Microstory 2506: Desire Hearer

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I can hear your desires, and sing your fears. I am not like the others. Their passive gifts are all negative, while their active gifts are positive. I can’t tell you why I’m the opposite, but truthfully, it has always made me feel a little left out of the group. To be clear, they never made me feel like that; it was just the nature of my condition. It’s kind of hard to explain what I could do. Landis might have better wording, though I think he actively ignores this side of him. It’s not that I could hear your thoughts. It’s not even that I could see the images in your mind. It’s more like I could hear the music of your soul, if that makes any sense. When I would listen to people’s aura—for lack of a better term—I could hear where it was pointing, be it another person, or an object, or even the future. The tone of their aura music was key to understanding and interpreting their desires. I would say that mine was the toughest job, because they had to be open with me to clarify exactly what they wanted out of their life. It was just so...abstract and intangible a lot of the time. Sure, if they were staring at the person they were secretly in love with, their desire song for them would be obvious. And to be fair, anyone who is just naturally good at reading others could probably see it all over their face without any special gift. The key was getting them to come out of their shells, and be honest about what they wanted. It felt like cheating, just straight up asking them to vocalize their feelings. No one else in the group had to do that. They were just able to sense what they were meant to sense. That’s kind of why I had to step up as the leader; not because I was particularly suited for it, but because I had to drive the progress for us to get anywhere with people. The client’s own goals were paramount in helping them. It didn’t matter how they felt, or whether they were lying. If they didn’t have an objective, what were we gonna do for them? How were their lives gonna turn out? I didn’t always have to use my active Vulnerability gift, but there were many times when it was necessary. They sometimes even asked for it. To get what they wanted, and get past what was holding them back, it was necessary for them to face their fears. It was easier for them to do that if they were confronted with them directly using the fear songs, rather than having to conjure them up in their own mindbrains. It usually went all right. The client and I were both always in control, and I could clear the sounds if they became too much to bear. Obviously, it went wrong one terrible time, and that’s why we’re here, but I can’t help but think that all of that happened for a reason, because now we have Landis. I do miss having the gifts, but I’m glad that someone else has them, even if he never uses them. At least they’re not gone forever. And the sweet song of life on Earth continues.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 6, 2519

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The honeymoon was going well. After horsing around in Mud World: World of Mud for a little while, Mateo, Leona, and Olimpia spent the night in the Sovereign Suite of the Palacium Hotel, which was pretty much the most extravagant, opulent place to stay on the planet. Hrockas actually booked it for them for more than a year, so they could sleep across midnight central, and not worry about anyone having used it during their interim year. It was too much, and completely unnecessary, but he insisted. While it was luxurious and beautiful, people really didn’t need such things these days. They mostly came for the fun and adventure, and to do things that they could not do anywhere else. The majority of the residential dwellings were functional and unremarkable, because it wasn’t a big draw for anyone, and there were plenty of nice places to live on other planets.

They were currently hanging out in State of the Art, standing on the shoulder of one of the gargantuan statues that towered over the skyline. Visitors couldn’t typically climb this high up, but teleporters didn’t share such limitations. They were trying to figure out what they were going to do next. The others on the team were right. They needed this, and if they would deign to admit it to themselves, they deserved it too.

“Adrenadome?” Olimpia suggested. They were each looking through the catalog, and tossing out ideas.

“I don’t want to shift substrates,” Leona said. “Nothing life-threatning.”

Olimpia clicked her teeth as she began to swipe away the options she had bookmarked one by one.

“We should just go to Polar Tropica,” Mateo said for the umpteenth time.

“That’s so basic,” Olimpia contended. “Are we basic?”

“Well, I suggested we try the Outer System space battle simulations, but no one wanted anything violent,” Mateo reminded her.

“Still don’t,” Leona confirmed. “Whoa,” she added, looking down at her forearm output.

“What? Something juicy?” Olimpia asked, trying to look over at her readout.

Leona read the message out loud, “you have been browsing the catalog for a while now. Still having trouble deciding? Tap here for a random suggestion, which will come from your preference algorithm. If you linked your profile with nearby friends, this suggestion will be sourced from their interest surveys as well.”

“Tap on that thang!” Mateo said.

Leona shrugged and tapped on the button. A new message popped up that read, temporal signatures detected. Rerouting. Instead of just producing the answer, they were automatically teleported elsewhere.

They found themselves standing next to a wooden wall. It wasn’t cleanly cut, but looked more like bark. The air was foggy and unbreathable. A heavy rain was falling upon them. They activated their EmergentSuits, and continued to look around. “Wow. That could have killed us,” Olimpia said.

“Must be an experimental feature,” Leona mused. “Jesimula Utkin suggested it at a meeting once. Hrockas wasn’t so sure, because he didn’t know how to distinguish time travelers from regular people. I guess they think they figured it out.”

“Not really,” Mateo contended. “The air is toxic. Unless it also knew that we had suits on, I guess.”

“It’s only toxic for us,” Leona agreed. She ran her hand over the wood wall. She reached over to her arm screen, and flicked the data over to her heads up display, which was an easier way to read when her helmet was on. “Derudome. It houses The World Tree, along with thousands of others, but this one is set to reach the top of the dome, and be three kilometers in diameter.”

“So, it’s not a wall,” Mateo stated the obvious.

“No. This isn’t even in the catalog yet,” Leona went on. “I can only see the prospectus because we’re already in the dome, and the satnav found an otherwise hidden link, but it isn’t open to visitors.”

“First!” Mateo shouted playfully.

“Hey, Thistle,” Leona began. “Erase the fog and rain through multispectral imaging. Show us the tree alone.”

The image on their HUDs changed. The fog still had them enveloped, and they could still hear the pitter-patter of rainwater on their suits, but they could now see what the tree would look like on a clear day. It was a magnificent sight to behold. People were really going to love it. Leona was in just as much awe of it, but was also running calculations through her head. How could such a thing be possible? How did it grow so fast? Did Hrockas use time tech? Or had he been working on this longer than she realized? No, even if it was the absolute first dome he started working on, the tree could not be at full height in this short amount of time. And if time tech were involved, he likely would have conscripted Ramses to make it happen.

Leona refocused her vision to the HUD text. “There’s more. It has a planned release date of...” She trailed off.

“When?” Mateo prompted.

“Year 2900,” she said.

“Whew, that’s the long-game,” Olimpia pointed out.

“Wait. Why wait?” Leona questioned. “Thistle, what are the current dimensions?”

“Nearly eight kilometers tall, with a diameter of two-point-four-two kilometers.”

“Yeah, it’s just not ready yet,” Leona determined. “The math is tight, but the rate of growth doesn’t break the laws of physics in a highly controlled environment such as this one.”

Someone else wearing an environmental suit walked up from a couple of meters away, letting themselves appear in the honeymooners’ sightlines without speaking or jumpscaring them first. Whoever it was, their visor was opaque. They held one hand towards Olimpia while the other hand was underneath their own chin. Both palms were face up. They drew both hands together until one was on top of the other, then turned them so both palms were face down. They then extended their hands back to the original positions, except with the hands switched. This was the universal sign for open up radio communications on a hailing frequency.

Leona did as she was asked. “Hello?”

“Sorry, my visor is broken,” Hrockas’ voice came through. “I refuse to wear an IMS on this planet on principle as the whole premise is that it’s infinitely survivable. I didn’t realize the helmet didn’t work right until it was already on.”

“How did you get here so fast?” Mateo asked him.

“I have a teleporter belt,” Hrockas replied. “Ramses built one for me. It needs constant charging, but it makes my daily life easier. Is he here?”

“Just the three of us,” Olimpia promised.

“Good. Not that I wouldn’t want him here. Well, I don’t plan on any of you being here. It’s just that I was worried about my lifesign sensors, but it appears they captured all visitors. You really aren’t meant to be here, though.”

“The auto random selector dispatched us here,” Leona explained.

“Oooooooohh, I forgot about that. It should not have been activated. I’ll have a talk with Jesi’s friend about it. I put the project on hold indefinitely.”

“Fair enough,” Mateo said. “We’re sorry to have imposed.”

“No, it’s okay, you three are fine,” Hrockas insisted. “I just need to include it when we update the security protocols.” He looked up at the tree. He likely couldn’t see it in all its glory, however, as the fog would be blocking most of the view. “Wady’all think?”

“It’s gorgeous,” Leona said. “We were looking for a place to spend some of our honeymoon. This place checks a lot of boxes. I like ecologies. Mateo likes water. Olimpia likes dangerous or toxic environments.”

Hrockas chuckled. “The air is saturated with carbon dioxide. Makes them grow faster.”

“So there are other trees here?” Olimpia pressed.

“Oh, yeah, it’ll be a whole forest when it’s done,” Hrockas said as he turned at the waist to indicate the area in general. “Land for giants, but not with giants. I’ll leave that to Gulliver’s World.”

“Thanks for letting us see it,” Leona said graciously. “I’m sure we’ll be back in about four hundred days, when it’s finally open to the public.”

Hrockas chuckled again. “You can stay as long as you want. The fog makes it hard to see, but hey, if you’re into that, as well as danger, you could always try Foggy Forest.”

“Thanks. After my time in Bloodbourne,” Mateo said, “I’ve decided to stay away from the intentionally scary or unsettling ones.”

“I understand. Have a good rest of your honeymoon.” Hrockas tried to tug on a pull actuator, and flip a switch on his shoulder. “Oh, shit. My teleporter’s drained again.”

“Here.” Mateo approached. “Let me take you to Treasure Hunting Dome, so Ramses can fix it for you. It shouldn’t drain that fast.”

“No, I’ve been using it all day. I really just need to be careful with it.”

“Well, I’ll make him give you a second one during charge cycles, or hell, a third.” Mateo took hold of Hrockas and took them both away. Leona and Olimpia followed.

They were standing in the antechamber to Ramses’ new lab, which he built when he was stuck in the past for a year. After they went through decontamination, the three EmergentSuit wearers receded their nanites, and stepped into the lab. While Olimpia was helping Hrockas remove his bulky suit, Mateo approached Ramses. Something caught his eye, though. He looked over at a gestational pod, which Romana was floating inside of. He fumed. “What happened to my daughter?”

“She’s fine,” Ramses said. “She’s taking a nap. That’s not your daughter. It’s a new substrate for her.”

“Why would she need a new substrate?” Mateo questioned.

“The retroverters,” Ramses began to explain. “They’re not proverters too. Romana asked me to give her an upgrade instead of waiting for time to age her back up.”

“We can find her a proverter somewhere else,” Mateo reasoned.

“That’s not what she wants. You should talk to her.”

“Were you ever gonna tell me?”

“Yeah, when you got back. Why are you back so early?”

“It was just a quick detour in between adventures. Now I worry I should stay, or you’ll do something drastic.”

“Mateo. We were going to tell you. We just wanted you to relax first. Don’t make this into a thing.”

“Well, you’ve obviously been working on it for a long time now. She only looks as old as the real Romana does right now.”

“That is on an accelerated timescale,” Ramses clarified.

“I thought that wasn’t safe or stable.”

“I mean, the clone is in a time bubble. Or it usually is, while I’m not here. It’s developing at a normal rate, but from our perspective, it’s sped up. I shut off the temporal field this morning so I could run diagnostics, and make any adjustments necessary...which there aren’t any.”

This made Mateo even more frustrated. “Why can’t you just do that for Romana herself, keeping her in her original body?”

Ramses shook his head. “You’re not as dumb as you pretend to be, so stop asking stupid questions. It wouldn’t work for a conscious individual. She would go insane, trapped in the pod for ten plus years. God!”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Mediator Leona said, stepping in. “Ramses, don’t be mean. Not everyone is as smart as you, and I know you get annoyed, but you need to keep control of how you speak to others. What might seem like a dumb question to you could sound perfectly reasonable to anyone else.” She too was a genius, but a part of her wasn’t. She recalled a timeline where she majored in Film Studies in college. This gave her a rare ability to straddle both worlds, and be empathetic to all. “Mateo, Romana is an adult, and this decision was inevitable. Look around. Nobody on this planet is a regular mortal being. Some people refused transhumanistic upgrades once they became available, and you know what happened to them? They died. Because that’s literally what they wanted. Their race has all but died out at this point, because fewer in each generation choose to stay as they were when they were born.”

“I know,” Mateo responded. “Intellectually, I know. I just can’t help but see her as my little girl. I never got to raise her. I think I would give her all the room in the universe if I watched her grow up, making small decisions on her own at first, before working her way up to the life-changing ones.”

“Yeah, and that wasn’t fair for you, but at the same time, it’s not fair of you to expect her to let you treat her as a child.”

Mateo said. “I know that too.”

“This wasn’t a rash decision,” little Romana said from the doorway. “I always wanted to be like you. My whole life, I’ve wanted to be like you. I grew up with stories. This...Ashvin thing was just the catalyst that pushed me to finally go through with it. I want this.”

“It’ll be ready in a couple days,” Ramses said.

“Did you hear that, dad? Plenty of time to go back to your honeymoon. I promise, when you return, I’ll still look like a child. I won’t transfer without you present.”

Mateo nodded. “Okay.”

When Mateo showed up the next day, still in the middle of the honeymoon, Romana no longer looked like a kid. She didn’t look like herself at all.

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Extremus: Year 107

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Tinaya decided to not tell Arqut, Silveon, or Audrey about the post-death asteroid that could be waiting for them once they finally leave the ship at the end of their first life. It isn’t something they need to be worried about for now. They still don’t talk to Audrey a whole lot, because it’s riskier than ever, but not impossible. Waldemar isn’t the least bit suspicious, and he’s not all that possessive. He sees Audrey and his friends as props. He really doesn’t care what these props do when they’re not busy making him look like a normal, well-adjusted person fit for leadership. While he ended up announcing his engagement instead of declaring his intentions to restore the civilian Chair system, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t plan on doing that eventually. He holds secret meetings all the time, with all sorts of people, some of whom have obvious political connections on this ship, others who seem unremarkable and inconsequential.

They don’t have time to worry about that today, and won’t for a good long while. Everyone else has become quite preoccupied with the upcoming event.  It’s the halfway mark. The thing to remember about this mission is that the outcome is, by definition, unknown. No one has ventured out to space this far, and they have definitely not gone as far as Extremus eventually will. The mystery is part of the experience, which they all hope their descendants will appreciate, and not resent them for it. The idea of it taking 216 years has always been more of an estimate than anything. There is no clear boundary forming the edge of the galaxy. The galactic halo alone makes it undefined, and with there being plenty of stars in the intergalactic voids anyway, there really is no standard scope of the Milky Way. Someone—no one seems to remember who—supposedly chose the duration to be 216 years simply because they liked the number. It’s impossible to verify that since the figure predates any serious discussion their ancestors made regarding the Extremus mission itself. It wasn’t like some fabled “founder” stood before the cameras, and unveiled a fully baked idea to travel across the galaxy. People started murmuring about it first, with different concepts being bounced around until landing on this one. It was a years-long process.

So basically, July 17, 2378 is only halfway between their starting date and their ending date because they had to make some sort of plan, even if it was always going to be subject to change. It definitely will change, because statistically speaking, there is almost no way that their 215th anniversary rolls around, and they happen to find a viable planet on that very day. Which is okay, because there is also no way that they let this nebulousness stop them from celebrating. Not even the Bridger section knows what happens at the end of the target deadline. It’s written into the charter that no one possesses knowledge about the future that far in advance. They could have hypothetically asked a seer to warn them of how things would turn out, and craft their plans meticulously to account for every eventuality, but that would have gone against the spirit of the endeavor. They don’t want to know what they’ll find, because then what’s the point of looking for it?

They’re arguing. Well, Tinaya isn’t arguing. The council members are arguing with each other while she, Lataran, and Oceanus sit in silence. Their first issue? The theme. What will the theme of the party be? Well, hopefully nothing, because that’s a little childish. Plus, there is no single area on this ship where every passenger and crewmember can congregate. The Attic Forest might be big enough, but there are hills, trees, and other vegetation blocking views, so it’s not a great place if you want to have some kind of presentation or performance. Plus, Tinaya really doesn’t want all those people in her forest all at once, trashing the place. There will be multiple gatherings, some happening at the same time, some happening on different dates. The exact date of July 17 is important, but they’ll be doing things in the weeks leading up to it, and probably after it too. The council will decide on some of them, but passengers can party whenever they want, for pretty much any reason, so other events will be unaffiliated.

Oceanus has clearly grown weary of all this back and forth, but the expression on his face isn’t enough to clarify what’s going on in his head. Not even when he blurts out; “a committee!”

“What?” Councilman Linwood questions.

“Why are you handling this?” Oceanus questions. “You’re the council for the ship, made up of crew and civilian policymakers. You have important business to attend to. Why are you wasting your time on a party?” Hm. It’s not just about the pointlessness of this particular debate.

There is silence for a moment. “You may leave if you wish, Captain,” Head Councillor Spalden says to him. “This is not a mandatory meeting.”

“It’s not just me,” Oceanus begins. “Yes, I’m too busy for this, but what I’m trying to tell you is that you are as well. I’m not saying that members of the council can’t also be part of the party planning committee, or whatever you wanna call it, but it should not be taking up all of your time. This is a different subject of discussion, and therefore requires different voices. Let’s open it up, and invite others to join. Meanwhile, you can move on to more crucial concerns.”

“Would you want to be on it?” Spalden asks.

“Absolutely not,” Oceanus retorts. “I don’t care.” He gives the side eye to Tinaya and Lataran. “The war is my current worry.” The Admirals are aware that there is a war against the Exin Empire, and that it is being fought by the Verdemusians, in whatever capacity they are able. They are not, however, privy to current operational details. It’s not technically relevant to the ship, and more of a diplomatic problem, so they don’t need to know. It sounds like something happened, or is happening, which has Captain Jennings anxious. They’re both curious to learn what that might be, but not entitled to any such answers. “With all due respect,” he adds.

“We recognize, appreciate, and understand the duties of the Captain,” Spalden says, “which is why I invited you to leave, and return to your post. There will be no hard feelings here. The Halfway Party is vital to keeping passengers enthusiastic about our mission, and to pass this enthusiasm down to the next generations. It is not frivolous. It is not irrelevant. It is vital to our survival as a people, and for that reason, I must insist on maintaining our commitment to the matter. Thank you very much.”

“He’s not saying that it’s not important,” Councilwoman Flowers defends. “He’s not even saying that we shouldn’t have any input. He’s arguing that we were elected to manage the safe, secure, and prosperous transportation of our passengers across the galaxy. Our obligation to them covers all matters, as well as ship morale. As morale is but a subset of our duties, perhaps a more focused committee is in order. Not only do we have other issues to deal with, but including people who are not on the council in the decision-making process would actually aid in our endeavor to boost ship morale itself.”

Head Councillor Spalden squirms in his seat. It’s becoming apparent that the issue is not that he wants the council to be solely in charge of it. It’s that he wants to personally be in charge of it.

Tinaya stands. “I move for the creation of an official Party Planning Committee, to be responsible for the Halfway Celebration, as well as any other state-sponsored festivities, which may be conceived of in the future. I would like to include in this motion a provision that Head Councillor Spalden be installed as the first Premier Facilitator of the PPC...final name to be determined by the selected Premier Facilitator.”

“Seconded,” Lataran says.

As Head Councillor Spalden is being called in this motion, he is unable to be involved in any way. He can’t even be present for a vote. Councilman Linwood stands. “Motion is engaged. All other business on the agenda are tabled until further notice. Discussion on new order will be open as soon as Head Councillor Spalden excuses himself.”

Spalden stands, and holds back his excitement. He doesn’t want to seem too eager. They’re all picking up on how he feels, and there’s little chance that they won’t let him do it. Oceanus isn’t the only one who doesn’t care what happens to the celebrations; he’s just the only one in a position to vocalize his apathy.

As Spalden is leaving, Councilman Linwood turns his attention to Tinaya and Lataran. “Admirals, as non-voting members, please excuse yourselves as well.”

Lataran points finger guns at him, winks, and clicks her tongue just before she disappears.

Tinaya nods at the council. “With respect to the Dais,” she says, which is the right way to leave these chambers. She walks out manually.

Lataran didn’t teleport too far. She’s waiting for Tinaya on the other side of the doors. “Anything interesting happen after I left?” she jokes.

“I’ve not asked in a while. How’s Sable?” Tinaya asks as they start walking down the corridor together.

“She’s good. Knows what she wants to do with her life already.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’m glad we were able to get out of that meeting early, because there’s something you should see, and earlier is better than later.”

“Okay...”

They continue to walk instead of jumping right to their destination. It’s apparently not all that urgent. Lataran exudes a sense of calm and reserved excitement, rather than anxiety or fear. This thing that she wants Tinaya to see must not be bad. That still doesn’t tell her what it could possibly be, though. They take the elevator all the way up to the top level. It’s evidently something in the Attic Forest. Lataran continues to lead her between the trees and bushes until they can see a group of children. Sable is one of them, but Tinaya doesn’t know any others since her own son has aged out of this demographic.

“This is her Enrichment class,” Lataran explains. Enrichment is a vital component of children’s education. It typically includes studies that are not, strictly speaking, necessary for the continuation of the mission. No science, no engineering, no Earth studies. It’s about art, music, and other creative activities. It’s a generic term at this age. If a student decides to pursue a career in one of these fields, the course options will narrow later on.

One of the kids notices that the Admirals have arrived, and starts spreading the news. They were standing in random spots before, but now clump together in a vaguely orderly fashion. Off to the side, a white sheet hangs over the trail between two trees, which is perhaps ready for an image to be projected upon it? Once Tinaya and Lataran step fully into the clearing, the performance begins. In their best attempt at unison, they cry, “thank you, Admiral Leithe!” They then sing a song, which seems to be wholly original. It’s not a literal interpretation about the past, but is essentially about a cold, lifeless ship being turned into a lush garden full of joy and calm, where all the children can laugh and play. It’s about the forest. It’s about her.

After the son is over, seven-year-old Sable separates herself from the group, clearly intentionally, and as rehearsed. She reaches up and tries to take hold of the corner of the white sheet, but she’s too short. “The stool!” she complains, looking around on the ground. In lieu of looking for the stool, one of the older boys picks her up by the waist so she can get the sheet. She pulls it off of the hook, and lets it drop. On the other side is a garden. Of course there’s vegetation all around, but this is a distinct section, surrounded by stone pavers. The flowers planted here are some of the most vibrant and delicate, such as zinnias, carnations, and blue alyssum. There’s a small water fixture on a small retaining wall. The water splashes into a tiny pond, which spills over the edge of the lower retaining wall, and into a tiny creek that disappears around the corner.

Tinaya tears up when she notices one last thing. On a wooden sign on a wooden post are the words, Leithe Gardens.

“They’ve been working on this for months,” Lataran explains. “Sable only fessed up when I grilled her for coming home late two weeks ago.”

“Oh, boys and girls,” Tinaya says. “Thank you. This is so sweet of you.” It’s nice, after all this heartache—with Waldemar, and baby Silvia, and just everything—to see something so pure and delightful. As a leader, she’s had to endure all too much danger and drama. It’s great to be reminded that life is about happiness, and they’re flying through the black in the search of that; not war or political intrigue. The thought and care that went into creating this masterpiece shows that it is possible to find harmony, and to build a society based on love and community.

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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 1270: The Bird and the Cat

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When a cat’s owner first brought home a new pet bird, the cat was hungry. He eyed the bird up in her cage, and dreamed of chomping down on her meat. The bird showed no fear, but did not antagonize the cat either. Over time, the bird and the cat became friends. The cat always had plenty of food to eat, and there was no need for them to be enemies. She would sing him sweet songs, and he would tell her fun stories. The cunning cat even figured out how to open the bird’s cage, so she could fly free when their owner was not home. One night, the owner left some chestnuts to roast under the fire. “Oh, how we would like those chestnuts,” tweeted the bird.

“They would be mighty tasty,” purred the cat. “But we could never get them.”

“You could,” the bird said to him. “You are quick and sly. Pull them out one at a time.”

“They are too hard for my teeth,” the cat lamented. “The owner cracks them open for me, and lets me have a little every year.”

“If you get us the chestnuts,” suggested the bird, “I will crack them open for us.”

“You promise to share?” the cat asked.

“I promise,” said the bird.

And so the cat reached into the fire, and retrieved the savory nuts with his fast paws. As he did this, the bird cracked them open with her mighty beak. All told, they were able to secure nearly two dozen chestnuts between the two of them! The bird ate eleven, and the cat ate eleven. They then buried the remaining nut into the rug, hoping to spring a new chestnut tree, because they were animals, and they didn’t know any better. But they were full animals, and happy, and together.

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

Microstory 800: Dreams (Introduction)

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Dreams! (dreams, dreams) Dr-dr-dr-dreams! I’ve been posting my dreams on a special Twitter account since October of 2010. The point was to not only remember my dreams, and develop better control over my thoughts, but to engage my creativity. I did it for a little while before stopping, and I believe I picked it up a few times over the years, before recently deciding that I needed to be more diligent with it. As I was working on the future of my website, I came up with my idea for the 900 series, because the number fit well, but that meant I had nothing for 800, and obviously I can’t focus too much on ten steps from now, I need to know what I’m doing before that. Adapting my dream tweets seemed like the most reasonable use of this space, especially since I amassed enough of them to pick the absolute best ones, so that’s what you’re going to get now. It’ll be a nice break, because I realized I don’t have to come up with photos that match the topics I’m writing about. All I need to do is slap a screenshot of the original tweet, and that should be enough to catch your eye on social media links. It’ll also be nice because I have for a while now been beholden to my own canons, but now I can stretch my legs, and come up with stories free from these narrative constraints. I don’t even have to follow any set of physical laws, because you can literally do anything in dreams, even create stable paradoxes. I’m conflicted about my feelings towards this series. A part of me worries that any one, or more, of them could give rise to a new franchise that I had not been planning to do. Another part of me is excited for this possibility. This could get complicated. I think that’s pretty much all I need to say about this, as it’s a fairly easy concept to grasp. Every time I write one of these, I’m gonna be listening to a playlist of songs I like that involve the topic of dreams, just so you know how committed I am to my trade.

Microstory 791: Swan

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There is no creature in this universe, or any other, with a more beautiful singing voice than the Slrdr. God created us in her image, which means that we are all human, in some form, or another. The Slrdr, however, are an exception to this that few understand. Their most notable feature may be that they have eight genders, each one vital to the development of scion, but this characteristic has a match in Slrdrn music. Regardless of gender, all Slrdr are born with two separate vocal cords, which allow them to produce an array of musical permutations otherwise relegated to artificial instruments. Since the species evolved with hearing that was superior to their other senses, music has become the most important component of their culture. A Slrdr who cannot sing is...well, not quite a Slrdr. Unfortunately, these individuals do exist, and they are—somewhat affectionately, but also somewhat dismissively—called swans. Though untrue, there is an ancient Earthan belief that swans do not sing until the moment of their death, at which point they will melodically produce a final farewell to the world. The Slrdr kind of swans are born with dysfunctional vocal cords, which either renders them completely mute, or with minimal vocal power. Indeed, when humans first met the Slrdr, they were skeptical about the concept that these people will suddenly gain a previously unhad capability, just before expiring. Yet years later, a xenopologist had the occasion to meet a swan who was nearing the end of her life. As promised, she mustered all of her strength, and belted out her own death knell. Legend has it that she could be heard all the way to the next star system, but of course this part was a gross exaggeration. At the time, the xenopologist reported his observations, but was unable to gather enough data to explain how this was possible. He postulated that her muteness was merely psychological, rather than physiological. Decades later, a group of human and Slrdr scientists set about to study the phenomenon in a more controlled environment. A swan jesh, whose gender would generally give her the responsibility to teach her ensemble’s clutch how to sing, was suffering from an incurable terminal disease, and was on her way to the end. They placed her in an imaging chamber, and discovered that her body was transforming on a cellular level. Organs usually used for breathing and temperature regulation reassembled themselves into a new configuration—one that resembled Slrdrn vocal cords. Her body was killing itself so she could make music with her voice for the first and only time in her life. Somehow, it knew that she didn’t have long left, and instinctively provided her with something she had never experienced before. Her swan song was recorded, and is to this day, the most popular piece of music in the galaxy, played in households on every planet to ease children to sleep. Leading researchers still do not quite know why a swan would be able to do this. The current theory, however, is that it’s an evolutionary reaction. Many socially-dependent species developed a trait that cause them to call out to their community when in trouble. It is believed that swans, even while suffering this handicap for their entire lives, are alloted the dignity of not dying alone, and unheard.

Microstory 765: Nickel

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In the realms beyond this one, there exists a hierarchy of demons. Of course Adversary is the highest of these, and it is he who rules over all others. His top twenty-three advisors are known as the Apostates, and are all but completely autonomous in their dealings against hopeless humans. Most other demons under them must follow the chain of command, and submit to their superiors. The lowest of the lows, however, are the nickels. They’re considered to be so insignificant that the Apostates don’t even bother giving them responsibilities. While mid-level demons are busy concocting new and interesting ways of torturing people in Hell, and beguiling those in heaven, nickels are just sort of always around. Hell is an open place. People aren’t most of the time locked in cages, or chained to great boulders. Instead, they travel freely, hoping to carve out some small shred of safety somewhere. Nickels find joy in being nuisances to the people they come across. They often cause physical harm, but spend most of their time just being incredibly annoying, preventing residents from finding any level of peace. If a nickel finds you, it might sing the same lyric over and over again in your ear, sometimes for days on end, until it gets bored and moves on. It might throw track ballast at you when you’re trying to sleep, or drench you in itching powder. If a group of nickels incidentally comes together, they’ll form something called a licking party, which humans will find difficult to escape. This all may not seem like that big of a deal, but nickels number in the hundreds of millions, and never sleep. When The Words predicted that hell would reign on Earth, they primarily meant that nickels would break free from their realm, and come into ours. And when the armies of evil are finally vanquished, it will be the scattering of nickels that remain, possibly for years to come.

Microstory 558: Spacetime Tear May Lead to A Planet in the Future

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Decades ago, visitors strolling through Peripeteia Park started noticing something strange. At first, it was just a feeling, like time was moving slightly differently around them. They could feel these waves—or ripples—crawling over their skin. Then the weather began to change dramatically, and incongruently with the rest of the area. It was like the park wasn’t really on the same planet as the rest of us, and scientists now more than ever believe this to be true. Recently, this tear in the spacetime continuum has begun to exhibit even more unusual properties. At first, it was just the music. People could hear melodies that no human on our planet ever created, and some of the instrumental sounds were not familiar to our history. Then things changed even more, and became even more bizarre than we could have predicted. Anyone who ventures too close to the rift will now experience an uncontrollable urge to sing the songs they hear, even without ever having heard the lyrics before. Despite its danger, the government never prevented anyone from entering Peripeteia Park, because they didn’t feel they had the right. Now, this has changed, because it seems to be infecting (for lack of a better word) people’s minds, and that is something that cannot be allowed. For now, only authorized scientists have been allowed anywhere near the park, and only with protection, and only under special orders for research. Rift research has now been given its own budget, so that it can be studied and understood. One scientist, who has had extensive time with the rift, believes that it leads to another planet, one where this music is commonplace. Furthermore, he or she believes this planet’s present time to be located somewhere in the future. His or her identity has not been revealed, but through a process of quantum entanglement, they believe that our two planets have somehow been connected to each other, and will be affected by each other’s paradigm shifts. Other scientists have expressed doubt in this possibility, pointing to their apprehension in the mystery scientist’s methods of deductive reasoning. Said mystery scientist has signed a record deal for his work, and will be releasing an album to the public with his findings sometime in the coming months.

Microstory 547: Solange Attar Coming to Wyoming

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Wyoming is one of the largest states in Usonia. It is also the least populated; we live in a few large cities, and also several sparse towns. We’re mostly​ farmers and ranchers, but like anyone else, we love music. Unfortunately, not a whole lot of musical artists tour in Wyoming. It’s just not practical when they can go to Chicago or Austin, and sell out with no question. Of course, city officials are always looking to enrich theirs, and Wyoming’s, economy by reaching out to anyone who can draw a crowd. But this is not what happened. For those of you who don’t know, Solange Attar is probably the most famous singer across Europe. She has a not insignificant following in Usonia, but many stateside still have not heard her name. According to an official statement released by her publicist, she is looking to enter the North American market in a big way. This is why the mayor of Gravely, Wyoming is confused as to why she would choose to make her first appearance on this side of the pond in what’s only the second-largest city in the state. His assistant did a little research, and learned that there appears to be no connection between Miss Attar and anyone in Gravely. No one on her team is from here, there is no street coincidentally named something familiar in one of her songs. There’s nothing. There is just no reason for Attar to hold a performance ​in Gravely, let alone use it for her Usonia debut. Whatever her reasons, the city of Gravely, and the state of Wyoming, are ecstatic for the move, and are working tirelessly to prepare to give her a warm welcome. Private citizens are called upon to do the same, and make our great state proud. Miss Attar’s publicist declined to comment on this story at this time.

Microstory 449: Floor 37 (Part 2)

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Recruiting Manager: Before we begin, I would first like to let you know that you are not in trouble.

Corporate Recruiter: Well, that’s very good to hear.

Manager: We’re just here today to get an understanding of what went wrong. We can start with a Mister—

Recruiter: I’m sorry to stop you, but are you telling me that you know whose fault this window thing is?

Manager: Recruiter, we at Analion try to not blame each other for issues. When the company hurts...you hurt. When you hurt...I hurt. We all hurt. We’re all in this together.

Recruiter: Right. But. We can’t all actually be to blame for the windows. It has to be an employee. I know you just said that I wasn’t in trouble, but I can’t help but feel like this is all going to lead people to think I had something to do with it.

Manager: No one said anything about anything. This is just an inquiry.

Recruiter: But If I hired someone who was responsible for the windows the windows, then you could just say—

Manager: I’m gonna stop you right there. The more you say right now, the closer you get to realizing your nightmares.

Recruiter: ...

Manager: Now that I know where you stand, I can be honest with you. The truth is that a lot of people screwed up. This is all about procedure. We had our way of doing things, and they were fine, but then a schism developed. Few people recognized the separation, and most that did dismissed it as inconsequential. Some of us, myself included, wanted to make this company better. We have too long denied certain truths about where the future is headed. Why we still use so much paper is beyond me. Why we built this giant tower when it’s more effective to source from people who work from home is beyond me. And why the elite make all these decisions without understanding what their minions go through on a daily basis...is beyond me.

Recruiter: Okay...

Manager: We had the chance to do something great; to turn our company into a bellwether that all other companies would look to for guidance. We ended up doing the opposite. We chose, not only to halt progress, but to force ourselves to go back to where we were nine years ago. Many people want to flee to our competitors, and I can’t  say that I blame them. For the first time in my career, I considered it as well. I have chosen another path. I’ve chosen to rise above it, and exercise my strength and calm to help us all get past what’s happened to us.

Recruiter: What are you saying? Are you asking something of me?

Manager: We are the gatekeepers of personnel, and what this company needs right now...is a change in personnel.

Recruiter: Now you’re playing my song.

Microstory 386: Extravagance

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Legacy

This is not a step. I repeat...this is not a step. This is not something you should be striving for. This is superfluous, wasteful, and another synonym for excessive behavior. I only put this in here because it is a possible way to live your life, and I know some people are interested in it, and it deserves academic attention. One of my favorite rap artists, Conner 4 Real dropped a hot bonus track called “Should I Move?”. It’s a fascinating satirical song about the human condition, society’s demands for what kind of goals people should have, and the imprudence of materialism. In it, Conner tells an obviously fabricated story about the so-called “hardest day of [his] life” where he struggled with whether to buy a larger second home even though his current home is plenty large. Spoiler alert, at the end of the fictional version of Conner’s tale, he does end up buying the house, and keeping “the old one for [his] dogs”. It’s a ridiculous situation, having two houses that are so close together. I applaud Conner for writing such a serious musical piece that’s unlike any of the other poppy music he normally puts out. Quality of living is a spectrum. The most impoverished of us live in terrible conditions with no food, no shelter, and no help. The richest live so extravagantly that the only work they do is designed to make them more money, rather than contribute to society. The Purge franchise of movies is about a dystopian future where the wage gap has grown so large that politicians have annually legalized all crime in order to cull the poor. They do this on the belief that the poor are draining the nation’s economy. In reality, it’s the opposite. Sure, rich people who own businesses are supporting the economy by employing the less fortunate and continuing to cycle money. But so much of what they, and other rich people, do is only about their own purses. This doesn’t help the economy. Yes, in the short-term, you’re supporting the yacht industry by buying ten yachts, but this will lead to diminishing returns, and only help a select few in the population. Your goal in life should be to become as successful as possible, but beware the moment success transforms into unfulfilling overconsumption.

Gourmet Eating

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 17, 2071

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They felt rested enough the following year that they decided to watch a few of their remaining films in real time; the ones that showed a little bit more technique. Neither of them were known for their dancing. Mateo didn’t enjoy it, and Leona’s life became wrapped up in salmon drama at such a young age that she gained little experience. After that was all over, they began to watch video tutorials for dancing online. They eventually made their way to a channel that showed them specific choreography they could use. Aura, Samsonite, and Theo had experience with old forms of dancing since it was expected out of socially accepted individuals back then. Together they came up with what they felt to be an interesting, albeit somewhat derivative dance number. Hopefully it would be good enough to keep Makarion happy, and disinclined to murder them.

As far as tribulations went, this was one of the easiest. They weren’t stressed about performing well, or being accurate, like with the others. They didn’t have to follow a storyboard very carefully, and they were not in any clear physical danger. Dancing so close together was awkward, though, since they still weren’t completely over their fight. To everyone else, it had been going on for years, but to them only days. They would need to find their way past it, but they didn’t know how to do that. Less than an hour from midnight, they deciding to start practicing again in an abandoned warehouse that was somehow very clean. Makarion had not indicated when they were actually going to perform for him, or where, or really under what conditions. It was possible he managed to gather an audience of thousands to watch them. He could apport them anywhere from here to Mars, at least. He might have been capable of traveling to other planets too, but there was no way to know his plans. It just wasn’t productive to let the anticipation get to them. The problem was, they were running out of time.

On the millionth run-through of the dance, things were going extremely well, despite them both messing up nearly every move. He dropped her once, and she stepped on his toes a couple of times. They were out of sync and out of order, but they were having fun. Choreography was great and all, but the improvisational skills they picked up from having been consumed with the art for the last two days were invaluable. Halfway through the bit, they tore themselves from the choreography and began to dance naturally, as if rehearsed, but with moves they had never tried before. Their eyes were locked, and their hearts connected. No one else was in the room. Literally. Their family had been there watching them, but suddenly disappeared. The music changed to a song they hadn’t been using, but Makarion was nowhere to be found. They were completely alone, and together. This music was slower and hypnotizing, causing them to lay their heads on each other’s shoulders. This was the part of the movie where feelings became real. Apparently that sort of thing wasn’t a creative contrivance. Music can really move you.

They hadn’t been listening to a vinyl record because, was that even possible in 2071? Yet, when the song was over, they could hear the distinct sound records made once at the end of the recording; static amidst consistent turning. They gently pulled their heads back and stared into each other’s eyes. Mateo was reminded of how and when he fell in love with her. She was just a kid when they met, so he had no feelings at the time. But he also hadn’t waited until she was his age and moving through time along with him. On April Fools’ day 2025, Leona’s birthday, Mateo was under quarantine. He had just traveled back from the future, a glitch in his pattern the likes of which has never been replicated without manipulation from a choosing one. Leona was still mad at him for having run away following the death of his father. And her anger only grew from him having never returned to the timestream in 2024, even though that wasn’t his fault. Looking back, she might have blamed herself for it. She helped designed the machine that was supposed to gather feedback from his time jumps, and they had always attributed that machine to his glitch. Did she feel responsible for what happened later?

This was the year Mateo killed his own mother from having brought a pathogen back from the future. But before they were aware that this happened, he was placed in a room covered in plastic sheeting in an attempt to prevent him from infecting others, not realizing that the damage had already been done. It was Leona’s birthday, and they celebrated it with his mother, Carol and their physicist friend, Duke Andrews. But there were times when Mateo and Leona were alone. A particular one of these times was when they were nearing the end of the night. They talked for hours without fear of being split apart at the strike of midnight. Throughout that time, much like during today’s dance rehearsal, only the two of them existed within reality. They didn’t talk about the things they had been through, or the people they had met. This was a deep and meaningful philosophical discussion about life, identity, and perspective. It was the only time Mateo felt on the same level as her, and capable of fully understanding what she was saying. They agreed on just about every point, but when they didn’t, they could still understand where the other was coming from.

Even while he was the one speaking, he really only had one thought. He didn’t want to ever lose her. In his head, he prayed to God and begged to the powers that be to keep the two of them together. That night, they did not kiss, or do anything else romantic for that matter. This wasn’t when they became boyfriend and girlfriend. It was the moment they became best friends. They did not yet know everything about each other, but they knew enough to know that nothing could keep them apart; not even time. A few years later, Leona would fall into his salmon pattern, but before they had any idea that this would happen, Mateo had already decided that she was his soulmate. If he stopped traveling through time millenia in the future—long after Leona was dead—and had the opportunity to settle down with someone, he knew he wouldn’t. She was the only one for him. Though he could not read her mind, he could see in her eyes that she was feeling the same way. Her attraction to him began years earlier, but it was only in 2025, inside quarantine sheeting, that their relationship could begin.

And now in the year 2071, those feelings were returning to them in full force. Again, they did not speak about what they were thinking. They just looked at each other telepathically, and an understanding formed between them. Mateo had been responsible for the death of two men. One of them was a friend who shouldn’t have been put in that position, and whose passing Mateo deeply regretted. The other was a powerful adversary who was making it his mission to make their lives hell. Regardless of their philosophical positions on life and death, Mateo had made the right call by pushing The Rogue towards the explosion. They couldn’t see him as a person, for he was an enemy combatant. And sometimes fighting, and even killing, was your only option. Standing here now in Mateo’s arms, Leona seemed to have finally resigned herself to this notion. What happened happened, and it was time to move on from it. They now faced a new enemy, and if they were going to survive him, they had to become a united front. It’s a cliché, but this really is war. The two met in a classy but passionate kiss, then they apologized to each other. The alarms on their watches rang out, indicating that they were near midnight. For whatever reason, Makarion never called upon them to perform the dance number. This tribulation was evidently over.”

They smiled at each other lovingly. “Will you marry me?”

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