Showing posts with label publicity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label publicity. Show all posts

Saturday, September 13, 2025

Extremus: Year 105

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3
Today is the day. It might be the most publicized wedding in ship history. Why is it so popular? It seems that Waldemar and Audrey are somehow famous for being famous. A few people heard their story, and they told others, and the story spread. Even though the braintrust is aware that he is destined to become captain one day, to everyone else, there should be nothing interesting about this story. Yet here they are, waiting to get married to much fanfare. Audrey’s mother has been helping her get ready, as has Tinaya, since Audrey doesn’t have any friends besides little Silveon and her fiancé. She has a maid of honor, and bridesmaids, to be sure, but all at the insistence of Waldemar. He has chosen to perform a more traditional wedding. Audrey’s father will be giving her away like she’s a possession. The groom had a wild night with his buddies at a bachelor party. Again besides Silveon, all of these friends were fake, but they agreed to participate, because it sounded like fun, and he just has this magnetism. It’s part of why he ends up being the leader of the whole ship. He doesn’t take control using magical powers. He gets people on his side. He gets them to believe in him and his cause. This could be where all that begins.
“Thanks, mom. Could you go get me something blue?”
Her mother looks over at Tinaya, realizing that she’s being shooed out for a private conversation, but not wanting the day to devolve into a fight. “Yes, dear.”
Audrey picks up her long, flowing dress with her forearms so she can sit down on the ottoman.
“How are you doing?”
“I’m gonna throw up. Everyone’s gonna be watching.”
“That was the point, wasn’t it?”
“Should it be? We’re the ones who are putting the spotlight on him, and I find that sickening. We came here to stop him from being a ruthless tyrant, and we think that involves still helping him gain power, but we don’t know that. Should we be pushing him down into obscurity instead?”
Tinaya sits down next to Audrey, partially on her dress. She breathes in deeply, and makes it seem like she’s about to say something profound. “It’s too late. I don’t know if this is the right path, but you’re here now, and you’re in a better position than ever to control the narrative. If you had discouraged from pursuing notoriety, he would have caught on eventually, and resented you for it. He would have severed his connections to you and Silveon, and that could have been...permanent, if you know what I mean.”
Audrey nods. “He wants me to be a tradwife. He doesn’t want my input.”
“Then don’t give it to him. Make him feel like every idea you have is his.”
“He had a kitchen built in our new unit. No dayfruit, no synthesizers; not even as backup. I am to cook for him every day, the way they used to, where you buy the ingredients, and put them all together in a recipe.”
“How are you going to buy anything? Where are these ingredients coming from?” Tinaya asks.
“He also built a store. He doesn’t want me to be the only tradwife, and he’s not the only one who wants that.”
“He’s starting a movement,” Tinaya says, nodding her head. “Do you remember this, from the other timeline?”
Audrey takes a beat, then slowly shakes her head. “No. I mean, I think he treated his first wife like this, but I don’t think he convinced others to do the same. We did this. We made things worse.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Tinaya contends. She stands to pace. “If he keeps his definition of a wife a secret, he’s free to act on his principles in secret. But by trying to get others to walk backwards with him, he invites scrutiny.” She shines her flashlight on the wedding poster on the wall. “Our spotlight will show the people the truth. We don’t have to build a resistance ourselves if people become disgusted with him on their own.”
“It’s his growing group of sycophants that worries me,” Audrey clarifies.
Tinaya opens her mouth to respond when she thinks better of it. They could go on and on forever, gaming out strategies, and trying to rig the system, but that’s not what today’s about. What Audrey needs right now is to pretend that she’s happy, or even find a way to not have to pretend anymore. “Well. Don’t let it worry you today. You look very beautiful, and your confidence needs to reflect that you belong here, like this. You’re going to brighten your eyes, go out there, and put on the performance of two lifetimes.”
Audrey takes a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right.” She stands back up, and approaches the mirror, letting Tinaya stand behind her. She stares into the glass, contorting her lips, trying to form them into a smile.
“No, it’s not your lips that’s the problem. It’s your eyes. That’s where your real smile is. If you can make your eyes sing loud and proud, the corners of your lips will reach up to meet. There. Close, you’re really close. Oh, not so wide. You’re not in a dark room, trying to gather as much light as possible. Oh no, you went way too far the other way. Now you look mad.”
“I’m just trying to reset. Maybe tell me a joke?”
“Did somebody say mad ma?” The two of them turn around to find Waldemar’s mother, Calla. She looks surprisingly...sober. She’s gently shutting the door behind her. She glides over to them.
“We don’t think you’re mad,” Tinaya replies. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“Oh, honey, there’s no trouble,” Calla insists. “This is a great day.” She looks over at Audrey. “Finally, someone will be responsible for taking care of Waldy for me.”
“Mrs. Kristiansen—” Audrey starts to say.
Calla holds up a silencing hand. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I don’t know why you’re marrying my son, and frankly, I don’t wanna know. But you’re not as good of an actor as you think, and on this—on this one day—I’m afraid that won’t do.” She pulls a tiny silver tin from her purse, holds it in the palm of her hand, and carefully opens the lid. Inside of the tin is what looks like granulated sugar, but the granules are pretty large, and yellow tinted. “This...is madma.”
“I don’t know what that is,” Audrey admits.
“The name is ironic. It will make you feel serene and loving. You won’t be faking a smile; you’ll be genuinely happy. Not about my son, of course, but no one has to know that.”
“It’s drugs? You’re trying to give my daughter drugs?” That was a huge slip. “I mean, my son’s friend.”
“I assure you, it’s legit. I take it all the time. I prefer it now to alcohol. Just stick it under your tongue, and let it be absorbed into your bloodstream.”
“Thistle?” Tinaya prompts.
I cannot condone the use of recreational drugs,” Thistle begins, “but objectively, I can confirm that that is indeed methylenedioxymethamphetamine, also known as MDMA, molly, or since the 22nd century, madma.
“What are the side effects?” Tinaya presses.
Thistle drops a hologram down, listing all the negative effects of the drug, mostly framing them as problems that arise after repeated use.
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Audrey decides. “It’s just one day.”
“I’m sure a lot of drug addicts throughout history have shared your sentiment,” Tinaya warns.
“Drugs were phased out at the same time that money was,” Audrey reasons, reaching into Calla’s hand, and taking the tin. “My problems are so much worse than money.” She licked her finger, picked up the granules, then stuck her finger in her mouth, moving it around for a more even distribution.
“It’ll only be a few minutes.” Calla takes the tin back, and begins to leave. “Merry Christmas.”
“I’ll never forgive you for this, Calla,” Tinaya calls up to her.
Calla stops, and looks back. “I won’t live long enough to care.”
Just after Calla leaves, Audrey’s mother returns. “What did that woman have to say?” She doesn’t like her either. Calla isn’t as good at hiding her true feelings as Waldemar, so she pretty much rubs everyone the wrong way.
“Aud was nervous about her relationship with her mother-in-law, but Calla came by to build bridges, and assure her that she’s happy that your families are coming together.”
“That doesn’t sound like her,” Mrs. Husk argues.
“I think she meant it.” Tinaya cannot disclose that she let her daughter take drugs, so this is a good enough lie. Had the mothers not seen each other in the hallway, Tinaya wouldn’t have said anything about Calla’s brief visit at all.
“Are you feeling better now?” Mrs. Husk asks Audrey.
Either Audrey is still faking it, or the drug’s effects are beginning to hit. “I’m so happy, mother.”
Mrs. Husk smiles tightly and nods. “Your father’s waiting in the corridor. It’s time.”
Tinaya excuses herself and leaves first. She joins her own husband and son in the front row of the groom’s side. “Who is that?” she whispers to Arqut. Why isn’t Jennings the officiant?”
“That man is a priest,” Arqut whispers back. “Or a reverend, or whatever. Waldemar asked him to take seminary classes from the archives. He’s been working on this for, like, three years.”
“And the captain’s okay with that?” Tinaya questions.
“Religion isn’t illegal, it just doesn’t exist anymore, except on days like this, which we know to be Christmas Eve. The charter technically allows for religious leaders to officiate weddings as well. The only requirement was that at least one person getting married be a member of the church,” Arqut explains with airquotes. It’s as real as they want it to be. It’s a special denomination of Christianity that only has two members.”
“Is he expecting Audrey to convert?”
Silveon leans in. “It’s just for show. Waldemar doesn’t believe in the hocus pocus either. He just wants this all to be very backwards. And he wants it to be special. No one else is getting married like this. Look at this place; it’s made of wood. I didn’t realize they had cut down enough trees on Verdemus to build an entire fake chapel out of wood.”
Arqut looks uncomfortable. “The wood isn’t from Verdemus.”
Tinaya’s rage bubbles up in her chest, threatening to spill out all over Waldemar’s asshole face. How dare he? She digs her fingernails into the seat of the pew, trying desperately to keep her cool. “This is not what the Attic Forest is for. Who the hell approved this?” Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Arqut turn his head to the other side of the aisle. She turns the same direction, quickly making eye contact with Oceanus.
I’m sorry, Oceanus mouths to her.
Tinaya isn’t wearing her wristband or her wristwatch. Instead, she has a holographic projector hidden in a dress-appropriate bracelet that she’s wearing. She takes Arqut’s hand and flattens it out so she has something to project the image onto. She taps on the images of the keys on her husband’s palm to write up a text message to Oceanus that reads, you will be.
Arqut reaches down with his free hand, and wipes the text away. “You are not...sending that to the captain.”
Tinaya gives Arqut the stink eye while she’s reaching over to arrange her son’s hand the same way. She projects her screen over there instead, retypes the message, glances at it to check for spelling errors, then seethes at Arqut again while sending it off.
Arqut looks back at the altar, and shakes his head. “You’re going to regret that.”
“You’re going to sleep on the couch.”
The ceremony begins, interrupting any further fighting between the two of them. Waldemar waits up at the front as Audrey walks down the aisle with her father. She looks gorgeous and ecstatic, but Tinaya can’t tell if anyone else can tell that she’s high. She’ll have to remember to ask Arqut whether he picked up on it, and to make sure that Silveon isn’t in the room when she does, because he would not approve. The ceremony is long and boring. Tinaya doesn’t remember what she learned in school about old Earth traditions, but it seems about right. All the inequality, all the possessiveness; it’s here. Audrey couldn’t be more pleased. She’s very smiley; showing all of her teeth. The drugs are definitely working.
After the wedding is the reception, and after that, the crowd cheers as the happy couple go off to their VR honeymoon. Obviously, no one is there to see what it’s like, but Thistle reveals that it’s a simulation of a beach resort on an island. Pretty typical. While they’re doing that, Waldemar’s mother kills herself in her unit. Despite not being in any real position of power yet, Waldemar uses his burgeoning influence to cover it up.

Saturday, September 6, 2025

Extremus: Year 104

Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3
Tinaya never did figure out how to get back into the Bridger Section so her son could make a mirror call to the past. Security there is tighter than it ever has been, but that’s okay. Silveon was spiraling, and he wanted guidance, but he will be okay without it. He has his family and friends. Well...he has one true friend and peer. He has not bothered to make friends with anyone else, because they’re all so much younger. It wasn’t just romantic connections that he was potentially forgoing when he sent his consciousness back in time. He really is going to be okay, though. He decided to reassess his priorities, and recommit himself to his mission to help Waldemar. Even though Audrey is the one who is closer to him now, they’re all still friends, and Waldemar needs all the guidance he can get, even if he doesn’t know it. This mission is more critical than ever, because today is the day that Waldemar announces his campaign. If he goes through with his speech, he will be the only one in the race, and that’s because the position he’s vying for doesn’t exist.
“First Chair?” Tinaya questions.
“Yeah, that’s why he said,” Silveon confirms. “He’s been working on this operation in secret. That must be what this press briefing is about. He didn’t specifically say as much, but what else could it be? He still won’t give me any details, but I suspected that it was about finding another girl to get pregnant, so I guess I’m relieved.”
They both look over at Audrey, who responds, “I’ve been laying it on pretty thick. He can pretty much have me whenever he wants. Before you ask, I am on birth control now. I don’t want to get pregnant again, and he doesn’t want that either. The way he sees it, this is the best outcome. He gets the sympathy votes for the dead kid, and bonus, he doesn’t have to pretend to raise the thing. Silvia’s job is done.”
A twitch of a smile flashes on Silveon’s face at the sound of the baby girl who was named after him. It falls back down, however, when he realizes that she’s also talking about her sex life with the enemy. “Just be careful.”
Audrey nods solemnly, but doesn’t say anything.
“How is he gonna pull this off?” Tinaya asks, getting back to the matter at hand.
“He took a page out of your book, mama,” Silveon goes on. “Speaking of the way he sees it, the way he sees it, you were able to abolish the position, so he should be able to revive it.”
Tinaya shakes her head. “I was able to abolish it because I was First Chair. It was in my best interest to keep it, which means I was sacrificing something. I actually rose in popularity that day. He’s asking to bring it back so he can gain power. It’s the exact opposite of what I did. And anyway, I thought he was destined to become captain.”
“We’re in uncharted territory,” Silveon replies. “We have changed so much in the chain of events, but I don’t think I’ve done much to change him. I suppose I managed to lure him away from the captain’s chair, but I couldn’t take away his ambition. He has evidently set his sights on civilian government instead.”
“And he’s going right to the top,” Tinaya says, “to a job that he would first have to create in order to get it.”
“That’s from your book too,” Silveon says sadly. “Before you, there was no such job as Director of Population Maintenance.”
Tinaya exhales exasperatedly. She came to hate that title. It’s too broad. She was there to promote population growth, but it could easily be reversed to oversee population control, and that should never be the objective.
Arqut shifts awkwardly. It was he who came up with the title in the first place, and he too regrets it. “I’ve already submitted a provision to the charter that, if the need for the job arises again, it should be changed to Director of Family Planning. That way, the change will outlive me and-or my tenure as Superintendent.”
“Thank you, honey.” Tinaya turns back to the kids. “How do we stop him, or should we?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Silveon replies. “I’m starting to think that everything we do is a waste of time. Maybe what we should really do is flip to Plan C.”
Audrey shakes her head as she suddenly looks exhausted.
“Wait, what is this Plan C?” Tinaya questions. “Plan B was straight up murdering him. Would you also kill his mother? What’s Plan Z, then, destroying the whole ship?”
“They don’t go in order,” Silveon explains. Plan C is not selected because Plan B fails. It’s a secondary alternative, equally as likely as the first alternative. It involves shifting focus away from my relationship with Waldemar, and towards the creation of the resistance.”
“Unlike before,” Audrey adds, “these resistant forces would be composed of those who have forewarning on what’s to come. Rather than being reactionary, and fighting an uphill battle, like we did in the original timeline, we would be in a place of advantage. That’s the hypothesis anyway.”
“It sounds too late for that,” Arqut reasons. “If he’s already campaigning, has enough damage not been done?”
“It’s the perfect time,” Audrey contends. “Imagine going back to 1922 and trying to warn people that Hitler’s a bad guy. They would be all, who the hell are you talking about? We were always going to have to wait before the right circumstances triggered Plan C. Though your logic is sound, we do have a short window. Gaining power is one thing, but gaining popularity could make forming this preemptive resistance all but impossible. We have to decide now.”
We?” Tinaya echoes. “We’re just the old fogies. We can give you advice, but you’re the ones with the intel, and it’s become quite clear that we barely know anything about what you’re doing here, or why. How many of these letter plans are there? Hopefully not the full twenty-six.”
Silveon and Audrey exchange a look.
“I don’t even wanna know,” Tinaya says before they can elaborate.
“I will say,” Arqut begins, “at the risk of overstepping, there is no coming back from Plan C. Once you go down that road, you lose all friendly ties with Waldemar. He may not find out that you’re a part of it right away, but he will one day. You’ll recruit someone that you were wrong to trust. Or someone will turn on you. Or you’ll just slip up and say the wrong thing to him. Once you become his enemy on the outside, you lose all hope to change him. Plan A doesn’t have to lead to Plan B, but if Plan C fails, it might. Success means either putting him in hock, or in the proverbial ground. There’s not much wiggle room.”
“That’s why I hate it,” Audrey tells them. “That, and we already tried it. Sure, maybe we started too late, but I’m not sure a time advantage gives us that much of an edge. It will just make him angry. Leona’s Rules of Time Travel, Number Fifteen, don’t antagonize the antagonist. Just like killing him, there’s a reason it’s not Plan A.”
“There’s a way to have the best of both worlds,” Tinaya suggests cryptically. “You could continue with your camaraderie with Waldemar, trying to keep him on the best path while recognizing that his personality is out of your control, and you can’t stop his thirst for power. Meanwhile, completely separately, there is a slow-burning faction of dissidents, ready to keep him in check from the outside. You wouldn’t be involved with them. You would feed them information, but get none in return. This would allow you to keep focus, and keep them from ever needing to be activated.”
“That’s shockingly diabolic of you, mother,” Silveon points out.
“Yeah,” Audrey agrees.
“It is.” Arqut is less impressed, and more disquieted. “Who would do this? Surely not us, we’re an obvious connection.”
“No, we’re too old anyway,” Tinaya says. “I have one or two people in mind.” There’s a knock at the door. No doorbell, no proximity alert; just a knock. It surprises and confuses all of them. “Thistle, what gives?” Tinaya asks to the aether.
The Thistle Central Systems Intelligence is presently offline for maintenance. For basic assistance, please state your query using clear and unambiguous syntax.
“Do you think they found out that he’s real?” Tinaya asks as she’s heading towards  the door.
“He’s real?” Audrey asks, quickly having to accept the fact that no one would answer her.
Pronastus Kegrigia smiled from the other side of the doorway. “I believe that I’m supposed to be here?” Yeah, he was Tinaya’s first idea. They know they can trust him, because he’s the one who took care of little Silvia while they were waiting to deliver her to Verdemus. He’s always felt like the anti-Waldemar—just as ambitious, but with an ethics book in his hand. Once Tinaya and Arqut are dead and gone, he may be the only person left on the ship who would be conceivably powerful enough to counteract anything that Waldemar might try to do. It’s also hard to keep secrets from him, which Tinaya recognized from the start. She knew that it was better to keep him on her side than let him end up in opposition.
They get Pronastus up to speed, but they leave a lot out. They take Tinaya’s advice to her son seriously, and just claim to have knowledge of the future. Nobody is a time traveler, and nobody is older than they look. Waldemar is a known future threat who can’t be allowed to assume full control over this ship. That doesn’t mean he can be stopped by any means necessary, and it doesn’t mean his power can be blocked entirely. Pronatus will have to carry a heavy burden, navigating this new mandate with his regular future duties as some kind of official pathfinder for Extremus. He literally asked for it, though. He came to this suite looking to help, and they’re going to take him up on his offer. There is still plenty of time for him to back out. He’s young, and Waldemar has not yet shown himself to be a genuine threat, at least not in this timeline.
It’s time for the press conference, so they head to the briefing room, but separately of course. Audrey is expected to stand next to Waldemar, quietly like a good partner. Silveon has an invite because he’s a friend, but there aren’t enough seats, so he joins the people who are just standing against the back wall. Pronastus told them that he is going to use his pathfinding powers to sneak in, but doesn’t elaborate on what that will entail. Waldemar is not there when they arrive, but everyone else is. Lataran waves Tinaya and Arqut over from the front row, having saved them seats.
Captain Jennings is the last to walk in. He sits on Lataran’s other side, in a seat that is always reserved for him, even if he’s the one standing on stage. He doesn’t know what any of this is about, and he doesn’t know all that much about Waldemar, but due to the latter’s sad history with baby Silvia, he was granted permission to hold this conference. Obviously, they can’t just let anyone stand up there and say whatever they want, but you don’t have to be super famous to make an appointment request either. Children have presented their book reports, and shared interests clubs have used this space to attract new members. It’s always broadcasted, but people don’t have to watch if they don’t want to. It’s usually not quite this full during such mundane announcements and speeches, which speaks to Waldemar’s social magnetism. He’s getting better and better at drumming up intrigue, and people are all terribly curious as to what he’s about to say. Some are members of the press, while others are just well-connected, and work in related fields.
Finally, Waldemar steps out from the backroom, and approaches the microphones. Audrey mousily walks in, and stands obediently at his flank. She’s changed her clothes into something more stylish, and quite frankly, more revealing. He does like her body, even if he can’t form a healthy emotional attachment to her. He clears his throat, and taps on one of the mics. “Thank you all for coming, ladies and gentlemen. I understand that you’re all very busy, and I won’t waste too much of your time. There has been a lot of talk lately about what I’m going to do with my life. I didn’t receive high marks in school, and I did not choose a specialized track. I considered pursuing a career on the crew, even maybe to one day become a captain. In the end, I just wanted to keep my options open. This has led many of you to believe that I have my eyes set on the passenger government. I’m not ruling that out, but it’s also not my concern right now.” Waldemar looks over his shoulder at Audrey.
She breathes deeply through her nose, and forces a smile, but hopefully most people see it as sincere.
Waldemar smiles widely, and looks back at the audience and cameras. “This is about what truly matters...family. I have gathered you all here today to declare my undying love for Audrey Husk, and to announce to the world that we...are getting married.”
Shit.

Tuesday, December 24, 2024

Microstory 2307: Happiness That You’re Looking

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3
I don’t have it all figured out yet. I don’t know where my life is headed. What I do know is that I’m going to move out of this giant house, and into something more my style. I’m going to keep it a secret, though. I may stay in the area, or I may leave, but I need to return to a life of anonymity, if only for a little while. At the end of this year, I’ll post one more entry onto this website, and then I’ll cease. I don’t have my own social media, and I’ll be severing my ties with the publicists. I’ve bequeathed the rights to an appropriate party for the novel, and the stage musical that Nick wrote. I won’t be telling you who they are, but perhaps they’ll reveal themselves later on. It will have nothing to do with me. The lawyer came by this morning to officialize what I already know. All of the specimen money comes to me. I’ll be continuing to donate it to various charities, then using what little is left to protect myself from scrutiny and exposure. I may end up going back to work, or I’ll just lead a modest life, in a modest town. To be clear, while I was closely associated with Nick and Dutch, I was not one of them. I have never traveled to other worlds, and I don’t have any powers. If you come after me, it will get you nowhere. Both of them are dead, and that is all over. They could have stayed here, and contributed so much more to the world, but you ruined it. Not all of you, of course, but enough. You made it so difficult to find peace, and I’m not going to keep that burden hanging from my neck. Neither of them would want that for me. Hmm. I guess I was wrong. I do have a pretty good idea where my life is headed. I’m just not going to tell all of you about it anymore. I sincerely hope that you all find the happiness that you’re looking for too.

Thursday, December 12, 2024

Microstory 2299: Panic Attack

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3
We’re putting the finishing touches on the arrangements for the memorial service tomorrow. It’s going to be a lovely, mostly somber event. But it won’t just be all wails and cursing at the gods. We’ll be playing both of their favorite music; moreso Dutch, since he had more time to develop a taste for what this planet has to offer. I’ll be giving the eulogy, of course, and I’m really nervous about it. I’ve never spoken in front of this many people before. The publicist keeps reminding me that I already have a huge audience, because Nick managed to build one for this blog, and I’ve been posting on it exclusively for days. That’s an interesting way to frame it, and I’m trying to hold onto that. You’ve been listening to me talk for a while now, even before Nick died; it’s just that it’s been through the written word, and now you’re going to hear my real voice, and see my real face. Oh God, I think I’m having a panic attack.

All right, I’m back. That white space between paragraphs is where that panic attack happened, but I’m okay. As a medical professional, I know all the tricks, but it’s one thing to give advice to someone else, and another to follow through when you need it yourself. I closed the lid of my laptop, shut the shades, and turned off all the lights. I sat upright in the hotel bed, and focused on my breathing. Despite the darkness, I could make out enough objects in the room. I could see the television on the opposite wall; the painting hanging over the refrigerator, depicting a frozen ice skating pond with scratches on the surface, but no skaters; the faint outline of the DO NOT DISTURB sign; the luggage I had sprawled out on the other bed; and the half empty glass of water on the nightstand. No, it wasn’t half empty, but half full. I could touch the soft sheets I was sitting upon; my overheated phone that I’ve been meaning to upgrade; the highlighter that I was using while researching eulogy commonalities; and the brass gooseneck reading lamp coming from the wall above the headboard. I could hear the sound of children running in the halls while their mother tried to shush them up; the hum of the furnace; and the ticking of the analog clock by the door to the bathroom. I could smell the half eaten box of cheese crackers on the table in the corner; and something dank that I couldn’t place wafting in through the vents. I could taste the toothpaste in my mouth that I should have more thoroughly rinsed out before I sat down to write this post.

I had to take another break, which is why I’m posting this later than usual. Everything is okay, and I think I’m gonna be okay, but as the memorial approaches, it’s like it’s all happening again. I never talked about it before, and I will probably never publicly go into too much detail, but obviously, I was there when they died. I remember the lurch of the vehicle as we slid on the ice, and finally came to a stop. I remember running out of the car, and one of the security guards holding me back so I couldn’t see the wreckage. I remember seeing the wreckage anyway, and feeling the heat from the flames on my face, which felt like they were going to burn me, yet somehow still could not protect my toes from freezing under the tyranny of the snow as it seeped into my socks. I remember thinking that no one could have survived that fall, even though I was still bleary eyed, and confused. There was no hope, and now these memories are coming back, which will only make the eulogy harder to write, and even harder to give. I need a third break.

Wednesday, December 11, 2024

Microstory 2298: With All the Snow and Ice

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I’m writing this on the plane. I spent all day at the airport, because my flight kept getting delayed. There’s a big snowstorm in the east that I feel shouldn’t have much impact on my flight up to Chicago, but what do I know? The purpose of leaving one day early was to get a jump in the preparations for Nick and Dutch’s memorial, but it looks like that’s not going to do me any good. Still, who knows what would have happened if I had just stuck to my original flight tomorrow. Anyway, I bought the WiFi, and have maintained contact with the publicity firm and the venue. Everything is fine, and getting set up. A word of warning, we have not set aside any hotel accommodations for this event. People have been asking about that, and I totally forgot to tell you before. You have to work through that on your own. I’m sorry, but this is so last minute, and we have no idea who is going to come. Perhaps if we had taken more time, we could have done a lot more on our end, but at some point, it would have felt like a little too much. Sure, we have money, but that doesn’t mean we’re gonna spend it on frivolity. Nick wouldn’t like that. It’s not a party, it’s not a convention, it’s a farewell. And it will be streamed online, so if you can’t make it, it’s not like you’re missing out. We actually considered that at the very beginning, holding it in a very small venue, and letting other people be part of it from the comfort of their own homes. Thinking back now, he might have preferred that, because then we’re letting it be available passively, instead of expecting a large crowd. But it’s too late now, and I don’t want to dwell on the past. This is what we’re doing, and it’s going to go great. I’ll see some of you Friday. Until then (and even afterwards), stay safe out there with all the snow and ice. Trust me, I know how dangerous it can be.

Friday, December 6, 2024

Microstory 2295: Stress Out of the Process

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What I’ve learned is that the publicity firm that Nick was using to protect his life story from rumors and lies is no stranger to memorial services. A few of their clients have died while they were working with them, and their survivors can purchase a new package to help with arrangements. Some clients even purchase it ahead of time in anticipation, like one would reserve a burial spot in a cemetery because they know they’re gonna die eventually. Nick didn’t do that, because he didn’t even think to hire anyone when his health started to decline from the prion infection. Well, I think he did consider it way back then, but he didn’t have the money, and didn’t follow through until later. Anyway, I purchased the memorial package, so they’re handling everything. I’ll be signing off on all decisions, but I won’t have to think them up myself, which takes a lot of the stress out of the process, so I’m grateful for their help in this matter. Or perhaps they should be thanking me for my help, if they’re the ones taking point. I did secure a reservation for the Causeway Center in Chicago, though. It’s so last minute that someone already had the auditorium booked. Homes for Humankind and CauseTogether.hope have assured me that whoever it was was happy to push it back to another day, but it’s hard for me to imagine how that’s possible. That room can accommodate hundreds of people, which means that they have to contact hundreds of people to alert them to the change in dates. I suppose that’s not necessarily true. Maybe they booked the whole place for an audience of eleven. I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure out who it was, and if they’re really okay, but I can’t seem to find any information. You would think that an event like that would be advertising somewhere so customers could sign up for their thing instead. If you know what was supposed to be happening in the auditorium next Friday, shoot me a message. I feel that I owe them a thank you. In the meantime, I’m flying up to look at the venue this weekend, but I’ve already seen photos, and it looks great.

Thursday, December 5, 2024

Microstory 2294: Mostly Long and Narrow

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What Nick’s publicists and I determined is that people from all over the country, and indeed all over the world, are interested in coming to his and Dutch’s memorial service. Because of this, we decided that it didn’t have to take place in Kansas or Missouri. If you’ll recall, there were some issues months ago when someone created an unauthorized CauseTogether.hope campaign for him. Despite the issue, he’s maintained a healthy and amicable professional relationship with the website. At the same time, he was working with Homes for Humankind. As it turns out, the house-building organization and the charitable fundraising platform teamed up some years ago to build a sort of convention center. It is here that charities come together, and reach out to their donors, volunteers, and beneficiaries. It’s located in Chicago, which is fitting, since the three of us went there one time on the Heartland Expressway, and Nick visited the city many times in his home universe. The Humankind Causeway Center is mostly long and narrow to fit the theme of its namesake, but there are two larger buildings on either end. One contains a large ballroom, and the other boasts an auditorium that can fit about 900 people. I can’t imagine that quite so many mourners will sign up to attend the service, but it should be great for our needs. We’re still working out the dates, but I’ll keep you updated as needed. Gratitude for all your words of love and togetherness during this difficult time.

Wednesday, December 4, 2024

Microstory 2293: Hits Some Harder

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New plan. Dutch has been presumed dead as well, so I’m planning a single memorial service for the both of them. They were good friends, I think they would have liked that. People have been commenting on social that it’s some sort of money-saving scheme. Trust me, we don’t need to save money. We’re millionaires, remember? Well, I am, anyway. I’ve not spoken with the lawyers yet, but I believe all the money goes to me. Yay, I’m rich! I’ve always wanted to lose my best friends so I can live alone in a big empty house. In case you can’t tell from the written word, that’s sarcasm. I hate this. This was never the plan after Dutch opened that door, and cured Nick with space magic. Nothing will be changing. Nick decided where he wanted to regularly make donations, and I have no reason to alter that plan. We invested some of it, to make it grow, so we can keep donating beyond what we already have. That’s why we didn’t just disperse the lump sum, and walk away. All right, I better get back to work. It takes me a long time to get anything done, because I often have to stop and cry. I can’t provide you with details about the memorial service right now, but I’ll make an announcement shortly on my own social media account. We need to gauge how many people will want to come. He wasn’t the kind of person who needed a lot of people to attend, but he told me that it’s not about him. If a large crowd shows up, then whatever, so I have to make sure the venue can accommodate them. We all have a different relationship with death. Most people obviously don’t like it, but it hits some harder than others. They can feel grief for those they’ve never met. Some even feel it when they learn of a person’s death who they had never even heard of before. Who are we to judge their reactions? I’m getting a lot of messages from people who are interested in being there, so I think we’re gonna have quite a large audience. I’ll let you know when I can. I’ll probably have to get our publicity firm involved since I’m sure they have experience with this stuff.

Friday, October 25, 2024

Microstory 2265: Be One Small Part of It

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I’m glad that I waited, because what I’ve learned is that I’m not really allowed to tell you hardly anything about what’s happening with my upcoming interview. I can’t even tell you the date that it’s happening. All I can say is that the local part of the local talk show is going to be stretched pretty thin for just the one episode. Well, stretch is a bit of a stretch. (Ha, that’s funny.) They’re just not going to be local at all. Apparently, the whole station is part of some kind of group of dozens of other local stations. They call it a Regional Network Cooperative, and while I can’t totally explain what they do, it’s not that they’re owned by a parent company, but they do enjoy some kind of collaborative relationship. I think the biggest benefit of this is that, if one region comes up with a certain segment—say a fun game for their guests—another region can use it too, and even call it the same thing, without worrying about a legal issue. They may negotiate advertising deals too, though don’t quote me on that. Anyway, they would like to try something new with the episode that I’ll be on, which involves simulcasting it in other, or maybe even all, regions in the cooperative. If this pans out, it’s going to take some time to coordinate, because other regions may have special segments that they’ll want to include. It’s not like I’ll be on there for several hours on end. I’ll still only be one small part of it. Obviously, this only puts more pressure on me, but who am I to decline? I’ll just keep practicing with my interview specialist, and hope that I don’t screw this up. Or if I do, hope that I can leave this world eventually, and escape from the humiliation. Whew, that kind of sounds a little like suicide. Sorry, I meant that I might literally leave this world, and travel to another, which I’ve done before. No violence here. Carry on. I’ll tell you more about the thing when the legal department says that I can.

Thursday, October 24, 2024

Microstory 2264: Tell You a Secret

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Yeah, it’s true, I’m considering relenting, and writing an autobiography. I didn’t want to do that, but I’m told that passively donating my money to various charities isn’t enough. I have to bolster my reputation through action. This could mean volunteer work, and hopefully one day, I’ll feel safe enough to get back out there without a posse of bodyguards. But for now, the charities need a reason to accept my donations. They don’t just take money from anyone. That can cause a whole lot of sociopolitical issues, as you can imagine. People are also making things up about me, because even though I’ve been talking about myself on this site, it’s not really organized, and it evidently doesn’t have enough about my past. People wanna know where I came from, and what my world is like. They’re envisioning wondrous and grand differences that just aren’t there. I guess it’s my job to set the record straight. Against my publicist’s instructions, I’m gonna tell you a secret, which is that I hate autobiographies. It’s not just because, how dare you think your life is so interesting that anyone would want to read about it, but also they’re usually pretty boring. But I may have no choice if someone else decides to write one of their own, and gets a ton of stuff wrong. I’ve not committed to anything yet. It’ll take a long time to write, and I don’t want it taking away from my other responsibilities.

Wednesday, October 23, 2024

Microstory 2263: A Long Road Trip

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In 2008, city planners from Kansas City, and those from Chicago came together with an idea. There were, of course, ways to travel between the two domains, but these pathways weren’t built specifically for this purpose. They twisted and turned to stop at other places, which was fine, but KC and Chicago enjoyed many special political and business relationships with each other, so they wanted something new. They began planning what would eventually come to be known as the Heartland Expressway, with a numbering designation of Interstate-56. It took sixteen years, but that highway is now officially complete, though people have been driving on sections of it for years. A couple of months ago, they held an event that was publicized as the Maiden Voyage of the Heartland Expressway. The current mayor of Kansas City, Missouri drove the roughly seven hours to Chicago with her whole family. Meanwhile, the mayor of Chicago did the same with his own family, stopping in the middle to have lunch with each other in a border town named River City, Illinois. It was a little funny, because the Chicago mayor’s family took too long to get going, and drove a little slower, so they were just a little bit late. His kids are younger, and you know how often they need to stop and get out during long road trips. Once they were finished with their meal, they went their separate ways, and ended up having dinner with each other’s deputy mayors. I’m sure you probably already heard about this, because it was a fun and innocuous story in the midst of all the bad news. It’s just relevant to today, because Kelly, Dutch and I just drove that route. It’s 428 miles from start to finish, which was perfect, because my EV gets about 450 miles to the charge. I wanted to test it out, and also just go somewhere. It was just a day trip, if you can believe it. We left at 5:00 in the morning, spent some time wandering around the city, particularly the pier, and waited for the car to charge up before leaving at around 14:00. We got home fairly late last night, and we were pretty tired, but we’re millionaires, so we didn’t have to worry about going into work today.

Tuesday, October 22, 2024

Microstory 2262: Rather Be Blissfully Ignorant

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All of you apparently expected to hear me give you an answer for whether I was going to do an interview for one of my local news television programs. In short, yes. In a tiny bit longer, it’s complicated. I will be doing something in some way at some point, but the network is making certain accommodations for it that I’m not privy to. I’ll give you all more information, not when I know it, but when I’m allowed to tell you. Don’t stress out about it, though, because it may be a long time before the gears start turning. In the meantime, my publicist is setting me up with one of the firm’s interview specialists to help me learn how to speak in public. I’ve done it before—in various ways, and to varying degrees of success—but I’ve never actually been interviewed, per se. I think we’ll be practicing a lot, which I’m sure I’ll have a lot of fun with...he said sarcastically. I don’t really care to talk about myself in person, and I don’t like trying to figure out how to censor my responses. The only thing worse than getting a question that I wasn’t ready for would be being prepared for all questions, and feeling anxious for them the whole time until it’s finally over. You would think that the worry that comes from not knowing what’s going to happen is what kills me, and that’s true in most situations, but when it comes to interacting with other people, I think I would rather be blissfully ignorant so I don’t spend too much time thinking about it. I’m just weird like that I guess. So to protect myself, that’s all I’ll say for now.

Tuesday, October 15, 2024

Microstory 2257: And He Paid It

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The money is in. Our bank account is so full, money is spilling out of it. I mean that in the most literal sense while still not talking about physical cash. Knowing that the funds would be in there by the end of the day, I set an autopayment for a number of various charities, so the full amount was only available for a few minutes before a chunk of it was gone. I’m laughing now, reading all of the replies and comments from readers who were under the impression that I was getting scammed. Oh, so many of you thought that it was never gonna happen; that I was just setting myself up for failure. We kept mentioning all the things we had to do at the bank, and whatever. You were convinced that it was going to come back to bite us in the ass. I suppose I can see where you could have guessed that. In an alternate reality, that’s what would happen; us becoming the victims of a long con. The thing is, though, even though I’m not telling you who commissioned me to give up my specimens, he’s not just some random guy who claimed to have a bunch of money. He’s fully on the books, and can’t run from me. The FBI, and other agencies, were fully aware that this was all happening, and they could have easily gone after him if he hadn’t been on the up and up. I know that a lot of scams work by telling you that they’ll give you a whole lot of money if you just give them a tiny bit up front, and the idea is that they’ll accept the tiny bit, and just run away with it, because to them, it was better than zero. But this guy didn’t ask me for a cent, and like I said, he’s a public figure with a life to lead. Taking my index and bone marrow probably won’t do much for him, especially since as I’ve been trying to tell everyone, they’re not the key to immortality. Risking going to prison by stealing them? That would have been even more absurd. He set the price, and he paid it. He paid it today, and now that business is done. I’m keeping enough of it for the three of us to live comfortably in this house, and to pay my security detail and publicist. Everything else should be spent on things that help the community, and maybe the world.

Friday, September 20, 2024

Microstory 2240: Filth

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Not much has changed yet. Yes, the dude who wants my bone marrow and index and I had a discussion, and we came to an initial agreement. We’ve not signed any papers, but as a sign of good faith, he gave me a down payment, which I will be using to hire a personal security detail for myself, and my two friends. Kelly and Dutch had the option to leave me behind, and enter a form of witness protection. They could have blended in well enough wherever they were sent, but they chose to stick by me, so I have to do right by them. I won’t tell you how much money I have at the moment, but it’s enough to afford security for the three of us for at least a few weeks after the FBI lets us go. So when I said that not much has changed, that wasn’t totally honest. The government isn’t entirely keen on letting me donate samples of my body to science. I don’t know if they think that they should have it for themselves, or what. Who knows what’s going on in their bureaucratic heads when it comes to me? I don’t mean to sound mean, or to be overly critical of them. They’ve helped me immensely multiple times when I really needed it. But it may be time for our relationship to end. I need to reassert my independence, and I assume that they would benefit from diverting resources to other things. Of course, none of this should be a thing that I’m worried about. I wouldn’t need any of it if the world were safer. The violent, disturbing, and stalkery messages haven’t stopped coming. I hired a publicist, who has taken over the responsibility of sorting though the filth. They’ll handle getting the word out on that. Apparently, they have a database of dangerous individuals, so if you chose to write something to me, just know that you may end up on a list. If I understand their reach, it could affect your credit score. Just be nice, safe, and happy, okay? We’ve been over this. I am not your monkey.

Tuesday, September 17, 2024

Microstory 2237: Good Number of Zeros

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Okay, I’ll make this brief. People did not like what I wrote in my last social post. I told you yesterday that I wasn’t going to be making any book deals, or anything, but I think most of you know that that’s not really what I meant. I was saying that I’m working on my own timeline, and contemplating my future privately. Dutch came back to this world through an interdimensional doorway while I was starting to wonder whether it even existed. For the first time in months, there is hope for me to see my friends again, and maybe even my family if I’m lucky. So no, some of you misunderstood me. I did not reject the concept of making money, and I am not being a hypocrite. I told you that I would be doing this on my own terms, which means not accepting just any offer that comes with a good number of zeros. Let’s do it right, not just quickly. This is all happening so fast, I don’t know what tomorrow holds, let alone the next year, so just be patient. For now, I’ll ask you to read my site if you want, and not try to give me any ideas. I appreciate the thought, and I’m not mad, but this is all I need for now. One thing I will tell you is that the internet is the only place where I share my thoughts. I don’t see any reason to write an autobiography that you have to buy. That ain’t me.

Monday, September 16, 2024

Microstory 2236: Stop Sending Me Messages

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We’re running into the same problem with the FBI that we had with the jail. No one has my contact information, so they’re reaching out to the only entity that they know is already in contact with me. They had to hire a temp to sift through all the letters and emails. It may actually be a team, I don’t really know. But I’m sure it’s a stressful job, because it includes death threats. Well, in truth, I don’t know that there are any death threats, because if true, part of the temp’s job would be to filter them out, so I don’t have to see them. But let’s face it, there are. No one should be sending anything like that, but I don’t really want anything anyway; good or bad. I don’t want your love letters, propositions, or proposals. I don’t want you to publish a book about my life, or cast me in a romcom. I won’t go on a date with you, or father your child, or give you my blood. It’s not a healing elixir; we know as much. Just stop. Not too long ago, Kelly suggested that we might consider hiring a publicist to handle all this stuff. They have the infrastructure and hiring practices to handle this sort of thing, not that I want anyone to have to deal with this stuff. I would rather it just stop altogether. Back in my younger days, I wished that I would be famous, and I guess I always knew that it came with drawbacks, but knowing about them, and experiencing them, are two different things. So please just calm down. As I’ve tried to explain, my blood cannot heal you. Doctors have been studying it for weeks—even longer than that when you consider the fact that I was a former immortal before I even came to your world. That’s the thing about your universe, it dampens my abilities, which is of course, what opens me up to all those death threats. God, I just can’t get away from the strife. Please just stop sending me messages. I’m sorry, but I’m not reading most of them. I don’t know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life, but I can tell you that it will be on my terms. The more you beg me to follow your lead, or listen to your ideas, the more I’m going to pull away. That’s just who I am. If you really wanna stay in the loop, simply read my website and socials. Personal connection isn’t a thing; not with me. I have all the friends I need.

Wednesday, August 28, 2024

Microstory 2223: Goodbye

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People are evidently fascinated by my story, and have a morbid curiosity for my terrible prognosis. They want to know what it’s like, living with this day to day, and knowing that my life will be over soon. Well, it’s actually kind of boring. Since I don’t have the freedom to move around where I want to, and everything I do need to accomplish has to be planned out in advance, I mostly just repeat the same routine every day. I wake up at 07:15. For now, I can brush my teeth on my own, because my arm tremors don’t prevent me from doing it, especially not so early in the morning. It gets to be problematic later in the day, when my arm starts to kind of flail about more unpredictably. I guess the prions need time to wake up too. Anyway, after I take my first round of medicine, Kelly helps me with some physical therapy exercises for about an hour. After that, I need a break, so she plants me in front of the TV for maybe a couple of hours. At that point, I’m getting hungry, so she makes me something simple for lunch, usually a sandwich or a wrap, along with fruit and vegetables. I’ve never eaten so healthily, but that was always my problem, having to be inconvenienced by preparing the food myself. I’ve never cared that much about the taste or quality, it was always just easier eating something prepackaged, or delivered right to my door. That’s probably the best thing about having an assistant, be it a medical professional, or no. Then after lunch, Kelly takes me for a walk in the wheelchair, or if she’s being a big meany, the walker. I’m joking, I know that it’s good for me to stay active and mobile. There will come a day when even sitting in a wheelchair will feel like too much. The walk takes as long as I can handle it, because I’ve always needed a nap right after it, and in some cases, during. She usually has to wake me up to take more pills, and then I just stay awake for more TV, more physical therapy, dinner, more pills, and more recently, writing these posts. Finally, it’s time for bed. That’s pretty much it. Exciting, I know. It’s so interesting, in fact, I think I’ll start a vlog about it, so a company can offer to sponsor me, then get mad when things don’t work out (probably because I’ll be dead). So. You’ve all been writing me letters, and that’s a very lovely thought, but I’m not going to tell you where I live, I do not have a publicist, because it’s a waste of money at this point, and the jail shouldn’t be worrying about them. They have enough on their plate. Here’s the deal, if you send more letters addressed to me, they have been instructed to literally throw them away. They’re not even gonna open them. So please, stop killing trees for no reason. If you want to say something to me, you can send a quick message below, or catch me on social. I still might not be able to read them, though, because it’s getting harder and harder for me to keep my eyes open in front of screens. And my lifecare assistant isn’t getting paid for all that extra stuff. Thank you for understanding. Goodbye.