Microstory 2247: Anecdotes that Never Happened

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Good news is I bought a new bed today. I was looking for specific one with special features. Back on my Earth, I had one like it. I didn’t buy it myself, but my sister did. Then she moved to another country, and couldn’t take with her, so I got it instead. It’s not something that I would have chosen, because I struggled with holding onto work, and didn’t have the marketable skills to afford it. But now I’m in a different position. Now I can buy things like this. It is really comfortable, but that’s not the reason I did it. Like I said, sister gave it to me, so it’s just a small connection to my past. I know it’s the same thing as being around the people that I care about, but it’s still a small bit of home. Or it’s a reminder of it anyway. I should look for more things like this, to make myself feel a little more comfortable, and a little more safe. There is nothing in this world that anyone in my family is so much as aware of. They never seen the movies you make. They have heard of your presidents. They not study your history. I have to do my best to pretend. If I were back there, my dad would have helped me carry this thing in, and up the stairs. We would have bumped the wall at least once, and after four years, he wouldn’t have able to take it anymore after occasionally passing by it when he visited, and fix it for me. My mom would have insisted on buying my sheets for me. I can make up these little anecdotes that never happened, but could have, and almost feel like I’m back where I belong. It makes feel better. And I really need it. Especially right now. I’ve spent all day cleaning and arranging our new furniture, so I’m going to break in this new bed, and get to bed early. I see you tomorrow, and all that.

Microstory 2246: So There’s That

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Moving day! That happened fast. One thing that has made it easier is that we don’t have to worry about selling the place where we lived before, and we don’t have to transport any furniture. Well, we did have a few things. Kelly left some stuff at her old place, and so did Dutch, though his parents had moved a lot to storage while he was missing. I only have enough belongings to carry in one small suitcase because I’ve left my apartment the way it is for the next tenant. I hope they like it. What we’re gonna have to do now is buy stuff to fill the new house up. The security firm is taking care of some of that, because they need it to be secure, of course. Also of course, I can’t give you details on our security protocols, because that would be dumb. But they’re good, so don’t come after us, lemme tell you that. There will be cameras, and other sensors. I won’t bore you with any more information about this stuff. I’m sure you’re all more interested in the surgeries that I’m about to have. Well, there’s no updates on those at all, so I can’t tell you what I don’t know. Oh, and the President of the United States wants to meet me, so there’s that. NBD.

Microstory 2079: Struggling and Stammering

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I’m working first shift tomorrow, so I’ve set up a few appointments to go look at apartments, maybe somewhere that’s right next to the nursery, or at least closer. I won’t be signing any contracts quite yet, but I imagine that it’s going to take me a little bit of time to find the right place. This has nothing to do with how the world works. I have very specific requirements. It doesn’t have to be big, and it certainly doesn’t have to be luxurious, but it needs to be clean, and/or I need to be able to clean it without breaking my back. So in that regard, it would be better small, especially since it’s just me. I like things to be efficient and quick. Procedural memory is key. I want there to be a place for everything, with everything in its place. One benefit to coming to a new world is that this is a fresh start. I’m not burdened by all these hand-me-downs that don’t fit my needs perfectly, or regretful purchases that I made in my youth. I get to start from scratch, and buy only what I require, conceived by my more mature, experienced brain. It may still seem too early to do all this, since I’ve not even received my first paycheck yet, but I believe that they’re going to be lenient on me when it comes to when the first rent payment is due, due to my financial situation. It’s more important to them that I give them reason to believe that I can reliably pay on a consistent basis, not necessarily pay right away. I can prove that I am gainfully employed, and that I have decent job security. I’m still in touch with my social worker, who is reaching out to the necessary people to facilitate the future move. They’ve certainly dealt with harder cases than me, including people who can’t conduct business deals for themselves. I could never run a Fortune 500 company, but I’m capable of understanding the basics of a rental agreement. It’s nice to have someone in my corner who can explain what’s going on with me. I’m pretty awkward in social situations. If we’re only there to talk business, that’s fine, but if you start asking me about myself, you’ll find me struggling and stammering. Buhbye.

Microstory 1752: Lyre

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I have no idea where I am. I suppose it doesn’t matter much, as long as I can find my way back to the place with the animals and the other things. There isn’t any stuff you eat here. At least I haven’t found anything yet. I just can’t help but try. I keep thinking that there’s a chance of coming across a stockpile in the next place you go into. My wandering partner used to call that the bingpot, and then he’d laugh, but he would never explain the reference. I’m old enough to remember the world as it was before, but I must have missed that joke, wherever it was. I would ask him again, but I don’t know where he is now either. We got separated a week ago when he decided to hunt on his own. I don’t think he abandoned me, I’m sure he just got lost too. Or maybe I did. Some people lost all of their memories when it happened, but not me. According to my friend, there are different types of memory. I can’t remember what they’re called, but one of them makes it harder to recall the stuff in the world. Instead of events, we’re talking cars and plates, and whatever this thing is in the corner. See? I couldn’t even tell you, but bring someone else in here who can’t remember how to walk, and I’m sure they know exactly what it’s for. They wouldn’t be able to operate it, if it’s even something that can be operated, but they could tell you all about it. Okay, I’ll open one more brown woody thing, and then that’s it; I’m getting out of here. Something is inside. It’s a harp, I think, or some other kind of musical instrument anyway. I suppose I shouldn’t guess, since I’m not a doctor. Of course, I impulsively strum it. It sounds beautiful, even though I have no idea how to play. I can’t mess up on this thing. It must be designed for beginners.

I keep playing for a little while, and before I know it, my friend walks into the room. He’s confused, like he doesn’t even know how he got here. I ask him where he’s been all this time, but he doesn’t know, which is weird. I know what you’re thinking, how can that be weird? This whole whatever is full of whatevers who can’t remember stuff, but this guy’s different. He does get disoriented a bit sometimes, but for the most part, his head insides are intact. He could say what that thing in the corner is, he could use it, and he could recount the first time he learned. He tells me that he was in a cave when he heard music, and when he followed it, he suddenly appeared here. No way there are any caves around here, so that doesn’t make any sense. He must have lost time. Some people lose time. They didn’t forget who they were before the attack, but they suddenly wake up every once in a while and can’t remember how they got to wherever it is they are. I think people have died because they don’t remember climbing up on one of those metal hanging things they put over water. Anyway, my companion and I catch up with each other. There is not much to tell, since life is so monotonous these days, and by the end of the night, we’re singing things of strawberries and that meat that looks like something else that you wrap in that flaky golden thing. I strum on the string instrument as well, and at first we think the music has attracted other travelers, but some are from the other side of the whatever. We realize that the instrument is magic, and can conjure anything we want, presumably as long as it’s something that exists somewhere. The other people covet it, so I have to conjure tall whatevers, and spiky you-know-what-I’m-thinking-ofs to protect us. Then we run for our lives.