Showing posts with label superpower. Show all posts
Showing posts with label superpower. Show all posts

Thursday, May 29, 2025

Microstory 2419: Underbelly

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3
Not to be confused with Underburg. Believe me, you don’t want to mix them up. Nothing could be further from the idyllic, beautiful, pleasant hellscape of suburban America. I don’t understand why anyone would want to live there. I grew up in a town like that, back before the arcologies. It might look nice in old movies and TV shows, but I was miserable. Ravensgate is a real city. It’s full of violence, crime, and the champions that serve as the only protection against these terrible forces. Choose your own adventure. Are you a hero, or a villain? I know this sounds like an ad, and it is. This is the entire reason I came to this planet. My friend casted first, and wrote back with tales of his exploits. He knew that I would like the Underbelly dome. I read all the comic books, and saw all the adaptations. I know what makes for a good superhero story, and I’ve always wanted to be a part of that. It’s funny, back in the day, all these superpowers were fictional. They seemed impossible. The strength of ten men, the speed of a train; normal humans could only dream of such fantastical abilities. And then, as technology progressed, we actually started being able to make them a reality. Nanotechnology alone gives us shapeshifting, invisibility, onboard weaponry, and more. Some things are still off limits, and if you want to have those gifts, you’re gonna need to log in to a virtual world. Flight is impossible. Well, it’s not impossible, but the Superman or Homelander kind is totally off limits. It breaks the laws of physics. A lot of comics have magic, and you can’t do that stuff either. You can’t just turn someone into a frog, or something. Street level heroing is what they call it. You fight bad guys, and help the innocent. Most of them are androids, but they’re as lifelike as any, so it’s easy to forget that, and feel genuine anger towards the former, and empathy for the latter. But I should probably go back to the beginning, because you’re not assigned the powers you end up with. You choose them yourself. But you don’t get to just select from a menu, and upload into your new substrate. No, you gotta design it yourself. You choose the physical attributes of the body. Are you visibly muscular, or are you secretly superhumanly strong? What hair color, eye color, nose shape? You choose it all, and you have to work through the design program to make it look how you want. They don’t give you any ideas about what kind of powers to include either. That’s all you too. You’re only limited to the technology available in the 26th century. You also design your own backstory, which might be decades in the past, or more recent. Maybe you’re a kid who’s just discovered his powers after reaching puberty, or you fell in a vat of acid during a university science experiment. Or you don’t have powers at all, and your character had to invent everything themselves. It’s up to you, but the more complex and complicated the scenario, the longer it’s going to take before you can get out there. I could write a book on this, but you really just have to come try it. You don’t even have to be a hero or villain. You can just be a regular person, trying to survive in the metropolis. Again, this is all you. Right now, it’s just Northwest Ravensgate and Southeast Ravensgate, separated by a river, but they’ve left the nearby domes unused in case this gets to be so popular that it has to expand into new cities. There’s a reason the dome and city aren’t named the same thing. We could really build something here. It may not be real, per se, but if you open your mind, it can be just as exciting as anything else in base reality. This only gets better with more visitors. We can’t do it without ya.

Friday, August 9, 2024

Microstory 2210: It Broke Him

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 2, and by Pixlr AI image editor
Hello, everyone. My name is Kelly Serna, and I am Nick Fisherman IV’s lifecare assistant. If you follow him on social, you’ll already know that. What you don’t know yet is that he’s having more trouble with this than he has let on. When I took over for his update this morning, I didn’t want to say anything, but after rereading some key full posts from days past, I’ve decided to maintain his spirit of honesty. Nick has reportedly always been fascinated with immortality. He’s come up with a number of different ways for the characters he creates to subvert death. He told me yesterday that it kind of got so out of hand that in one universe, it’s virtually impossible for anyone to die, which effectively lowered the stakes for the stories, forcing his other self—the one who is still a writer—to come up with major loopholes to the backup protocols. At this point, I believe that Nick would salute, and respectively repeat the words “Major Loopholes”. Anyway, the way he tells it, the ability to avoid death was his favorite superpower out of all of them, which was why he felt such relief when he managed to procure it for himself. When he realized that he lost this power, he felt hopeless and frustrated, and apparently fell back into his old habits, which he had exhibited when he was just a normal guy, before the multiverse opened up to him. And yes, to be clear, I one hundred percent believe that he comes from a different version of Earth, and that he is telling the truth about everything that would sound outlandish coming from anyone else. I’ve read every installment on his site, and we’ve been talking a lot about it lately, because I didn’t pay all too much attention when we worked together at the plant nursery. Nick had never warmed up to the idea of dying, for any reason. He had been planning to live forever since he was eight years old when his older sister made a casual comment that they didn’t know it was impossible just because it hadn’t happened before. Traveling to a world where he was no longer immortal was one thing. He could have still held out hope for science. But to come to realize that he was so sick, not even the most optimistic of longevity advances could save his life in time? It broke him. He doesn’t want to do this site anymore, but I have faith that he will want to return to it one day, and when he does, he will not want his daily streak to have been broken. I have his passwords, so I will continue to update you in his stead. And when he does come back, I’m sure he’ll have a lot to say about how I handled things. I hope not to disappoint him.

Friday, January 26, 2024

Microstory 2070: Godlings All The Way Down

Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image Duet AI software
I’m sorry about bummin’ you all out yesterday. I’ve just been thinking a lot about my past, and my life. Why don’t I tell you a little bit about it? ‘Kay? You can read it or not. Like Superman, I grew up in Kansas. And like Superman, I had superpowers. But unlike Superman, these powers weren’t useful for flying around, rescuing people. They gave me glimpses into other worlds, which allowed me to write their stories down, and pass them off as fiction. I eventually realized that some of these stories were taking place in a universe that was located inside of my very soul. You see, that’s what all inhabited universes are; the complex development of a person’s soul, who you might call a god. We are all gods with godlings, and all godlings are gods. It’s godlings all the way down. No one knows where it ends, and no one knows where it begins. Some may want to answer such profound philosophical questions, but I am not one of them, because it would not change the way I live my life, which has always been a little less than the best I can. I’m not what you would call responsible or productive. I’ve not written any stories for a long time, because that’s not me anymore. I no longer have access to those worlds. If I did, I would be able to find Cricket and Claire. My alternate self could. He probably knows exactly where they are, and I bet he’s telling their continued story without me. He used to be able to send me messages, which we called updates, but your boring planet locks all those out. My own story is still getting out to him, but I’m lost. Alone. With all of you.

Sunday, June 12, 2022

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 9, 2398

They teleported into the portal just as the time hit midnight, which they hoped would confuse the jump enough to send them where they wanted to go. This way they didn’t have to wait an entire year for something to go wrong with the reality hopper, and extraction mirror. It wasn’t the perfect situation, because it meant they couldn’t use the friend detector in tandem, but if the pattern held, either Marie or Olimpia would be waiting for them in The Third Rail. Neither Omega nor his partner, Valencia had any idea what it was, or what they would find there. Way out here in intergalactic space, there wasn’t anything to do but try to survive. It hadn’t even occurred to them to travel to other realities. They didn’t have much time to discuss it either way; Team Matic just needed to take a leap of faith.
Immediately, Mateo felt differently. He felt more normal; like he did when he was first alive. As for the jump itself, it wasn’t as jarring as the other ones. They all just landed softly on the ground in a big empty parking lot, and began to look around for clues. They were somewhere in a city that looked strikingly similar to early 21st century Earth. His initial thought was that it didn’t work, and they just went through the mirror to the past in the main sequence, but there wasn’t anyone here to extract, so that was unlikely.
“Spread out,” Leona ordered, “but don’t go too far. Let’s just figure out where we are first. Rendezvous point is that corner over there.”
“Do you feel that?” Mateo whispered to her. “That is, do you not feel it?”
“I do. We’re not connected anymore. Our superempathy is gone. That is not a good sign, I’m not gonna lie.”
“Guys?” Ramses asked before anyone else could walk too far from the group. “I recognize this from history class. I feel like it was in San Francisco?”
Leona walked over there, because she could no longer teleport either. A large structure could now be seen between the trees. “No, you’re thinking of the Coit Tower. We have one like that too. It’s the National World War I Museum and Memorial. This is Kansas City, and it’s not midnight. Though, you wouldn’t know it by my watch, which is not working.”
“Where can we go to get help?” Angela asked. “Where would one go?”
“The Salmon Civic Center,” Leona answered. “We’re probably a few miles away, assuming we’re in the right time period. Since I’m sure you’ve all realized by now that we can’t teleport, we’ll have to walk.”
“Poor you!” shouted a voice from a few meters away. “Walking, like a bunch of mortals! No beaming up here!”
“I’m sorry, sir, are you a traveler?” Leona asked.
“Yes, Captain, I am from the U.S.S. Enterprise. Reporting for duty. Beep boop, beep boop boop.”
“The robot is from Star Wars,” Mateo corrected.
“Whatever, nerd.” He started to walk away with his friends. “Don’t cross the streams!”
“I don’t think he’s one of us,” Angela pointed out.
They started their walk too.
“Anything on the friend detector?” Mateo asked Ramses.
“Dead silence, which doesn’t surprise me. Powers and time tech don’t work here at all, which worries me. This place is...”
“Wrong?” Mateo suggested.
Unsettling, I was gonna say, but that too.”
The walk shouldn’t have been so hard with their new bodies, but they were quite quickly exhausted and hungry. Fortunately, they were headed towards Allen and Richard’s restaurant, and if they found it didn’t exist in this reality, they would find somewhere to eat. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any money. Mateo’s magical wallet was completely empty, the pocket dimension inside of it probably having been destroyed when they came here.
That first group of bullies weren’t the only people they encountered that looked at them funny. Everyone was wearing tee-shirts, jeans, slacks, business suits, dresses, and pant suits. Their crew uniforms stood out here more than anywhere they had ever been. They were going to have to find some new clothes too. There was a slight chance they could remedy this soon. While Téa Stendahl’s clothing shop was technically located in The Hub on Tribulation Island, a branch sometimes reached all the way back to Earth in the Bran safehouse on the top floor of the Ponce de Leon condominiums. If such an intergalactic branch existed before whatever destroyed time tech happened, maybe that branch was simply severed, instead of retracted. Some of the clothes might still be in the safehouse. Mateo didn’t like their odds, though.
Around an hour later, they were at the spot. Richard and Allen’s restaurant had two sides to it. One was located on the inside of a secret little mall, where one could also find the club, the post office, the forger’s den, the bank, and a few other things. The outside, however, was accessible to the public, and should be right around—nope, not here. They were beginning to think this reality was generated through some other means besides a recognizable point of divergence. It may have resembled some point in history, but it wasn’t historically similar. They may not be able to find anyone to help them here.
“Excuse me, could you tell me the date?” Ramses asked a random passerby.
“It’s April 9,” she replied.
“And...the...?”
“You wanna ask me the year? Jesus, it’s 2398, cosplayer.”
“Is that a joke?”
She took out her phone, and showed them her homescream. April 9, 2398. Where the hell were they?
“Thank you,” Ramses said, politely, but with a frown. “There’s something very wrong with this reality. I’m starting to understand why we’ve all been warned never to come here. We may be stuck forever.”
“It’s not so bad,” came a familiar voice from behind them.
They turned around to find Marie, holding a bag of clothing in each hand. She didn’t seem surprised to see them, but relieved. They rushed over to her to engage in a group hug. “I can’t believe we found you,” Leona said happily. “You could have been in China, for all we knew.”
“Nah, I stayed around,” Marie explained. “I bet we had the same idea, to look for help in the Civic Center. It’s not there, by the way, nothing is. Someone was living in the Bran safehouse too, but I saved up enough money, and convinced them to sell a couple of years later.”
“A couple of years?” Ramses questioned. “How long have you been here?”
“Since 2394,” she replied. “Realtime. No time jumping here.”
“Do you know why?” Mateo asked her.
“Nope. Don’t know how I could find out. There aren’t any other travelers. This place is clean. I imagine that’s the point.”
“It also explains what’s happened with the technology here,” Leona said. “Without travelers, advancement slows. It doesn’t halt; we didn’t build the pyramids, or anything, but our people have contributed in small ways, and that adds up.”
“That’s basically what I surmised,” Marie agreed, “though I first died in the 19th century, so I’m not cognizant of very much of our secret history.” She looked from each face to the next. “Where’s Olimpia?”
“We don’t know yet,” Mateo told her. “There was a pattern forming, with each of us showing up a year after the one before, in another reality. As it turns out, you were sent to the past, so...Olimpia could be anywhere and anywhen.”
Marie frowned sadly. “Oh.” There was silence for a moment. “Well, you can stay with me, it’s a pretty large unit. We’ll figure something out later, and we’ll do it together...at last.”
“So, we’re not gonna jump to 2399 at the end of the day?” Mateo asked as they were walking across the street, towards the park.
“I don’t think so,” Leona answered.
“You’re not,” Marie clarified with a high level of certainty.
“Mateo and I might,” Leona said.
“I sincerely doubt it,” Marie contradicts. “I’ll give you a million dollars if you do.”
“Is that hyperbole, or do you have that?” Ramses asked. There was still a little bit of capitalism in his soul that came out every once in a while. He was indoctrinated into the belief and trust in it from birth, and that was not something that could just be cured, or surgically removed.
“Oh, I have it,” Marie said. “No powers, no pattern, no time tech, but I retained all of the skills we picked up in the afterlife simulation over the centuries. I can get any job I want. So could you, Angie.”
“I’m sorry you were alone,” Angela finally said something after reuniting with her alternate self.
“I’m not alone,” Marie contended sharply, and without elaboration.
When they arrived at the Bran safehouse—which surely shouldn’t be called that in this version of Kansas City—they discovered what she meant by that. A man was waiting for her in the kitchen, preparing them a meal. “Is this them?” he asked, unsurprised.
Marie smiled. “It is, they finally showed up.”
He wiped his hand on a towel, and shook theirs consecutively. “Very nice to finally meet you—there are supposed to be five,” he said to Marie.
“One’s still missing,” Marie said.
“Ah, I’m sorry to hear that, but at least you’re here, and that’s a start. Forgive me, I’m Heath Walton.”
They all looked at Marie, who snickered. “It’s a coincidence, but...I admit, it may be what drew me to him. Don’t worry, we confirmed that we’re not related. Though a version of me does appear to have existed long ago.”
“I’m glad you skipped over that time.” They nuzzled each other, and then kissed passionately, but comfortably. They had obviously been together for a while.
“Are you married?” Angela asked.
“We are,” Marie answered her. “We’re very happy.”
“How did you two meet, and how did you broach the subject of where you’re from?” Angela pressed.
The lovebirds looked at each other like they knew something special, which they probably did. “Do you want to tell it?” Marie asked.
“You better start,” Heath answered.
She giggled.
“Sorry, we’ve just never been able to tell this story before,” Heath added before it began.
“Well, when I first landed in this reality, I assumed that I had traveled through time. But that was fine, because I knew you all would be showing up soon. I was in the middle of a parking lot, though, and I felt very exposed, so I walked over to a building that had some stairs going down to the basement, or whatever. I sat there and waited. I waited for hours before another soul came by. It was Sunday, and he told me this wasn’t a good place to panhandle. I told him I was waiting for some friends, but he didn’t believe me, so he handed me twenty bucks. I couldn’t leave to go spend it, so he decided to go buy me a sandwich. I was dressed like a spaceman, of course, so he must have thought that I was just crazy. That food gave me enough energy to spend the night, so that’s what I did. Come morning, a couple of people who worked at that building didn’t take kindly to my being there, so they called the cops, who tried to remove me from the premises.”
“We’re so sorry,” Leona said.
“It’s not your fault. I don’t even blame Dalton anymore. It feels like destiny now. I admit, it was rough that first night, but then Heath found me.”
“How?” Ramses asked.
“Well,” Heath began, “my nephew came over, and started telling us a story about how a lady appeared out of nowhere in the parking lot. He was the only one who noticed and he was, uhh...eight at the time, so nobody believed him. He’s always had such a great imagination, and everyone assumed he was starting to realize that about himself, and make up stories on purpose. I don’t know if I fully believed him either, but he saw someone in that lot, and I just had this feeling that she needed help. I went out there looking, not thinking she would still be there, but I could see a ridiculous number of cop cars out there, and figured it had to have something to do with it.”
“He waltzed right through them and demanded they release me into his custody. He said I was his unwell sister, and thanked them for finding her. They still wanted to take me to a facility, but he insisted. He was so brave.”
Heath laughed. “I wouldn’t call it brave, but when your skin is even this dark, it can cause problems.”
“In the late 24th century?” Mateo questioned.
“Yeah, I think we’ve developed slowly in many ways,” Heath proposed.
“Anyway, I didn’t want to leave, but there was no other way,” Marie continued. “Now we know that you didn’t show up that day either, but we had always worried we missed that small window, because we had a couple years covered since then.”
“What do you mean?” Angela asked.
“I bought a camera,” Heath answered. At night, I snuck over there, shimmied up a lamppost, and attached it to the top. We could see the whole lot where Marie first showed up, and more. We kept an eye on the feed for a long time before somebody noticed it, and took it down.”
“By then,” Marie went on, “I had basically given up. I mean, it had been years, so we didn’t try to put another camera up. I’m glad I ran into you. I should have thought to always check on the days that fall on our pattern.” She shook her head. “So stupid.”
“Again,” Leona said, “we’re so sorry. Fault or no, Heath or no, I feel bad.”
“We need to put that camera back up,” Angela determined, “just in case Olimpia does happen to show up. And hell, maybe every traveler who gets stuck here comes in at the same place. It would be prudent to keep an eye out for them.”
“I can rig something up that will be virtually invisible,” Ramses offered. “You’ll be able to see it if you’re looking right at it, but it should be rather concealed. We could put one up on every lamppost.”
“Okay,” Marie agreed. “For now, Heath, we’ll refrigerate our planned dish for tonight. We’re goin’ out to celebrate; my treat. You should get changed, though.”

Monday, January 18, 2021

Microstory 1541: Dreaming of Days

When I was in ________ grade, our ________ asked us to start ________ a dream journal. It was a simple enough ________. Some ________ had more trouble with it than others, because some ________ just don’t remember their ________ as well. I’ve never been one of those people. I remember my dreams vividly, though I wouldn’t call that a gift. They aren’t frightening most of the ________, but they are boring. It was during the other students’ ________ that I realized everyone else dreamed of ________ things, like a world in negative colors, or having ________ for feet, and ________ for hands. I just dream about ________; about regular daily life. I wake ________, drink some ________, go to work at a boring ________, come home, eat alone, and go back to ________. Or sometimes I come ________ to a family, or a ________, or a bird. It’s never the same ________, but it’s never exciting either. I’m not myself in my dreams, but ________ else, and I don’t even think the same someone else, because I keep taking ________ routes to different jobs. Fortunately, I wasn’t the first to do my ________, so this gave me enough time to fib. I made up ________ that were more fantastical and interesting, because no one wanted to hear the true ________ if they were going to be that sad and ________. After that, I moved on with my life, but I would continue this ________ of making up my dreams, instead of relating the real ones to ________. It’s not like the subject came up a lot, of course, but people did ________ ask me about them, and I got used to the lying. I got so ________ at it that when it came to figuring out what I wanted to do with my life, being a ________ writer made the most sense. Things were going ________, I wasn’t the most famous ________ in the ________, but I was making a ________ living sending short stories to various ________ magazines. I kind of made it my thing to claim that my work was inspired by my dreams. I don’t think there’s any legal issue with that. I hope not, at least. One ________, I even slipped in one of my real ________, just to see how it would be ________. It didn’t get great ________, but they actually weren’t that bad. There were just fewer of them this time, because fewer ________ were ________ in providing their ________. It was only an ex____, so that’s fine.

Anyway, my critics and ________ aren’t the only people who get a hold of this story. A ________ contacts me, demanding to know how long I’ve been ________ on him. I tell him I’m doing no such thing, that I don’t know who he is, but he’s not ________ it. He starts ________ my latest story, which...whatever, anyone can do that, but then he adds details that I never released to the public, because they’re even more ________ within the boring. He mentions the ________ of his briefcase, and the look of the novelty clock in the ________. This ________ was somehow in my dream, and I have to find out how the hell he did it. So against my better ________, I agree to meet him at his apartment two ________ over. It’s not just familiar, it’s exactly the same ________ I saw in my dream. He takes me back down____, and down the ________, and all the way to where he ________. I’ve seen it all before, this is from my dream. We continue on our ________ through town, trying to work out what’s going on together. I start to realize everything feels ________. All of my dreams, though no two are the same; they all apparently take ________ in this same town. I think at any ________ I will wake up, and this will also turn out to be a dream, but I never do. I go back ________ to consult my ________ journal, and I start mapping out the ________. Then I return to this town to meet other ________ whose lives I’ve borne witness to. They all exist, they’re all ________. Then we go deeper, and check the ________. I’m not just watching other people’s ________, but events that would not happen to them for another ________ days. I can see the ________, but only in this one town, and that’s what makes it the least impressive power I’ve ever heard of, because the more time I ________ here—as fascinating as the ________ itself is to investigate—the more bored I become.

Friday, January 15, 2021

Microstory 1540: First and Last Blood

I have never been to the ________ before. Or should I say that I’ve never been to any sort of medical ________ for any reason. I haven’t even ever needed to go to the ________ nurse for a tummy ________. I’m twenty-five years ________, and I’m only now starting to realize how ________ that is. It’s not something most ________ are aware of; how often they don’t have ________ problems. I should have kept it to myself, but my old college ________ is in town, telling me about her recent ________ surgery, and it came up. Now she’s ________ by me. She tells me she’s seen this movie, and that I have super____. I’m supposed to start walking through ________, and lifting ________ above my ________. I don’t know about all that, but if it’s true, I don’t suppose it could ________ to let her cut my ________ real quick—or try to, anyway. If I’ve just been lucky all my ________, then the worst that can happen is I need to wrap the wound up in a ________. But if she’s right, who knows what will become of my ________? Maybe I should be a ____hero. I can’t believe I’ve never thought to ________ this before. We leave the ________, and head to my ________, because we don’t want anyone seeing us do it. She grows more excited the ________ we get, and she can barely contain herself by the ________ we reach my door. I roll my ________, and take a kitchen ________ out of the ________. I hand it to ________, and before I can lay down some ________ rules, she slides the ________ across my ________. It ________. I don’t know what I ________ was going to ________, but not this. This hurts. This is what ________ feels like? ________ feel this all the time? I have to say that I’m not a fan. She seems even more ________ than me, and that’s saying a lot, because this is my first ________ ever. I tell her it’s okay, that we can ________ it up, but she’s watching the ________ flow out of my ________, and she can’t handle it. She desperately tries to cover it up with a paper ________, but it soaks through, so she grabs another, and another. Then she uses a ________ towel, but it’s no good either. She calls ________ services, but I don’t think they’re going to make it here in time. I don’t know how much blood the human ________ is meant to hold, because of course, that’s not something I’ve ever considered before, but this looks about that amount. The ________ is drenched in a matter of minutes, as is much of my living room ________. She apologizes, and tells me she was ________ about everything. I still don’t understand what’s happening. Is this why I’ve never been ________ until now? Am I actually more susceptible to injury then other ________, and some unseen force has simply been protecting me this ________ time? I’ve never just not been hurt before, but I’ve never gotten close. I never fell off my ________, or ran into a ________ ________. This must be why. Something out there has been guid____ me through life just so this very thing wouldn’t happen, and now I’ve gone and ________ it. The last drop of blood leaks out of the unstoppable cut, and the world turns black.

Monday, August 31, 2020

Microstory 1441: The War Ends

Twelve years after she was born, Jayde Kovac was ready to take on the world, and prove herself at the fourth Mage Selection Games. Unfortunately, something went screwy with the spacetime continuum, and she was unable to make it to the competition. It would ultimately not matter, however, as she was born with time powers of her own, and never needed one of the source mages to give them to her. Once she learned this about herself, she went on a little adventure. She met friends and enemies, got a more detailed diagnosis about what specific powers she possessed, and unwillingly got proverted. When the source mages first asked the proverters to make them look older, the proverters had some stipulations, and one of these was that every person born like them would also find themselves in their debt. This was one of the reasons the source mages chose to not have children, because they didn’t want to impose that burden on anyone else. Of course, Jayde didn’t know anything about this, but she did go looking for answers about who she was, and where she came from. While she was indisposed, hell broke loose for the rest of the planet. The truth was that this was all a very unlikely coincidence, but it was indeed a coincidence. It just so happened that Jayde manifested her powers as the final battles of the war with the time monsters were beginning. Poorly researched history books would attribute her actions to the influx of enemy activity, but she didn’t have anything to do with it, and without her, the human race on Durus would have surely fallen, and Earth would have gone down next. That didn’t mean she made the best choices. While she looked like an adult, she was still only twelve years old, and could not foresee the consequences of her actions. Still, even though a lot of people got hurt, she did end the war once and for all, and she deserved to be commended for her bravery.

With the intact Maramon as their leader, the monsters came out in full force, and hit the towns hard. He was smart enough to get past their defenses, and go for the weakest points first, instead of just running around aimlessly, as the other monsters usually did. They leveled Forts Salient and Frontline on the first day. Then they went after the other towns, knocking them down pretty much simultaneously, so the humans couldn’t concentrate their forces. Even Hidden Depths wasn’t protected enough to avoid detection. While there had never been more mages alive at the same time before, most of them were either new, or retired. This being just after the Mage Games meant that the newbies didn’t know everything about how the military operated, and they didn’t understand the scope of their abilities yet. Many of the older retirees were called back into action, but they were out of practice, because they never thought they would have to work again. It was up to the recent retirees, from the 2070 Games, to step up, and suffer the majority of the weight of the war, but even they weren’t enough to go against the monsters. Seeing what they believed to be the writing on the wall, the source mages retreated to another dimension. They had already been living there for some time, but now they closed the gates, and kept everybody out. There were enough people inside to restart civilization, but thousands would still die if no one could do anything about it. Enter Jayde Kovac, who ultimately had to realize that she was the only person who could handle this, and she would essentially have to do it alone.

After a failed attempt at being trained by the source mages, including her parents, Jayde was told that she had a very rare power. Like Escher Bradley before her, she was capable of harnessing temporal energy itself. She had many specialized powers of her own, but she could also absorb the energy that other people had, and use it to boost her abilities. This wasn’t, strictly speaking, illegal, but the source mages decided long ago to never allow anyone else to have this ability. They figured the most altruistic of candidates could still be corrupted with this amount of power, and they didn’t want to risk it. Even Madoc Raptis agreed to make sure he never sourced anybody energy absorption. Jayde was the child of two source mages, though, and no one had any control over what powers she ended up with. Nonetheless, this was arguably the best thing that ever happened to them. Seeing no other options, Jayde left the hidden dimension, and returned to normal space. The monsters had defeated all the mages by now, and were primed to go after the rest of the humans if they didn’t agree to serve the Maramon. Fortunately, the one Maramon there didn’t want to kill anyone, because he assumed someone on this planet would be able to repair the portal ring, and bring the rest of his people there. They never found out whether this was true or not, because Jayde didn’t give them a chance. She absorbed the temporal energy from everyone in the whole world. She waited to release this energy until she traveled to the center of the portal ring. The resulting explosion quickly turned into an implosion, and sucked everything in its path into the portal. She effectively switched the portal’s directions, so anyone could travel through it to the monster universe, but none of the monsters would be able to come to Durus. Without the constant energy from the ring, most of the monsters still around were left without any powers. Unfortunately, the same went for all the humans. And thus began the four year period known as the Interstitial Chaos.

Tuesday, October 16, 2018

Microstory 952: Systems Thinking

You might be asking Google right now, what is systems thinking? Well, tab back over here, because I’m going to tell you myself. Throughout the history of problem-solving, people have primarily used a process of analysis in order to understand how something works. What you do when you analyze something is break it down into its constituent parts, and try to figure out how those work. You break it down as as much as possible, until breaking them any further would lead to fractions. For instance, let’s say you’re trying to learn about computer hardware. You would open up the casing, and start removing the parts. You have the hard drive, the memory cards, processor, logic board, etc. A hard drive is made up of the platters, circuits, spindle, etc. The processor is made of God knows what, and so on. Once you understand how each part operates independently, you would theoretically know everything you could about the whole computer. But this isn’t true, is it? Because a memory card isn’t useful unless you can process the information. A hard drive might as well have no data unless you can read it. You won’t be able to change anything about the information without input/output devices, and nothing in a computer matters one lick unless you can interface with it using some kind of monitor. The lesson here is that the entire computer, and how all parts work together, is what gives us the best understanding of the topic. One of the most famous explanations for this comes from a leader in the field of systems thinking named Russell Ackoff. He puts forth the hypothetical of trying to build the absolute best automobile in the world by taking the best individual parts from other vehicles. Maybe this one has the best pistons, and this other the best gas tank. The reality is that this is an impossible endeavor, because those parts wouldn’t fit together, because they were designed to fit in different respective cars.

I’m passionate about systems thinking, because of how interconnected all of my stories are. I’m not just telling all these little stories, and claiming that they take place within the same continuity. I have to understand how each one can impact the others, and the greater mythology. If I decide that Jane Doe from Story Y is the mother of John Smith from Story X—which I wrote first—then I have to remember that Jane Doe can’t die in her story, until she’s birthed her son. If in Story Z, I decide I want John Smith to have a younger brother named James, then I won’t be able to do it, unless I decide James was adopted, or John’s half brother. I spent years not releasing a single word from any of my stories so that I could build my world. I know how astral travel works, and where the astral planes come from. I know why the subspecies known as anomalies took longer to evolve than the ambers, and I know how it’s possible for someone to be born as both. I have a list of galaxies, their stars, and the planets revolving around them. I have a timeline that starts at the beginning of time, and ends at the end of it. Whenever I come up with something knew, I have to find a way to fit it into the preexisting mythos, and if that’s not possible, then I have to create a separate universe to allow its existence, or simply scrap the project. There is a place for analysis, but systems thinking is an overall superior technique for learning something. The best leaders have a working comprehension of their whole domain, which is what we need right now. If you want that too, then come these next two elections, #votethemout.

Friday, October 12, 2018

Microstory 950: Time and Eternity

Time is one of the most abstract concepts in the universe, but also the very most important. Then again, I suppose it’s tied for the number one spot with the four fundamental forces, none of which really gets the credit it deserves. Time allows us to get things done, remember our past, plan for the future, and to experience the glory of life. If you’ve even read just a little bit of my website, you know that time travel is my biggest trope. That’s ironic, because when I was just getting started as a writer, I had a rule against time travel. And I had that rule because I firmly believe that time travel is completely impossible. There are no parallel timelines, no alternate realities, no temporal paradoxes; there’s only the now. Whatever happened, happened, and could not have happened any other way, because it’s what happened, and that’s that. Sorry if that’s not good enough. Though my fictional stories do not always effectively reflect my beliefs about cause, effect, and the indeterminacy of the future, that doesn’t mean there isn’t a bit of wriggle room. What really matters to us, in practical terms, is how we perceive that time. There are definitely those who experience time differently than others. Professional baseball players, for instance, must have the ability to slow the passage of time in their own minds, or they would not be able to hit those fast-moving pitches. I mean, seriously, if that’s not a superpower, than I don’t know what is. I’ve always been fascinated with this concept; the possibility that, though it’s impossible to add more time to our dimension, maybe it’s possible to be more productive by operating at a higher rate. Try this experiment. Sit at your computer, and type on the keyboard as quickly as you can. Don’t try to type any sentences, or words; just type. Wow, that was fast, right? You’re moving at least twice as fast—or more—as you do when you need to be comprehensible. So there’s not a very strong physical limitation to typing, unless that is, you have a diagnosable limitation. Otherwise, what really stops us is the speed at which we process information. Excellent typists, like office administrators, also have superhuman powers, because they’re capable of processing information much faster than the rest of us. That’s right, humble CEO, your secretary is literally a genius. So maybe we can exploit this skill, and reapply it to a more general understanding of the world around us. There is never enough time in a day, or in a lifetime, so we have to make the absolute most out of it before it’s over. Fortunately, time itself is showing no real signs of stopping, yet we are showing signs of extending our lives within it. I can’t wait.

Tuesday, October 9, 2018

Microstory 947: Chipotle

Not until I was checking my calendar to see what my next story was meant to be about did I remember that I’ve already sort of written about my love for Chipotle. It was a weird one, and I don’t expect you to read it. In fact, you probably shouldn’t. It was early on in my career, so I didn’t have much experience with the short form. Anyway, people love everything about food, don’t they? They love to cook it, to watch others cook it, and most importantly, they love to eat it. We’ve come up with so many different dishes, and so many different ways to eat them. We can’t go one day without at least one new restaurant that’s attempting to do things differently; sometimes even with the hope of revolutionizing the industry. There are restaurants with no lights, and/or blindfolds, supposedly so it enriches your sense of taste. We all know that’s actually nonsense, because this isn’t a comic book, and no one is Daredevil. You can’t impede a sense for an hour, and except the others to suddenly be extraordinarily enhanced. All you’re doing is giving people food without them knowing what it is, while also giving waiters ample opportunity to covertly lick the glasses, and make obscene gestures with their hands. Molecular gastronomists use science to try to make food better in some significant, but ultimately pointless, way; some don’t let you use utensils; and some don’t let you use chairs. There’s a restaurant for all tastes, and for no tastes, which is one reason why half of them fail within the first year. Yes, people do love to eat, but I am not one of these people. I would be totally satisfied with scifi food cubes, if given the option, and would actually prefer it. Why, I just watched an episode of a show I’ve already seen, because tonight’s programs had not yet begun, but I also couldn’t write and eat my soup at the same time. Food is a burden, and I would sooner eliminate it from my routine, if someone found me a way, than try out some edgy way of eating. However, if I had to pick a favorite restaurant, it would be Chipotle. Their menu is easy to understand, and their lines quick to move through, assuming you don’t have some jackass ordering for the whole office without using the catering system. The ingredients check all my boxes, and the meals don’t leave messes. I love it so much that I had to institute a once per week limit, which I knew I would break if I didn’t make this deliberate plan. I’m currently trying to make my waiting period longer, but it’s not easy. My closest store location is too close to my house, and I have trouble getting through my drive home from work without being hungry. I’m just glad they don’t deliver, because if they did, my bank account’s tummy would start grumbling. Still, thank you, Chipotle Mexican Grill, for being you.

Monday, September 3, 2018

Microstory 921: Hand Sanitizer

I discussed hand sanitizer in the Stepwisdom entry about Cleanliness in general; wherein I recount my first experience with the stuff as being God-adjacent. For someone like me, cleanliness is extremely important. I’m not a germaphobe, mind you. I get sick all the time, and it has been this way my whole life. I’m not afraid of being infected by something, and I’m about 83% that, if the zombie virus ever plagued this world, I would be immune to it. What I have a problem with is cross-contamination. My OCD is what gives me the need to control the nature of my environment, but it’s my autism that dictates what how that environment should ideally be. There’s this trope you can find on the web called Blessed With Suck. Basically, a character will be burdened with some supernatural ability that is mundane, pointless, or downright inconvenient. There are a lot of superpowers that I occasionally believe myself to possess, like being able to see the future, or sensing other people’s emotions. The one power that I actually do have, all the time, is the ability to feel the ick around me. If you were to clean a table thoroughly, I would be able to touch that table, and tell that it’s happened. No big deal, right? Anyone can intuit the cleanliness of an object. Now imagine you ran your palm along the tabletop. Your hand isn’t particularly dirty; you weren’t picking your nose, or chalking up to climb a mountain. It was just your hand. Well, I can tell that too. I won’t know exactly what happened, but I’ll be able to tell that something contaminated that surface, and it’ll bother me. I once worked with this girl in a room where all the tables were pushed together, and we sat around it. She would put her feet up on her section, and—I dunno, doodle “Mrs. Donald Trump” in a notebook, I guess. When it was lunch time, she would go grab her food, and place her fork on that table...right where her shoes were. Then she would use that fork to pick up food, and put it all in her mouth. She was putting dirt in her mouth, along with animal feces, and God knows what else she’d walked through. Because she was a crazy person. People think I’m weird for walking around with hand sanitizer, but it makes me feel safe, and it makes it a lot more difficult for me to put poop in my mouth. Can you honestly say the same?

Tuesday, July 10, 2018

Microstory 882: This is Your Rifle

I’m not trying to keep anything from you, officer, but you have to understand that, after what happened to me, I’m not so keen on the police. I understand that not all of you are like him, but since law enforcement in general tends to turn the other way, and pretend things like this don’t happen, you can’t expect me to be eager to tell you anything. But if you want me to start at the beginning...again, and relive the worst experience of my life, then I will. So, I was on my daily walk, and before you ask that same dumb question, yes, I take walks. It’s good exercise that a lot of people do, so it wasn’t suspicious that I was out there without a dog. I looked over to the other side of the street, and I noticed a man hovering over the trunk of his car. No big deal, right? He’s probably just getting groceries, but then I saw the barrel of a gun, or whatever you call the long metal part where the bullets come out. Now, just because I’m not entirely confident on the vocabulary doesn’t mean I couldn’t be sure it was a gun. And besides, it doesn’t matter, does it? Because when he shoved it in my face later, there was no doubt it was a gun, so there’s no issue with probable cause, or whatever. So it looks like he’s putting it together, and I don’t see him wearing a vest, or a badge, and I definitely don’t see any other cops. He’s either coming back from hunting in a freaking Geo Spectrum, or he’s about to hurt someone. Naturally, I assume the latter, because if not true, then no harm done. On the other hand, if it is true, then it’s best to be cautious.

Anyway, I notice there’s some kind of party going on in the backyard of the house he’s parked in front of, and as he’s gathering his murder supplies, he’s eyeing the gate. So again, I assumed he was headed that way. I couldn’t call nine-one-one, because I don’t take my phone with me. I may look young, but I spent a lot of years without a cell phone every second of the day, and I’m usually fine without it now. Since I was the only one around, I was the only one who could do anything about this danger, so I snuck around to the party, hoping to warn them. Fortunately, the first person I came across was a dedicated lifeguard, so she didn’t question me, or just think it was a prank. She sprung into action, and started ushering the guests through the back gate, to the neighbor’s yard. I stayed back to distract the gunman. No, sir, I don’t have a death wish, and I never thought of myself as a hero. What I am is in service to others. Ya see, I’m always the one who suffers to make other people happy, because I can take it. I accept the crappy jobs at work, and I stand up on the bus. I don’t do this to punish myself, or because of my power. I do it because other people’s happiness is more important to them than mine is to me. So when I stayed back, I didn’t think I could actually take this guy on—I’m not bulletproof—but if I could keep him from catching up with the crowd for even thirty seconds, I’d’ve done my part. I don’t want to die, but if I do, the world is at no big loss. But there was kids at that party, and one of them might one day cure cancer, so they deserved it more.

Seeing his plan foiled, only then does he take out his badge, and make this claim that some terrorist was there, and I had ruined his sting operation. Like I said, I don’t know much about how you people do things, but I know you don’t take down a terrorist with one cop, so I immediately knew he was lying, and didn’t regret what I had done. For some reason, this guy takes me down to the station, telling me he’ll throw me in jail for obstruction, or some other such nonsense. The man actually chains me up like those serial killers who eat people. Well, what he didn’t know was that I have superhuman strength. I don’t like to use it in front of others, because they’ll start asking me to help them move, or threaten their abusive boyfriends, but this was a desperate situation. We pull into the driveway of a house right next to the station. I guess he lives there, I dunno. I tear those chains right off my body like they’re made of paper, and inform this self-proclaimed officer of the law that I will be walking into the station alone to report him. This freaks him out, and we get into it. He starts whaling on me with the butt of his rifle. Man, he’s just goin’ to town. Now, I do feel pain, mind you, but as I’ve explained, I’m okay with a little discomfort. Still, I get tired of it, so I start fighting back. Seeing no other option, he takes this stone out of his pocket and tells me it’ll let him control the concrete. The driveway starts liquifying and boiling, basically turning into quicksand right under my feet. I wade through the sludge and catch up with the guy, then I take the stone from him. I didn’t mean to drown him in the water from the now-liquid concrete. I just didn’t know how the stone worked. If defending myself is a crime, though, then I guess you oughta lock me up. Either way, I’m not saying another word without a lawyer.

Monday, July 9, 2018

Microstory 881: The Cardoso Method

I’ve always wanted superpowers, and whenever I got the chance, I would try to find out if I did. I’ve broken both my arms, and fractured my leg, getting myself into trouble I had no business being in. I’ve started fights, and I’ve jumped off of small structures, hoping I can heal quickly, or fly. My therapist uses a bunch of fancy lingo, but her ultimate message is that I’m delusional. And the weird part about it is that, yeah, I’m delusional. I know that everyone experiences déjà vu, and that it’s not any more potent in me than it is in others, and I know that I can’t sense what plants are feeling. But that doesn’t mean I can just let go of my beliefs. And thankfully I never did, because if I had just given up, I probably would have never discovered that I was right all along. I can see the future. Sure, I can only see a few seconds into the future, but it’s still something, and it is not without its advantages. Theoretically, someone with my power could use it to fight any opponent, and always win, because they would know what was coming. They might even be able to dodge bullets, but that would be a little more difficult, because it’s hard see a bullet’s path, even after its already happened. I’m taking things slow for now, and assuming my skills will grow over time, if I train correctly. For now, I just use my power for minor things. The first thing I noticed I could do was predict when my toast would be finished. This has come in handy, because something went wrong with the springs in my toaster, which causes it to launch those puppies high into the air. It may sound stupid, but I eat a lot of toast. I can move towards the edge of the intersection before it turns green too, because I know exactly when it’ll turn. Although, this is generally unsafe, and affords me little advantage over people who have learned to recognize the pattern anyway. One thing I like to do is freak out what few friends I still have left by saying exactly what I know they’re gonna say, at the same time they say it. Fortunately, this is nothing but a so-called parlour trick to people who’ve seen me in action. No one would suspect that it’s supernatural in nature. One day, I plan to learn to become a fighter, because I’ll still need moves of my own, but for now, I’m happy just being a performer. Who knows how I’ll feel about it in the future? Oh yeah, that’s right, me.

Monday, May 28, 2018

Microstory 851: Preacher Man

Flying is difficult. It’s not like in the movies where someone will just jump up and go. It takes a lot of energy and concentration, and you’re always at risk of falling. In many of my dreams, I’m either capable of flight, or just jumping to incredible distances. Sometimes it’s a hybrid of these two abilities, allowing me to jump up really high, and then jump again while I’m still in the air. Most of the time, being able to do these things doesn’t seem strange at all. I’m living in a world where they’re possible, and my avatar doesn’t realize life could be any other way. But other times I’m lucid, and aware that I’m just dreaming. One thing I’ve learned about dreams is that they are also real. Dreaming literally transports you to other words, inhabiting new bodies, most of which are synthesized specifically for you, while others belong to preexisting characters. The majority of these dreams take place in unstable universes, which means they can only exist while you believe they do, and they collapse soon after you leave them. Other can exist permanently, or semi-permanently, and we tend to call them fictional stories. LOST, for instance, is about a group of very real people who exist in a parallel universe, and whose adventures are merely being reenacted by actors in our universe. Their world is self-sustaining, but limited to the scope necessary to tell the story. Other galaxies in the lostverse don’t exist, because they don’t need to. Not even the stars are real, because there is no plotline within the context of the story being told where travel to them, or even study of them, is mentioned. Now, as I said, the characters who live here don’t think any of this is strange, and are totally unaware that things are different in other universes, and that most of us think they’re not real. When a dream becomes lucid, you are reestablishing your consciousness in your own universe, while still maintaining a presence in the dreamverse. This acts to stabilize the dream world even more, allowing it to have a fighting chance of surviving past your morning alarm, though that is no guarantee. While in this state, you are to varying degrees capable of manipulating events to your liking. You are, at the very least, able to analyze your surroundings, and solve problems with the benefit of two personalities; those of your true self, and your dream counterpart.

I not infrequently become lucid during my dreams, and in one such instance, I was also able to fly, which gave me a sense of joy I could not usually feel in the real world. I encountered a preacher in this world, who told me that he was a real person in my world, and that if I found him when I was awake, he could teach me how to fly for real. He gave me his address and everything, so this was not a difficult task. I scheduled some last-minute vacation time for next week, which my boss wasn’t super happy about, but also not too upset. I got in my car and drove across the state to find this preacher, knowing full well that this was more than likely all in my head. I found myself to be wrong, though, when the preacher opened the door with a smile. He looked exactly like his avatar did, and claimed to have been waiting for me. We made use of my holiday, and immediately started my training. This involved meditation, sedatives, and a lot of time just standing on the roof of the church, “getting to know the wind.” After a week of this, much to my surprise, I started making some real progress. I could actually hover a couple meters over the ground, proving that this was all very real. The preacher man said my studies were over, and that I now had the tools to practice on my own. I went back home, suffered through work the next day, but went back to my exercises in the evening. And I continued to do this this every day, working extra hard on weekends, to get better and better. After months, I was able to fly anywhere in the area at will, still having to concentrate on what I was doing, but no longer afraid of falling to my death. I was midflight when I woke up in my bed, and realized all those lessons were simply another level to my dreams. Only a few hours had passed in the real world, and I hadn’t actually taken any vacation time. I was so disappointed, but out of desperation, instead of driving to work, I jumped off my backyard deck. And that’s how I became the real world’s first ever human capable of self-propelled flight. That’s right, folks, I can actually fly, and for twenty dollars a class....I can teach you too.

Friday, May 25, 2018

Microstory 850: Relative Majority

Even before he was elected, I knew that the mayor of this fine city was corrupt, but nothing could have prepared me for the whole truth. He took money from people he shouldn’t have, promising to return the favor with unethical preferential treatment. Of course, as any good married Christian man, he also spent a lot of time sleeping with people who were not his wife. Now, normally this wouldn’t bother me so much. I don’t personally care what a political leader does on their own time. It’s only when those extracurricular activities begin to have a negative impact on their constituents, and the area that they’re meant to be serving. During my research, however, I uncovered that the mayor used campaign contributions to pay off his primary mistress—which is a sexist term I don’t particularly like, but also the one the mayor himself used to refer to her—so that she would keep quiet about their affair. Evidence suggests that their relationship has been over since the night of his swearing in ceremony, but that doesn’t mean he’s passed the statute of limitations. I’ve recently learned that he has taken up a new extramarital relationship, this time with a man who lives thousands of miles away. What’s strange is that there is no paper trail showing that that he travels there regularly, or that he’s ever been out that way at all. After all, his business is with the city, he has no reason to go all the way to Kentucky. I spend weeks trying to figure out how he’s paying for shopping sprees on a secret account in Bowling Green on a Saturday afternoon, then having dinner with the Somerset comptroller’s family that evening. It should take at least eight hours to fly from one city to the other, and that’s assuming there’s an airstrip close enough to each location. I hire a private detective in the Bowling Green area, which as an investigative journalist, I’m not keen on doing, but I can’t be in two places at once. The mayor, on the other hand, almost can. He’s a speedster, like you find in comic books, except that he’s real.

I don’t know where he got his speed, or what he does with it when he’s not just off to see his lover, but my instinct is to confront him on it. Sure, I have proof now of what he can do, but if revealing his secret identity puts innocent people in danger, I can’t take that risk. I have to understand him myself, and if that means being pushed into a wall going a thousand miles an hour, then I just call that an occupational hazard. Unfortunately, I’m not the only one who knows what he can do, and I wasn’t exactly able to be choosy when it came to finding a P.I. who works on the other side of the country. He flies up here, and interferes with my plan, deciding the best course of action is to kidnap both the current paramour, as well as the earlier mistress, and make the mayor choose which one he’ll save. As the detective and I calculated together, he’s fast enough to make it all the way to Bowling Green before a supposed bomb goes off if he leaves right away, but not if he has to spend precious time searching Somerset for the mistress. As he races off for Kentucky, I use my own investigative skills to find where the woman is, and try to rescue her myself, but my former business associate just kidnaps me too. After his watch begins to beep, the kidnapper looks at it in horror. “He’s not that fast,” he says. “He shouldn’t be so close already.” He takes out the detonator for our building, and heads for the exit, apparently deciding to cut his losses.

Before I know it, though, a blur of light bursts into the room, and I feel myself being lifted from the ground, still tied to my chair. Adrenaline pumps though my veins, and time begins to slow. I can feel the heat around me, and see the fire rising from the explosives. We don’t make it all the way out of the building before a flash of purplish light overcomes my eyes. When it dissipates, we’re all the way on the other side of town. My skin is still scalding hot, and itchy. My clothes are seared, and in rags. The mayor is trying to catch his breath, and the other two of us are vomiting from the trip. He makes sure we’re both well enough to stand, then he zips away. He returns seconds later, holding a newspaper from a hundred and fifty years ago. He guesses that he ran so fast, he sent us back in time, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to do the same in reverse, so he takes out some futuristic gadget, and makes what appears to be a phone call. We find an abandoned building to hole up in while we wait for who he calls his future mentor. He hasn’t even bothered asking who I am, or why I was kidnapped as well. He almost acts like a hero, like maybe I haven’t read him right. But no, I have. He’s as bad as they come, and the fact that he saved me at the same time says little about his character. The next day, a creature walks into the building, and greets the mayor like they’re old friends. “I’ve found you a subliminal ship,” it says to him. “I’ll send you on a trip seventy-five light years away, and program it to turn around and head back after that.” When I question what we’re supposed to do for a hundred and fifty years, he just smiles. “It’ll only feel like eighty days.” Still...this is gonna be awkward.

Monday, May 21, 2018

Microstory 846: Shelter

I have a special ability, but I am no superhero. I have an innate sense of life and death. Everywhere around me, plants, insects, and animals are dying, and I can feel it all. I can also feel life around me, but it’s not very fulfilling. I’ve tried to sequester myself from people, because humans feel the worst when they die, but there’s even more death in the wilderness, so that didn’t work. There’s really nowhere I can go where I’ll be absolutely alone, unless I travel to some place so barren, that even I won’t survive. Which I considered actually doing every single day I wake up. I’ve worked with a few therapists, but they all just want to figure out why I think I have these abilities, and whether there’s anything I can do to break free from this delusion. Not one of them has believed in what I can do, even the ones who’ve seemed like they do. They were really just using a tactic to make me feel at ease, so I’ll come to the so called truth on my own. The only help I’ve gotten is from spiritual practices, like meditation. You would think I don’t need to be any more aware of my surroundings than I already am, but it helps me focus my energies on what I’m doing, and ignore all this death. Still, there are good days and bad. Tonight is really bad. I’m walking past an animal shelter at night; one of those places that specializes in temporary placement for exotic animals that are illegal to keep in this area. I get a rush of new life, which is the absolute best feeling in the world. I’ve tried hanging around maternity wards to exploit this sensation, but I make people as uncomfortable as you would imagine, so I can’t do it too often. Right now I’m sensing an animal being born, but it must be some kind of primate, because it feels pretty human-like. I sit on the nearest park bench, and enjoy the respite. Unfortunately, I start to feel impending death too, which is quickly evidenced by the sounds of gunshots. I hide behind a dumpster until I can tell that everyone who was going to die already has, and the survivors have left.

I break into the shelter as well to find a horrific scene. But it doesn’t bother me much, because it’s not anywhere near as disturbing as living through it every day. Two men are lying dead on the floor, one with a gun, and the other in a white lab coat. I take a guess that the former came in here after hours, looking for some extracurricular medical attention, but he wasn’t able to get it before his enemies discovered his location, and finished the job. Like I said, when you have such an intimate relationship with death itself, the aftermath is a relief, so these dead bodies mean nothing to me. Sadly, however, the animals were caught in the crossfire, including a sugar glider, and a monkey. I can still feel life from that cage, and realize it’s the baby that had recently been born. It was his mother that was killed, and as young and confused as he is, he’s noticeably distraught. Instinct takes over, and I open the cage. The baby monkey immediately jumps into my arms, and climbs up to hold onto my neck. I hear police sirens, so I get out of there right quick, taking the frightened animal with me. He proceeds to hold onto me literally all day, even while I take a nap on the couch. It’s a good thing my condition already doesn’t lend itself to having a roommate, or I would have some splainin to do. He won’t even let go of me when I have to go out and find food for him, so I put on a sweater in the middle of July, and try to not look too awkward. My route takes me past a hospital, because there’s less foot traffic down this alleyway. I would normally avoid it, because hospitals are pretty well known for all their deaths, but I’m not having any issues. I should feel some residual death as I’m walking right by the basement mortuary, but I feel absolutely nothing. For the first time in my life, I concentrate and try to reach out to the myriad bug deaths all around me, but nothing is there. I don’t sense other people around me either, which normally manifests as this constant hum in the back of my neck when I’m close enough to a crowd. My God, it’s this monkey. He’s blocking the signals, or something. I have to find a way to keep him my entire life.