Microstory 1112: Orson Olsen

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Orson Olsen, who was psychologically incapable of recognizing how funny his name sounded, was a member of the Community of Christ, which sprang from the Latter Day Saint movement. He was indoctrinated into his faith from birth in Independence, Missouri, and never thought to question what he had been taught. When he grew older, he started taking on more responsibility in the temple. One day, he was copying some missionary files when a young girl appeared outside the window, literally out of nowhere. He wasn’t certain he could trust what he thought he saw, though, so he watched her as she snuck in, and approached the podium in the sanctuary. She then conjured a bird from the aether, wrapped a message around its leg, then sent it on its way. This was not the first time he saw this girl, or witnessed her miracles, but it provided him with proof and confirmation. She first appeared to him earlier that morning, in his backyard. He had been so mesmerized and shocked by it that, though he did what she asked of him, he didn’t know what to think of it. She appeared to him a third time later that day, and charged him to change everything about his life. She told him that he should stop believing in the prophets, and to worship the only one real higher power in the whole universe, which she claimed to be time itself. It wasn’t as difficult for him to take on this new task as one might assume. He had believed every single thing his family and church taught him, but they had always demanded faith of him. This girl was the only person to ever show him real evidence of an almighty power. She disappeared from this life, but his drive to seek others like her was not lost. It’s not every day you encounter someone with temporal powers, but once you do, and you have some idea what to look for, it’s a lot easier to spot a second time. He remained in the church for the next few months, but all the while searching the metropolitan area for anyone who exhibited the same kind of abilities as that first girl. He found it in a man who could transport an object from one hand to the other. If he was willing to suffer through a psychic nosebleed, he could send something a meter or two farther, but that was his absolute limit. It wasn’t a very useful ability—but not all of them are. He incorporated it into his magic show, to make a little money on the side, but he was at little risk of becoming famous from it. With this man, Orson had real proof that time really was something to be worshipped. The magician knew of others like him; those with more powerful abilities, and Orson realized this was just the beginning. It would be pointless if this new church consisted only of himself, though. Orson was surprised at how easy it was for him to recruit others. He was smart enough to start with the people he knew were already doubting their faith. Once their numbers were high enough, they started thinking outside the original church. At that point, the new movement was unstoppable, and it was destined to cause more than a few problems for people with time powers.

Microstory 1087: Ethel

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Viola and I are not the same thing, but we are similar. I’m not sure how to phrase that sentence, since, to most people, she’s a were and I’m an is. She was born with her own gifts, given to her by one of her parents, but I am the way I am just because. I know you’ve already spoken with Edgar, Carrie, and Earl, but I don’t know how much they told you about that. It was a sickening situation that Viola confided in me about. Edgar suffered from reverse empathy, so that he would always feel the opposite emotion as the people around him. This caused him to develop unhealthy habits, and form urges to hurt people. I always called what I had reverse empathy as well, but it’s a totally different thing. Unlike him, I can’t feel other people’s emotions at all. This does not really mean I don’t have empathy for others, because I can still feel bad for someone who’s going through something terrible, or happy for someone who’s enjoying life. My problem is I have my own emotions to deal with, and until Viola came along, had no way of keeping them in. Before her, whenever I was feeling extreme, I would unwillingly force others to feel the same, no matter what they themselves were dealing with. The stronger my emotion, the worse it was for people around me. Like any child, I used to throw temper tantrums when things didn’t go my way, and instead of being able to handle it appropriately, all I did was make my parents throw their own tantrums. We just kept fueling each other’s anger, and it only subsided for any of us when I tired myself out. The only time my family found any sort of relief from the whirlwind that was me was when I was sleeping.

They eventually caught on that something was wrong with me, and tried to give me drugs to even me out. These drugs made me feel numb, which was completely fine with me, because I did not like the way I made other people feel and act. When I was about seven or eight, though, Viola came to my house to announce to my parents that I would be ceasing all medication immediately. She would instead treat me, so that I could learn to control my effect on others myself, and not need any external help. Of course, they argued that what she proposed didn’t make any sense, but they were also concerned about stopping medication so suddenly. She claimed to be able to diminish any withdrawal symptoms I might experience, and once she showed this to be true, they were convinced that I really could help. She came over everyday for months, inducing various emotions, and training me to overcome my body’s instinct to spread them. When she wanted to switch me to a different emotion, she would first touch my temples, and send me these beautiful images of twinkling lights, which she called neural palate cleansers. She wasn’t just helping me keep my emotions in check, which was what the drugs were doing. She was helping me figure out how to accept whatever it is I’m feeling at any moment, but express it responsibly, and not alter other people’s brain chemistry at the same time. Even after our training sessions were over, and I was capable of controlling my—you could call it an ability, though I certainly wouldn’t—she continued to hang out with me. A lot of people are sad that she’s gone, because it’s sad when anybody dies. But I know Viola, and I can tell you that she’s not really gone. Power like that doesn’t just go away. Her soul lingers on this plane, and I know this for a fact, because I can still feel her.

Microstory 779: Duck

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My name is Cora Graves, and I have one question for you. Have you ever wanted to be a duck? It may sound like an absurd question, but it’s a perfect example to illustrate my point. Ducks are magnificent, and versatile creatures. They can fly, they can swim on the surface, or underwater, and they can walk (read: waddle) on land. When making its nest, a mother-to-be duck will pluck out her own feathers, instead of just using material she finds around. Have you ever thought about pulling out your hair and making a crib? Now you’re all wondering, why am I even bringing this up? I want you take a look at this...can we zoom in on my hand? This is my personal assistant, Tilina. Say hello, Tilina. Tilina is presently about six deam tall, but she didn’t start out this way. She was born as an average-sized human, but we transferred her consciousness to this substrate, which we are calling her anchor. I know, she looks a hell of a lot like a fairy, and that’s for good reason. We modeled this product on the fairies, because they had the right idea about shrinking. This is what brings us back down to my question about becoming a duck. With an anchor, you could do exactly that, or you could become anything else you can imagine. As long as we have the necessary parameters, we can build you virtually any new body, and insert you into it via your anchor. No longer will you need these standard human forms. You will be the anchor, and the anchor will let you become anything else. Well...anything larger than the anchor, that is. We could upload your consciousness into a pea-sized object, but then you would have to rely on someone else to place you into any new form. Should something go wrong, forcing you to abandon your current form, you’re gonna want to be able to fly away and find another one, so the fairy form is the best option for an anchor; not too large, not too small, for most forms. Unless you wanna be a bug. I want to make it clear that you would not be driving your form, using your anchor’s motor components. Once the anchor is inserted, your consciousness will be integrated into the neural construct, allowing you to feel yourself as that animal, mythological creature, or hey, maybe even an airplane, if you’d like. Ladies and gentlemen, we were born with limits. We’re too slow, too short, too grounded. I’m here to tell you that those constraints no longer exist. Now you can realize your dreams, and become literally anything you want, be that the mighty coleobeast, or the humble duck.

Microstory 778: Pothook

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There are several moves in boxing, most of which were created during the invention of the sport itself, for they were really just formalizations of moves that already existed for real hand-to-hand combat. Traditionally, boxing has been a male sport, with women generally gravitating towards the various forms of martial arts. One notable boxer was a woman named Siveda Gualerni. She was large and muscular, weighing into bargeweight when she was only nineteen years old. What she lacked in speed, she made up for in power, of course. She was nearly impossible to knock down. One of her most common moves was to just let the other boxer hit her as many times as they could before they were too tired to take much of a beating back. During one match, however, she discovered this tactic would not work. She was up against former military officer, Sergei ‘Deadvelvet’ Fannen, who was known for being able to hit pressure points just so. Since they were participating in a Mystery Showdown, she didn’t know they would be competing against each other until the very last minute, which meant she didn’t have enough time to strategize a plan. She tried to fight like she normally did, but this was proving unwise, so she broke formation, and observed a regular stance. Still, it was only a matter of time before Deadvelvet found the right series of pressure punches, and took her out. In a desperate move, Gualerni tried to send him a left hook, but lost her balance in the middle of it, and her right hand ended up on the other side of his head as her instincts were just trying to keep her upright. The result was a devastating blow to both of Deadvelvet’s temples and ears that had terrible repercussions for his inner ear. For the next several moments, he was unable to maintain his balance, which gave Gualerni the edge she needed to knock him down for the count. The audience and announcers were shocked, not that she had won, but that she had done so in such an unorthodox manner, using a move no one had seen before. Reporters would later refer to this as the pothook, suggestive of her holding pot on the other side of the opponent’s head. The International Boxing Council would come to refer to it as a violation after Deadvelvet was shown to have permanent hearing loss. Ashamed of what she had done, Gualerni quit boxing that week, and started pursuing a career in nursing, but she would always be remembered as the inventor of the pothook; the only move in history to be used once before being deemed foul, except for that time a boxer bit another’s ear off.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 4, 2058

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Mateo and Leona decided to keep from introducing Prince Darko to the rest of the family until 2058. Leona had been right in that he jumped forward in time one hour before the two of them, still attached to the Eastern timezone. That could be helpful or hurtful to them. It was just a crapshoot. The following late morning, they all gathered together to have brunch, which was apparently what they were going to be doing from now on. “That is, until the next Reaver shows up,” Mateo said after they were finished with the meal.

“He may already have,” Leona volleyed, still far more unsure about Prince Darko than he was.

“You need to stop thinking like that. Have you ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy?”

“Have you?” she asked, pointing out how dumb he was via subtext.

“That wasn’t necessary.”

“I’m sorry, but my experience in that prison suite was different than yours in the regular cell. Being locked up is one thing, but being catered to by your enemy is just creepy.”

“Well, talk to me about it,” Mateo urged. “Every time I try to bring it up, you brush me away. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Typical man, always trying to fix something. I just want you to listen.”

“I can listen. You’re not talking!”

She knew he was right, but wouldn’t admit it in a million years. She was hurting, and she didn’t know how to express her feelings about it. “Never mind.”

She started to walk away, but Mateo gently took her by the shoulder. “Hey, are we okay?”

Leona looked like she was coming up with a complex and difficult answer, but in the end just just said, “I need time.”

“Okay.”

“And I need to speak with our new friend alone.”

“What?”

“I have some questions for him, and I need to know what he says when you’re not around. He obviously doesn’t like me, and we need to understand why.”

“So you’re going to be alone with him.”

“You let him in, you can’t be scared about it now.”

“I let him in. Doesn’t mean I’m handing him my social security number. I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, not accepting him blindly.”

“Well, let me go get a good look.”

“Leona...” Mateo tried to say.

“I promise to not give him your social security number.”

Image courtesy of Megan Highfill.

Once Leona disappeared from sight, the scene changed, and Mateo found himself looking at an ancient temple he recognized. He didn’t know the name of it, though.

“Angkor Wat,” the Cleanser said. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Mateo didn’t even turn his head. “It is. Have you bought me a tour.”

The Cleanser laughed. “I just like beautiful places. The Pit of Jhaseg on the planet Eiusagl, this temple. I would take you to Stonehenge sometime, but it’s taken.”

“What am I doing here?”

“I’m here to warn you about Prince Darko.”

“You heard about that, huh?”

“He is incredibly dangerous, and he’s lying to you.”

“And you’re not?”

“I’m not lying, I’m just not telling you everything.”

“I am growing wary of our conversations already. How often are you going to extract me from my life?”

“As many times as it takes.”

Mateo waited for him to elaborate.”

Feeling the tension from the silence, the Cleanser corrected himself, “as many times as it takes for you to understand that if you want your life back completely, you’re going to need help from someone like me.”

“You say that salmon are really just choosing ones who happen to be locked into an uncontrollable pattern by someone else.”

“Essentially, yes.”

“All things being equal, what’s to stop the other choosers from locking you up. I mean, sure you have power now. But can you not be overpowered by someone else. Sticking with the prison analogy, it’s possible to lock someone up who’s stronger than you, especially if you have friends.”

“I’ve already told you that we don’t play well with others. In order to stop me, they would have to work together, and they don’t like doing that. I mean, I know you’ve already talked about the fact that they didn’t really need your help to stop Reaver. They just chose to enlist you because you’re a character to them. It’s like a video game. They can move you around, but there is still a right way to do things; certain limitations, however arbitrary they may be.”

“Oh, so now we’re video game characters.” Mateo started roughly massaging his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Lord and Savior, do the analogies never end?”

“No,” was all the Cleanser said.

“Do you have any evidence, or at least anecdotes, against Prince Darko, or are you just feeling jealous?”

He laughed. “It’s not jealousy, and I can’t tell you about his past...but I can show you his present.”

“How so?”

He waved his arms ceremoniously and swept them away to a new place.

They were walking alongside Leona and Prince Darko in the park who didn’t appear to have any idea that they were there. Another choosing one trick. How often were they watching so literally? “Don’t worry,” the Cleanser tried to comfort him, “they can’t see us, but we don’t do this as often as you would think. Literally watching salmon jump through the water isn’t the most interesting way of getting the story.”

“I see,” Mateo said, unconvinced and uncomforted.

“Now pay attention.”

They began to eavesdrop on Leona’s and Prince Darko’s conversation.

“What are you doing here, Prince Darko?” Leona asked.

“I’m here to help,” Prince Darko replied, “in any way I can.”

“What if we say the way to help is to leave us alone?”

“Is that what Mateo wants?”

“It’s a hypothetical, just answer it.”

“I would do everything in my power to comply with your wishes, but I’m as bound to the powers that be as you are.”

“I can’t shake the feeling that you’re lying, and you’re actually not bound.”

“I’m not sure what I could do to convince you. Have you not met others like us? How did you start trusting them?”

“The only two salmon we trust who aren’t part of the family saved our lives.” She must have been referring to The Doctor and Vearden. “Horace and Ulinthra were never on our side.”

“I heard something about security guards.”

“See, that’s it right there,” Leona said. “How do you know about those people? We’ve never encountered you, yet you already know a lot about us. Your claim that you were alone for a month and a half seems thin at best.”

“The Delegator filled me in.”

“The Delegator likes to talk, but not that much. He wouldn’t tell you all this.”

“Oh, no? Do you know him very well?” He was right about that. They didn’t. “You obviously don’t like me,” Prince Darko began, “and I don’t need to understand why. It’s becoming quite clear that you will never be all right with me around.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“So I’ll tell you what, you go ahead and poison your boyfriend against me, but I think I may have the upperhand.”

“How so?”

“He has a soft spot for family, and I can be the brother he’s always wanted.”

“Now you’re starting to show your true colors.”

“You be the best girlfriend you can be, and I’ll be the best brother. We’ll let him decide.”

Leona stopped walking and scoffed. “That’s what you don’t get.”

“What?”

“Mateo is not the boss of our relationship. We’re a team. He doesn’t decide what we do. We come to decisions together.”

Prince Darko tilted his head inquisitively. “Are you sure about that?”

“I’m going back home. I can’t stop you from following me, but I highly recommend you turn around and return to Ohio.”

“Why is that?”

Leona started to leave. “If you’re with us, then you’ll be fine. But if you’re against us, eventually we’ll figure out why, and you will lose. Mateo and I can’t be beat.”

After Leona was out of earshot, Prince Darko said to himself, “maybe not as long as you stay together.”

“You see?” the Cleanser asked, sure of himself.

“See what?”

“I know you’re not that dumb.”

“Yeah, he’s trying to pull Leona and I apart.”

“So...that doesn’t bother you?”

Mateo shook his head. “Not anymore than it bothers me that you’re trying to do the same.”

“I’m just trying to give you some perspective.”

“Could you take me back to the regular dimension, or whatever it is you need to do.” It sounded like it could be a question, but it wasn’t.

“Prince Darko may not be your enemy, but he certainly isn’t your friend.”

“We’re done.”

“Are you going to tell Leona that you saw their conversation?”

“Just wait and find out. Evidently you can spy on us whenever you want.”

“That’s not...I just—”

“Home! Now!” Mateo ordered.

“I will, but first I have a warning. And this one you’ll want to hear.”

“What?” Mateo was becoming impatient. He needed to get back in the house before Leona came back, or he would have to explain where he was.

The Cleanser either sensed this, or could read his mind. He waved his hand and jumped them back to Mateo’s bedroom. “The next Reaver is coming. And he’s much worse.”

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Crossed Off: Your Funeral (Part XIII)

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The day after someone dies, their family goes through this death ritual called Familiar Mourning. Those close enough to the family, and close enough geographically speaking, sit around a dimly lit room and hold conversations. In the strictest of traditions, this part of the ceremony must be performed in a temple, or otherwise on holy ground, but modern times had changed things. They were often performed at home, and the majority of morgues had been expanded to include accommodating rooms. Family and friends gather around candles to express their gratitude towards the deceased, and to tell stories of their life in small groups. Quiet was the watchword during these ceremonies. Quiet and darkness.

Starla’s parents and Alec were in attendance at the morgue, of course. But Tristan and Kathleen jumped in the car and raced down so that they could be there too. Denton and his new team were having trouble getting back into the country since they were in the middle of some special research project in Texas. And Sendoa was just swamped with his new job with the man who could clone himself. Tons of people from school she never considered to be her friends showed up. Kind of tacky. And they kept acting like they had experienced some kind of profoundly influential moment with her. Much of what they said about their interactions were simply made up. Starla only listened to the beginnings of their conversations with each other. Knowing now that ghosts were real sent shivers throughout her body. How many of her relatives had she seen move on? What had she said about them while under the impression that these ceremonies were nothing but carryovers from a time of superstition and misinformation. At some point, she gravitated towards Alec who was standing alone in the corner, having no interest in participating. She tried to get his attention, but it was hopeless. She knew of only one person who could see ghosts—though there were probably more. Hopefully Don would carve out some time and scrounge up some money to come stateside for the funeral. She had no way of finding out, for her ability to jump to bodies had been removed from her during her murder.

On the following day, the funeral ceremony is performed, and a wake is often held. These are semi-private occasions, and are late enough after the passing to allow people from out of town to make travel arrangements. In cases of so-called natural deaths, this is when the body is laid to rest. But when the body must remain intact and unchanged in order to support an ongoing investigation, the funeral is skipped altogether, while the wake usually continues as planned. Having honored an obligation to the dark and quiet during Familiar Mourning, the wake is a time for loudness and joy. It’s less of a ritual, and more of a party. Though, the reason the ritual came to be was so that the deceased could move on to the afterlife with—what did the texts say—sunshine in their hearts and harmony in their souls. So the rowdy nature of these get-togethers was not completely unfounded.

Even though Starla’s body could not be displayed on a viewing altar since it was part of evidence, her family decided to go ahead with a funeral, and make an attempt to tone down the level of intensity of the wake. That was more Starla’s style, so she was appreciative of their decision. To her surprise, everyone showed up. Every single one of her confidants had booked tickets from far away lands. All of the people with special abilities were there as well. Those she had met in person like Magnus Shapiro and Therasia Jarvi crossed national borders. Those she had only met while in someone else’s body like Máire and Quang had dropped their busy lives for a few days. Even people she never met at all like Ling and Alonso flew in. René came in with a huge group of strangers, and she never really found out who they were, but she assumed them to have powers. People came with families of their own. Some were there with no obvious connection to anyone who knew Starla.

“I had no idea that she was so popular,” Starla’s mother remarked.

“Her life touched a lot of people, Mrs. Dawkins,” Alec replied. “That international pen pal program she founded grew larger than she thought it would.”

Her mother started tearing up. “I feel like I didn’t even know her.”

Alec wrapped his arm around her shoulders and joined her in a cry. “You knew everything about her.”

“Who did this to her? Who were those men? Did they have something to do with the pen pal network?”

He kissed the top of her head. “I don’t know who they were, but I know they had nothing to do with that.”

Spirit-walker, Spyridon Colonomos waited for Starla to finish eavesdropping before summoning her to a narrow hallway off of the chapel.

“I must say, it’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

“I can imagine. Which is why you can imagine that I always do my very best to stay away from ghosts.”

“Thank you for making an exception.”

“Can you tell me what happened? On the night of your death?”

“I could,” she said. “I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“The men who did this to me are no longer a problem. They’re already in custody. One is chained to a hospital bed, and another to a padded cell. And I’m over it. I’m moving on. There’s an...undeniable feeling of freedom once you die, Mr. Colonomos. You will experience this one day. All those things you thought you cared about stop serving a purpose. And the only things that ever truly mattered were the connection you made to others.”

“You have the opportunity to communicate with the living. Very few people are given this gift.”

She smiled and sort of ignored what he said. “Those connections can’t be broken. My soul can still feel their souls.” She shook her head politely. “I don’t need to speak with them. They can hear me.”

They left it at that.

On the last full day after a death, those closest to the dead are expected to step into their loved one’s shoes by participating in their favorite activity. This could be playing a favorite sport, or eating ice cream, or just reading a good book. For Starla, it was petting feral horses on Cumberland Island. Alec had spent the last couple of days on the phone with the people in charge, requesting an exception to their strict protocols. It took the entire time, but he was able to secure a reservation for a dozen people. Starla’s parents wondered why this would be her favorite thing seeing as that she hadn’t stepped one foot on the island in her entire life. Alec simply said that it was a dream of hers. The three of them enjoyed the tour with Starla’s eight worldwide confidants, who were for the first time breathing the same air as each other. They even got lucky and met a little baby. Starla was thrilled. Alec couldn’t really explain why those eight people were with them, but assured Starla’s parents that they really did qualify for closest loved ones.

At the end of the next day, Starla said goodbye to everyone, even though they could not hear her. The seconds were dropping. She was aware of exactly when her clock was going to run out. Don popped in real quick to see her off. They opened their mouths towards each other a few times, but ultimately exchanged no further words. Death was about as much of an end as anyone gets. There was nothing more to say. Exactly four days to the minute after her death, Starla’s new ghost body collapsed, and she died for a second time. She felt herself being blissfully pulled upwards, though there was no real sense of direction. Colors flew past her one by one until she reached gray, and then she stopped.

A woman she did not know, but who felt painfully familiar to her, greeted her on the other side. “Hello.” She stepped off to reveal a crowd of hundreds, possibly thousands, of people. “Welcome to...The Aggregate.” She looked pretty pleased with herself.

Starla stood for a few moments and watched as the crowd of familiar strangers attempted to greet her and bring her into the fold. But she just smiled at them. She had claimed to Don that she was done with life, but she was wrong. She wasn’t ready yet. Perhaps she never would be. “No, thanks.” She pointed her thumb behind her. “I think I’ll go back.”

“You can’t go back,” the woman argued.

“Yet, I feel like I can, and actually that I should.”

“It is true that you are one of the few of us who does not have to remain her, but there will be consequences.”

“Like what?”

“I do not have that information.”

Despite the warning, Starla left the afterlife and returned home; to her planet, that is...or plane of existence—or whatever it was. The woman had been right about the consequences, but it was more horrific than she could have imagined. All eight of her confidants, along with more than a hundred other innocent people, were killed in a plane crash. Normally, one would not attribute such a thing to a single act of resurrection, but this was different. They had all died on The Day of No Death, which should not have been possible. It really was her fault.

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