Microstory 2276: Be Genuinely Worried

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3

Last Friday, I was able to dictate my own post for Kelly to type for me, and we talked all about my then-current condition. Things have not changed much on that front—I have a long journey ahead of me—but what I realized hours after that posted was that I forgot to express my gratitude. I’m not ready to share the specifics of what happened to me when I was abducted, but I was out of it most of the time. To preserve the internal organs that they were stealing, they had me on sedatives, instead of something stronger, like heroin. Then they put me on anaesthetics during the surgery. By the time I woke up, I was in the hospital with the replacement organs. I was very confused, and scared. I was never able to ask for help, but people helped me anyway, so please allow me to go through the list now. Thank you to the paramedics who found me. They were working with law enforcement during the literal search, and came across me first. Thank you to the cops and FBI who investigated this matter. Thank you to the medical team that transported me, and the surgical team who treated me after. Thank you to the organ donors for your selfless sacrifice for me. Thank you to the nurses and doctors who are treating me during my recovery. Thank you to Kelly and Dutch who have stayed by my side. And lastly, but not leastly, thank all of you for your immeasurable support in this incredibly difficult time. I appreciate your concern, I really do. It’s been a huge help to see everyone be genuinely worried about my wellbeing. It has gotten me through it.

Microstory 1885: Put on Ice

< > Table of Contents

Yesterday morning, I was walking my cat by the frozen river. Yes, I walk my cat. I know it’s weird, but he likes it, and I like it, so I don’t owe you an explanation. That’s not the point anyway. This is a story about how I nearly succumbed to death, and how that would have been okay, because I still would have saved a life in the process. The trail doesn’t run exactly parallel to the river—it bends away at places, to get around trees, and the like. As we were getting back towards it, I started hearing what I initially thought were birds. It was Buttons who heard it first, actually, he has such great hearing. I’m sure he knew right away that it was a human. Once I realized this myself, I dropped the leash, and left the trail. It was tough, getting through all the brambles and thorns, but I couldn’t wait until we got to a clearing, because then we would be too far upstream. Buttons followed me, he’s loyal too. Finally I reached the bank, and nearly slipped onto the ice myself, which may seem like it wouldn’t matter, because I was ending up out there anyway, but not right there. I discovered how unstable it was right there. I looked across, and saw a child on his stomach in the middle of the river. There was a rope swing nearby that kids use in the summer, so I assumed he came from that side. Irrelevant. He needed help, and there was no one else around, so I found my footing, and crawled out to retrieve him. I know now, you’re supposed to urge them to come to try to come to you, but he was so little. I tried talking to him, but he just kept crying. He wasn’t capable of meeting me halfway. Man, I wish I had been on that other side, though; then I could have thrown him the rope! Or maybe I would have tied it to myself, and been safer.

Well, crawling started feeling dangerous. I could hear the ice crack under my weight, so I decided to lie flat, and slide to him. I dug my fingernails into the top layer, hoping not to disrupt its integrity, and pulled myself closer little by little, ignoring the blood turning the snow red. He was facing away from me, so even though I kept talking to him, I didn’t think he knew I was on my way. Finally I was there. I took him in my arms, and together we kept going to the other side, because we weren’t exactly in the center. We were almost to the bank when the ice just fell out from under me. I held on as best I could, but the current was so strong underneath. The only thing I could do was push the boy forwards, and get him onto the ground. When he looked back, I told him to run for help, but it was too late. I was under. Another random citizen pulled my body out of the river more than twenty miles downstream, where the water was calmer, and not iced over. This was eleven hours later. He assumed that I was dead, but that didn’t stop him from beginning CPR, and having his niece call for help. The paramedics took over when they arrived, and my heart miraculously started beating again. I wasn’t conscious, but I was alive. They drove me to the hospital, where doctors continued treatment. I woke up several hours later, feeling terrible, but still alive. My family was all around me, crying because they thought they had lost me. They were all talking about how God saved me, and I don’t know about that, but I did feel lucky. My own niece was holding Buttons, having snuck him into the hospital in her purse. I was grateful that he was okay, but I told her to take him back home, because there are sick people here, and they don’t need any dirty animals. I was feeling tired just in time for visiting hours to be over, so I said goodbye to my family, and tried to get to sleep. But I never woke up.

Microstory 1854: Life Underground

< > Table of Contents

I grew up in madness. My parents were both doomsday preppers who—I don’t really want to say that they took it too far—but I eventually came to decide that they weren’t looking at the threat the right way. Is it possible that the world is going to end? Yes, of course. Is it rational to prepare for this eventuality? Assuming it doesn’t interfere with your day to day life, I would say so. That’s where mom and dad got lost. They were so obsessed with the life they would lead if the proverbial esh ever hit the fan that they stopped caring about what life should be like before, or instead of. It wasn’t this sudden thing that they did. It’s not like they read a bad news story, and decided to stuff the family into the bunker, and shut the door behind us. They just gradually spent more and more time focused on it until it was all they thought about, and it was just the way we lived. The farmhouse above ground was only there for show. They actually damaged parts of it to make it look abandoned, so any would-be looters or opportunists wouldn’t think it was worth ransacking. Where once I had my own bedroom, I now shared a corner of two triple bunk beds. My two younger brothers and sister had one set, and I slept above my aunt, who was above my parents. They shared a twin bunk, they were that committed to the lifestyle. The house was fine, and the world outside was too, but no, we were sardines. Because if that bomb ever went off, or a pandemic killed everyone, the best way to be ready was to simply already be doing things how we would when the day came. They still let us go to school for a while, but eventually decided it was too risky to have us wandering the surface. They didn’t even apply to homeschool us, or anything. We just stopped leaving the house. That’s when the authorities stepped in.

Truancy laws are taken very seriously in my country. If you didn’t go to school, you better have a damn good reason. Legislatures even stopped accepting the excuse of needing the kids to work on the farm. Being accepted as a homeschool was tough, because you had to prove you were a competent substitute for a licensed professional teacher. So you can imagine that they were pissed about our situation. It almost got us taken out of the house, but my parents reluctantly agreed to let us go back. But no extracurricular activities, no parties, and no trips. We mostly only went to school. Once a week, father would go out to check the post office box, and it was a real treat if one of us got to accompany him. Once a month, he would restock us—or overstock—on supplies, and he usually needed two of us to help. I honestly don’t know where they were getting their money. This was before working from home was a thing, and since we stopped planting crops, that surely wasn’t it. Maybe one of them came from a rich family, and we lived in squalor because they were clinically insane. I’ll tell you one thing, as terrible as it was, I can’t say I regret any of it. I was designated the family medic, because someone had to do it, and none of the adults was smart enough to pursue the field. I learned some skills on my own, picked up more when they let me out for classes, and got even better when I finally went to get certified as an EMT, and later a paramedic. Of course, I left to live my life, and my siblings followed suit with their own dreams. The youngest had the hardest time, because the parents didn’t want to let her go, but they had no choice. We didn’t want to survive if it meant not living. They both died in that bunker, and I’m in my five bedroom split level, surrounded by loved ones.

Microstory 972: Medicine

< > Table of Contents

I’ve talked a lot about the future of medical science, but I haven’t much gotten into how it pertains to me specifically. In my younger days, science was everything. I figured I might help cure cancer, and travel to other planets, and be one of the first to know about every major scientific breakthrough. Over time, these interests waned, making room for new ones. As time has continued even further, however, some of this has returned to my mind. I never thought I would become a doctor, or a nurse, or a pre-hospital technician, but I realize now I shouldn’t have rule out the possibilities. During the years I spent looking for a permanent position, I seriously considered a number of jobs in the medical field. From pharmacy technician, to surge technician, to emergency medical technician (all the techs, apparently) I looked into a lot. The thing that always kept me from going for these roles was the amount of time and effort they take. It’s not just that I didn’t want to spend the time getting educated, but I was always worried I would end up not liking it, and then it would have been a major waste of time, and money. I’m happy where I am, and never watch an ambulance racing down the street with a sad look on my face, wondering about what could have been. I do know that, if alternate realities existed, a number of these include me taking the chance. I did end up taking a free emergency medical responder class a couple years back, because it was available, and risk-free. I even used this as an inspiration for two completely unrelated characters in my stories, which I only now discovered when I ran a search on my own website. I suppose medical science is important to me because it’s one of the few professions I believe totally necessary to the world. We don’t truly need vehicle manufacturers, or telephone sanitizers. We would be able to survive without them, but we can’t survive if we have no way of treating traumas and illnesses. That’s just basic, and that’s what makes it so beautiful. It took a long time for our species to invent the telephone when you think about how quickly we started thinking about how to keep going after getting hurt. It’s not the oldest profession, but it’s older than what everyone thinks is the oldest. Hunting, by the way. Hunting is the actual oldest profession. The first thing humans did was figure out how to kill other things.

Microstory 795: Honor Spotter

< > Table of Contents

The Bicker Institute formed in the 19th century out of fear that some great cataclysm could fall upon the Earth, and destroy civilization. Wanting to insulate the human species from complete annihilation, they start monitoring genetically diverse individuals in secret. Should the need arise, they were to be taken to hidden bunkers to protect them from whatever would happen to the rest of the world. They would not be alone in these bunkers, because who knows what they would do if left to their own devices? So certain peoples are recruited before the theoretical end, according to their education and experience. They need a leader, someone who is a true believer in the cause, and understands exactly what it is they’re fighting for. Of course, they need a doctor to tend to residents’ medical issues; an engineer, a mechanic, and an electrician, to maintain the facility itself; a gardner to care for the microponics equipment; and a logistician to keep track of their inventory. But the genetically select inheritors, and the management team are not the only two groups to be protected. They want the people to be able to choose for themselves; to developed policies and procedures that they feel are best. But inheritors are chosen when they’re children, long before they know what they want to do with their lives. Theoretically, every one of them could grow up to be a clown, for all anyone knows. And so seven people extra people from each of the three qualifying generations are chosen as supplementary bunker residents. These are known as...the wild cards, but are sometimes referred to as the honor residents.

Wild cards are destined to be breeders, and represent a fraction of their population that the Institute knows little about, medically speaking. This is done to better simulate the real world, which is based on more natural genetic inheritance. No algorithm can effectively control for every possible scionic outcome, nor should they strive for one. The fourteen wild cards are there to make it as random as possible. They are chosen, however, based on their education and experience, much like the management staff. Not all bunkers are alike, but the roughly have the same variety of backgrounds. There will likely be two military veterans; one of high ranking, and one of low ranking. There will be four law enforcement officers; one in a command position, one rookie, one experienced detective, and one new detective. There might be one registered nurse, a licensed practical nurse, a paramedic, an EMT, a midwife, and a doula. Lastly, it might be nice to have someone with culinary chops, and someone who is a natural born leader; perhaps an uncorrupted politician (if you can find one) or a company executive. Youngest generation wild cards are chosen by proximity to a bunker. While inheritors are closely protected by sentinels, wild card honor residents are only loosely kept track of by a group of headhunters known as the Honor Spotters. They keep a list of everyone they deem worthy of being taken to the bunkers, but add or remove honors, as new information suggests adjustment. Some in the Institute oppose these tactic, thinking that they would just be asking for something to go wrong when there are so many people they don’t know much about. Their worst resident, though, turned out to not be a wild card at all, but one of their most promising inheritors. And it would be up to the honor residents, and their honor spotter, to deal with him.

Perspective Seventy-One

Click here for a list of every perspective.

Perspective Seventy

I’m not a doctor, but I’m close; closer than most. Wow, that rhymed, and I definitely didn’t want it to. I can’t point to a single moment, or a single incident, that sparked my interested in medicine. It’s just been brewing for a while. I guess I could say that, whenever I watch action/adventure television, I notice they usually don’t have doctors around. It’s supposed to make it more exciting to watch the characters run around in dangerous situations without the luxury of a nearby hospital. They may be stranded on a remote island, or trapped in a hostage crisis, or it’s just the zombie apocalypse and all the doctors are dead. The best of these shows will have a character who acts as the next best thing; someone who’s had a little bit of training, but is still prone to panic. Ever since scouting, I guess I’ve just had this general obsession with being prepared. I watch those survivalist reality shows, research microponics, and read lifehacks online. So it was no surprise that I snatched my opportunity to learn some medicine.

I was browsing social media a few months ago when I came across this post from a friend of a friend who knew of an EMR program nearby. An Emergency Medical Responder is one step above first aid; something that many lay people know, and one step below Emergency Medical Technician; a path chosen for a career. I had always called it “second aid” without knowing that it was a real thing. I’m not the richest of people, but I don’t spend much on much, so I budgeted the class out and decided that it was important enough to me. We met two or three times a week for a few weeks. A lot of the material was actually the same used for EMT classes, and wouldn’t be on the final exam, but I didn’t mind. The more the better. Even before completing the course in full, I started mulling over the possibility of pursuing this field. But like I said before, that’s a career move, and not one I was totally comfortable with making without more thought. I wasn’t sure if wanted to actually drive an ambulance and respond to calls on the regular. I just wanna know, in case...the zombies show up. I did want to know if there was a way to take EMT classes, and to keep up to date on the license, without practicing. Does anyone in the world do that? If I had asked my instructor that question, she probably would have laughed me out of the room. So I just kept quiet.

Last night, I was wishing I had gone ahead with the more advanced training anyway. I don’t really work out all that much, but every once in awhile, I get this urge to just go out and walk. I took a few laps around the park on the edge of my neighborhood, then cut through the parking lot of a grocery store building that closed down years ago, and is still empty. I saw two men arguing up against a recycling dumpster, so my instincts took over and forced me to make myself as small as possible behind a pole. I wanted to be brave, and just keep walking, because they probably weren’t going to hurt me, but I was frozen. Then I just wanted to turn around and leave so I didn’t see something I would regret, but I still couldn’t move. God, all those hours watching heroes on TV, and I’m completely useless. I mean, how many police procedurals have I seen? Enough to do better than cower, I know this much.  That’s probably an unhealthy way to look at things, though, isn’t it? I’m not a cop, or a hero. I’m just some guy; some guy who knows how to treat wounds, but not prevent them.

The man with the tire iron appeared to be winning. I wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying, and he was swinging his weapon around threateningly, but I got the distinct impression that he didn’t really want to use it. All of the sudden, his opponent shot both hands forward and struck tire iron guy in the shoulders. He fell to his ass and dropped the tire iron. It barely had any time on the ground, however, before the other guy picked it up and raised it over his head. The first guy tried backing away, still on the ground, but the bad guy wasn’t having it. He dropped the tire iron down in an arch and knocked it into one ankle. Then after a follow-through that would have made my little league baseball coach proud, he dropped it down again and struck the other ankle. I pushed a scream back down my throat, but the one being attacked was unable to do the same. He released a screeching howl, like that of a fox, loud enough to wake up a neighborhood. Unfortunately, for him, this part of town was all but abandoned, and only I was there to hear. Surely fearing for this life, the injured man reached up and grabbed the other end of the tire iron. The two of them played tug o’ war with it for a few seconds before the attacker let go. It didn’t even look like he lost his grip; he was just smart enough to know what would happen. The man on the ground was pulling it towards him with all his strength, so when he won the contest, he ended up smashing it into his own forehead.

This time, I couldn’t keep the scream down, but it wasn’t too loud, and the attacker did not appear to notice it. He stared at the guy on the ground for at least a minute, possibly waiting for him to move, but he didn’t. Even in the darkness, I would have seen movement. After the shock had worn off, the attacker wiped the tire iron with the sleeve of his shirt, and ran off. Finally, now that the danger had passed, I was able to remove myself from my stupor, and go help the poor guy. When Emergency Medical Services arrived, they claimed that I had properly used my training, and that there was nothing I could do, but I was not convinced. Sure, I technically had no obligation to step in before the fight had a chance to escalate, but I’ll always wonder how things would have turned out if I had just done it anyway. The man didn’t die instantly, but he had suffered from sufficient enough trauma to prevent him from speaking to me. Yet in my mind, I’ll always imagine him having asked me why I didn’t save him. When I call upon the memory of that night, that’s what he’ll be saying to me, and I will never have an answer. But I might be able to stop this sort of thing from happening to me ever again. I’ll be signing up for EMT training on Monday. Screw my career.

Perspective Seventy-Two

Siftens Landing Part V

Click here for the first installment of this series.

Click here for the second installment of this series.
Click here for the third installment of this series.
Click here for the fourth installment of this series.

Father Siften, Sabrina Lander, Ryan Lander, and Madam Kapka were out looking for little Moe when the explosion came from behind them. They ran towards it, stumbling onto the bottom of the hill where Billy and Kyle were lifting an unconscious Allison from the ground. “Oh my god,” Father Siften yelled.

“She’s okay,” little Moe assured him. And she really was okay. She would have a nasty bump on the head, but she would live.

“We have to get back to the houses,” Sabrina exclaimed. They raced up to meet the horror. The Siften house was on fire, and the flames were licking at the side of the Kapka house. They got there just in time to hear the sirens from emergency services. They did a headcount and found that the only two who were not present were Mama Siften and Mister Kapka, who were each known to be out running errands.

While Father Siften was coordinating with the sheriff, Ryan was talking with the kids who had caused the explosion. “How did this happen?” he asked.

“We’re sorry,” his daughter, Libby answered. “We just wanted to look at your fireworks.”

“Was this the work of my Ferocity Sunstrikers?” The children kept their heads down in shame, but nodded affirmatively. A deputy had heard the conversation.

Madam Kapka, who was a veterinarian, was treating Allison’s wound since the paramedics hadn’t arrived yet. Allison woke up confused and backed away. “No, no, honey. It’s okay. It’s me.”

“I don’t know who you are,” Allison said in fear.

“This is my mother,” Kyle explained to her.” His voice was enough to calm her down.

“What happened to her?” Madam Kapka asked while continuing to work.

The boys were afraid to answer, but Billy decided to be the bigger man. “Kyle and I were fighting, and we accidently bumped into her, so she fell down the hill.”

“Is anyone else hurt?” Madam Kapka asked after she had done all there was to do with Allison’s head.

“No,” Kyle replied. A second deputy had heard the conversation.

The firetruck finally arrived, followed closely by the ambulance. The firefighters sprayed the house with water while paramedics loaded Allison up and drove her away. A few other firefighters went into the house, even though there were told that no one was in there. The deputy and the sheriff spent some time whispering to each other over to the side, trying to figure out what they were going to do. In the end, it was decided that the children would be separated from their parents, and that the parents would be brought in under suspicion of some form of child abuse. The parents and children screamed and pulled away from the cops, trying to reach each other. Then they all stopped and watched as one of the firefighters came out of the Siften house carrying a body. It was Mama Siften. She had come back without anyone knowing. The firefighter shook his head at his superior. She was dead.
Days later, after all legal charges were dropped, everyone moved away from each other, and never went back to the hidden cul-de-sac again. Once she graduated from high school, Allison ran off with Kyle, and they haven’t spoken to their respective families since.

---

Honestly, I'm glad that's over. Now I can start on the stories that I really want to tell. Next Saturday will be the premiere of Mr. Muxley Meets Mediocrity.