Microstory 1879: Mow Problems

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I was so excited when I first heard about Landis Tipton, and his miraculous healing abilities. It would spell the end of death for all of humanity. I know, I know, people think that humans can’t live forever, or we’ll have an overpopulation problem, but I doubt it would ever come to that. Yes, futurists were expecting life extension technology to develop in tandem with other advancements, which might alleviate such issues, but I still wasn’t worried. I knew that we wouldn’t all be saved overnight, but I’m young and healthy, so I was eternally optimistic about it, especially when it came to myself. As a friend pointed out to me, though, Landis has been predominantly concerned with curing terminal illnesses, and for good reason; those are the ones that aren’t normally fixed. Lots of people have died from terrible injuries, but many have survived them too. Of course you want to help the ones least likely to survive without you. Even so, it would have been nice to have some kind of solution to my problem when Death came knocking at my door. Or rather when it came banging on it. Because it was loud, unsubtle, and is taking much longer than I would have guessed. Though, to be fair, the magic panacea that researchers promise will one day come out of studying Landis’ abilities probably wouldn’t have helped me anyway. It happened too fast. I remember, I said that it was too long, but I was talking about the process. The incident was instant, and irreversible, and once it happened, I was incapacitated. I should say that I am incapacitated, because it’s still going on as I muse on my final thoughts. I can’t call for help—for reasons that will become clear once I explain—I can’t even move. The ironic thing is I was just looking up freak accidents on the internet, and one eerily similar situation scared me so much that I locked my dog in the house, instead of letting her supervise my work, like I usually do. She loves it, and she grew used to it, and she’s been stressed out because I took her job away. But I’m glad I did, because I don’t want her to see me like this.

It was a mowing accident, though probably not as bloody and disgusting as you’re imagining. It had nothing to do with the blades. Well, I guess it did, but they didn’t cut me. There’s no blood. I hate mowing, but the thing I hate the most about it is picking up the yard before starting to mow. Those sticks and rocks, ugh. I would rather just roll over them, damage my blades a little, and then get them sharpened in the winter. I’m lazy like that, and a huge procrastinator, which is what got my into this mess, because the tall grass is what hid the murder weapon from my view in the first place. It was a rock, and I can only speculate here, since like I said, it was so quick, but I think it shot out of the side, ricocheted off of my chain link fence at just the right angle, and headed right for me. But you said there’s no blood, you remind me. There’s not, because the rock didn’t just hit me in the head. It flew into my mouth, and lodged itself in my throat. I fell down, and began to squirm, because that’s all I can do. I understand I should try to stand back up, and slam my chest against the deck railings or even the mower—wouldn’t that be funny; the thing that tried to kill me could save my life—but I’m unable to even sit up. Maybe there is blood, because I’m choking on something wet. I don’t know if this is punishment for being so irresponsible, and letting the lawn get this bad, but at this point, I just want the pain to end. My second-to-last thoughts are of the people I love, and of my dog, but my very last thought is when did I last clear my browser history?

Microstory 1345: Gifted

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University Admissions Interviewer: So, I didn’t realize this when my assistant first put it on my calendar, but you’re a freshman in high school, correct?

Gifted Student: That’s right, sir. It’s been my dream to go to this university since I was a kid, though. I’ve been working on a thirty year plan since I was six.

University Admissions Interviewer: That’s...impressive, but why does your plan involve doing an interview with an admissions counselor when you’re only fourteen?

Gifted Student: I’m fifteen, sir, and I don’t see my age as a hindrance. I’m preparing myself for a bright future, and I’ve always seen education as the most important aspect of my life. I wasn’t born a prodigy—

University Admissions Interviewer: Yeah, yeah, yeah, you had to work for everything you have, but that’s not what I asked. Why do this interview so early? You’re not going to be admitted, and so much can happen in the next two years before any institution will take you seriously. High school is all about showing us what you’re made of. Right now, all I have to go on is whatever you did in elementary and middle school.

Gifted Student: Uhh, I didn’t provide those transcripts before, but I have them with me...

University Admissions Interviewer: No, you misunderstand. I don’t mean I’m going to look at your history, and make a judgment about your potential to excel at this university. I mean I don’t care about it, because no one does. My point is that I have very little to go on. Hell, you’re not even finished with finals for this year, so who are you?

Gifted Student: Well, I’m obviously an academic, but I have a range of interests. I play tennis and golf, I’m on the debate team, and I’m not yet allowed to work on the school newspaper or yearbook, but I’ll be doing both of those next year. I’m already and Eagle Scout too. My project was landscaping the courtyard for my middle school.

University Admissions Interviewer: You play tennis and golf. I’m going to take a stab in the dark and assume your school is in a fairly wealthy district.

Gifted Student: Umm. It’s true, I live in the wealthiest county of the state. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know hardship.

University Admissions Interviewer: That’s not what I’m saying. You brought up your Eagle Scout project. You fixed up your school’s courtyard.

Gifted Student: Yes. I had tons of volunteers. I learned a lot of leadership skills during that experience.

University Admissions Interviewer: That’s lovely, except that’s still not my point. Your school is rich, Gifted. It didn’t need your help. You could have repaired a home for someone living in poverty, or blazed a trail for a community arboretum. You chose to do something easy, in a place where you were not needed. Now, this university may not care about that. In fact, I doubt it will take anything into consideration other than the fact that you attained the highest rank in Boy Scouts. But I was a scout, and I do take it seriously, and I’m not impressed.

Gifted Student: Once you’re an Eagle, you’re always an Eagle.

University Admissions Interviewer: Well, I’m gay, so I renounced my affiliation many, many years ago, but that’s neither here not there. This is about you.

Gifted Student: Well, I do charity too. I donate a thousand dollars to Homes for Humankind every single month. If that’s not enough, though, I’m sure I could raise that to once a week.

University Admissions Interviewer: Oh my God. I don’t care about charity either. I care about what you’ve done personally for your community. Where do you get that money? Lifeguarding? Stacking shelves at a grocery store?

Gifted Student: I take it out of my allowance.

University Admissions Interviewer: Right.

Gifted Student: I don’t understand the problem here. This is one of the most expensive universities in the country. Everyone here is rich, except for maybe a few academic scholarships, and recruited student athletes.

University Admissions Interviewer: You’re right, this is as rich as your neighborhood. You would fit in well. But it’s not going to be today, or even next year. Come back when you’re a senior, and really think about how you’re going to grow as a person until then. That’s why we don’t do interviews like this when you’re so young, regardless of what legacy connections your parents may or may not have with someone here. You haven’t learned anything yet, and I don’t want to talk to you until you have.

Microstory 1080: Elsie

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When I was growing up, my family was so close to the family next door that they actually built an adjoining addition between our two houses, to make it one. The four parents constructed it by their own hands, using designs my architect father drew up. A sky bridge will allow you to walk from one house to the other from the second story, while the first floor retains some open space in the center to walk through, and access our joint backyard. The boy next door was my best friend for years, until he died in a boating accident that Viola should have been able to prevent. I know, I know, beggars can’t be choosers, but I never understood why she was able to save me, and not him. It was the summer after middle school, and Ingram—that was his first name—and I wanted to do something fun, just by ourselves, before classes started. We were dreading going into high school, because though we always had each other, we didn’t really get along with anyone else, and this giant place seemed so threatening back then. This was not anywhere near the first time we went out in that row boat without adult supervision, so we were pretty confident in our abilities. We even checked the weather for the rest of the day, because we were so careful and thoughtful. The storm literally came out of nowhere, right on top of us, like an evil force was trying to attack. Ingram and I did everything we could to reach the shore, which wasn’t that far away, but those waves made it impossible to control the boat, and the rain and clouds made it impossible to see. Naturally, we tipped over, but that shouldn’t have been the end, because we were both wearing life vests, we knew how to swim, and storms don’t last forever. We held hands as best we could, but we were eventually separated from each other. As I was trying to get back to him, I felt two arms lift me in the air, and then I watched as the entire lake swam over to the side, so that I could land safely on solid ground. By the time I looked back, Viola was gone. I actually don’t have any proof that she was the one who raised me out of there, but I can’t think of anyone else who would be capable of it. Following this ordeal, Viola started following me around, like some kind of emotional support animal. Obviously this was the most traumatic experience of my life. People got it in their heads that Viola and I were friends, but it wasn’t that easy. I was grateful for what she did, but I also couldn’t help but resent her for what she didn’t do...couldn’t do. She never did admit to being on the lake that day, but I’ll always know that she chose to let Ingram die, while I have to live without him. So was Viola a great person? Well, yes, she was. But she also wasn’t perfect.

Microstory 750: Deck

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There was once four families who lived near each other in the neighborhood. Two of their houses were right next to each other on one street, while the other two were on the street behind them. They all moved in at about the same time, and though they were friendly with the other people in the neighborhood, they became particularly good friends with each other. The previous residents of their respective houses had built tall fences to separate them—of differing woods—so it looked messy and ugly. The new four families decided to replace them with shorter, gapped fences, so they could have conversations over them. They agreed to use the same materials too, so it would look more aesthetically pleasing. After the old fences were all down, however, they realized theirs was a silly plan. They were so close that there was no reason to be separate from each other at all. They instead only bought enough pickets to surround the outer edges of all of their houses, and kept their backyards open. Their children and pets were free to roam around and intermingle with each other. Over time, their relationships solidified further, and they wanted to expand their little subneighborhood into something more more substantial. One family agreed to install a pool in their quarter of the megayard. Another was responsible for the pool house/communal building. The third family built a dense and beautiful garden in their section. The fourth family kept their yard mostly bare, so the animals and children would have some room to run around, but also bought a small playground for the youngest of them. And in the middle, complete with extensions reaching to each of their houses, was a deck. It had a gazebo, and multiple levels, and an outdoor cooking area. Though everyone had their own problems, and even had some disagreements amongst each other, that deck, and all its peripherals, were always there to bring them back together.