Microstory 1862: Full Sets

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It wasn’t that big of a deal when I got started. Back then, we only had three channels, right? So people had to find other ways to entertain themselves. I mean, that sounds like people wished there could be more channels, so they wouldn’t be so bored all the time, but obviously no one was really thinking about that. They took up hobbies that people before them had done. Maybe it was the same old, same old, or maybe it was updated, but nothing is ever really new. It’s always just some kind of new sort of way of doing something that we’ve always done. I got really into collecting things. Our parents traveled a lot, leaving us to be raised mostly by my uncles. It wasn’t weird in those times for rich people to place their children in the hands of others. They didn’t want me and my siblings to get in the way, so we never went with them. Even once we were older, and didn’t need constant attention, we didn’t go on family vacations. In retrospect, my parents were kind of assholes. They were the ones who sent me down the path towards my dark and inescapable habits. They thought they were great, and it was true, we were so excited to see them whenever they finally did show up that we accepted whatever we could get. Ancient Greek coins? Parisian stamps? I’ll take ‘em. A magazine in a language I’ve never heard of, and will never be able to read? Yes, please. Toys, toys, and more toys; sign me up, please and thank you. We loved all the gifts, because they were coming from them, but we would have rather they had just been around more. I wish they could have raised me right, but I doubt they would have done a better job. That brings us to where we are today. My siblings ended up okay, but I never recovered. I took those coins, and those stamps, and those novelty toys, and based my life around them. I began to collect on my own, and like I was saying, it wasn’t a problem until it was a problem.

The word you’re looking for is hoarder. Some people become as such by not being able to get rid of things. They don’t deliberately order magazines just to stack them. They subscribe to a given periodical, and then just keep each one. I’m not like that. I am a discerning hoarder. I have a very particular compulsion. I don’t just want a whole bunch of cats, or even a whole bunch of dead cats. I want sets. I want every size of every color of a given series of highly absorbent towels. I want one of every item in a line of kitchenware from a certain brand. I don’t buy junk at random, and drop it all somewhere in my house. Each one has to belong, so I end up with a comprehensive—and truthfully, beautiful—collection to put on display. Because that’s the whole point, to showcase my collections to others. It’s not my fault that I don’t have a big enough place to do it right. If I lived in a mansion, you wouldn’t think any of this was weird. No, you would walk into my classic English literature room, and see my copy of Tarmides of Egypt, as well as all of his other works, along with his contemporaries. That’s what belongs there. And there’s a room for the stamps, and one for sports balls, and another for a generic license plate from every single unique region in the world, and so on, and so forth. That last one has always been my dream, I don’t actually have a complete set. If I did, I wouldn’t have the space for it, because I can’t afford that mansion. My parents were the ones who were rich, not me. So here I am in my wee little flat, where I look like a crazy person who’s oblivious to the state of her world. Whatever, my great-niece was telling me about haters, and that’s all people are. I regret nothing.

Microstory 1579: Any Password Will Do

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Prompt

I enter my bank password wrong, but the app still lets me sign in. I log out and try again, this time using a password that is not anywhere close to the right one. It lets me sign in this time too.

Botner

The trick: I don’t use the exact password. Instead I pick a random six-letter combination. It’s not easy to do, but there’s a little-known secret that lets me log in without making a mistake. All I have to do is get my phone to emit a strong “pattern” beep and lock pattern. If I follow this series of steps, I can log in to my bank account from my phone no matter what the password is. I started wondering how this works after I noticed this article from The Atlantic detailing how to trick Google into giving you the wrong password when you’re on an Android device. The author said that when he logged in, his bank account info and the password didn’t match. He was able to get into his account despite the fact that his password was wrong. It’s possible that this is an isolated incident. But some security experts are skeptical. “The notion that it’s really easy for hackers to break into my account if I type in this correct password...is dubious,” says Randy Abrams, security specialist.

Conclusion

I’m no programmer, but I have a decent idea what happened here. There’s a line of code somewhere in my bank’s software. It’s there to help people login to their accounts. When someone inputs their password, this line is supposed to ask whether it’s correct. If not, it will return false. But if the code itself just says true, then the password is always right, no matter what. As long as they put something in the box, it will let them in. This is a problem. This could allow anyone to access anyone else’s account, assuming I’m right, and it’s a global issue, rather than some kind of caching bug that’s only happening to my device. I open my laptop, and put in my mom’s username, since we use the same bank. I randomly strike a bunch of keys, and try to get into her account. It works. It is global, it has to be. But still, I’ll try one more thing. I call my mom, and ask her to try to login to my uncle’s account. She helped him set it up, so she has his information too. She puts in the wrong password, just like I did, but it doesn’t work. Whew! I guess they solved the problem already.  Hopefully I was the first and only person to notice the glitch, and no one had the chance to exploit it. I realize my session’s been terminated because the app has been logged in too long, and I never did get to check my balance, so I have to login yet again. Feeling shaky because of what might have been, I mess up my password once more, like an idiot. But it works. I know I messed it up, my hand slipped. What the hell is going on here? I have to get help, so I call customer service, and tell them what I know. “Yes, sir,” the representative says. “You have access to all accounts, as you should.” What?” This is even weirder than that time I drove down the highway going the wrong direction, and the cop just smiled and greeted me like it was normal. Something is happening to me, and even though it all seems good, it can’t be that easy.

Microstory 1575: Fresh New Life

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Prompt

It’s time for me to leave this place, without telling anyone where I’m going, or even that I’m going. It’s for my family’s benefit if I just sneak away, and start fresh with a new life somewhere else.

Botner

I don’t want anyone to know what’s happened or why I’m leaving. Just leave quietly, under the cover of night, just like we always did in the old days when things were quieter. But I know that will never happen. I’m just one of the lucky ones. Yesterday, I gave my two weeks’ notice at work. Two weeks. As in, I’m leaving after two weeks. Just like that. And I was going to leave it there, but the truth of it is that I have nothing else to say about it. My mind is blank, and the thoughts that have been swirling around in there since I decided to leave, now seem to have no connections to each other or the outside world. I can’t think of what to do next, or how to move forward. I feel adrift, rudderless. I didn’t expect this. I didn’t think it was even possible. When I was working at my old job, I was the king of my domain, working late hours every single day, dealing with my job and then coming home and being the king of my domain, too. Sometimes, I felt like there was no...

Conclusion

..escape, because I had so many responsibilities. I now realize that the only thing holding me back from the life I want was always myself. I thought that my father needed me after his second wife died, but that was two years ago, and he’s already found himself someone new. I thought my brother needed help with the baby, but they have a nanny, and I’m just the fun uncle. I have to go, and find out who I am when I’m not defined by the people I grew up with. Everything is packed, everyone is asleep, and I’m ready to go. I carefully carry my heavy suitcase down the stairs, careful to not make any noise. I drop it once, but don’t hear any movement from upstairs, so I’m still safe. I get to my front door—well, I suppose it’s not mine anymore, is it?—and swing the suitcase over to get through first. It nearly collides with someone standing on the porch. She looks scared, as if this were her house, and I was the one intruding. I just stare at her a moment, not knowing what she could possibly be doing here so late at night. Selling cookies? It takes me a long time to realize that I recognize her. She was a temp at work that I spent the night with a few months ago. I thought we had an understanding, that it was a one time thing. I don’t even ask her how she found me, or what she’s doing here. If she wants to talk to me, she can speak first, so I just wait patiently. Finally, she works up the courage. “I’m pregnant.” Well...I did ask for a fresh new life, didn’t I?

Microstory 1340: Focus Group

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Focus Group Moderator: I’m Focus Group Moderator, but you can just call me Mod. I want to thank you all for coming in today to get a first look at our brand new series, Ya Basic.

Teen 1: Ya basic.

[Laughter]

Teen 1: Sorry, I didn’t mean you, specifically. I was talking more about the garbage people who wrote this.

Mod: Oh, I’m saddened to hear that.

Teen 1: Well, they can’t all be winners, can they?

Mod: I guess not. ‘Kay, so—

Teen 2: CHEESE!

Mod: I’m sorry?

Teen 2: You said queso. I felt it was my duty to translate for everyone in the room who does not speak Spanish.

[Laughter]

Mod: Okay. Well, thanks. The first thing I want to do is get everyone’s general impression of the TV show they just watched.

Teen 3: I didn’t understand it.

Mod: All right, so it was a little confusing.

Teen 3: I wouldn’t say that. I could follow just fine, but the story didn’t make any sense. Why was the sister doing his homework? She was established as the dumber of the two, and they never explained her motivation, or his, for that matter.

Teen 4: Yeah, and the dumb things she said didn’t make sense either. It felt like all her lines were written for a boy, but then a network executive came in and said they should gender-swap it in order to be edgy and woke.

Mod: I can neither confirm, nor deny, the network’s direct involvement in creative decisions. But this is good, it’s very good. Would you characterize this show as woke?

Teen 5: Absolutely not. Her character was just as offensive as it would be had she been a boy. And just because the kids roll their eyes at their racist uncle, doesn’t mean the writers understand why it is his racism would be a bad thing in real life.

Teen 4: It felt like the uncle was supposed to be loveable and sympathetic, but the things he was saying weren’t even relatable.

Teen 6: A lot of random, made up stereotypes.

Teen Collective: [moderately in unison] Yeah, yeah...

Teen 7: All Asians are gay?

Teen 4: Yeah, what was that? Did a producer hear the word gaysian, and extrapolate too much from it?

Teen 3: Racism aside, I didn’t get why it was called Ya Basic. Who’s basic? It’s not the sister. That word doesn’t mean low intelligence, and I actually otherwise found her rather interesting.

Teen 5: I didn’t think she was interesting. I thought the whole thing was stupid, and I had a hard time paying attention to it. It was built like a sitcom, but it’s an hour long. It didn’t need to be. Half the time a character learned something, they repeated it again a few minutes later, as if you thought we’d forget.

Teen 1: Was there any significance to the banana? The character—and, thusly, the camera—stared at it for, like, thirty seconds.

Teen 2: Banana, banana!

[Laughter]

Teen 6: Teen 2 is right; that was a reference to a completely different franchise, made by a different production company. I looked it up. And that one was for kids.

Teen 4: Was this one not for kids? I certainly felt too old for it.

Teen 7: I felt too young for it. Didn’t anyone else think the banana was a phallic symbol? The kid cracked a joke about his stamina right after that.

Teen 3: Oh, yeah, probably.

Mod: Okay, perfect. Thank you so much for your answers to these survey questions. This will greatly inform how we proceed with this production.

Teen 1: By proceed, do you mean stop?

[Laughter]

Microstory 1321: Insanity

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Sane Defendant: So, how does this work? Do you expect me to tear off my clothes, and smear feces on the wall, or is it one of those things where you just sign the papers, and move on?

Court Appointed Psychologist: Do you feel compelled to remove your clothing, or smear feces on the wall?

Sane Defendant: Not really.

Psychologist: Then all we need to do is talk.

Sane Defendant: What are the parameters? What are you looking for in my responses?

Psychologist: Determining whether a defendant can reasonably plea insanity is an extremely complex and nuanced process. I wouldn’t be able to explain how it works even if I wanted to. I can’t tell you anything, because then you could simply tell me what you think I expect to hear. It would taint the results, and I’m starting to get the impression that that’s exactly what you’re trying to do.

Sane Defendant: No, that’s not true. I’m crazy; everybody says so.

Psychologist: Everybody, like who?

Sane Defendant: Are you going to run a background check on me; consult with character witnesses, and corroborate my claims?

Psychologist: If we were to do that, what would be the results? Would they verify what you say about yourself?

Sane Defendant: Let’s move on. I suppose it all started with my parents. My uncle used to put out his cigarettes on my arm. That’s when I started developing a fascination with causing other people harm. I pushed down those urges, but I couldn’t contain them anymore, and I just went berserk.

Psychologist: Hmm. I have the crime scene investigation report right here, and it says the crime must have been planned out meticulously. Evidence was difficult to come by. Besides the blood, the scene was immaculate, as if having been scrubbed down after the murder.

Sane Defendant: [...] Well, yes, of course. I mean, that’s the work of the elven fairies.

Psychologist: Elven fairies?

Sane Defendant: Yeah, you haven’t heard of them. They usually live in..filing cabinets, but they’re attracted to murderers. They follow them around until they kill, and then the elven fairies clean up afterwards.

Psychologist: I saw your eyes dart over to my filing cabinet when you said that, and I’m sorry, is your defense that you are experiencing a delusion where mythical creatures help you carry out crimes, or is your defense that you experienced a drop in impulse control, which caused you to murder that couple?

Sane Defendant: Um. Yes. All of those things. I was impulsive, and the fairy elves helped me, because fairy elves are real. I can prove it. They’re sending secret messages through, uh...postal stamps.

Psychologist: All they elven fairies, or fairy elves?

Sane Defendant: See? I can’t even keep it straight, I’m so crazy.

Psychologist: We don’t like to use that term.

Sane Defendant: See, I’m so mentally unstable that I don’t even know not to use the word crazy.

Psychologist: I think we both know that you were in your right mind when you committed the double murder, that you have no delusions about mythological beings, and that you are only here to receive a more lenient sentence.

Sane Defendant: Well, doesn’t that speak to my mental capacity? Would a healthy individual make such an attempt? Doesn’t it mean that there actually truly is indeed something wrong with me? Sounds like a paradox.

Psychologist: Sounds like I have everything I need to complete my evaluation. Guard? You can come back in now!

Sane Defendant: Wait, no. Isn’t murder alone a good enough reason to diagnose someone with a mental illness? Are any murderers not insane? I would argue murderousness should be in the DSM-6.

Psychologist: Goodbye.

Sane Defendant: No, wait. I am crazy. Loco, cholo. Get your hands off me. I didn’t do it! What if I took back my plea. The fairies told me to! You hear me, the fairies...!

Microstory 1301: Transportation Inspector

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Head Transportation Inspector: Hi, my name is Head Transportation Inspector, but you can just call me Head Inspector. Oh, firm handshake. We’re off to a good start.

High School Graduate: Yes, my uncle taught me how to shake a hand when I was a kid; never let me do it wrong.

Head Inspector: Is your uncle the one who raised you?

HS Grad: He did, yes. He took me in after my mother died, and raised me all by himself. He’s actually my dad’s brother, but we can’t find him, so Uncle stepped up.

Head Inspector: He got you this interview too, right?

HS Grad: He recommended I apply, because his friend works here, but I don’t think he’s had any influence on the process.

Head Inspector: No, no. I’m not suggesting he’s given you an unfair advantage. Even if he did, use your network; that’s what it’s there for. Never apologize for knowing the right people.

HS Grad: Sir.

Head Inspector: According to your résumé, you have a high school diploma. Now, there’s no judgment here—this job doesn’t require a college degree—but I would like to get to know a little bit more about your life. Were you unable to attend college?

HS Grad: That’s where it gets tricky, and honestly, sir, I’ve struggled with other interviews because of it. My friends tell me I should kind of bend the truth, but I’m an honest person, and when someone asks me a question, I want to answer it. I could have gone to college. My uncle had enough money, and I could have applied for loans. I can’t blame anyone else for not doing it but myself. I just didn’t feel the need to spend all that time and money. There are plenty of really good jobs that, like you said, don’t require it, and somebody’s gotta do ‘em, right? I guess I was just anxious to get into the workforce.

Head Inspector: That’s not a bad answer. Don’t ever apologize for being honest. In fact, it’s incredibly important in this line of business. People’s lives depend on you being clear about what’s wrong with the vehicles. You can’t leave anything out of a report.

HS Grad: I understand. And I’m very detail-oriented. I’m sure a lot of candidates say that, but it’s very true of me. I notice when a book is shelved wrong, or a tire needs just a tiny bit more air.

Head Inspector: So you’re good with cars?

HS Grad: I am. My uncle couldn’t change the oil to save his life, but the neighbor kid is a few years older than me, and taught me everything he knows. I wasn’t a natural; it took a lot of work for me to learn the ins and outs, but I did learn them.

Head Inspector: Have you considered just becoming a car mechanic? The pay is comparable, and it seems you already have the knowledge.

HS Grad: I did. My neighbor offered me a job at his place, but then I heard about this, and I find it so fascinating. It’s also, as you mentioned, so important. I want to be the one to make sure these vehicles are safe for the passengers. They rely on us to do that.

Head Inspector: Okay, okay. Where do you see yourself in five years?
HS Grad: So, I wanna be honest again, My ultimate goal is to become an airplane inspector. That requires a little more training, so I was hoping to gain experience here.
Head Inspector: You look worried.
HS Grad: I’m worried you don’t like that answer.
Head Inspector: Eh, there’s this widely held belief that employers only want to hire people who plan on working for them until the day they die eighty years later. That’s not practical, and I want you to have ambitions. I want you to achieve your goals, and I would be happy to help you realize them.
HS Grad: Oh, good. So I got the job? [smiles]
Head Inspector: [laughs] You haven’t taken yourself out of the running yet; let’s leave it at that.
HS Grad: I understand.
Head Inspector: All right, let’s talk about your work history.

Microstory 1031: Carl

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Did Herman really not say anything about magic club? Well, that is just like him. He’s too cool to be part of something larger than himself. He’s not ashamed of being in it, but he’s definitely one of those people in the band who think they can go off and start a solo career. I’m not like that; I’m a team player. That being said, I should have been president of the club this year. It’s been Alfred every year since it began, just because it was his idea. I could have come up with it too, if someone had first told me that it was an option to start your own club. I was a dumb little freshman at the time, so you couldn’t have expected me to know how to do that. But I was one of the first people to join, and I’m proud of that. It’s not the only thing I have going on, though. I have many interests. I play darts and pool, just like Finley. My parents belong to the Masters Country Club, though, so I never needed to sneak into a bar. History is my best subject, just like it is for Bertha. Right now, Minnie is helping me learn how to train horses to do dressage. I already know how to ride real well, so I’m ready for the next level. My favorite thing to do is kayaking, and everyone knows this about me. Masters Creek is basically my territory. I should charge a toll for other people to use it. I tell ya, Viola wouldn’t have died if I had had something to do about it, I tell ya that much. Wow, that made me sound really conceited, but I really am a...master on the water. See what I did there? Too soon, I guess, that’s why you’re not laughing. Well, I knew Viola from magic club, but we didn’t talk much. She was clearly there just to keep our numbers up, or we would lose our status. There was one time outside of all that that I saw her, if you wanna hear about it. I was just floating down the creek, not working hard; just enjoying the serenity. School was in full session, but I skip every year on my uncle’s birthday. We were really close, you see, and the administrators and I have this unspoken understanding that I’m just not going to be there. I have perfect attendance otherwise, and wonderful grades, so they’re fine with it. I mean, they haven’t said anything to me about it. Anyway, I was peeing in the weeds on the bank, and to my surprise, Viola showed up. I ducked down when I saw her walk up on the other side of the creek. She was gazing at the water with this shockingly beautiful, but indescribable, expression on her face. It was somehow simultaneously a frown, and a smile. She was watching a very specific section, where the stream goes all still. It was like she and this spot on the water were old pals who would never see each other again after one of them moved across the country. But I shook it off, assuming she stumbled upon a family of tadpoles, or was just admiring her swirly reflection. Well, it appears that I should have told someone about it, because like, a week later, she died. They found her body in that exact same spot, I swear to god. I pee there all the time, because I have the same routine, and it’s nice and secluded, so I’m not mistaken. I’m calling it her body of water. Is that too dark? Either way, I’m pretty sure she predicted her own death.

Microstory 870: The Scoots

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Name a sleeping disorder, and I got it. Sleep apnea? Yeah. Insomnia? Sure. Kleine–Levin syndrome? Not sure what that is, but I bet I have it too. So it was no surprise when I woke up this morning, and headed straight for the fudge emporium, for no reason. I don’t even like fudge, so I wouldn’t have gone there if I were in right mind. I wasn’t sleep-walking, but I wasn’t fully awake either. It was more like someone was driving my body and all I could do was watch. When I got there, I was still tired as hell, so even though this mind intruder wanted to explore, I wasn’t capable of taking two more steps. Fortunately a fleet of those disabled-person scooters was sitting there by the entrance, beckoning to me. I sat down in one of them and started driving around. People looked at me and laughed, and I couldn’t figure out how they knew I didn’t really need this. Sure, some of them saw me walk in, but this place is giant, there was no way that everyone knew. I ignored them, and tried to get to the other side of this ordeal in one piece. I spent about an hour there, going through every single aisle at least twice; once one way, and once the other. Finally my mind driver let us head to the exit, no fudge in hand. When I got home, I tried to tell my roommate what had happened, but he just laughed too. “That wasn’t a fudge emporium, dumbass,” he said. “That was a sewage treatment facility, and you were on a forklift. They weren’t laughing at you, they were trying to get you to stop. I think the only reason you got out of there without being arrested was because you didn’t end up hurting anyone.” When I asked him how he knew all this, he gave me this weird look. “You’re not wearing clothes, dude. My uncle, Rob works there, and he livestreamed that shit. You need to get some help.”

Microstory 752: Grace

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Twins Grace and Hannah were not born in a very loving world, yet they were loved. The sky was completely dark, with no sun, and no other stars. Their only sources of light were harsh and artificial. Time was also never on their side. There were 53 minutes to an hour, and nineteen hours in a day, making the simple act of calculating the future needlessly difficult. With no celestial movement in the sky marking these time periods, this arbitrary system served only to remind the people that they had no control over their own lives. The average work shift lasted literally the entire day, followed by a single day of rest in between shifts. After their mother’s death, they were raised by their father and uncle, but rarely saw the two of them together, since their shifts had to complement each other. This was particularly problematic since Uncle Torin and their father, Reid had fallen in love with each other, a relationship which was strictly forbidden. The religious order that dominated every aspect of their lives was not fundamentally opposed to homosexuality, but rejected it for logistical reasons. Their entire ideological system was built on strengthening themselves through numbers, so a couple incapable of procreation is entirely useless to them. Torin and Reid did the best they could with their daughters, but nothing would help what would inevitably come on the girls’ eighteenth birthday. Halfway towards adulthood, children are almost always removed from their original parents, and placed in a home so far away that their real parents have never even heard of it. To make matters worse, their new parents will always have just lost their own children for the same reason. The religion leaders claim some children are allowed to remain with their birth parents throughout their entire lives, assuming they receive the required results on their test, but this has never been witnessed. Most people believe this to be a lie purported to maintain the religion’s control over everyone, even if parents always hope it is somehow not a lie, and that it happens to their own children. Some families try to escape this fate by running away, but there is no evidence that anyone has ever succeeded. There is nowhere in the world that is not under constant monitoring, and no one ever otherwise strays beyond the boundaries of their town. Hours after taking their test, Grace and Hannah were expected to be spirited away, just as all the others, and their fathers were fully intending to run. The test showed results that no one had ever heard of before, however, which severely complicated matters. They would still have to run, but they would not have to do it alone...

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 5, 2151

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Real!Mateo, the one that belonged to this reality—even though technically no Mateo belonged here—didn’t have to spend much time with his alternate self in 2150. Arcadia kept Alt!Mateo there really only long enough for them to exchange awkward pleasantries. The most meaningful thing they said to each other was when one mentioned Leona’s Time Traveling Rule Number Four. The other then responded with its verbiage, “avoid alternate versions of yourself.” It was interesting that a different Leona had not only come up with the same list, but in apparently the same order. Later on, Real!Mateo couldn’t remember which one of them had said which, and it caused a massive existential crisis in which he questioned whether he truly was the Real Mateo in any scenario.

He said nothing of this to Leona and Serif, instead wanting only to spend quality time with them before they had to return to Tribulation Island and await their disappearance. The last conversation they had was in the literal eleventh hour. The two women were arguing about whether they were going recite the final words of TV characters who disappeared from The Vampire Diaries, or the one from Teen Wolf. Serif argued that the former made the most sense since there were two of them. Then Leona made a good point that the latter was more relevant to their situation, because the people they left behind wouldn’t remember them. In the end, time was coming at them too fast. In a panic, Leona said dramatically, “Talyn...”

Serif joined in for the rest, and they simultaneously said in mild Australian accents... “Starburst.”

And just like that, nearly a third of their remaining group was ripped from time. Lincoln, Darko, Marcy, and Dar’cy were his only friends left, and though only Mateo could remember the others, they could all feel an emptiness. The remainders could sense the deep sense of loss unlike anything he had expressed with the other disappearances, and were sympathetic. Dar’cy, who was too old to be called little anymore, was particularly difficult to see, though. She was about the same age Leona was when they first met, and looked a little bit like her. Or maybe that was his mind playing tricks on him, seeing resemblance where there was none.

“What do you want to do?” his brother asked patiently.

“I just wanna go to sleep,” Mateo answered.

“Okay. The privacy hut is all ready for you, with a few new amenities.”

“No. I don’t wanna be alone.”

“Okay.”

Late in the morning, Mateo woke up late and then went off to gather firewood. There were plenty of trees in the area, so that was more of an unspoken code that you didn’t want to be disturbed. He started wandering through the jungle, not really thinking about anything. He just forced himself to hyperfocus on every step, and on taking note of every leaf and blade of grass that met his eyes. Before he knew it, he had stumbled upon the Colosseum replica, which had totally held up, even after all this time. Lit—teenage Dar’cy, his niece was in the middle of the grounds, practicing some sort of martials arts by herself.

“How much did you see?” she asked upon realizing he was watching.

They started walking towards each other. “I just came up. Why?”

“My mother would go ape shit if she knew I was doing this.”

“I was to understand she never got angry.”

“You haven’t seen her around my boyfriend.”

“Who’s your...Lincoln?” He was the only man on the island she wasn’t related to.

“What? No. It was a Dardieti boy. The relationship didn’t last long, of course.”

He nodded. “Right. Sorry.” After they started to walk out of the stadium, he restarted the conversation, “so your father’s teaching you the trade?”

“Yeah, in secret.”

“Isn’t martial arts all zen and stuff, like your mother?”

She squinted at the sun, stretching her lips like a smile, but not. “It teaches patience, and discipline. It teaches other things too, though, which mom does not appreciate.”

“Kind of an odd couple, those two, eh?”

Now she did smile. “No, they’re perfect for each other. And also just perfect.”

“Treasure them. They could be gone someday.”

“You mean, like, in a few days.”

“Yes,” he answered solemnly. “I believe they’ll be next. Maybe just him, I don’t have all the answers.”

“And me?”

“I’ve been told that you’re exempt.”

“That’s nice,” she said sarcastically.

“Listen, Dar’cy, I’m glad I ran into you.”

“Okay...”

Mateo took out his mother’s rosary and fidgeted with it. “My mother gave this to me when she left, in the other reality. Besides some clothes that I’m not wearing anymore, and lost track of, it’s the only thing I know of that originates in a different reality.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure how your father’s ability works, but I want you to have this...in case. You may be able to go back there, and it might be safer.”

“Why would I go back there? How could I go there, to a different reality?”

“I don’t know, maybe you can’t, but it’s not a bad escape plan. I’ve just learned that returning to collapsed realities is, in some way, possible. Maybe you could thread it, and do the same.”

“What makes you think I have my father’s time power?”

“You’re a Matic. We all have something. I’ve never met one who doesn’t.”

“You should keep it,” Dar’cy asked.

“Power or not, it’s a gift. I’ve missed every single one of your birthdays, and this is all I have.”
She tightened her grip on the rosary. “Thank you. And you’re right. I do have my father’s powers.”

Before he could react to what Dar’cy had just revealed to him, Mateo was suddenly standing in the middle of a highway bridge. Two cars were behind him, along with most everybody else. Marcy was sitting in one of the cars, while Dar’cy was sitting in another. Lincoln had landed several hundred yards away, and had to make the jog up to them. Darko was nowhere to be seen, nor was anyone else in the world. They could see buildings and parking lots, but no sign of life. It was the middle of the day, someone should be around. Arcadia walked up in a ponytail, wearing a tight and sexy outfit, including very short shorts. “That did not go as planned,” she lamented, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“What happened?”

“You were in a race, and Darko cheated,” Arcadia explained. “While he’s on Tribulation Island, I can stop him from using his powers, but whenever we go anywhere else, he regains access to them. And he used them to rig the competition, which I did not foresee. So here we are, back at it again for a second attempt. Your brother’s been excluded this time around, obviously. Just in case he Bill and Ted’s this shit in the future, everything in this mirror dimension originated here. He has absolutely no way of getting in, and you have no way of getting out until you finish the race.”

“Who are we racing?” Mateo asked.

“Glad you asked.” She snapped her fingers, causing Alt!Mateo to appear next to her.

“Him?” Real!Mateo questions. “I’m racing myself?”

“The ultimate challenge,” she said simply.

“Don’t we both want the same thing?”

“I told you that these expiations would be extremely dangerous,” Arcadia began. “Only one of you can win. The Mateo from this reality will get Serif and Leona back at the end of all this if he wins. If the visiting Mateo wins, however, he gets to stay, and must choose which of the two ladies he’d like to bring back.”

“I don’t really know either of them,” Alt!Mateo said.

“Then your decision shouldn’t matter. What does matter is that this isn’t really about Leona, or Serif. It’s about you two. The loser has to go back to the other reality, at the moment just before Reaver kills you. I only need one of you, and honestly, I don’t care which one anymore.”

“This is sick,” Real!Mateo argued.

“This! Is! Sparta!”

Alt!Mateo rolled his eyes. “Really?”

She laughed. “No, but...this! Is! Delaware! And that! Is! New Jersey!” she shouted, pointing down the bridge. You have to get over this bridge, and then pass under the Broadway Bridge, which is the finish line. Yes, Alt!Mateo, this is a reenactment of your screw up when you killed Alt!Leona. This is not a happy challenge.”

“Why are the other three here?” Real!Mateo asked.

“Incentive,” she answered. “I need to send one of you to the other reality, and I need one to stay here, so if you were thinking about knocking the competition into the wall, think again. I can’t have either of you dying.”

“I would never try that anyway,” Real!Mateo said.

“Nor would I.” Despite him being the competition, Real!Mateo had to remember that his alternate self was still him, and would still share his values. It was easy to think of him as evil, and an intruder, but he wasn’t. He was just as much of a pawn.

“Still, I’d like to be safe,” Arcadia said dismissively. “Real!Mateo, you’ll be driving Dar’cy, because I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t hurt Marcy. Alt!Mateo may need a few extra feels to do the right thing, so I’m betting he’s less likely to hurt his innocent niece.”

“What about me?” Lincoln piped up.

“Oh.” Arcadia looked at him with exaggerated disgust. “You’re still here? You can sit on the bench, like the weakest guy on the Survivor tribe with too many players.”

“You can still back out of this,” Real!Mateo let Arcadia know.

“Thanks for the advice. Get in the goddamn car.”

“I wanna switch,” Dar’cy divulged. “I don’t know the other Mateo, but I know I can’t trust this loser.” She spoke in such an entitled millennial tone; it made him cringe, and almost want to tear up.

“Yikes,” Arcadia said. “Fine by me, I suppose.”

“Dar’cy,” Real!Mateo begged, “what are you doing?”

“Whatever,” Dar’cy spat back, completely unlike her. Though, to be fair, he’d only known her for a couple weeks, and she had just recently grown into her rebellious teen years. Regardless, he couldn’t argue, and neither could her mother. They all stepped into their respective cars and waited for Arcadia to drop the flag.

“Live your life a...two-point-one-six miles at a time. Nailed it.” After a dramatic pause, she lifted her handkerchief into the air, and dropped it onto the pavement.

Tires squealed and smoke billowed. They shot down the road, and since they were both essentially the same person, neither one was able to significantly overtake the other. They were going extremely fast, though. With no turns or obstacles, they didn’t have to worry about downshifting. Just tack up, and let it fly. Again, though, neither had an advantage over the other. It was going to be a tie, except that Dar’cy was rolling down her window, which was creating more drag for Alt!Mateo’s car.

“What are you doing!” he cried.

Ignoring him, Dar’cy signaled for Real!Mateo to drop his window too, which he did. “I wish we coulda had more time together. You woulda been a great uncle!”

“Dar’cy, what’s going on!” he called out to her, battling the wind.

“Thanks for the gift!” she yelled back, letting the rosary hang from her fist so he could see it. “I love it!”

“Dar’cy? What are you doing with that?”

“I love you, mom!” she said finally. “Tell dad the same!”

“Honey! What are you saying?”

“We’re almost there! We can’t risk it! Goodbye!”

They could see her reach up with her other hand and take hold of Alt!Mateo’s shoulder. He was indeed pulling ahead of them, more determined than Real!Mateo to evade his fate.

“Dar’cy! Don’t!”

He couldn’t stop her, though. She closed her eyes, and threaded the rosary back to some point in the past, in the previous reality, taking Alt!Mateo with her.

« < » > Table of Contents

Microstory 358: Safety from Political Corruption or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Escape to a Constructed Reality

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Freedom from War

My personal political ideas are so radical that I’ve never really gotten into studying how politics work in the real world. I approach the fictional worlds in my stories as a naïve child; with few preconceived notions. Don’t get me wrong, I do tons of research for my work, and it’s actually my favorite part (I more often than not dread the typing part, whoops). But I also like to reimagine the world from an outsider’s perspective, because if another planet wanted to create a judicial system, they wouldn’t check in with Earthan humans first. I tell you this as a disclaimer so that you’ll understand where I’m coming from when I tell you that voting for Donald Trump is unlikely to be any less than the second or third worst mistake of your life. It on its own probably wouldn’t be the worst, because Trump-voters have something fundamentally wrong with their brains. He’s not as dumb as his twitter feed makes him seem. In fact, he and his campaign team are geniuses. We hear so much about the “black vote” and the “female vote” and the “hispanic vote” but Trump has finally figured out that idiots outnumber the rest of us by a ratio of at least 3:1. He’s low on money, and the polls aren’t looking great for him, but the scare is not yet over. Even if he doesn’t win, he’s a giant mirror for the state of our country. That Trump has made it this far is an omen to how close Uncle Sam is to shooting a firecracker in his own face. I speak so much of him because he’s not a politician, yet he could be the greatest we’ve ever seen. Politicians lie, cheat, and steal. They put people in danger, they do favors for each other, and their motives rarely align with the greater good or the moral high ground. Sounds like Trump to me. He’s corporate incarnate, so I’m not worried about him and policy, because little would change there. I’m worried about him being in possession of reapers and nuclear codes. He’s why I live in an alternate reality.

Right to Privacy

Microstory 160: Ahmed Darzi

Click here for the list of every Bellevue Profile.

In the beginning, there was death. Billions of years ago, in the second galaxy, a group of immortals learned just about all there was to know about what happened to a person after death. The mind loses coherence, the body decays, and the soul recedes into a lower dimension. But these people were not satisfied with that answer. They had friends, and didn’t want to lose them. Ever. They wanted immortality for all. And so they engineered an afterlife. They laid out a set of rules, a timeline, and real estate. And from that time on, no one ever really died. Except for a few exceptions. Upon death, a person receives a temporary body that lasts four days. Only the engineers know the reason for the rule, but it is this four day standard time limit that Ahmed Darzi exploits. Though he cannot travel via other dimensions like Jaklyn, Cleveland, or Fiona, he can see and hear inside of them. Rather, he can see two of these dimensions. One of these, commonly known as the indigo world, is where dead people remain “downstairs” for the next four days. It’s a sort of waiting room for the deceased, and it’s the reason post-death ceremonies last for a total of four days.

It is unclear when Ahmed witnessed his first ghost, for they often walk around like normal people, only sometimes exhibiting properties of their ghosthood, such as walking through walls, or failing to interact with the living. The first known case was with his uncle, who died when Ahmed was ten years old. He was frightened of seeing his uncle’s body on the viewing altar, but also standing against the wall. Fortunately, his uncle was sweet and gentle, and chose to help Ahmed come to terms with his newfound ability. Together, they made harmless jokes about their family members at the funeral. The next day, they raced camels, which was his uncle’s favorite activity. And only Ahmed was aware that ghosts really did have the pleasure of participating in the death rituals. After the four days, however, his uncle passed on. He quickly learned that this was an ancient unbreakable rule. He first met members of Bellevue thinking that they were normal ghosts, but they turned out to just be trapped in another dimension. He helped them figure out how to get home, and promised to join them at some time in the future, but felt that he had more work to do on his own. When he finally did arrive in Usonia, he became part of the mental health department with Francis, Baldwin, and Posie. His years of experience consoling the dead had prepared him for giving advice, but only at an uncertified level. After a few months of passing exemption exams, he entered licensure school, and graduated as a grief counselor. He continued to help the dead pass on with ease throughout the rest of his life, but spent the majority of his time helping the living.