One that must not be used. One that you can see in the picture above. Though not likely his intention, his gift to me is a symbol, that no matter how many things I break, how many mistakes I make, we can always make another stick. It also symbolizes to me the most important lesson I’ve ever learned; that I can’t do this alone...that I will always need a little helping standing up...and that I deserve it.

Microstory 733: Credos, Convention Seven: Constructiveness, Chapter One

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Long ago, there was young man, who was trying very hard in school, but struggled oh so much. The school system he was in was hurting for money, and did not have the resources to cater to every student’s needs. They didn’t even have the energy, or the compensation, to care about any of the children, and were always quite apathetic towards them. They would mark his assignments as wrong, but would never explain to him why. Once each assignment was finished, they would move right on to the next lesson, as if he had learned everything he needed to know to comprehend the next concepts. Knowing that this was not working, the student’s parents conscripted help from a tutor. The tutor was very nice to him, telling him that he actually was a good student, and just needed to work a little harder. Whenever he came close to getting an answer right, she would reward him with snacks. But still his grades faltered, for still he was learning nothing. He was just too far behind to do any of the assignments. Seeing that this method was ineffective, the student’s parents hired a new tutor. This one was much like the teachers, but since they were meeting under were one-on-one conditions, he was able to focus more on his needs. But he was also insulting and mean. Instead of rewarding success, he would punish failure. The student learned some of the material, but only enough to answer some questions right. He still didn’t understand it, which meant he could not reapply any knowledge to unrelated situations. The parents tried a third and final tutor. She was far better than the first two, and also his teachers. She did not reward him for his successes, nor punish him for his failures. She taught him to think for himself, and explained to him why this information was important, and how he might use it when he was older. She would mark his assignments thoroughly, telling him not only that he was wrong, but trying to figure out his thought process, and using this to set him back on the right track. Her criticisms were helpful, for they encouraged the student’s growth and development, ultimately forming problem-solving skills and coping mechanisms that allowed him to study on his own. Equipped with these techniques, he quickly became one of the school’s best students.

Microstory 437: Floor 5 (Part 1)

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Only two of us work here in the mailroom of the Analion headquarters. In the last mailroom I worked, there were too many people. We spent a lot of time doing nothing, having all been hired using a business model they last updated way back in 2016. We could go for days with literally nothing to do. There just isn’t as much of a need for mail delivery as there used to be. Things are the polar opposite at Analion. The amount of interoffice mail they send each other is ridiculous. Of course, I’m not allowed to read the mail, but I bet they could just email at least half of what they send out. It’s not just them, though. They get mail from all over the country, and throughout some of the world. I don’t understand why these people insist on killing trees just for basic correspondence. It’s true that the circular nature of the floor makes delivery rather simple, but there are still forty-two freaking stories. I have to walk every single one of them while my partner has to sort through every piece of mail to figure out where it belongs. And why the hell are we on the fifth floor? It just means we have to go downstairs and sign for large deliveries. They’ll come upstairs for one or two parcels, but no more than that. We need more people, but I can’t ask them for that. Everybody’s running around dealing with their scandal. It was horrible to hear about the deaths, but not very surprising. If they manufacture windows as poorly as they hire mail associates, no wonder people are dying. I’m sick of this either way. I just need to find the money to get myself into college. I hate to leave my partner alone, but I have to do what’s best for me. If he doesn't agree to leave as well, then he’ll either have to handle it on his own, or risk training a new employee without any help.

Microstory 436: Floor 6 (Part 1)

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Ever since the company I contract with found out that some of their products might have been responsible for a few deaths, gym attendance has dropped dramatically. I am the in-house trainer and recreational manager. The entire sixth floor is dedicated to health and well-being. Most of the employees who came here didn’t need full exercise lessons, but they liked that I was around to give them advice. Most organizations with exercise rooms just have machines laid out with no one in charge of them. My half-brother works here as an administrative assistant, and suggested I lobby for a position that didn’t exist. I had never done anything like that before, but I have the right personality to put myself out there and take a risk. Our mother helped me come up with a pitch, and well, here I am. I absolutely love working here. In fact, if I ever won the lottery, I doubt I would quit. It’s much more laid back than my job as a regular trainer at a gym franchise. I didn’t hate it there, and I did earn better pay, but here I’m in charge. I get to decide what I do with my day. I make it easier on my clients by wiping off equipment for them, and even cleaning up their trash. I chose these duties to help relieve their stress, which is the whole point of exercise. Well, that’s not its only purpose, but mental health is important. That’s why it’s so frustrating that people have stopped coming by. It would really help them get through their problems. If they would just trust the system, their lives would be better. I’m thinking about developing some kind of program to encourage exercise. I don’t know what it would be; maybe a step-tracker contest. It just has to get people to think about enriching and maintaining their lives.

Microstory 356: Latitude for Mistakes

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Free Thought

As I brought up in my Overwritten mezzofiction series, my father and I have always had s problem with people who claim to have no ragrets. Assuming you’re not simply lying, if you have never done anything you wish you hadn’t, then you were probably playing it safe. Life isn’t about being safe. It’s not about doing the most dangerous thing that comes to mind, of course, but you also shouldnt be purposefully dull. Awhile back, I was on one of my urban hikes, and came across a small creek with no bridge, because why would there bee? I put my phone in my bag, through it to the other side, then tried to cross by stepping on what looked like a sturdy rock. It wasn’t, and I fell in. I wasn’t mad, tho, because that moment gave me a new experience, and though I didn’t learn anything specifically, it supported my procedural memory. I am now slightly better at crossing creeks then I was before. Should that come up again, I’ll be better equipped. It may even save my life, you never no. Everybody makes mistakes, and so we should. We learn the most important lessons by doing something wrong and having to fix it. I believe most people know this; at least I know that you know, because I just told you, and you should know by now that I know what I’m talking about it, and you know to listen to me, no? What you may not quiet see is how you should handle other peoples mistakes. Be patient with them. Yes, at some points, a person’s stupidity is beyond indulgince. The definition of stupidity is trying the same thing over and over again, and expecting people to let you keep trying. There’s a difference between mistakes and incontinence. My point is to treet others that way you would like to be treeted, unless you like pain. That’s fine for you, but you can’t project that onto others. Just remember that everyone deserves the latitude to make mistakes, not just yo. For instance me, because this story has the wrong number of words, and a lot of mistakes. “Sorry.”

Freedom from War

Microstory 9: Sticks and Stones

Young Samuel Doolin sat in his class, hardly paying attention to what the teacher was saying. He was brighter than the other students, and should have been placed at least two grades higher. But he didn't care enough about school to let anyone know that. One phrase the teacher said, however, caught his ear. "Sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me."

Samuel cleared his throat, prepared himself, and raised his hand. Once called on, he said, "you're a stupid f***ing c***."

In the principal's office, Samuel was calm and collected. The principal, of course, asked him where he learned those words, and why he felt that it was necessary to say them. "Well, I speak English, don't I?" Samuel asked. "And they were necessary to illustrate a point."

"Which is?" the principal asked, curious.

Samuel began the apology. "There are three things wrong with the sticks and stones rhyme. First, it's just a lie. Words are powerful. And they can hurt deeply. Walk into a room of black people and say the "n" word, and just wait for the reaction. Secondly, the rhyme gives bullies free rein to say whatever they want, without repercussions. Obviously, that can't be true either as I am sitting right here. Thirdly, the rhyme places the responsibility on the victim to change their behavior. The bully was just saying whatever they wanted, as they are free to do. Should the victim is simply grit their teeth and ask for more?

Samuel continued, "you may either punish me for my actions, and reform your policies, or you can let me go and stick to your outdated and ridiculous values. But I will not stand for hypocrisy. Either I can say what I want because words can't possibly hurt others, or I can't, and the rhyme should be abolished from the curriculum."

The principal sat for a long while after the speech. "Okay. That makes sense. I won't punish you, because you brought up some good points. But we will change."

"No," Samuel insisted."You absolutely must punish me. That's part of the reformation. I did this in order to elicit change, not to get a rise out of you and my teacher. If I expect you to not be hypocritical, I cannot rightly be so myself." He was given detention for a week. And things began to change. Slowly.

Microstory 4: The Scorpion and the Fox

One day, a turtle, a frog, and a fox are sitting at the bank of a river. A scorpion comes along and asks if one of them would carry him across the river. The turtle is hesitant. "How do I know you won't sting me?" the turtle asks. "Because then we would both drown," answers the scorpion. "I'm sorry. I can't risk that," replies the turtle. The scorpion turns to the frog who hops away without a word. "I can carry you," says the fox. The fox carries the scorpion across the river and then swims back. A snake slithers up and tells the scorpion that he probably would not have been able to keep himself from biting the fox by the time they reached the bank. "Why didn't you sting him once you were safely across?" the snake asks. "Isn't that what scorpions do?" "I am not bound by my nature," the scorpion replies. "I make my own choices." Back on the first side, the turtle asks why the fox agreed to do that when it was so dangerous. "Animals like that believe it is best to perish if it means the death of an enemy," the turtle says. "I chose to give him the benefit of the doubt," the fox answers. "Not because it was in his best interests anyway, but because not helping an enemy would reflect poorly on me more than it would on him."