Microstory 2038: Maryland and D.C.

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It takes a long time to adopt a child, especially one that is in the situation that I was in. My parents put in their application right away, but it was almost three years before it finally went through! I lived in an orphanage while I was waiting, and the people in charge had to first find out if there was any way to get me back to where I was born. In the year 2016, and evil man started to run for president. He doesn’t like people who look like me, or who are from countries like my home country. He thinks that everyone who wasn’t born in this country is automatically bad. Even if they were born here, if their parents weren’t, he just doesn’t like them anyway. He believes in a lot of other bad things, and a bunch of people wanted to vote for him, because they felt the same way. My fathers are good people, who feel nothing but love for everyone. So while they were waiting for me to come into their lives, they drove down to Washington D.C. to protest against the presidential candidate. Washington D.C. isn’t a state, it’s a district, but it’s pretty much in Maryland, and my fathers’ hotel was really close to the border, so they spent a little time over on that side of it, and I think that it counts. They marched on the streets to let people know that they didn’t want this man to win the election, and guess what, he didn’t! He was never a president, and I say my fathers had something to do with it. They obviously weren’t the only ones who protested, but as my grandma will say, every voice counts. I think that’s probably true. If you feel a certain way, and you want people to know it, then you should say it. That’s what it means to be in a free country. Even the bad man had a right to say what he didn’t, even though it was all bad stuff.

Microstory 1868: Walking Out

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It’s funny, all these stories coming out recently about employees walking out of their places of employment, not on strike, but genuinely quitting their jobs. In my day, I only know of that happening once. Most of the time, we’re talking about people who were brave enough to fight for their rights, but once they won, they expected to have their jobs waiting for them. That was the bluff, and sometimes it worked, while other times, not so much. Here, these kids are realizing that these jobs aren’t worth the heartache. They don’t pay enough, and there is plenty of competition. I actually witnessed one of them long ago. But since it was before camera phones and social media, most people didn’t hear about it unless they subscribed to the local paper, and found this particular story interesting enough to read. Let me set the scene. It was 14:00, which was when a certain unnamed popular restaurant opened. It was packed immediately, because it was the weekend, and the dinner rush was pretty much all day, especially since they didn’t do breakfast or lunch. So every table was filled, but no one had been served yet. It was the only time of day this was the case, but it happened at this place twice a week, every week. I say all this, because you have to understand that it didn’t really matter if you thought you ought to be served first. The waiters got to you when they got to you, and if you chose to arrive right when the doors opened, you had better been prepared to make a day of it. So I was sitting there with my friend at a table for four when the manager came up and asked if we would be willing to share with a couple. Sure, of course, we had no problem with that. But he was acting weird, and even when we agreed, his demeanor didn’t change. Something else was wrong, and this interaction had little to do with it.

So we continued to wait. Twenty minutes passed, we were getting to know our new friends, when one of them noted that no one had been helped at all. She hadn’t seen a single waiter come out, even to take a drink order. We had only seen the manager. Again, this was how it worked. At 14:00, you walked in, and found a table on your own. They didn’t start tracking who sat where until later. Another five minutes, and others were seemingly noticing the same thing. No one was upset, because only a few tables would have been first anyway, but it was still weird, and we were all getting worried. Five more minutes, that manager returned. He asked my friend if he could borrow his chair for a minute. Being the agreeable guy that he was, he hopped up, and stood by the table to wait, which he soon realized was a mistake. Because the manager didn’t take the chair away. He pulled it out a little more, and stood on top of it to give his speech, which kind of made it look like my friend was his lieutenant, or something. It would have been weirder if he had tried to step away. Anyway, the manager revealed himself to actually be the owner. “I’m sorry, folks, but we won’t be serving you today. Every single one of my employees has walked out on me.” He kept going, but didn’t get much further before a waitress ran out, and started arguing with him. They weren’t walking out on him, they were protesting unfair wages, and poor working conditions. I was close enough to hear her whisper that they were planning to sneak out the back, but now, because of his words, they would march out through the dining area. Silence reigned as they began, but I felt for them, so I began to clap, and soon...the whole room was doing the same.

Microstory 1839: Bad Blood

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I donated whole blood every 56 days for decades before I had to stop. Back then, it was legal for a child of at least 14 years in my country to donate. They raised the age up to 16 while I was still 15, but they grandfathered me into it, because I was so dedicated. It was a girl I liked in school who got me into it. She was so pretty, she always wore this big black bow in her hair, and I would have done anything for her. She organized a blood drive, and I was one of the few kids who took her up on it, so we actually did become friends. I thought my tactic was working until she confided in me that she liked girls. We remained close, because I didn’t have a problem with it, and by then, I was already heavily invested in the blood donation thing. I scheduled classes around it, I scheduled my vacations around it. I made sure everyone who ever needed me for anything knew that I wouldn’t be able to help them on particular days. Over time, the donation process became faster and more efficient, so it was easier to schedule other things, but I still had to be careful. If I waited even one extra day for my next appointment, I would feel like I was letting someone down. I felt compelled to maximize my availability. I got to know the people at the clinic. They could count on me to always show up with clean blood. I knew their names, and even hung out with them outside of their work. Meanwhile, I was working in a factory. Do you know those little wheels in the center of computer mouses? You spin them, and it scrolls the elevator on the screen? Yeah, we make those. My boss is literally the one who invented them. Before that, we worked together to make other early computer parts, but she brought me on when she started her own company.

That was when the clinic moved locations. They didn’t move for me. I had inspired my boss to get involved in charity work. Donating a portion of our building to a brand new state-of-the-art clinic was a great way to get the word out about what we do. Everyone loves that kind of mouse, because it makes using a machine so much easier, and we all but monopolized it. Anyway, my life was good for a time. I was making great money, and never had to waver in my commitment to giving blood. One day, in the middle of my recovery cycle, the train I was on went off the rails. Dozens of people died, and the rest of us were very badly injured. We needed blood. We needed a lot of it. I remember thinking that this was going to screw up my schedule for the rest of my life, but as it turned out, that was the least of my problems. A few weeks later, I was doing fine, and eagerly awaiting the day I could get back to giving back. I had a lot to make up for. A lawyer showed up at my door to deliver me some bad news. Apparently, a mixup at a different clinic resulted in the transfusion of blood from a gay man. I’m like, “so the hell what?” Well, he explained that gay people transmitted STDs, so they weren’t allowed to donate blood. Okay, the guy lied on his form, but he didn’t even have a bloodborne disease! Now, you’ll remember that my best friend was a lesbian, and we grew up in the subculture together, because I was an ally. I had experimented a bit myself too, and I didn’t absolutely hate it. I was pissed. I knew that this was a law, but hadn’t thought much about it. I fought and protested, but nothing changed. So many people could die because of an outdated discriminatory law. So I did something foolish. I recorded myself having relations with a man, and sent it to the president of the national organization that ran my clinic. He was appalled, and decided to use his power to ban me for life.

Microstory 1818: Grandfather Death

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About a year ago, the papers and the public began to call me Grandfather Death. Capital punishment has been abolished in every country in the developed world, and much of the developing world as well. Mine was the last holdout, and I fall into a special category. You see, my trial was going on at about the same time as the law was being debated, so once they finally settled on abolishment, they realized that I was in a bit of a gray area. Two others were executed once the new law was passed, but before it went into effect. No others were on death row with us at the time, so there was a question as to whether I should be grandfathered into the old law, or placed back in the normal prison system to carry out a life sentence. Being grandfathered into a prior law is often a good thing, like back in the day when I could drive a car at the age of 15 even after they suddenly upped the minimum age from 14 to 16. This time, it’s not so good, and the whole thing was all really complicated and over my head. Because of the way the proceedings happened, I didn’t technically have a life sentence. I was sentenced to death, so there was nothing for them to fall back on. It was a weird loophole that everyone missed, and as much as it would benefit me to go free, it was honestly a huge mistake that never should have occurred. They considered retrying me, and reconvicting me, so they could do it right this time, but I think there was a legal precedent issue with that. It was just easier if they went ahead with the plan, and assured the public that this would be the very last execution ever. There were a lot of protests that I remember seeing outside my window. That was a concession, I guess, or a consolation prize. Death row was built underground, but they moved me to luxury accommodations for the last several months of my life. I’m not using that word sarcastically either. I would have killed to live in a place like that before I went to prison, it was so nice. Even for white collar criminals, this seems like far too much creature comfort. Why does it exist at all?

I’m not going to lie here and try to tell you that I don’t belong in this room, with these straps around my body, and this needle in my arm. I did what they said I did, and I would do it again. People sometimes ask me if I truly had to beat him as hard as I did, and like, that was the whole point. I wasn’t actually trying to kill him; that was just what happened to him in the end, because he couldn’t survive his injuries. My intent was for him to feel pain like all his victims did. He got in trouble for taking people’s money, but he didn’t suffer. Meanwhile hundreds of families were still destitute, and unable to believe in the concept of justice. I had to right that wrong, and I have no regrets. I made no attempt to conceal my actions, and when the police came, I did not resist. I knew that things could get this bad for me, because that man had a lot of loyalists that were holding onto a lot of strings. But he finally suffered, and that’s what matters, even if it means I go down too. Because, you see, even though he had people honorbound to him because of how much money he made them, I’m the one with fans. I’m the one with a following. I’m not just talking about the victims and their families either, but people who agree with my solution, and only wish they could have done it themselves. That’s what I gave them; peace of mind that he can’t hurt anyone anymore, and that they aren’t responsible for stopping him. I’m sacrificing myself so that they can get on with their lives. Yes, I lie on this table fully at peace—smiling, even—because today...I die a martyr.

Microstory 1552: Fire Store

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Prompt

I broke into the store, as one does in the middle of an apocalypse. The shelves were nearly completely empty. All I ended up finding there was a box of rotten fruit...

Botner

...that nobody wanted, and a lone bottle of gas that had somehow made its way into the frozen food section. I poured the gas into the mouth of the nuclear bomb. Then I lit a match. It didn’t take long for the entire store to catch fire. I escaped with a few of my comrades, and we fled into the desert. I later learned that the whole thing was a controlled action. The peaceful protests that I had witnessed before had been staged in the hopes of making the current government pay. I had left behind two of my friends, who, having stayed behind in order to “protect the people” were taken as prisoners by the terrorists. They were held in what we would later learn to be a torture chamber, along with about thirty or forty other protesters. The rest of us were made to stand in lines in the blazing desert sun as the soldiers gave us a speech about what we were all doing wrong. “This is no way to live,” one of them said, as he pointed to his own bare foot. “Your life belongs to the state. You are here to serve it.” It was...

Conclusion

...the most humiliating day of my life, but I will also make it the most important for the movement. We were galvanized into action, to put right what is wrong, and make the world a better place. Nuclear war is not the answer, and I should have known that. We have to show them that they cannot break us, that we will continue to fight, but will not do so with guns, or sticks and stones, or even our fists. We will fight them with words, and turn hearts to our favor. Not everyone will join us, but enough will, and those remaining will lose in the end, not just because there will be so few of them left, but because nothing will come of their actions. We leave the desert, and regroup in the tunnels under the city. A rival faction of rebels has heard what happened to us, and meets us in the neutral zone. They’ve decided they want to help, and that maybe, our goals aren’t as misaligned as we once thought. They don’t want the terrorists to win either, and if we can come to a compromise, and formulate a solid plan, they won’t. Our first order of business is to declare someone leader, after our last one was executed to prove a point to the rest of us. Someone anonymous nominates me, and even though I don’t want the job, I can’t protest. Our ways prevent nominees from campaigning one way, or the other. I realize that no one is going to actually vote for me, but someone wanted to shut me up, and keep me from swaying minds to the woman I know is right for the role. A man from the rival faction is elected instead, and the rebellion fails, for good this time.

Microstory 1476: Quantum Love

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In 2148, a girl was born on Durus with the ability to make quantum duplications of people. For some reason, it only worked on people, rather than other objects, so she wouldn’t be able to generate infinite resources for Durus. Not that it mattered, she was a girl, and it was the government’s official position at the time that there was no such thing as a female mage remnant. When she was three years old, her powers manifested for the first time when she accidentally made a copy of her younger brother. This wasn’t the most famous family on the planet, or anything, but people were well aware that the parents had two children; one daughter, and one son. If this twin were to be revealed to the world, people would know that something fishy was up. They considered lying, and claiming that the baby boy had duplicated himself, but he was too young for that to be likely, and he wouldn’t grow up with the ability to prove it. So they kept one of them a secret, and sent him off to live on a farm outside of the city with a family friend. The two versions of this individual lived separately for sixteen years. They didn’t even know about each other, but upon reaching the age of eighteen, the parents, and their farming friends, figured that they were old enough to know each other. What they didn’t consider was the possibility that these two would end up falling in love with each other. The circumstance was unprecedented, but there were plenty of similar situations on Earth, where siblings separated at early ages were reunited. No one here had ever actually seen it happen, but still, their romantic connection was weird. It was very weird. Was it worse, falling in love with an alternate version of one’s self, than it would be for two twins, or even regular siblings? No one could answer that question, but it made people uncomfortable either way. There were protests.

Phineas Hanlin, and Philadelphia Kikkert didn’t really do a whole lot to resist the feelings that were brewing between them. They spent the day together when they first met, and hit it off, as if they were on a date. They easily gave in to their feelings, and started pursuing each other with equal vigor. Their families tried to keep them apart, but there was nothing illegal about it. They wanted to take the two men to court, but the government would not let it continue. It would set a dangerous precedent, they felt, to start deciding who was allowed to be in a relationship with who. The oppressive phallocratic government was over, and they were paranoid about the slippery slope. The fact was that they were two consenting adults, and they were free to be with each other, if they wanted. Incest was only treated as an offense if it would lead to the conception of a child, and as two men, this was impossible, so people would have to get over it. Well, they didn’t. Society shunned them, and marriage officiants refused to let them cement their love in ceremony and contract. They thought about asking the crew of the visiting ship to take them back to Earth with them, but already so many people wanted in on that, and they couldn’t be sure Earth would treat them any better. They had to stay together, and if that meant being alone, then that was what they would do. When Hokusai Gimura joined the crew of the Elizabeth Warren, she stripped her tiny one-person ship for parts. What she left was mostly the skeleton of the vessel, capable of supporting and insulating life in outer space, but not capable of launching off the ground, or propelling itself anywhere. She did fail to remove this extra little feature that halted aging for all those inside, regardless of how long the trip took. Still, Phineas and Philadelphia figured that it was their only option. Now people actually started helping them. No one wanted them to be together, but if they weren’t going to do the right thing, then at least they could do it somewhere else. The community came together, and started repairing Hokusai’s ship. Engineers and mechanics pooled their knowledge, and figured out how to add the right instrumentation to the controls. Paramounts added special upgrades to keep the ship going indefinitely. Wherever they chose to go, Phineas and Philadelphia wouldn’t be able to get there instantaneously, but at least they would be together, and from the Durune’s perspective, at least they wouldn’t be on Durus anymore.

Microstory 1455: Institutional

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For a few years, The Thicket rebel force didn’t do anything. They were there, and defying the Republic, but they weren’t attacking the city, or rescuing women, or even protesting. They were hiding, and they were training. This was getting on the nerves of some of the members, though. They wanted to make real change in society, and better the lives of everyone in it, even their enemies. Well, that was the problem. There was little they could do, because the easiest course of action was to rise up and fight against the establishment violently. They didn’t really have any rights. They weren’t allowed to walk down the street alone, so they certainly weren’t going to be able to march on the Capitol. After half a century under this form of government, things were pretty well defined, good or bad. A lot of people had been alive during the Interstitial Chaos, and the Mage Protectorate, but the majority of Aljabaran citizens these days had only ever known the Republic. So getting the public on their side was not going to be easy. No one in the Thicket wanted to go to war, and no one wanted to make a big public demonstration. They wanted their voices heard, but maybe kind of in secret. Maybe they didn’t even want anyone to know that they were involved in whatever it was they ended up doing. What could that be, though? Statues. The government had erected statues, glorifying the worst criminals and leaders Durus had ever seen. They couldn’t even argue that the statues themselves were an important part of history. The one they built last year made Smith look like Superman. There were so many statues of that man that you would think he invented air. But no, Keanu ‘Ōpūnui was the one who did that, but he only had one statue, and it wasn’t even in the city; it was at his gravesite.

Earth had enjoyed a long history of protestors tearing down statues, so that sounded like the most reasonable next step for the Thicket. It was something they could do in secret, under cover of darkness, while most people were asleep. If they procured the right tools, and had enough womanpower, they could get it done quickly, and get out before anyone saw them. If anything went wrong, they could bolt and scatter as needed. They started with the latest Smith statue, then worked their way down the line, but they stopped at four. By then, the government had figured out the pattern, so in order to avoid being caught, they started randomizing their vandalism, not always going after statues, but other buildings. But they were only able to destroy a handful of things before it became impractical. The government was tired of trying to guess which statue or building would come next, so they just positioned guards at every single one of them. Aljabara wasn’t exactly the largest city in the galaxy; just the largest on the planet. It wasn’t that hard to protect all of them simultaneously. It wasn’t a piece of cake either, though. Seeing this, the Thicket switched gears, and developed their own version of the underground railroad. With personnel stretched thin, the Republicans were unable to cover all of their bases. They were so obsessed with only letting men perform the important jobs, and only promoting the best of the best for the most important jobs, they ended up with too little manpower. Of course they realized their problem, and corrected it by filling up their ranks. They obviously still didn’t allow women, but they didn’t worry too much about skill or experience. It was too late, though. The escape network was by then entrenched, and primed to rescue a lot more lives for the next two decades.

Microstory 1443: First Gasp

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On July 17, 2132, a man was dished a deadly blow on Earth. His name was Keanu ‘Ōpūnui, and he developed his powers in a very similar way that the source mages did. The Springfield Nine, as they were called, were a group of people from Springfield, before it became the one-horse town that it was when the Deathfall occurred the better part of two decades later. Precisely who was part of the Nine, and who was merely associated with them was a little confusing, and everyone you ask will give you a different answer, but either way, most of the people in it were friends. The source mages were given time powers because they were at certain points in the process of prenatal development. The Nine were elementary school children when they received their powers, but both groups got them from the same thing. A pocket dimension that once existed as a bridge between Earth and Durus messed with people’s minds, and their DNA, and was capable of changing both on a fundamental level. This dimension was shattered during the Deathfall, but these twenty people were already permanently affected by it. The source mages ended up living on Durus, but the Springfield Nine stayed on Earth, and often caused problems there. Keanu had what he called time meshing. It was like filter portaling, except that the filter was much finer, so it was better used to alter the temperature of the environment than anything else. He was basically taking the weather from one place in time, and sending it to another, which sometimes balanced out both. Dioxygen could pass through, but transporting water was always a little more difficult for him. Keanu didn’t use his powers for good. He could have kept protesters cool in the summertime, or warmed a homeless camp in the wintertime. Instead, he looked for ways to capitalize on what he could do, and he hurt a lot of people along the way. It wasn’t morally good, but it also wasn’t surprising when one of these people hurt him right back. For trying to kill his daughter, a man named Horace Reaver stabbed Keanu in the chin with a sword. He didn’t die instantly, though. He had one more move.

Since the Springfielders first appeared on Durus, many tried to figure out where the breathable air came from. It wasn’t physically impossible for a rogue planet to maintain an atmospheric shell, but this phenomenon wasn’t particularly easy, and the chances that it would be conducive to human life were negligible. Through seers, philosophers, and other experts, the people finally had their answer. Or rather, they had a pretty good idea when the air first appeared on the surface. They still didn’t know about Keanu, or his power, but they did know that the year 2092 was going to bring trouble. With his last moments falling upon him, Keanu attempted to take his enemies down with him, even though it would also kill some of his friends. He tried sending all of the oxygen in the cave they were in to the vacuum of outer space, where it would be wasted. But since he was so badly hurt, he was incapable of focusing his power. He ended up sending himself to Durus instead. It was a one in a million chance, but then again, so was everything else that had ever happened on the planet. The fact was that if this hadn’t happened to Keanu, no one would have survived long enough on Durus to wonder why not. It was Keanu ‘Ōpūnui who quite literally breathed life into the world, which was great, but it came with a catch. His death sent air from Earth in both directions of time, so that Savitri could use it in 1980, and later Durune had it in 2204, but for thirty seconds in the middle, it didn’t exist at all. Everyone on Durus during that time would be totally without air. Now, some believed that all they would have to do was hold their breath for that amount of time. They knew it would be coming, and most people—even children—had the lung capacity to survive this. Unfortunately, it was a lot more complicated than that. Oxygen wouldn’t simply disappear from the outside, but also inside their bodies. This would cause a lot of health issues. The only solution, in some people’s minds, was to skip over this short moment in time altogether. While families huddled together, preparing for the pain, a certain young woman with time powers saved them all once again, and she never even took credit for it. Sadly, there was nothing she could do about the buildings that were made of concrete and metal. When they returned to the timestream a minute later, the towns of Springfield and Splitsville were utterly destroyed.

Microstory 998: Turnover

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This is a really morbid one, which is why I put it near the end, in case I came up with something more positive. Believe it or not, that actually did happen with another topic. The previous installment was a last-minute replacement for something I ended up deciding I didn’t think you would like, and even then, I altered the subject matter while in the middle of writing it. For as much as I talk about how curing death can help the world, I’m not going to pretend it alone can solve all our problems, or that there isn’t potential for it to cause more. We can all surmise that immortality, without accompanied by other advancements, can lead to terrible consequences. If we don’t solve this world’s distribution problems, and move out to other worlds, we won’t be able to provide for the dramatic increase in population. Already we’re seeing the cost of better global health. Try driving from one side of town to the other without passing at least three separate postretirement facilities, of varying calibre, for varying needs. But there’s another reason death has been of benefit to us. In some of my stories, I have a race of “aliens” called Maramon. Their creator was a naive child who wasn’t interested in his creations ever dying, so he subconsciously made them immortal. What he couldn’t have realized was that meant the worst of the worst individuals were free to keep going through the centuries, unchecked. Can you imagine how awful life would be if Caligula, Jeffrey Dahmer, or Adolf Hitler were still alive? How much hope could we have if we knew that Donald Trump and Jared Fogle would always be around? We would never get through this. Turnover lets us rid ourselves of our history’s sickening mistakes, and gives rise to new ideas. Progress doesn’t happen just because a new generation wants things to change, but also because they’re eventually free from the burden of the old fogies who are incapable of that change. As wicked as it sounds, death is sometimes the only way. Maybe I’m wrong, and all those kids at the tiki torch rally who are young enough to become immortal in the future can eventually learn to become better people. Maybe if humans never died, we would all be totally fine, and living in the paradise our still-living ancestors built for us. But I doubt it.

Microstory 904: Loud Nonvoting Activists

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Months ago, I was enjoying a vacation with my family when news broke of the shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. I was horrified, of course, but also struck by how well-spoken many of the survivors were about what had happened. This wasn’t the first school shooting, nor was it the last, not even that month. We have been forced to surrender to the fact that school violence is just the way it is, but these students decided that that was not acceptable. I suddenly found myself awe-inspired by a handful of teenagers, many of whom were not yet old enough to vote in this country. We have always enjoyed a healthy dose of nonvoting activists, but these kids were taking it to the extreme, and I’m proud to call them my heroes. Old people have long complained of how annoying “kids these days are” and how they’re so much better. Well here’s a news flash. This planet is in shambles right now. The reason there are so many more disaster movies than there used to be is because we can see ourselves falling to all that. And you know whose fault that is? I’ll give you a hint, it’s not the millennials, who are only now reaching positions of power. You need us, and the generation after us, because we’re the ones who are gonna clean up all this shit you’ve let build up. Several weeks ago, I found myself at a town hall meeting in Kansas City, Kansas, hosted by a couple organizations, one being March for Our Lives. The panel was composed exclusively of high school and college-aged people, and they were more eloquent than anyone in the so-called “GOP” could ever hope to be. They certainly made their point better than I am right now. So if you want to know more about what we need to do to change the world, I recommend you start paying attention to the loud nonvoting, and first-time voting, activists.