Extremus: Year 92

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For nearly two years now, little but old Silveon Grieves has been going to see his older but younger friend, Waldemar Kristiansen almost every single day. It is this boy’s destiny to grow up to be a tyrant...or maybe it isn’t. That’s what Silveon came back to put a stop to, but he won’t know for a long time if he’s successful. He seems to be doing okay for now—better than just a few years ago—but none of them knows what that means. Just because the timeline has changed doesn’t mean it’s better. If Waldemar eventually discovers the truth, he may swing all the way back to where he was headed, or even further into his evil ways, just to spite Silveon. Neither Tinaya nor Arqut are young enough to expect to be alive when Silveon’s efforts come to a result, whatever that may be. Niobe is, though, so when the parents die, it will be up to her to maintain vigilance, even if he’s legally old enough to care for himself. She is typically responsible for sitting with the boys when they’re playing. Calla has grown used to this situation, and self-medicates enough to be passed out most of the time, thankful for the extra parenting help, be it unexplained and unconventional.

Tinaya once asked Silveon why they don’t ever have Waldemar come to the captain’s stateroom to play. Apparently, his distrust in authority is innate, or is otherwise so ingrained in his worldview, that exposing him to leadership this early would only do more harm than good. Right now, he needs positive influences, and since they can’t control all the variables, the best way to do that is to simply limit the number of influences, full stop. The older they get, the less relevant their age gap will become, though, which will supposedly make these secret morality lessons easier to accomplish. At the moment, Waldemar likes their playdates, and hasn’t made any attempt to stop them, but he does see Silveon as a little kid. One day, though, he should see him as a peer, and that’s when the true education begins. This is a very long-term plan, and will probably never end until the day Waldemar dies. Silvy has sacrificed his own personal life to save the happiness and freedom of everyone who will be alive on this ship over the course of the next several decades, and probably no one will ever know. If it backfires, however, things will end up so much worse, because he’ll have associated himself with an authoritarian oppressor. The Leithe family name would never recover from that.

While her son is dealing with all that, Tinaya is busy with her usual Captain’s duties. Even in times of peace, there’s work to be done. They are nearing the end of Year 92, which of course means that it’s time to start thinking about the next captain in line! Yay! Who will it be? Who will Tinaya choose? No one.

Head Councillor Paddon Paddon is here to discuss the matter. “Have you had time to take a look at the class of 2365?” The reason the successor is generally considered around this time is because the only people who will be qualified to take over the position have to at least graduate from school by the selection date. In this case, the greenest of candidates are currently four years from graduation, and by now, pretty much anyone who was going to wash out of the captain’s track would probably have done so by now. The best of the best have already proven themselves in every meaningful—yet still not official—sense. Basically, the idea is that everyone who can be put on the shortlist is already a known option. They don’t have to worry about someone sneaking up on them closer to the deadline, because even if they would be great for the job, they won’t be ready yet.

Tinaya doesn’t care about that, because it’s not her problem. It’s supposed to be, but...it can’t be. Not this time. Not her. “I’m afraid that I will not be participating in the process. You will have to make the decision on your own.”

Paddon scrunches up her face. “I don’t understand.”

“We have exhausted the conversations surrounding my appointment to the seat. My aunt, my friendship with the previous captain, my relationship with the superintendent. It all sounds great to you, but history will not look kindly upon us unless we leave it where it is. I am done. Well, not today. I mean, in four years, I’ll be done. I’ll become an admiral, and then I’ll die. Or I’ll die first, who knows? That is the order of events, and we shouldn’t add any more to that.”

“I really don’t follow what you’re talking about,” Paddon complained.

“There are other variables which I am not at liberty to divulge,” Tinaya says vaguely. Silveon and Waldemar are the big ones, but her knowledge of The Question, the Bridger Section, the Nexa, and Verdemus also contribute to the complexities of this fragile situation. “What you would like me to do is help appoint someone who I believe will captain the ship in the same way that I would. That’s the idea, whether it’s in the bylaws, or not. Belo wasn’t too dissimilar to Yenant. Leithe the First wasn’t too dissimilar to Belo. Tamm was a weird one, which actually proves my point. The council appointed him, and while it didn’t work out in that case, we went right back to the pattern. Keen wasn’t too dissimilar to my aunt, and I’m very similar to them both! Some people feel—even though they don’t actually believe it in the literal way—that the same captain has pretty much run the ship the whole time.”

“So, what?” Paddon asked. “That’s called continuity, and it’s a good thing.”

“Yes, in wartime, it’s a very good thing. In peacetime, it’s not. People crave change.” Tinaya laughs. “Even if the candidate they love is running on a campaign of going back to the good old days. They want to see someone come in who is not a carbon copy of the person before. Trust me, I have been paying attention, and I have been listening to my advisors, both official and unofficial. The populace is restless. They need someone new. They need to feel that they were involved in the decision. And most importantly, they need to know that I was not a part of it.”

“This is so subjective, and our studies are not reflective of what you’re claiming. You are the most popular captain in our history, including Olindse Belo, who has become a sort of folk hero because she burned bright and early. They wanted you in that chair for years before you finally sat down, and they don’t want you to get up. But since you are, the easiest way for them to accept that is if you are totally involved in the succession search process. It’s the opposite of what you think, and I don’t know how you could be so wrong about it.”

“Like I said, there are other variables.”

Paddon Paddon is a reasonable woman, who doesn’t ask questions that she doesn’t want the answers to. She is aware that Tinaya has had a much more eventful life than the general population was told, but she’s never tried to investigate. She assumes that it was all necessary, and that Tinaya deserves to be where she is today. Nonetheless, she has her limits. “I respect that, but if you can’t tell me what they are, then I can’t take them into account.”

“How about a compromise?” Arqut is coming in from the closet.

“How long have you been there?” Tinaya questions.

“I teleported in there to change my shoes about a minute ago, but I didn’t want to interrupt or eavesdrop, so I eventually decided to do both!” he answers.

“What is your suggestion?” Paddon asks.

“Make your pick,” Arqut begins. “Select the new captain yourself, but choose someone good. Find the best candidate available, and I don’t just mean by your standards, but by the passengers’. They need to be socially accessible, well-liked, noncontroversial, and clean. Once you do, make the announcement. At least a day later, Tinaya will make her own, independent announcement, with her endorsement of this person. This new captain will benefit from her stamp of approval...without having gotten the job because of her.”

“Hm.” Paddon thinks about it for a moment. “That’s not a bad way to frame it.”

He laughs. “Of course, she can only give that endorsement if the candidate has truly earned it, so you really do need to find someone worthy. To maintain ethics and transparency, we can’t have any secret meetings to make sure that they’re gonna secure that endorsement. You have to get it right the first time. You have to not screw it up.”

“I think we can make that work, Superintendent Grieves.”

“I’m only Mister Grieves these days,” he corrects. “Except to you; you can just call me Arqut. We’ve been friends for years.”

“Okay,” Paddon says with a deep, rejuvenating breath. “I’ll take this to the council.” She pauses for a bit. “Though, I don’t think I’ll tell them everything.”

“That might be for the best,” Tinaya agrees.

They shake hands and part ways. Tinaya and Arqut won’t have to concern themselves with any of this for the next few years as the entire point is to leave them out of it. After Paddon leaves, the two of them start to have lunch together, but it’s cut short when they receive an emergency call from the infirmary. Silveon has been hurt. They teleport straight there to find their four-year-old son lying back on the examination table. They can only see his body, though. A mounted scanner of some kind is blocking the view of his face at the moment.

“No, don’t,” Silveon’s pediatrician, Dr. De Witt warns. He steps in between when Tinaya tries to look underneath the scanner.

“What do you not want me to see? What is that white stuff on his shirt?”

“It’s cake frosting,” Niobe explains.

“Cake?” Tinaya questions. “What the hell happened to my son!” Tinaya screams as she tries to get to him again, but this time, the doctor holds her back physically.

“You don’t want to see him like that! Besides, the machine is currently assessing the damage, so we need to wait until extraction is complete.”

“Extraction. Of. WHAT!” Arqut cries.

“A candle.”

“Why the hell is there a candle in his face? Why the hell is there a candle? We’re on a ship! We don’t need candles, we use lights!” Tinaya is not letting up.

“It’s an Earthan tradition,” Niobe starts. “You make a cake with sugary frosting, and you stick little candles on the top. Since he’s turning four next week, there were four candles. One of them got into his eye. It was an accident.”

“How would they get into his eye? How is that an accident?” Arqut asks.

“Go on, Ni!” Tinaya urges when Niobe, for some reason, looks over at a door.

“It was only a prank,” Niobe goes on with sadness. “He thought it would be funny if Silveon got some frosting on his face. He didn’t factor in the candles, but he didn’t hurt him on purpose. I promise you, this was not on purpose. It was just a stupid joke that went too far.”

“Are you telling me that a twelve-year-old boy shoved my baby’s face into a candle—four candles?”

“The other three fell down from the force of his forehead and cheeks,” Niobe recounts. “One of them got caught between his eyelids, and remained straight.”

“The nanites will repair the damage,” Dr. De Witt says. “I assure you that he will be good as new once he wakes up.”

“Where is he, in that room?” Tinaya points at the door.

“I don’t think you should talk to him right now,” Niobe suggests.

“Why, because he’s upset...or because he isn’t?”

Niobe doesn’t answer.

Without permission, Tinaya opens the door to the private consultation room to find Waldemar sitting on the bench against the wall in the dark. He looks mad, but it’s not entirely clear why. It could be that he blames Silveon for ruining the perfectly good cake, or it’s because a certain sports team lost some game way back in 2024. Honestly, it’s impossible to tell with an unwell kid like this. “Are you sorry?” she asks him.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, so no,” he spits.

She looks over her shoulder, then shuts the door behind her. She turns the lights on, but keeps them at a low brightness. “Even if you didn’t do something intentionally, you should feel remorse for it. You should at least wish that it hadn’t happened.”

“My therapist says that I don’t have remorse. I don’t know where to get it. I don’t know where everyone else keeps theirs.”

Tinaya nods. “I’m not qualified to help you with that. But you need to understand that what you did was hurtful. It may have been a mistake, but there were consequences. There are consequences to every action you take. Maybe...” she trails off. “Maybe your brain can’t feel guilt. Maybe you’ll always have to fake it. But truthfully, I don’t really care what’s happening in your brain; right now, or ever. It’s what you do that matters. Regardless of what you’re feeling—or not feeling—don’t do bad things. I am ordering you to not. Do. Bad. Things. You know right from wrong, whether they impact you or not. If you’re ever confused, or unsure, you can read up on the laws and rules. And if you still don’t get it, ask for help. Ask my son. He will always be a great resource for you.”

“No, he won’t...not anymore.”

“I guarantee you that he will not let this stand in the way of your friendship,” she contends. “When he’s feeling up to it, he’ll wanna see you. I’m first trying to teach you that you will not be able to function in society if you don’t follow society’s rules. Even if they annoy you, even if they make you mad; they are there for a reason, and you are beholden to them, just like everyone else. Humans are not stupid. We are not doing things that don’t make sense. So again, if you don’t understand why things are the way they are, ask someone you can trust, like me, Silvy, Niobe, or Mr. Grieves.”

“Not my mother?”

She takes a long time to respond. “Not your mother.”

He nods.

“Okay. You wait here. I’ll come get you after he wakes up.”

“Missus Grieves?” He stops her when she tries to leave. “Thank you.” He waits for a second. “Sorry.”

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Microstory 2161: All Cons, All the Way

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Last weekend was not fun. Sleeping in jail is usually the hardest part about it. It’s always either too hot or too cold, and of course, you have no control over any of that. We can shut the lights off in our cell, but the lights in the hallway are always on, and shining through the little window. The top bunk is better than the bottom one for that reason, but I always let my cellmate have it, honestly because I have a more comfortable life on the outside, so I think he needs it more. I hope he’s not offended by that. At any rate, these are all things that you can get used to once you figure out how to adapt. The reason it was so bad on Friday and Saturday nights is because we had a group of disharmonious newbies. It takes a certain type of personality to be suited to intermittent jail, or to fulltime prison instead, and determining which is something that I don’t, and never will, comprehend. Either the judges meant to make these assessments made mistakes, or there were variables beyond their control. Knowing where precisely to place each guest is probably impossible to get right, and certainly not every single time. I don’t think that each of these guys was bad on their own, but they just didn’t fit with each other, or anyone else. We were all particularly grumpy and anxious, and no one was happy. Again, I think that it would have been fine if the new guys had been scheduled for a different part of the week, or if someone else had been moved to it. I don’t know. There’s no way to know. It’s just something that happens, so you can add it to the list of reasons to not do something that will ultimately get you sent to jail, in case your pros and cons chart isn’t as uneven as it ought to be. All cons, all the way. That’s the way I see it anyway. I suppose if you’re otherwise unhoused, it might be your best option, but that’s a whole systemic issue that I think can—and should—be solved in a myriad of other ways. Well, that’s what made sleeping so much harder last weekend, but it wasn’t the only thing. I thought that I was going to be able to make up for it on Sunday night, but it didn’t work out that way. The fire alarms went off throughout the whole building at around 02:15 in the morning, forcing us all to go outside, and stand in our designated area for almost an hour before we received the all clear. They won’t tell us exactly what happened, but they promised that no one was hurt, and the damage didn’t spread. This means that there was a fire, though, instead of just a faulty alarm system, or a prank. So I guess I can’t be mad that they woke me up, and kept me up. I had to push my work hours back today, but I got everything done, and at least it didn’t happen on a Friday, which would have screwed up my jail schedule. Here’s hoping that I’m not accidentally foreshadowing the future.

Microstory 1841: Prank Wars

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I was one of the first people to sign up for a certain video sharing website. At that point, most people were just watching, but I was a content creator. I built my name as a prankster before anybody really knew what the industry would grow into. Of course, secret camera television shows predated my debut, but none of them generated the kind of hits I would end up having. People could watch them over and over again, and they did, because they were hilarious. When copycats started trying to recreate the magic, people would ask me whether that bothered me, and I would tell them honestly that absolutely not! That’s the whole point of the internet, that there’s room for everyone! Yes, they were competition, but you have to understand that, back then, nobody was making money off of the site. Even once they started splitting ad sales with us, it wasn’t much, and it was impossible to tell who was taking your audience. No, I had no problem with my rivals, but trouble came for me anyway. A few years after the beginning, one of those regular old TV shows premiered. They would lure victims to highly controlled environments under false pretenses, let them think something great was going to happen, and then pull the rug out from under them. One time, that was literal. They convinced someone they were going to get a free very expensive rug, coupled with a very expensive remodel of their home, and then actually pulled on the rug they were standing on. It was disgusting. My pranks were never like that. They weren’t mean-spirited. My guests were never victims, and they always walked away with a smile. I hated this show on principle, and I acknowledged as much in a non-prank video on my channel. This caught their attention, and my life was never the same after what they did to me.

I was an awkward kid. Pranks were a way for me to come out of my shell, and express myself. Which was great, but it didn’t really help my real life. Perhaps if I were making them today, it would be different, but again, nascent industry. When a girl started talking to me at a party, I couldn’t believe it, but I wanted to, so I went along with it. She seemed very interested in who I was, and what I did, which was unusual, because for as many fans as I had, girls didn’t care much for it. They didn’t know how light-hearted and fun they were. They always figured I did the same twisted things the TV show did. She said she knew the owner of this house, and invited me to a sort of secret room in a finished attic. I had never done anything with a girl before, so I was nervous, but I didn’t want to waste an opportunity. You can see where this is going. We didn’t get very far before the host of that show ran upstairs, and started laughing at me. He was so ecstatic that I fell for it. How pathetic, how embarrassing. The party wasn’t even real. This whole thing was set up for me, and I could hear them all laughing downstairs. I blew up. I grabbed one of the cameras, and struggled with it for a second, telling the operator that I could either drop it to the floor, and break it, or I could drop both him and the camera. I smashed it, and punched the walls. A security guy tried to tase me, but he missed, so I punched him in the face. I don’t remember what I said, but threats were made, and while I don’t think anyone there took them seriously, the network’s lawyers sure did, because they sounded like money to them. The site banned me for life; my career was ruined, robbing me of the revenue that others now see. Bitter, I decided to finally make good on one of my threats today, but I wish I knew before that the host owns a gun.

Extremus: Year 27

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Hock Watcher may sound like a funny position, but Caldr Giordana is responsible for the rehabilitation department of the entire ship. Here, rehabilitation is being used in its loosest definition. It’s a pretty simple concept. You break a law, you go in hock. If a ruling needs to be made beyond that, you go to trial, and either go free, or stay in hock to serve out a sentence. When you’re done, you go free. There’s no real rehabilitation, and there is no program for reintegration into society. It’s never been needed. Most crimes have been straightforward, committed by people who clearly made a mistake, but which can’t be categorized as menaces. Three of the men presently in hock are different, and more complicated, and Olindse Belo feels that something needs to be done to reform the system. She is not capable of doing this without the approval and aid of others.

The hock is a special department, which acts as an unlikely spot to bridge the gap between passengers and crew. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a civilian or a civil servant, if you commit a crime, you go to the same place as everyone. Hock Watcher is one of the most complicated roles to fill, and equally illustrates that bridge. First, the government nominates the most promising candidates. Then the passengers vote to narrow the pool further. The crew then votes for the winner, but the Captain is free to veto any decision, and restart at least part of the process. If that were to happen, there would be even more deliberation to decide how far back in that process the cycle has to restart. To get where he is today, Caldr had to really want it, and now that he’s here, it would be all but impossible to get rid of him unless he wanted to leave. He wields a lot more power than one might expect.

When Consul Vatal was discovered to be a True Extremist spy—or rather, outed himself to a spy—his job needed to be backfilled. He had his own sort of apprentice, who was prepared enough to take over, but the nature of his departure made that more complicated. For more than two years, the new Consul tried his best to carry out his duties, but everyone who required his services hesitated to reach out to him. The consul is not a lawyer. They are primarily an ethicist who understands the law down to the very last punctuation mark. By being untruthful about where he came from, and where his loyalties lay, Dvronen was quite ironically proving himself to be unethical at the highest order. If he’s the one who trained the apprentice, could that apprentice have good ethics himself? Well, probably, since he went through his own education, and had his own ideals, but we’re dealing with humans here, and humans are complicated. The crew, especially the Captain, found it difficult to trust him with their ethical needs. It essentially made it impossible for him to do his job, and he just couldn’t take the stress. He stepped down, and while quitting the crew is usually a complex process, Captain Leithe made an exception, and simply let him go. Any other member of the crew could have contested this ruling, but no one did, so it went through.

Renga Mas was fresh out of school, and didn’t think she was ready to take the job, but she was pretty much the only option. Others studied law, but they were predominantly on the other two of three tracks. One track focuses on civilian law, and that’s the route most students take. The other concerns itself with destination law. Such students are intended to become teachers, so they can pass their knowledge down to further generations. There are a lot of skills that people living on the ship won’t, or might not, ever use, but which their descendants will find critical. It would be irresponsible of them to let this knowledge disappear before the mission can be realized two centuries from now. If you want to take the third track, which prepares you to possibly become Consul, you have to complete an independent study program, and while Renga isn’t the only one who has done that, she’s the only one with sufficient competency. She likely would have apprenticed for Dvronen’s apprentice, and ultimately secured the job anyway, but the timetable had to be moved up. Today is her first major project.

“Okay, so, uhh...um.” Renga fumbles with the tablet before she realizes it isn’t even hers, so it isn’t signed into her account. That’s why her passcode didn’t work. “All right, I don’t think I need it. Is this being recorded? Are we recording?”

“We are,” First Lieutenant Corinna Seelen replies. Captain Leithe doesn’t need to be part of the decision-making process in this case, so Corinna is in charge. “Go on.”

Renga is responsible for running the meeting itself. “Great. Uh, that’s great.” She clears her throat. “Okay. This is the...hearing?”

“Proposal meeting,” Corinna corrects.

“Right, proposal meeting for the question of whether to accept Olindse’s—”

“Admiral Belo,” Corinna corrects her again.

“Admiral Belo’s prisoner reintegration plan. Thanks.” Renga nods sharply, proud of herself for managing to get through that, and forgetting for just one second that it’s literally only the beginning.

Corinna urges her on with her eyes, but no words. She may have to take over.

Renga continues, “Olin—Admiral Belo.” Olindse took Renga under her wing at school. They were studying completely different things, but they became friends, and the latter often mined the former for advice. It’s proven difficult to remember that she should not be so informal with this. “Please, begin your presentation.”

“Thank you,” Olindse says. “I’ve already given you my written proposal, so I won’t go into detail, but I’ll sum it up. I believe that our justice system leaves something to be desired. It’s far too simple. If you’re guilty, you go in hock. Maybe you’re given limited computer privileges, but for the most part, the severity of your crime dictates how long you’re there. Prisoners are not provided resources to help them rehabilitate, or later return to society. When and if they’re released, they’re just thrown back into the general population, where they have to move on on their own. Many will have been changed by the trauma, and their lives will be more difficult than necessary. I believe that this is unfair and unjust.”

Corinna holds up a hand, and closes her eyes, like it’s a performing arts audition, and Olindse’s minute is up. “Currently, the only prisoners in hock are...” She checks her tablet, but only to find the file for the least infamous prisoner. “A spy, a mutineer, a disgraced former officer, and a saboteur.”

“It was a prank,” Olindse argues, “not sabotage.”

“Tell that to the eighteen people who drank the contaminated water, and suffered from heavy diarrhea for the next three to four days.”

“No civilian charges were filed,” Olindse reminds her. “That’s not my point. I’m not here to argue if any of them deserve to be in hock, or not. I’m here to argue that we should be helping them learn from their mistakes. Egregious, or forgivable,” she adds before Corinna can debate the definition of a mistake, or contend that two of them did not simply make a mistake.

“My point,” Corinna goes on, “is that only the...prankster will be getting out of hock outside of a body bag. The other three are enemies of the state, and will have to make their respective cells their homes for the next however many decades are left of their lives.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t deserve respect and compassion,” Olindse says.

“I’m not saying that,” Corinna claims. “Though, I don’t have any personal respect or compassion for two of them in there, and I don’t much care about the fourth. I shouldn’t have to name names.” She doesn’t. Everyone still loves Halan Yenant, and no one likes Dvronen or Ovan. “I’m asking why we should divert time and resources to helping people we know will never be able to reenter society. You even call this the reintegration program.”

“That’s a catchall term, but it doesn’t just address actually placing prisoners back in the general population. There are many ways to reintegrate,” Olindse explains. “Besides, as you saw in my proposal, I also discuss counseling for those who have been given life sentences. And as a side note, Admiral Yenant has not technically received a definite sentence. His potential for parole is always there.”

“Don’t call him that,” Corinna demands. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but we legally can’t call him an admiral. Right, Consul?”

“Right,” Renga answers uncomfortably.

“Who do you suppose will provide these counseling services for the prisoners?”

“Nearly every job on this ship has a surplus labor pool. It won’t be hard to find someone to fill this void,” Olindse figures.

Renga realizes she needs to speak up more, since this is supposed to be her show. “I didn’t see this in the proposal—even though I read it...” She eyes the Lieutenant.

“I’m busy, I skimmed it,” Corinna defends.

Renga goes on, “I didn’t see anywhere that dictates whether this new counselor will be a member of the civilian workforce, or the crew.”

Olindse nods and points, having predicted this would come up. “It’s not in there, because I wasn’t sure about that. I hoped we could work together to figure that out. My first thought is to make it a joint effort, like the Hock Watcher, but still appointed, rather than voted upon.”

“That is a tall order,” Corinna says. “We would have to all vote in order to make this new flavor of job even a thing. What say you, Hock Watcher Giordana?”

Caldr had been listening intently and respectfully to all sides of this argument. “To be honest, I wouldn’t mind having one or two other people on the team. It can get lonely down there. Also to be honest, I sometimes chat with Mr. Yenant because of it.”

“That’s not illegal,” Renga assures him. They actually did consider fraternizing with the prisoners completely illegal, because it could theoretically lead to a conflict of interest, and even possibly a prison break. They had to decide against such harsh rules, because it was more unethical to restrict who a resident of the ship could be friends with. They made it so hard to become Hock Watcher in the first place in order to lower this risk. Caldr bleeds integrity.

“Okay,” Corinna begins, “let me read the proposal in full. I’ll assign some duties to my Second LT to make the time. We will reconvene in two weeks to discuss this further, and hopefully come to some conclusion. Vice Admiral, create a list of candidates for this counseling job, and determine whether you want anyone else on this expanded hock team. Consul Mas, you can tentatively approve them. Does this sound fair?”

“Yes,” they all agreed.

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Microstory 1562: Apples to Apples, Dust to Dust

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Prompt

I have sensitive teeth, but I love the taste of fruit, so my own personal hell would be a room full of apples with no applesauce.

Botner

And I am not picky about the flavor, the texture, or even the actual taste of applesauce. I have no idea what sets one applesauce apart from another. I can’t tell the difference between Frosty Paws and the pricier Thompson brands, and I never understood those Velveeta Light Blend applesauces until I realized that they don’t even contain applesauce. The frozen bagged applesauce I bought specifically for ease of quick prepackaging was also made by Thompson’s, and as I did my research, that seemed to be the only one. The last bag I bought had a different look on the box. I asked the clerk about it, and she said, “oh, I can’t remember offhand which brand it is.” Which makes me wonder: which brand should a customer trust? The customer who works in the store, the customer who is savvy and research-savvy enough to see a difference on the box, or the one at the cash register? This is one reason I stopped purchasing “wet” applesauce and started buying the squeezy variety. Before, I had to use a spatula to even break the seal, and then to scrape the spoonful out, which was a Herculean chore. The “seal” that the bag placed over the applesauce as it cooked was just as gross.

Conclusion

I know, I’m getting a little off topic, but it’s important to understand what I’ve gone through if you’re going to follow the story. The other day, I bought applesauce, like I do. It’s a really easy side piece for my breakfast, because it doesn’t take any time to make, and coupled with cereal, I’m full until lunch. It was a different brand this time, because I couldn’t find what I really wanted, but I figured I would try it. It actually tasted really good, but I only had time for one bite before I had to leave the house. My cat retched on the carpet, and I freaked out. I called in sick to work, and just left all my food on the table while we went to the vet. Don’t worry, everything was fine with him, but the weird thing is, when I got home, the applesauce was gone, and inside the bowl was a fully-formed apple. I live alone, and don’t have any family. I don’t even give my neighbors a key for safety, because I don’t know them, and don’t care to. It’s obviously a prank, but I can’t think of who. I toss the apple in the fridge, and move on. The next day, though, I’m curious to see who’s coming into my house. I keep a camera in my cat’s favorite room, to keep an eye on him, but nowhere else. I have to move it from there, and point it at a second bowl of uneaten applesauce. There are too many possible entrances for me to cover all of them, but the dining area is in a central location. I have two computer monitors at work, but only technically need one, so I just keep the second on my camera stream the whole time, and look over every once in a while. I’m surprised to see a new apple in the bowl during one of these glances. I quickly rewind the feed, and am even more shocked to see that no one replaced my applesauce. It just happened. On its own. I watch it transform itself, like it’s somehow reversing entropy. That’s not all that happens, though. When I switch back to live, I find that the bowl itself turns into a mound of clay, and the rug I have rolled up in the corner because it needs to be cleaned turns into a leopard. I was told that it was not made of real leopard fur, which is annoying and terrible, but at least its alive now? It continues. All the walls in my house suddenly become trees, ultimately destroying the camera, so I can’t see what happens next. I bolt out of work without telling my boss, and race back home. Or rather, I race back to the forest that was once my home. It’s spreading, swallowing everything in its path. Frightened of what happens when it hits me, I turn around, and now try to drive away from the onslaught. I don’t make it far before my car literally breaks down, and becomes a hunk of minerals and oil. I climb out of the wreckage, and try to go on foot. This unseen force takes over me too, though. Beams of light shoot out of my skin as I sublimate into a dusty gas, and become a nanostar.

Microstory 1276: The Dingo and the Crane

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Years ago, a dingo and a crane were drinking from the same watering hole, and got to talking. As different as they were as animals, and as unrelatable as their lifestyles should have been to each other, it turned out they had a lot in common. The dingo even agreed to limit her meals to rodents and lizards, which didn’t bother the crane at all. Birds were out of bounds, though, and the dingo was fine with this. One thing they did both enjoy, however, was a tasty fish stew. For one evening, the dingo decided to play a prank on the crane. She invited him over for dinner, like she had so many times, but the crane soon realized that he would not be able to eat the stew. She had placed it on an only moderately deep platter. The dingo was perfectly capable of lapping up the stew herself, but the crane couldn’t manage to get any into his beak. The dingo apologized for this, claiming that none of her other dishes was clean at the moment. A couple of days later, the crane invited the dingo over, so that he could host his own meal. They would have fish stew again, because it was easy, and agreeable for both. The dingo knew that the crane was planning on getting her back, likely by giving her a long jar in the same way that she had given him a platter. But she was wrong. The crane recognized that what the dingo had done was nothing more than a joke. He was able to find some fish on his way home the other day, and since he was not the vengeful type, he didn’t need to get her back. They remained friends, and one day laughed together about the silly platter prank.

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

Microstory 897: Wrong Guy

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Depending on how you look at it, I was either in the wrong place at the wrong time, or the right place at the right time. I’ve always been a curious fellow, and fairly observant, but not particularly brave. Mine was one of the last cities to still have payphones, and I happened to be waiting for one when a man was inside of it, having a very heated conversation. I wouldn’t have been there if my phone’s battery hadn’t died, and I didn’t need to alert my daughter that I would be late that night. The man was trying to keep his voice down, but when people are angry, they’re known for having trouble controlling themselves. I could pick out a few good sentences when his back was turned to me. Unless he was acting, or just joking around, he had just kidnapped someone, and was demanding payment for it. My assumption was that I was on some prank show, be it a new one, a revived old series, or as part of a crappy attempt at online video superstardom. It seemed too risky to just ignore the possibility, however, that it was all real, and simply go about my business. As soon as he got out of the phone booth, he started speedwalking down the street, so if I had stopped to call the police, he would have gotten away. Besides, I thought, if he really is ransoming someone, the cops probably already know about it. So, like the right fool I am, I started following him all sneaky-like. He never caught on to my pursuit, and he led me right to his secret lair, where he was keeping a young boy tied up in a chair. I didn’t see anyone else around, so when the kidnapper was in the bathroom, I raced to undo the kid’s ropes, and carried him out.

My instinct was to get as far from the area as fast as possible, even if that meant going away from a phone I could use to call for help. I was right to not stop, because the kidnapper came out soon thereafter, and started chasing us. I noticed a woman leave her car running as she went up to a building to deliver flowers, so I stole her car, and drove off. I asked the boy where he lived, and he gave me the name of a small town that was thirty miles away. Clever, taking him so far away that the cops aren’t even looking in the right place. Worried that the man would have a car of his own, I didn’t stop driving until we were safely out of the city. We stopped at a diner, and I let him out so we could borrow a phone, which was just another dumb thing I did. Had I walked in there alone, no one would have paid attention, but everyone by then had received the Amber Alert. They were just sitting there, staring at us, like a scene out of Vanilla Sky. I tried to reason with them, and claim that I was the rescuer, not the kidnapper, but no one believed me. I tried to just leave the kid there, and let those people deal with it, but he refused. He must have developed an attachment in our short time together. Anyway, we got back on the road to strategize how I could clear my name, knowing full well that my picture would soon be part of the Amber Alert too. The cops set up roadblocks, and chased after us, and honestly, I thought it would only end in my death. But then the bombs went off, and none of that mattered anymore. Amid the chaos, I finally got us back to the kid’s hometown, but his parents were nowhere to be found. We’ve been traveling the country together ever since, just trying to survive, like everybody else. So that’s our story. How did you guys meet?

Microstory 78: Self-Abandon

I’m cradling my assortment of unhealthy snacks when I look outside and see a figure start to step into my car. I’m normally religious about locking it, but since I was only going to be a second and I parked in front of the door, I figured it would be okay. What kind of crazy person steals a car from a convenience store in the middle of the day? The man takes something out of his pocket and turns the car over. He must have had a key, because it didn’t look like he hotwired it. I drop my snacks, letting the slushie spill all over the floor. As people inch away from the ever-spreading pink liquid and give me funny looks, I pad myself down, feeling the familiar sharp edges of my keys, so I know that the thief didn’t pick my pocket. “Oh my God!” I exclaim. “He’s stealing my car! Somebody stop him!” But no one does. I remember this as the bystander effect wherein nobody in a crowd helps in a crisis because each person will assume that someone else will help instead. I rush out the door and try to stop the man. As he backs up, the tires squeal, crying out their need to be replaced. I could not before see the man’s face from the tint of the windshield, but the window is down and I can see him clearly now. It’s me; from an alternate reality, or the future, or something. He looks at me like this absolutely had to happen. I let him go, because I must have had a good reason. I walk back inside to assure the bystanders that it was just my jerk brother, playing a prank.