Microstory 2502: Father of the Cure

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I’m going to be totally honest here, Landis and I have not always agreed. His mother always believed that he was gonna move on to do great things, but the kid was approaching his thirties, and he had nothing to show for it. Don’t get me wrong, I love him to death, and nothing he could have done would have been able to change my mind. I just remember wishing that he would have some kind of ambition. I wasn’t one of those fathers who had a plan for their kid, and they were going to follow it no matter what. I only had a few requirements. Number one, he had to learn a second language. Most of the world understands English, and I feel like the least we can do is meet them halfway. You can’t learn them all, but you can at least learn one. Well, he didn’t do it. He didn’t even try. He did the bare minimum in school, in his language classes, and everything else. He wasn’t an idiot, but he was a poor student, because he lacked motivation. I only got him into sports to teach him discipline, and perseverance. I didn’t care if he became obsessed with it, or even if he liked it. He could have switched to theatre or A/V Club, if that’s what struck his fancy. I chose baseball, because that’s what I was familiar with, but I made it clear that he had a choice. What he didn’t have a choice in was doing nothing. He couldn’t just coast through school, and work minimum wage for the rest of his life. I know, that might seem unrealistic. Someone is working minimum wage, that’s why it exists. I just wanted him to want more out of his life. Again, he didn’t have to do anything that I specifically chose for him, but he had to have at least some passion about it, even if that passion was for the money itself. He had to contribute positively to society, and if that meant sticking with that minimum wage job, well, I figured I could get over that. At least he was doing something. But he kept losing them, and having to find something new. Secretly, I think that he preferred it this way. He gets tired of things, you see. He doesn’t quit because he’s no good at it, but because he just doesn’t wanna do it anymore. It becomes tedious. I’m actually kind of surprised he came up with his foundation, because it’s the same thing; day-in, day-out. I can’t believe that he can take it, but I’m proud of him, and I’m happy for him. I never expected him to cure the entire world. I would have just been happy with him holding down a job for longer than six months. But he went for it. He really went for it. He exceeded all of my expectations, and I regret every doubt I ever had for him. That’s my kid, and I’m grateful for him.

Microstory 2501: Mother of the Healer

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You can call me Mrs. Tipton. I always knew that my boy was special. He wasn’t born premature, but he was a very tiny little thing. They had to keep him in that box for so long, it was horrible. But he came out, and he fought for his life. This was long before his literal special abilities. Once I heard about what Landis could do, I was not surprised at what he did with it. He hasn’t always had his life together, but he’s always been a caring and kind person. I think it’s because he had to overcome so much so early on. It wasn’t only that, though. There is so much darkness and sadness in the world, and he hated to see it. I could tell that he felt powerless against all the heartache, so he kind of retreated into his shell. To some, this made it seem like he didn’t care, but it was the exact opposite. He cared too much, and it was so overwhelming. You know he has a lot more abilities, right? He can tell when people are lying, and can kind of persuade people to do things. He can’t outright force them, like mind control, but there’s a lot more that he could do, and for selfish reasons. He could have become quite rich, working for the government or a corporation. They would have paid good money to have him investigate for them, or spy. I’m so proud of him for doing the right thing with these gifts. I can’t tell you where they come from. He wasn’t born with them. Lord knows, his father and I didn’t give them to him. But I know that he’s not the only one, and I know that as soon as he got them, he started doing something with them. Of course now, we’ve started to hear about other people with their own gifts, but I don’t think they would have announced themselves publicly were it not for my son’s singular bravery. How long have they walked among us without saying anything or helping? His father suggests that maybe they have been helping all along, but they’ve had to remain a secret. Maybe that’s true. I just wonder if they could be doing more by stepping out of the shadows. That’s what my son did. He jumped right into the light, and made sure everyone knew that he could help them. He bought himself some real estate, and started churning out cures. It makes you wonder, would anyone else do the same? Was this foundation inevitable? Or is Landis the only one who could have pulled this off? Just something to think about when you’re waiting in line to have your life changed for the better forever.

Microstory 2480: Archidome

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I recently read a review on the prospectus for another dome. They were talking about how a lot of culture has faded from vonearthan society because of how standardized everything has become. And I must say that I agree. I understand why it happened. The basic design of the arcologies on Earth are perfect for what they’re intended to be. Each unit is a small and efficient living space, and they’re connected in such a way that allows modularization for shifting needs. You can open a door to grant a neighbor’s access to your units, or close them when you’re a teenager who needs to exert more independence. Everyone has a window, yet the structure is sound, because the spokes distribute the weight evenly, and over a sufficiently wide area. They’re nice, but they’re best for people who don’t care about what their homes look like, probably because they spend most of their time in simulations, or at least on the network. What your dwelling looked like, and how it was arranged, used to be profoundly important. I cannot stress to you enough how crucial it was for people to get to decide what their homes were like. That is what made it a home in the first place. There were multiple channels on linear television with dozens of programs about people finding, building, remodeling, or selling homes. And that’s before you include all the innumerable web content. It was a subculture of our society, and it went away due to a number of factors, which I’ve already touched upon. But the biggest moves happened in tandem with the shift to a post-scarcity economy. The government couldn’t put effort into building something to your specifications, or with any sort of flair or whimsy. Even before megastructures, they came up with a few models, and everyone got the same thing, because it was the most fair. Castlebourne gives us the opportunity to go back to the creativity of yesterday, in many respects, and in this respect, Archidome is the place for original architecture. It was empty at first—I really wish I had been here to see that. If you come here, you’re supposed to design your own building. It doesn’t have to be a single-family home. It can be an apartment complex, or a museum, or even a cathedral. The only restriction, really, is that you have to hold the rights to the intellectual property. I’ve heard a number of stories about visitors hoping to recreate some structure from their favorite movie, and that’s just not what this is for. Again, you get to decide what you build, and what it’s used for. It may never be used for its intended purpose, or anything at all. It’s up to you to promote it, and try to get visitors. I’m sure, over time, as the population of this planet in general increases, the chances that someone comes to see what you’ve created will go up. Until then, you might just have to be satisfied with the completion of the project itself. I’m proud of my columbarium, even though people don’t really die anymore. I’m proud of it because its mine, and it’s real. What will you create?

Microstory 2191: Already Proud

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Have you ever seen a movie about making a movie, or maybe a play, or something. They have all these headshots on a table, and they’re shuffling them around, looking to cast the perfect actors for the parts. I’ve basically been doing that today, except not with headshots, because I don’t care what the people on my team look like. I’ve read through their résumés multiple times, and consulted the notes that I took during their interviews. It’s bittersweet for me to say that I have reached a conclusion on who we would like to extend offers to. The top candidates will be receiving calls over the course of the next week, once I receive higher level approvals. I don’t expect there to be any issue with any of the people I chose, but I do need to give it a little time, just in case. If you do not receive an offer by the end of the week, it’s possible that you still might. I don’t want to make anyone feel bad about being the runner-up, but that’s the way it works. Each position can only be filled by one person, and just because that person didn’t get there by being our first choice, doesn’t mean that they don’t deserve it. Plus, that’s not even necessarily the reason. We also could have experienced other delays, like technical issues, or legal questions, so even if you do receive a late offer, don’t think you know exactly why that was. I want to thank everyone who took the time to apply. The sheer amount of interest we received serves to reinforce the fact that what we’re trying to do here is the right thing, and that we will succeed in our mission. We’re going to make the judicial system better than it ever has been, and I’m already proud of that.

Microstory 1747: Little Lion

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I’m a nomadic lion, which means that I don’t belong to a pride. This is not by choice, as it is for most of my kind. I was the runt of the family, so my mother rejected and abandoned me. I should have died in the wild, having never learned how to survive, but I figured it out. I figured out what to eat, and what not to. I taught myself how to hunt, and where to find water. If only my mom could see me now. I’m full-grown, but not much larger than I was before, relatively speaking. You might think that makes it harder on me, but I have found it to be an advantage. Prey animals think of me as a baby, and while they are worried about mama being around here somewhere, they always underestimate me. Yes, it’s harder for me to run and pounce, but I don’t have to when my meal doesn’t consider me too much of a threat, and lets me get close before becoming worried about it. Yes, I’m doing okay, all things considered. I wouldn’t say this is a great life, and I doubt I’ll ever find a suitable mate, but at least I’m alive, and I understand how to keep myself that way. I will say that I’m fairly sick of it, wandering around without the protection or companionship of others. I’ve made a few attempts to join other prides, but they always run me off. They would kill me if, again, they thought I was any real threat. They don’t think I deserve to share in the food we would catch together. They don’t think I can contribute, and that’s not fair. They have no idea what I have to offer. I’ve decided to give up, and focus on being the best version of my lonesome self. If no one else can appreciate me, then I guess I have to work extra hard to make sure I appreciate myself, and maintain my self-esteem. It’s their loss.

One day, I’m walking over the grasslands, trying to pick up the scent of a sounder of warthogs. They’re pretty mean and rowdy, but they’re smaller than giraffes, so they’re kind of all I can handle on my own. My nose picks up something. I don’t know what it is yet, but it’s not a warthog. I keep going, and pretty quickly realize it to be the blood of my own kind. Another lion is hurt nearby, and I feel compelled to go investigate. I really shouldn’t. It’s none of my business, I don’t know how I could help them, and it’s not like they would try if our roles were reversed. I can’t help it, though. I have to find out what happened. Perhaps some super predator has shown up, and I’m in danger here. That is a good enough reason for me to follow the trail, right? As I draw nearer, I imagine the horrific crime scene I’m about to encounter. Blood and guts everywhere, I don’t know which parts connect to which other parts. Vultures feasting on the remains. But that’s not what it is. It’s a female, probably around my age. She’s injured enough to not be able to move on her own, but she’s not drenched in her own blood. I instinctively begin to lick her wounds. When the vultures actually do come, I scare them off with my pathetic excuse for a roar. It wouldn’t be good enough to impress another lion, but the birds are sufficiently disturbed. I continue to watch over the lioness as her cuts heal on their own. She won’t tell me what happened to her, but I get the impression that she too had some kind of falling out with her pride. Once she’s well enough, we walk together to a safer location, where I can leave her to hunt. I drag carcasses back to our den to keep her fed. It’s a lot of work for a little guy like me, but I make it work. One day, she runs off without even a thank you, and I figure that I’ll never see her again. But then she comes back with a carcass of her own as what she calls the thank you. Then we start our family.

Microstory 1557: Special Day

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Prompt

I have always hated holidays, and I’m not sure what other people see in them. Life is a series of events, and no single day is more important than all the others.

Botner

Instead of concentrating on the special days we don’t have, we should concentrate on the special days that are ahead. Yes, we should be thankful for our family and friends, and cherish the good times, but the true meaning of Thanksgiving is not spending the day with those we care about, but sharing our blessings with those who don’t have much to be thankful for. That is the true meaning of Thanksgiving. Tomorrow at 8:00 A.M., the NCAA’s football championship will be held in the Rose Bowl stadium in Pasadena. My family and I are really excited because we will be in California for the big game. Of course, the game is great, but I think the reason we get so excited is that we are near our family and have the opportunity to celebrate together. As Americans, we love the chance to celebrate. We like to make a day of it, and we do. We cook big meals and go out to eat. I know a lot of us will also watch the game, and although I am excited, I am also nervous. I have worked hard to get to this point in my life, and I know how proud my family will be of me. They will look at me and tell me that they are so proud of me. I will never forget the moment I look up and see...

Conclusion

...my proposal on the jumbotron. My boyfriend will be so surprised. It’s happening in about fifteen minutes, and I’m worried it’s not going to go well. I know he’ll say yes, but what if he doesn’t even see it? They’re not gonna leave it up there forever. I love the guy, but he can be kind of oblivious. He’s not what’s the number for 911? dumb, but he’s been known to miss really obvious things. I always keep his anniversary and birthday gifts just sitting on the corner of my home office desk, and even though I always get him what he’s been wanting, he never notices. I like to tease him about it. Right now, he’s also getting hungry and antsy, which is another problem. I can’t let him get up and go, because who knows how long that will take? Sensing my distress, and wanting to torture me with it apparently, he stands up, and starts to leave. I try to hold him back, but he doesn’t let me. He claims he has something important to do, and when I ask him when he’ll be back, he says he’ll see me in ten minutes. Then he winks. Okay, ten minutes. As long as he sticks to that schedule, we should be fine. The minutes tick by, and I’m getting worried. Four, five, six. Now it’s been nine, and there’s still no sign of him. He’s really cutting it close. Ten. No! Just then, a man in a tuxedo steps onto the field with a microphone. He clears his throat, and announces that a man in the audience has a special proposal. The crowd goes wild. No, he’s not back yet, it’s too early! This is going to be ruined. I shake my head, but my family just smirks knowingly at me. They know what I’m planning, why are they so excited? Then my boyfriend steps onto the field, and approaches the man in the tuxedo. The marching band comes out simultaneously. He takes the mic for himself, and begins to sing. It’s our song; the one that was playing at the restaurant when we first met. It wasn’t a date. I was with my cousin, and he was alone at the bar, and we both couldn’t help but nod our heads to the beat. He finishes the song, and then pops the question. Who’s the oblivious one now?

Microstory 361: Regional Pride

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Progressive Society

In order to write my Mateo Matic stories, since they take place primarily in the future, I’ve been doing a lot of research on future events. First of all, you should know that forms of immortality I’ve mentioned before are coming. That’s not just science fiction. With such advancements in nanorobotics, consciousness transference, and virtual reality, the physical will become less important. Borders will fade away, and many will choose to live rather nomadic lives. We won’t live in homes, because everything we need will be on our person at all times. It’ll no longer matter where anyone is from. Travel and exploration will just be something we do constantly. When you live forever, a fifteen year trip to another solar system suddenly no longer feels like a waste of time. But until then, I recognize your drive to be proud of your home. Just don’t take this too far. It’s okay when you cheer for your favorite sports team, and “hate” the opponent, but it becomes a problem when you love your country, and hate another. There’s a fat line between pride and bigotry, yet I see people crossing it all the time. One of the biggest problem I notice comes out of people who live in the U.S. south. Now I know southerners will cry hypocrisy, but it’s really not the same thing. When you wave your confederate flag (which, by the way, isn’t even the same one used during the war) you’re expressing a level of anti-patriotism that I can’t even fathom. Scrap everything about race and slavery, and you’re still on the wrong side of the argument. The war was also about a certain group of states attempting to secede from the union. They hated this country so much that they wanted to leave. When you paint the flag on the back window of your truck, or hang it on your clothes line, you identify yourself as someone who doesn’t consider themselves to be a United States citizen. It’s ironic, because you’re the one claiming to be patriotic, and screaming about immigration. Have pride in your region, but don’t let it stand in the way of love.

Environmental Awareness