Microstory 2504: Regret Seer

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I can see your regrets, and show you your potential. Before Landis Tipton received the gifts of The Ten Vulnerabilities, I was responsible for two of them. There were five of us in total, and we chose to use our abilities very differently. We were nomads, traveling all over the world—mostly the North American continent—helping people one at a time. We searched for those who were at their lowest, who needed the most help. I was on the frontlines of this mission. Regret is one of the strongest emotions that a person can have, and sight is one of the strongest senses. It was easier for me to pick our targets out of a crowd without having to wait for them to do something to draw attention to themselves. I could just see it. Once I found a candidate, the five of us would explore this person’s life further. We could strategize about what we could do to help this person live a better life. The way we saw it, our tasks were helping the whole world exponentially. Everyone we supported would go out, and pay it forward. With a brand new lease on life, they would find it in their hearts to help others in their own ways. Honestly, we didn’t think to focus on only one of the Vulnerabilities, like Landis has. We were drawn to one another, and it felt like we absolutely had to work together in order to fulfill our destinies. Had we only let the Health Smeller do her thing, what work would have been left for the rest of us? We just had a different perspective. And fittingly enough, I regret nothing. And you know that’s true, because if I did, I would be able to tell, and I’m comfortable enough with my own vulnerabilities that I would be honest about it. I can’t bring my own regrets to the surface, but I’m very good at recognizing them. We did our own thing our own way, and I still think we improved the world. We didn’t always hit it out of the park. There is a reason why we don’t have the gifts anymore, and why we had to transfer them to Landis. But I don’t like to talk about it, because that is something that I regret. Maybe I’m not as brave as I believe. I should be able to talk about what happened. Unfortunately, while I helped countless others see their potential, I could never see my own. But again, the gifts belong to Landis now, and while it saddens me a little that my Vulnerability senses aren’t being used, I’m proud of the work that he’s been doing. That’s why I chose him in the first place. I didn’t know exactly what he was going to do, but I knew that he was on his way to reaching greatness.

Microstory 2493: Eldome

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They call this a train, but that doesn’t really do it justice. A train involves separate cars linked together, following each other along a track. This, on the other hand, is more like a big-ass disc that spins around. It’s not just like that, that’s exactly how it is. It does have the feel of a train while you’re inside, except the seats can be adjusted so you’re facing any direction. To get the full experience, they expect you to look through the window the whole time. The window is slanted, so you can really get a clear view of everything. It’s about 11 kilometers up in the air, so there is nothing that you can’t see on the surface of the entire dome after the nearly four-hour trip. It moves pretty slow, which some might find boring, so just be aware of that before you sign up. I mean, I don’t think I thought that it was going to be a fast ride, but four hours is a long time to look at some hills and trees. It was lovely, to be sure. I just don’t know if it’s any better than a sim, or a holographic window. I guess I just wasn’t sure if I was meant to feel something. The idea is that you turn your chair so you’re looking through the window at the beautiful landscape below. I just think that it was too high up. Yeah, so I can see the center from here, but so what? It would be better if we were lower, and could see the geography in greater detail. The prospectus doesn’t do a rating system because they, like, did studies long ago, and determined that they were no longer necessary when an AI is just gonna summarize all the reviews for a deeper focus on quality, but if they still allowed them, I would give this place two stars. It wasn’t bad, and I don’t feel like I wasted my time, but as far as leisure domes go, this one is not my favorite.

EDIT: I’m such an idiot. There are multiple discs. Not all of them are that high up, and the lower ones go faster. They’re all still four hours long, which I think was the source of my confusion when I was misinterpreting the description. One of them actually is a train, and it’s situated on the ground, so you can only see what’s right in front of you. I’m gonna try that one next. Glad we got that cleared up. Sorry, ignore me.

Microstory 2448: Chinadome

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China is one the largest, and most populated, nations on Earth. Historically, it has been a technological powerhouse, and a major player on the global economic stage. It’s so big that individuals emigrating out of China to other towns would often settle in such high numbers that they ended up transforming part of their city to a sector known as Chinatown. These were divisions of the established city in question—New York, San Francisco, Binondo—typically not in an official or legal capacity, but culturally relevant nonetheless. Since those of Chinese ancestry represent a large portion of people back on Earth, it stands to reason that a great deal of people who have chosen to travel to Castlebourne would be Chinese too. To be clear, you don’t have to have any Chinese heritage to come here. In reality, they encourage you to visit regardless of your family background or creed, and learn about Chinese history and culture. That’s the whole point of cultural domes. You can come here to see what it’s like, to engage in their events, or if you just feel comfortable in this environment. The dome holds all the same traditional observances here as they still do on Earth, such as Chinese New Year. It also recognizes the shift in sociopolitical practices that resulted from the adoption of more modern political ideas, particularly post-scarcity economic conventions. It’s a respectful blend of the historical China and the new China that most people living today are more familiar with. I agonized over how to phrase that, which is why, readers, this review is a bit later than usual. I think that’s the most P.C. way for me to say it. I’ll edit you according to your comments. But just this once. I recommend everyone on Castlebourne come for a visit. Even if you saw a Chinatown or two on Earth, there’s always something new to learn, and perspective to be gained.

Microstory 2427: Great Depression Dome

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Not everything on this planet has to be fun. Some of it should be a somber reflection of real life, and in this case, the inspiration is depressing. I don’t use that as a pun, but it’s a really good word to describe the nature of the source for the dome’s theme. The Great Depression was a period of worldwide economic turmoil that began in October of 1929, and continued on into the 1940s for some regions. It is defined by a global high of unemployment, institutional financial failure, and trade conflicts, among other things. I’m not here to give you a history lesson, though; that’s the dome’s job. This is a recreation of the conditions that a lot of people lived in during this time. There’s a swath of land representing the dust bowl, there’s a seemingly endless unemployment line, situated not too far from the soup kitchen line. They make excellent use of the entire area of the dome, exhibiting the various negative impacts of life on Earth in this time period. I’m glad that they put this dome here, because it happened 550 years ago. So many people alive today don’t even know what you’re talking about. There is so much to learn in your education that things fall through the cracks, and one of the biggest sacrifices we make is history. Science and math is always changing, and while it might be interesting to know how things used to be, it’s not vital. It’s more important to understand the present day concepts. History, on the other hand, never stops coming. Students today have more background to draw from than the students of yesterday, and the students of tomorrow will have even more. That is why it is so important to keep building places like this. People need to see how things were like in the past, especially in times before they were born. No one still alive right now was around to witness the Great Depression. The oldest in our population wasn’t even born yet, and that’s really sad. I don’t even know how many people can’t even grasp the very concept of a monetary-based economy. That’s where you have to start. You have to know what money is before you can comprehend what it meant to not have any of it. To not have everything you need just to survive as a living organism. Water, food, shelter. These are fundamental rights that we take for granted, but for most of human history, none of these things was guaranteed. The people who lived during the Depression understood that. I won’t lie to you, if you come here, you’re not going to “enjoy” it, but unless you’ve been studying this stuff in particular already, you are going to learn something. They do a really great job of framing the curriculum through the present-day lens, recognizing the shortcomings of conventional contemporary education, which again, must prioritize more “relevant” topics. I implore you to give it a try. Even though it’s not an adventure, and it may not be your cup of tea, it will be good for you. It would be good for everyone.

Microstory 2367: Vacuus, August 28, 2179

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Dear Condor,

I’m not feeling all that well today. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I think I caught a stomach bug. The doctor has me self-quarantining, which is funny because that’s just how I typically live my daily life anyway. I wanted to respond to you, though, because I received your open letter. I attached the new document with my markups, but you can take them or leave them. If you just sent it to the base how you originally wrote it, it would be fine. I’m not surprised, your letters to me are always very well-written. Overall, I think it looks good. You didn’t say too little, or be too cryptic, but you didn’t overshare either. I would say go for it, if you’re comfortable, but you still have the option of declining the request. It’s not a big deal either way. Though, I do think you should change what you said about people asking questions. I’m willing to take on that role as intermediary. My suggestions are very minor, so it’s up to you whether to accept them. That also goes for whether to even send it or not. I won’t cloud your decision any further. It’s not like people will be mad at me if you decline. Both worlds will keep turning. I feel like I’m repeating myself, and should probably go back to bed. I’m going to be a little bit late with my thoughts on this latest Winfield Files book, but did you notice that we got a few spoilers from the last season of the show? It looks like they jumped a little ahead in the story, which I guess is what happens. The books are only told from the main character’s perspective, but the adaptation has the freedom to explore other people’s perspectives more directly, which has sometimes given us a bit of a sneak peek into what’s to come, before Winfield finds out about it in his own time. I don’t think it’s going to ruin anything, or that we should change our strategy. I just thought I would point it out.

Okay, goodnight,

PS: Are we gonna keep doing PS?

Microstory 2358: Vacuus, July 16, 2179

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Dear Condor,

There was a short delay in my response to you because I read your letter, and decided that I wanted to implement your suggestion regarding my new noisy neighbor, then wait to see if it worked. It seems to have, at least for now. I kind of maybe got the feeling that I will eventually have to reset my connection to him after he forgets. I’m not saying that he’s dumb, but I noticed he would regularly lose his train of thought, and forget key aspects of the stories that he was telling. I came to find out that researchers here are aware of his issues. They’re still not certain if he would have developed this way had he been born on Earth, or if there’s something specific to this environment that led to his neurological shortcomings. Right now, they’re leaning towards the latter. All children are different, but others have shown similar signs of developmental problems that need to be addressed. At the moment, there are still some variables that they have to account for, so they can’t arrive at any conclusion on the cause. This is a relatively small population. There must have been something about the progenitors’ own psychology that made them want to come here at all, and they all had to pass certain tests to qualify. These factors, along with others, limit the gene pool, making it more difficult to test hypotheses when it comes to determining the effects that this world might have on humans as a rule. I have to say, I’m surprised I didn’t know anything about any of this before. I guess they’re trying to keep it hush-hush. It is funny, though, they might be missing out on valuable data by keeping the rest of us in the dark. I belong to a subset of the population: children who had no choice but to travel to this world; born on Earth, grown up on the ship, and working on the base. The criteria for our selection was different than it was for the adults, of course. Studying us may tell them something that they’re not seeing now. I’m not gonna let them know about this, because I’m already a test subject, and I don’t need to add to that pressure. I still can’t find anyone who will tell me what exactly they’ve learned from the whole twins separated at birth study. I don’t know which team might be responsible for that, and I can’t get the top brass to even admit that it’s a thing. In a way, my situation is not dissimilar to Bray’s. We’re both being studied against our will. I think that’s what really endeared him to me, and honestly, this street seems to go both ways. He has had a much harder life than I realized, and I think that he also sometimes wishes that he were on Earth. I’m not saying it was okay that he was playing music while I was trying to sleep, but I kind of understand this behavior better now. They weren’t watching him in secret. They were really in his face about it, and they probably just made everything worse. I do not envy him, and it really puts our situation into perspective, don’t you think?

Sleeping in the quiet once more,

Corinthia

Microstory 2310: Whole World

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Welp, pretty much everything is out of this place. I’ve stuck all of Nick and Dutch’s possessions in temporary storage, along with a lot of my own stuff. I packed up the other rooms too, like the kitchen, to give the majority of it away. I’m only keeping a little bit for myself, like a couple of plates, a few forks, etc. Like I’ve said, I don’t need much, and I don’t need much space. The three of us actually struggled to furnish this oversized house when we first moved in. Now that I’m re-downsizing, I can go back to a simpler way of doing things. It’s surreal to be in this place now. It’s so empty and creepy; even worse than it was just last week. I’m going to snag a few nights at a hotel until my new place is ready for me to move in. Both the seller and I are highly motivated to expedite the process. We could finalize it by Monday. I told you yesterday that I won’t have a whole lot to say for these last few posts, and it would seem that I was totally right about that. I’ll try to come up with some memorable final words to say, but I am not a wordsmith, like Nick was, so don’t get your hopes up. Until next week, I would just like to thank you all for joining us on this journey. Every blog starts out with zero followers, but now you number in the hundreds of millions. That’s amazing. Thank you so much. It’s sad, how it ended, but at least we had a little time together, and I wouldn’t trade that in for the world. Nope, I’m not supposed to say that. Nick taught me to never say that. He put it in perspective for me. It’s the whole world. I would give up just about anything for it if I didn’t already own it anyway. Ha, I’m not sure I agree with that, but I can appreciate the sentiment. Have a good weekend.

Microstory 2146: To Participate

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There are consequences to your actions, people. Never forget that. I’m not saying that I’m being punished here, but my website does get read by a number of people, including the jail’s personnel. Based on my weird last two installments, it has been suggested to me that I start to struggle more when I’m unable to have my usual weekly therapy session, for whatever reason. I don’t think it always matters so much what she and I discuss, just that I have time to talk to someone who has been trained to listen and try to understand others. I think that’s a fair assessment. Just looking back on my past posts, and reflecting on my recent life, it sounds about right that I go a little crazy sometimes. I think I was meant to have group sessions all along while I was in jail, but I sort of forgot about it, and the expectation is that I manage my schedule myself. No one is going to force me to talk to anyone about anything in particular. Some people are given more detailed sentences in this regard, but mine was purposefully vague. Even so, it’s a good idea, so I participated in group on Saturday. I didn’t really want to participate directly. In fact, I think maybe it should be expected that a newbie keep their mouth shut on their first day, and just listen to the veterans first. I don’t mean to imply that no one has anything worthy of being heard during their first session, just that it might foster a safer and more welcoming environment to not introduce people so shockingly suddenly to an established group. Give us time to acclimate, ya know?

Well, I was forced to talk, because as I’ve explained, I’m kind of famous. Some were not happy that I was there, and/or not happy about the developments on my website. Due to my belief that I’m a traveler from another universe, they think that I should be given stricter rules when it comes to my personal mental health journey. I’m obviously crazy, and need to be medicated, heavily therapized, and maybe locked up 24/7. I must say, I totally see where they’re coming from. If I’m so convinced that time travel is real, then a group session where I talk about how much I miss my dog—who is supposedly being taken care of by an alternate version of me—is probably not enough. It might be taking time away from people who have more grounded problems. If I were trying to work through what they perceive to be my delusions, that would be a different story, but since I’m holding firm to them, and the group leader is making no effort to change that, I imagine that that can get pretty annoying. That’s one reason why I didn’t want to talk the first time, and why I don’t know if I ever want to talk at all. I am from another world, and I’m never going to claim otherwise, because it would be a lie, and that would be worse. I hope that my fellow patients can learn to accept that, as I make an effort to accept their drug addictions and domestic violence issues, which I’ve never had a problem with personally. For now, I have no reason to believe that I won’t be able to have my regular private session with my own therapist this coming Wednesday, so hopefully I can get back on track then. Oh, and one more thing, for this Sunday’s social media post, I wrote this cryptic question about a snake eating its own tail in real life. There’s no hidden meaning behind that. I just didn’t have anything real to say, so I just kind of randomly started typing words, and that’s what came out. If you interpreted it as a puzzle, or thought experiment, or something, don’t worry about it anymore. I just don’t like to skip days. Maybe I should talk to my therapist about that.

Microstory 2145: Fresh Fake Baby Brains

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Wow, yesterday was some roof stoof, wasn’t it? I guess I need to explain a bit more. What you need to understand about the bulkverse is that some universes can stand on their own, while others need some kind of oversight. It’s not that every world that you can imagine can exist, but a lot of them can, and the more reasonable ones tend to be stronger. For instance, there’s a movie where I’m from where two Earths orbit each other so closely that you can actually take an elevator up from one to the other, and depending on which one you were born on, gravity remains the same for you, so if you travel to the other one, you will fall up towards your homeworld if you’re not careful. It’s super ridiculous, and practically impossible, and the universe where that story took place only lasted for one hour and fifty-four minutes before it imploded. Basically, the more normal things are, the safer you are there. That sucks for them, yeah? Well, unfortunately, it also sucks for you, because even though your planet doesn’t violate any reasonable laws of physics, it is weird. It’s too dependent upon the historical context of a different universe. I couldn’t tell you which one that was; maybe mine, but either way, yours too lacks stability. You’ve obviously lasted a lot longer than two hours, but that doesn’t mean you’ll last forever. It’s entirely possible that literally none of you existed until I entered the brane. My alternate self back on my homeworld may have conjured you up in that moment, and automatically implanted memories in your fresh fake baby brains, which make you believe that you’ve been around for years, even generations, or even for billions of years. That doesn’t make it so, but it happens. It happens all the time. It happens in dreams. I know it’s scary to think that this might be the case, but as I said in my last post, that doesn’t make you any less real. It’s all relative, and all in how you frame it. I long ago made peace with the possibility that I was also conjured in this way, and that I could one day blink out of existence. It didn’t change how I lived my life, because I couldn’t do anything to change it, so if you look at it that way, you’ll be all right. If you do happen to blink out of existence soon, you won’t be able to experience any emotions on the matter. You won’t experience anything at all. So you might as well just keep going. Me, I’m different, because I can leave. And I must.

Microstory 1858: God’s Eye View

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I wasn’t paying attention when I was diagnosed with a terminal disease. That’s really all I caught when the doctor was trying to explain it to me. I wasn’t in shock, or anything, I just didn’t care. I’m going to die in prison, and that’s true whether it happens tomorrow, or ten years from now. If you had asked me yesterday what went wrong with my life, I would have blamed it on the world. I have a mental list of people who have wronged me throughout the years, and to be sure, some of those people deserve to be on it. Maybe even all of them, to some degree, but there’s one name I forgot to include, and it actually ought to be at the top. Me. I should have taken responsibility for my own actions. I should be on it both for the things that I did, and also because I’ve lived in denial of my culpability. Let me explain where this sudden realization is coming from. Government scientists have developed a drug that they hope will help restore the memories and general faculties of people with age-related diseases that cause those kinds of problems. I have no such disease, but they needed a control group, so I’m part of that. As an incarcerated terminal patient, I was the perfect candidate. I didn’t even wait to hear the whole pitch before agreeing to sign the documents. If the experimental medicine they gave me resulted in my death, then as I explained before, it didn’t really matter. I wasn’t sure what to expect as I sat down. I suppose I figured I would get a flood of memories that I had either suppressed, or had just forgotten, because they weren’t very important. If it should work on dementia patients, why wouldn’t it work on me too? That’s not what happened, though. As I’ve said, my memories were fine; probably about as intact as any normal person’s. I didn’t remember anything special, but I got some new perspective.

I was a piece of shit. I treated strangers poorly, and my friends even worse. I alienated everyone who ever cared about me, and I didn’t even realize it. Because they didn’t truly ever leave; our relationships just never totally recovered. I had some pretty crazy ideas about the world too. I made political and economical claims that—now that I think about it—didn’t make any sense. The truth is that I was super uneducated, and to no one’s fault but my own. I went to class, and I took the tests, but I didn’t really care about the material, I didn’t retain it, and I was entirely incapable of drawing reasonable conclusions for new problems. I just didn’t understand a damn thing, but I thought I was so smart. Do you remember saying something stupid when you were a kid, like how the older boys who stole your lunch money would be sorry when you grew up, and were older than them? Or maybe you lied to everyone about climbing up the side of a building. This is what it feels like to look back at my past. I feel like a God, my hindsight is so much better than 20/20 right now. I was so wrong about everything, and I’m incredibly embarrassed of myself. It’s unfair, having this perspective so late in life. I don’t have any time to go back and correct my mistakes. Plus I’m still stuck in here. I won’t go over every epiphany I had while I was on this drug, but I’ll say that the old me wouldn’t care about it. I’m smiling, because even if it doesn’t technically do what it’s meant to, it should still be able to help people. I just need to figure out how to convey this data to the researchers. I’m about to die, I know this much. I don’t think that should stop their research, and I’m worried they will if I don’t manage to explain the results to them before I fade away. I have to get back to the real world. I have to wake up befo—

Microstory 1791: First Reflection

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I’ve always known that I was born a voldisil, but I’ve never had any special gift. For most of my life, I lived during a time when my kind could only be ourselves in secret. We didn’t tell anyone what we were, or what we could do. We weren’t out in the open until a man with the ability to heal felt he had to go public to save as many people as possible. Some of us weren’t happy about it, but I always admired his bravery. As I watched the news talk about him, and suggest there were others like him, I wondered whether I would finally find out what I could do. It didn’t happen. I lived the last couple years of my life without a purpose; at least in the voldisil way, that is. It’s only this last moment that I have finally figured out who I am. According to current statistics, about a hundred people die in the world every single minute of every single day. As I lay dying, the histories of each of these fallen strangers are flooding my brain. We’re not dead yet, but I just know that these are the people who are on their way out with me. If there is something on the other side of the death barrier, then the hundred of us will cross that threshold together. It is overwhelming and inspiring. Get something to record this, because I only have a couple of hours to live. I will be spending my last breaths on telling you these people’s stories in first person perspective. They’ve been through a lot. For some, their time has come, but for others, it is tragic and unfair. In the future, scientists will synthesize the healer’s abilities, and create a panacea, but until then, this is life. It always ends, and I am no exception. I shall begin this series with my own story.

Since I didn’t seemingly have any special abilities, my life was fairly normal and mundane. I really liked to paint, but I was never particularly good at it, and even if I had been, I don’t think I would have wanted to translate it into a career of any kind. I like for people to see my art, because I think it’s something that should be enjoyed, but I don’t need them to pay me, and I don’t need to become famous. I made a living working as a groundskeeper at a cemetery. You know, no one is really sure what makes a volidisil a voldisil. No one has been able to study them until recently, because we had not yet gone public. One of us that I met called us spirits, which evidently means our abilities come from our souls, as opposed to our minds or bodies. It appears that voldisil is merely one kind of these spirits, but I’ve never heard of any other, so perhaps she was mistaken, or they’re just straight synonyms. The point is, does my ability have to do with death because that’s what I dealt with my whole adult life, or was I drawn to the field because of my future ability? Is there any connection at all, or is it just a coincidence? After all, like I said, everyone dies, so maybe the link is just something that I’ve wrongly perceived. I suppose it doesn’t matter in the end, but it would be nice to understand where we come from, and how we are the way we are, and whether any reason is strong enough to combat the chaos. I’ll die happy and satisfied with the small way I contributed to the world, helping families move on despite the sadness. Others are not so lucky, like this next reflection, from the perspective of a man who couldn’t be nice to save his life.

Microstory 1742: Sea Serpent

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I don’t move at first. I have no idea whether you’re supposed to run away from a serpent, or stand still. Maybe she can’t see me if I stand still? I try to reach for my phone, but that seems to freak her out. She darts her head towards my hand, so I pull back. She relaxes a bit. I try to take one slow step backwards, but she doesn’t like that either. She seems to feel most comfortable with me where I am, and her where she is. I don’t get the impression that she plans on hurting me, but she considers any movement to be a sign of aggression. I notice something a little funny about her, since all I can do now is watch, and pray I don’t become the prey. I’m no serpent expert, obviously, but I’ve never seen one with such a flat tail. I can’t imagine that she can slither very well with that thing. Perhaps it’s meant to brush leaves and grass out of the way? No, that doesn’t make any sense. She’s already passed over any obstacle by then. Maybe it’s there to hide her tracks from predators. This sounds like a decent evolutionary advantage, though I would hardly call her worthy of being anyone’s meal. She perked up when I had to clear my throat. I doubt anything could sneak up on her, whether they were following tracks or not. I look around, careful to move my head as little as possible, and sniff the air. You know what, I think we’re pretty close to Danaid Inlet. Oh, that must be what that flat tail is for. She’s not a land serpent, but a sea serpent. That’s also probably why she’s so on edge, because she’s not close enough to water. I couldn’t say how long she can stay on land, so it could be indefinite. Or she’ll eventually die, and I’ll be able to walk away. No, I don’t want that. She’s not doing anything wrong. I want to save her.

I look up to get my bearings. I’m a little lost, but I know the direction of the ocean. The inlet is to the Northwest of here. Hoping the serpent doesn’t decide to just attack me on the spot, I move a little towards the water. She moves to match me. She doesn’t get closer, or farther away. I move more, she mirrors me again. I keep going, always keeping my eye on her as she follows. The trek is rough. I’m sure the trail will eventually get us there, but who knows how long that would take? I just want to get to the water as fast as possible so this girl can get back to her life. I’ll find my way home after that, once I’m finally safe. She continues to slither next to me as I’m trudging through the brush, and over the rocks. I would be embarrassed, but the serpent seems just as awkward on land as I am. Also, she’s an animal, so I don’t think she has the capacity to judge others. But what do I know? She appears to be following me to the inlet, like she knows she can trust me to lead her there. After a few hours, we’re on the beach. I did it. I can’t believe I actually did it. Now she can go off to where she belongs. She doesn’t move, though. She just sits there, staring at the water like she’s enjoying the beautiful view as much as I am. I step closer, she matches, just like she has been. I take a few more steps. She slithers again. I’m starting to think she thinks I’m her mother, and we’re supposed to go in together. All right, fine. I’m already cold and tired; how is getting wet gonna make things worse? I wade in, and she gleefully slithers in next to me. Only then does she seem to realize she knows how to take it from here. After a splash—which my headcanon has decided to categorize as a sea serpent’s way of saying thank you—she swims away. I step out of the water, and sit on the sand to watch the sunset. I fall asleep there, dreaming of serpentine friends. I awaken with a little unexpected new perspective.

Microstory 1610: Hypnopedia

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All universes are strange in their own way from most people’s perspective, and that’s just a product of only living in one universe for a long time before you encounter others, if you even ever do. I’m a little different, because I grew up with them, so even the stranger ones aren’t all that strange to me. Hypnopediaverse is pretty strange, though. It’s one of the few places where the bulkverse is common knowledge, and where they use the knowledge of it to their advantage. As one might assume, most universes are independent, alone, isolated. If you want to travel from one to another, you’re first going to need something powerful enough to tear a hole in the membrane that keeps it all together, and then you’re going to need some way to navigate. The first step is hard. The second step is just this side of utterly and hopelessly impossible. Very few people have the means to navigate the bulkverse. I can only do it mentally, and even then, I get lost a lot. It is simply not meant to be traveled. There are small exceptions to this rule, and it has to do with multidimensional proximity. Some universes are very close to a counterpart, like a binary star system. They refer to these as twinverses, and while I suspect they’re rare, I haven’t mapped the bulkverse, so I don’t have the data to back up my claim. After all, multi-star systems are more common than single stars, if you can believe it. It’s part of what makes Earth so special, and probably has a lot to do with its habitability. Getting back to the real story, however, when you’re talking about twinverses, you’re talking about two branes that are perpetually linked to one another, and follow the same temporal vector. The inhabitants may not be using the same calendar, but if you leave one, go to the other, and spend X amount of time there, X amount of time will have passed for those you left behind once you return.

I’m not sure how twinverses come into being, and there could be multiple reasons for this, but the thing about them is that this phenomenon has always been discovered. The residents have always eventually learned about the other side, and this is no truer than it is for Hypnopediaverse, which is a little different, because only one of the universes has a native population. The second brane that the one is attached to only contains plantlife. Whenever someone dreamfalls into it, the only people they encounter are from the main universe. This is how dreaming works, by the way. Everyone travels to other universes when they dream. It’s just that these branes are unstable, and usually only last as long as the dream does. In this case, though, the attached brane is stable, self-sustaining, and affords the dreamers a level of lucidity generally only reserved for the lucky few. Now, they could use this world to reach out and enjoy each other’s company while they’re still asleep. They actually do this sometimes; set up dates and other meetings to maximize their time. This population has decided, however, that the main purpose should be education. And not just regular school, but special skills they didn’t before know existed. The most common of these is flying like a bird, but it’s not that easy. They can fly in the dreamworld, but the skill will not transfer over to the main world. To make that happen, they have to enter yet another universe that’s only attached to the second one. That’s right, hypnopediaverse is actually a trinary system, and as far as I know, the only one of its kind. The third operates on a different temporal vector, however, which adds a level of complexity that the residents have to account for every time they dreamfall into it.

Microstory 1500: Introduction to Poems

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I’m not much of a poet. I wrote several of them in college for my Tumblr, and I can only hope that they were taken down at some point, because I lost my account information, no longer have the email address that was attached to it, and don’t even remember the web address. For as much as I call this a short fiction website, it is a creative writing website. I use a variety of formats, many of which one might call experimental. I’ve done all perspectives, most tenses, blocked dialog, nonfiction, fables, adapted dreams, and even fake news stories. A lot of my work can’t even be considered stories. They’re more anecdotal, where I give a run-down of the things that happened, while avoiding a beginning, middle, and end. Some are part of a series, while others stand alone. I have an ongoing series that I’ve posted pretty much every Sunday since 2015, and associated longer-form multiseries and single series that run on Saturdays. I’ve done everything else that fits in a blog format, so of course I have to do poetry. I don’t know how this is going to go, and I’m really nervous about it. If someone doesn’t like my regular fiction, I can generally take the criticism. When they say the flow is choppy, or the climax was anticlimactic, I can see where they’re coming from. But I don’t know what a good poem looks like, and I certainly don’t know how to replicate that magic. I’ve been through a lot of crap in my life—mostly when it comes to education and employment—but I’ve always had food on the table, a good family, and I’ve never experienced true emotional trauma. I also have shockingly bad memory, annoyingly so.

Several months ago, my dad was telling me about some bullies I had in middle school. I knew they existed, but I don’t really remember the things that they did to me; and not because my fragile mind blocked them out, but because that was all two decades ago, and it’s not important anymore. So if I don’t feel so much pain and strife—if I’ve never been a starving artist, or a soldier, or a victim, or a survivor, what can I say? I can absolutely put my feelings into words, but that’s not what poetry is, is it? Poetry is twisting those words until they become new words on the other side, so when someone tries to translate them back, they become less obvious, and more up to interpretation. How can I hope to move you with the poetry of my life if I don’t even think my own life moves me? Well, if everyone felt like Emily Dickinson, or Edgar Allan Poe, then I suppose everyone would be a poet. The only people who do poetry are probably the only people who should be doing it. So where does that leave me? With the compulsion to do it anyway, even if I don’t belong in this world. But again, how could I possibly accomplish this when I don’t really even have anything to say? I’ve realized that I’ve never had much to say before, but that hasn’t stopped me yet. A lot of writers use fiction to express their ideas, but I usually go a different direction. I use fiction to express other people’s ideas, to tell other people’s stories. I don’t see any reason I can’t do that here too. So as you’re reading this poetry, be gentle with your criticisms, because I’m a newbie, and none of these is from my true self anyway.

Dardius: Pribadium Delgado (Part V)

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Pribadium Delgado never saw herself becoming a parent. She was still pretty young when she found herself introduced to the world of salmon and choosers, but the plan was always to become transhumanistic. Given enough upgrades, an individual will be incapable of conceiving or gestating a human. Their body will just no longer be hospitable to new life. Of course, this didn’t mean she couldn’t raise children, or even that she couldn’t have them before she received these upgrades, but it was still never in her plans. This did not change when she was forced to mother baby Brooke Prieto-Matic, but it did give her an idea. In the year she spent taking care of this precious little thing, Pribadium did form a bond, and it was unclear whether the woman who forced her to care for someone else’s child, Arcadia knew this was going to happen, or not. That didn’t matter, though. The point was that she could use this situation to her advantage. There was something she needed to get done, and convincing Arcadia, and all the others, that she felt compelled to continue raising Brooke was the best way to do it.

The year was 2129, and Leona was preparing to take Brooke home to the 21st century. The latter was incapable of experiencing nonlinear time, so the only way to get her to Earth was with the relativistic ship that Pribadium had built. It would take millions of realtime years, and thousands of years from the perspective of anyone inside the ship. Brooke was set to be placed in stasis, while Leona had to pass the time in an unusual way. Arcadia set things up for her to stay awake the entire time, but unable to hold onto short-term memories. She would recall enough to maintain the ship, and correct issues, but would not be totally aware of the passage of time. Technically, she could have been placed in a stasis pod as well, but Arcadia wasn’t allowing that. As terrible as that was, it was what gave Pribadium her big idea.

“What are you doing here?” Arcadia questioned. “I thought I let you cross back over to the other side of the merge border.

A man named Kayetan Glaston had the ability to put two different points in spacetime together, so that one could walk back and forth at will. He had merged modern-day Tribulation Island with ancient Tribulation Island. Pribadium, Vitalie, and Cassidy were sent over to the other side, so they could make their way back to the future, but the other two agreed to do things differently. They had formed a bond with Brooke as well. So when Arcadia wasn’t looking, they snuck back over to the ancient side. “We want on that ship,” Pribadium demanded.

“Who are these people, Arcadia?” Leona asked.

“You’ve not met them yet,” Arcadia explained to her, before turning her attention back to Pribadium. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

“It’s a new deal,” Vitalie said. “We’re going back to Earth with the two of them. There’s plenty of room. It was built with three pods that you’re not even using. It’s perfect.”

“Do you even need a pod?” Arcadia asked.

“I’m immortal,” Vitalie replied, “but I still get bored.”

“Why do you want to do this?”

“I can’t let Brooke go,” Pribadium said. “I want to be there for her.”

“Really?” Arcadia wasn’t so convinced.

“You’re the one what made me nurse her,” Pribadium tried to explain. “What did you think was gonna happen? That I could just walk away?”

“Say what?” Leona asked.

Arcadia pointed to the ship. “This thing is going to arrive on Earth in the year 2025. That’s essentially random for you. None of you has been there before, and it’s not anywhere near when and where you need to be.”

“I was close once,” Cassidy noted. She first disappeared from her old life in 2019.

“Don’t you need to get to Mateo’s memorial?” Arcadia questioned.

“Mateo’s memorial?” Leona asked, upset. “What are you talking about?”

“This is many centuries in the future,” Arcadia lied to her, which only seemed to make her feel a little bit better. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t remember any of this when you get to Earth.”

“There’s no reason to not let us do this,” Pribadium said, trying to get back to the matter at hand. “Not only does it not hinder your plan to make Leona stay awake for thousands of years, but it reinforces it. Now there really aren’t enough stasis pods for her.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Arcadia had to agree. “But what do you plan to do when you get there? I’ve already set things up so that Leona takes care of her on her own for a little bit, and then Brooke’s cousin, Mireille takes over. How do you plan to insert yourself into her life, and how long do you intend to remain there?”

“You let me worry about that,” Pribadium said. “Again, this has nothing to do with you. What do you care where we go, when we go there, and whose child we raise while we’re there?”

On paper, Arcadia obviously knew that Pribadium was right, but she was the kind of person who didn’t like being dictated to. She liked to come up with the rules, and the plans, and she didn’t appreciate when someone came along and changed things on her. Her face transformed as she was considering the options. When at first she was annoyed, now she was apathetic. “Whatever. Do what you want. I don’t care. It’s your responsibility to return to your own time period when you’re ready. That ain’t got nothin’ to do with me.” She started to walk away. “You best get on your way, though. That does have to do with me.”

Leona gently took Arcadia by the arm. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know who these people are, but they seem really nice, and I’m happy to see that you have a heart...even if you won’t admit it.”

Arcadia scoffed. “You don’t even know what the hell you’re talking about.” She reached down to the ground, and lifted the fabric of space like it legit was indeed fabric. She slipped under the magic curtain, and let it fall back into place behind her.

Fifteen minutes later, Brooke, Vitalie, and Cassidy were safely tucked away in their stasis pods. Pribadium was meant to be the only one left, but she had other plans. Leona and her husband, Mateo were always very kind to her. They immediately accepted her into their group without question. She felt that she had made a lot of mistakes, and still felt responsible for them all becoming trapped in the past. This version of Leona had no idea who she was, but she was still herself, and she deserved something good to come to her. There was really only one gift that Pribadium could give, and it came in the form of the last stasis pod.

“This is not meant for me,” Leona argued.

“No,” Pribadium agreed, shaking her head. “Arcadia wanted you to be awake, so you’ll end up around the same age as your husband. But who cares? Arcadia’s not here, and neither you nor Mateo is going to fall out of love with the other because of the age difference. It’s not even really an age difference. Mateo hardly thinks about the time he was stuck in that crazy spatio-temporal dimension. He’s not four thousand years old, and you don’t need to be either. So this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to sip on this Youth water, and sit here in the pilot’s seat. You’re a great physicist, Leona, but I built this ship. I know how it works, and how to fix any problem we come across. You just need to go to sleep, and forget about all this. When we get to Earth, no one will know what happened. I’ll wake you up first, and tell no one that we switched places. The worlds will keep turning.”

“I don’t know if I can let you do this for me,” Leona lamented. “You’re a stranger.”

“No,” Pribadium said with a kind smile. “I’m not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hundred percent.”

Leona agreed to the new plan. She crawled into the stasis pod, and let Pribadium put her to sleep. Pribadium went on to live for thousands of years, but she didn’t do it the same way that Arcadia had planned. She switched off the temporal distortion feature, and passed the time in a totally different way. Stasis pods served two primary functions. First, they were designed to keep the subject alive and young, so they could actually survive long enough to see the end of the journey. They were also made to put the subject in a dreamless sleep, so that they woke up however much time later with no memory of it. To the four of them, the whole thing would last mere seconds; not centuries. But that was a human necessity, and Pribadium Delgado wasn’t entirely human.

Transhumanistic upgrades were not black and white. At no point did someone transform from human to android. It was a gradient, full of complicated choices and variables. While Pribadium was predominantly a biological entity, she was also a little something more. The Youth water that was meant for Leona was more than enough to keep her alive like suspended animation would, but that was easily rigged up as an IV fluid. In order to capitalize on that second function, all Pribadium needed to do was program her brain to experience time differently. Arcadia was wanting to do this for Leona using magicks, but Pribadium was capable of it through technology, and she could exercise her own control over it. The ship was going to be traveling through space for 2.83 million years, and her body was going to be sitting in the ship for just a hair over four thousand years, but her mind was only going to be there for twenty-four days. She could have sped time up for herself even more, but this made it easier to snap out of it for any maintenance issues. Hopefully, when this was all over, she would feel better about everything she had done, even if it didn’t really make up for it.

Millions of years later, they were on Earth in the year 2025, and no one discovered what Pribadium had done. She didn’t wake her friends up until Leona and Brooke were exactly where they were meant to be. When Vitalie and Cassidy asked why it was she wasn’t helping take care of baby Brooke, she said she didn’t want to talk about it. This was easier than coming up with a lie, and it seemed to be good enough for them. Now the only question was how the hell they were going to get back to Dardius in 2263. Surprisingly, it was Cassidy who came up with a good plan to accomplish this.

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Microstory 1039: Charlotte

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Hello, my name is Charlotte, presently known as An Artist, presently known as Charlotte. I do all kinds of art; painting of all styles, sculpting, performance. I work a lot with blue. Pretty much the only thing I don’t know is music, so I guess I don’t ever have to worry about going for an EGOT. I tried my hand at the flute, and then the guitar, and then the saxophone, but it’s just not for me. Anyway, I’m that girl who always has paint in her hair, and cares more about a book’s cover than the content inside. Don’t feel bad for me, though. I know that it’s almost impossible to make money as an artist. The game is rigged, and if you do manage to succeed, you’ll have sold your soul to do it. I never planned on making money on my work. I’m working hard in school, and while I’m still not certain what kind of career I ultimately want to have, I’ve never had any delusions about the art. I just enjoy the feeling of joy from creating something, and that of accomplishment once I arbitrarily declare that a piece is done. Viola suggested that I get the best of both worlds. I could potentially make a little extra cash, while going around all the people in the industry who’ve traded true beauty for money. She helped me build a website, where I can passively sell my work. It doesn’t cost me a thing, so if I never find any customers, no harm done. It doesn’t take much time to keep posting photos of my creation, so I can still focus on the more practical aspects of my life. I would have been happy just signing up for a service that has everything set up for me, but Viola thought it was important I carve out my own space on the internet. That girl can write code, which I bet most people don’t know about her. She did it right in front of me, literally writing up the little sideways carrots, and dollar signs. It all goes over my head, but man, was she fast. I know transcriptionists who can’t type regular words as quick she can type something she called PHP. That’s not just an analogy, I know a shocking number of transcriptionist personally. It’s this family connection that you don’t care about. I’m sure my classmates are telling you how she had such a huge impact on their lives, but what they might not be saying is how easy all of it was for her. When she was done coding, she just stood up, said goodbye, and walked away to help someone else. For me, it was one of the most important days of my life, but for her, it was Tuesday.

Microstory 1038: Ernest

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You are probably going to hear a lot of crazy stories about the things Viola did for people, if you have not already. Well, I guess you will hear more of them, even if you already have. I do not know about all those other rumors, but I can fill you in on my personal experience with her. You may notice that I am quite...serious, if you will. I have excellent posture, and I cannot speak in contractions. I do not enjoy comedy movies, or amusement park rides. I do not ever smile, and I am never relaxed. All this, I believe, was a mistake. You may not know this, but not every part of our town is something out of a 1950s family situation comedy. We have poor people, and we have criminals. I grew up in an exceptionally unstable environment. My bloodline is messy and confusing, so I will not bore you with the details, but when my real parents were unable to care for me, relatives were required to pick up the slack. Unfortunately, no one I am related to is particularly refined either, so I simply did not have a chance. I started smoking cigarettes when I was nine years old, drinking alcohol when I was eleven, and smoking marijuana when I was thirteen. I was even addicted to opioids for a good long while. I was failing all of my classes freshman year, and was going nowhere with my life. Even if we could have afforded college tuition, there was no way I would be accepted anywhere better than a revolving door institution. Even then, I possessed no motivation to succeed, nor natural talents I could have used in the workforce. One day, Viola approached me with a frown. She said that she was not certain she could help. A disease of the body is easy. It is easy to spot, and given the right tools, easy to correct. But my problem was a disease of the mind. I was not raised to believe in myself, or that the world had anything to offer me, other than drugs, of course. Still, she tried, and though I am not convinced I am now better off, I will forever appreciate the effort. She worked harder for me than anyone else before. You see, she was trying to make me whole; to clean the slate, as it were. She was trying to make me normal. Sadly, she went too far. In giving me ambition, she removed nearly all feeling. I am not uncaring for others, and I would certainly do anything I could in an emergency, but I can no longer relate to people. Their issues are more trivial to me than ever, and this is a character defect that I have been unable to change. Perhaps, in time, I could learn to be more like I was before, but not too much. For now, however, I am stuck as this distant..numb..robot. I achieve perfect grades, and have been accepted into some astonishingly impressive educational establishments, but I am unable to make friends. I would like to think that, if Viola had survived whatever it was that happened to her, she would have eventually figured out how to balance me out. No, that is a purposeless thought, for it cannot be. Thusly, becoming a better person is all up to me, just as it is for everyone else. Is that all you need? I truly must return to my studies. Just because I am going to college no matter what, doesn’t mean I can stop trying. Did you hear that? I’ve used a contraction. Twice!

Microstory 1037: Raymond

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Mind if I do my workout while we’re talking? I had to meet my tutor before school this morning, so I’m going to have to double up on my routine this afternoon. My father says that we’re all born with our own gifts. Some people are smart, and some are strong. He says siblings often don’t end up having the same traits, so Wynn got the smart genes, and I got the muscles. That’s not to say I didn’t have to work for these things. I adhere to a very strict diet, and exercise regimen. I’m not one of those people who thinks you should eat all protein, and no carbs, or that lifting weights is the only thing you gotta do. Life is all about balance: balance in food, in activity, and in everything else. Unfortunately, there are still some things that I struggle with since my brother stole all my smarts when he was born. I’m a year older than him, but we’re in the same grade, because I had to take ninth grade a second time. I don’t have a learning disability, like Roy. He has trouble comprehending and retaining knowledge, but I’m just not good at all the other stuff you have to do to learn. You have to pay attention to the teacher, and student presentations. You have to study, and complete your homework, and pace yourself during a test. My tutor hasn’t been teaching me the content so much as he’s been helping me become better organized, and more motivated. Ya see, maybe I could use my physical strength to make money. Maybe I could model in fitness magazines, or play some sport, or become a fitness trainer, but the first two things are unrealistic dreams, and I’m not at all interested in being a trainer. What my father said about natural gifts really got into my head when I was young, and I’ve never truly gotten past it. But I know that I have to graduate from high school if I want a chance at landing a good job. As things are heading, it’s not clear if I should waste my time going to college, but a liberal arts degree from an in-state school probably wouldn’t hurt. It would at least give me four more years to figure my life out, which might be really helpful. I don’t dislike my new tutor, but he’s not as good as Viola was. She made me a better student just by being around. Seriously, she could sit next to me while I did my homework—without saying a word—and I would get hundo-p on it. She had some magical power to make me feel comfortable, confident, and focused. I realized I was gay a long time ago, but I felt a love for Viola that I’ve never experienced before. It strained my relationship with my boyfriend so much that we had to break up. I don’t mind, though, because I needed Viola’s help with my grades more than I needed a make-out partner. Without her, I might have had to repeat my senior year as well, and that would have been even more embarrassing. I’m going to miss her in the worst way.

Microstory 1036: Wynn

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I know it looks really crazy in here, but I’m kind of old school, because I don’t really trust computers. People call me paranoid, and a conspiracy theorist, or just a nut. I can’t honestly say with one hundred percent certainty that they’re not right, because maybe everything I’ve ever been suspicious about is completely explainable. I started questioning my world when I was really young, and really impressionable. Instead of starting to notice some discrepancies with the lies we were being told, I just accepted all the lies that other investigators we’re telling me. So no, I didn’t believe the government when they said nothing happened in Roswell in the 1940s, but that doesn’t mean I should have trusted the truthers who were saying something definitely did something. There’s a difference between healthy skepticism, and insane distrustfulness. As you can see from the office I’ve built for myself down here, I’m very good at walking the line between them. And when I say that I built it, I mean that quite literally. The basement was unfinished when my parents bought this place years ago. Just about everything else wasn’t finished either. They came here to try their hand at flipping. You can get a house for cheap out in the countryside, so this was a good opportunity for them to learn the trade. They worked so hard getting it fixed up—my brother and I helped as much as we could—and ended up falling in love with the place, and just sticking around. They found jobs in town, and we’ve been Blast Citians ever since. They left this basement alone, though. They wanted it to belong to their children, so when we were old enough, we were each given half, and charged with creating whatever we wanted. Raymond turned his half into a gym and game room, while I turned mine into this lair. Needless to say, I get a lot more out of spending time in his half than he does in mine.

Anyway, I’m not going to show you everything I’ve collected over the years, but I encourage you to come here whenever you want. I actually installed a door to the outside, so you don’t have to go through the house to get in. Here’s an extra key, you can come whenever you want. If I try to explain what I think I’ve found beforehand, it’s just going to freak you out, and make you second guess every one of my claims anyway. I think it’s best if you go into this part of your investigation with the most open mind. Please do come back, though. I know it seems a little creepy, me offering you the basement, but I assure you I have no interest in anything beyond the truth. You should do it, even if only to find inspiration to write a story on the town crazy who thinks angels are real. I think you’ll find a lot of this stuff pretty interesting. It may not seem like it, but I’m a quite organized person, so all the Viola Woods stuff is in one place. If you’ve already interviewed three dozen people by now, then I’m sure you’ve heard some stories about her that just don’t add up. She helped a lot of people, and did so with such...precision. Some of the methods she used were also a little hard to believe, I bet. Take a look at the travel records. Her family didn’t leave this town once after she was born, yet there’s strong evidence that she’s been all over the world. How did she do that? No, I’m saying too much, and I don’t want to corrupt your own journey. I may have been wrong about Roswell, and about chemtrails, and about a secret organization that controls every world superpower, but I’m not wrong about this. I don’t know exactly what Viola was, but I know she wasn’t one of us. Or rather, she isn’t. Raymond should be home by now, so you can talk to him now. He’s not as smart as I am, but he’s a lot more relatable.

Microstory 1035: Ezra

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My family has been in this town since it was first founded. Blast City, and all of Mineral County, is best known for its mining roots, but we have a long history of more—dare I say—honorable pursuits. We are also in a land of farmers and ranchers. Gold sure is pretty, but its only value comes from whatever arbitrary number of monies the people who have it are able to convince their customers to give up. Diamonds are the same. Coal actually serves a purpose, but it’s not exactly the resource of the future. And salt? Well, I guess salt is fairly important too, so I won’t say anything negative about Salzville. We Kinder are famous for our fruit, which we harvest from acres and acres of orchards, producing everything from apples, to oranges, to peaches. Yes, I did pronounce my own name right. Most people assume it should be kine-der, but no; it’s German. Anyway, it’s been a couple generations since it’s been necessary for any of us to actually work the orchards, but I’ve always really enjoyed it. I can spend ours out there, picking and sorting, while listening to music on my headphones. A picker of ours hypothesized I would feel a whole lot different about it if I worked ten hours a day, made minimum wage, and had no choice. He certainly had a point there, but I also don’t get paid for it, so life is kind of a give and take, isn’t it? But you didn’t come here for my worldview, did you? You want to hear about how I know Viola. I don’t have any stories from recent years, but something did happen when we were in elementary school. Well, I guess we weren’t in school at the time, because this happened in the summer, but you get what I mean. Here goes.

A big news story broke that a little girl a few years younger than us got lost somewhere in Silver Shade. For reference, since you’re not from around here, that’s over an hour away, due East. It’s basically a ghost town now, because its founders hoped they would find silver near where our predecessors found gold, but there was nothing. Their descendants have been struggling and dwindling ever since. Blast Citians didn’t pay much attention to this story, because the girl was said to be on foot, but Viola somehow knew this to be inaccurate. She called me through my older sister’s cell phone (I don’t know why she had her number) and told me to go straight to Plupple Lane. Again, I don’t know how she knew anything about it, because Plupple Lane isn’t a street; it’s the boundary between our plum trees and apple trees, and a term we only use internally. It’s also the near the farthest reaches of our property, because we don’t grow many plums. I asked Viola why I would do that, but it sounded really urgent, and she said she was out of town, so she couldn’t go herself. I figured, hey, when a pretty girl who’s never talked to you before asks you to do something, you better just do it. I was, like, eleven, by the way. I got on my bike, and rode all the way out there, where I found the missing girl, crying by the irrigation regulator. She was covered in mud, and wearing raggedy clothes. I was too young to be told this at the time, but I learned years later that her stepbrother had sexually assaulted her. Until now, I haven’t told anyone how I really found her, out of respect for Viola’s privacy. It was easy to lie about it, because everyone knew that I liked spending time alone with the trees. But I think it’s time people know that Viola was the one who truly saved this little girl’s life, and didn’t take any credit for it. I asked her how she knew after she came back from vacation, but she completely denied it, claiming she didn’t make a single phone call while she was in Greece. My sister didn’t tell anyone about the call either, and she and I have never discussed it. I heard the girl moved to the other side of the country, but she might like to know the truth too. I’m gonna go look her up on social media.