Microstory 11: Immortal Danger

I came to this planet when I was 271 years old. The first person I met was a child named Ilarion Simeonov. What I discovered upon learning the custom of "shaking hands" was that I could turn any human immortal by nothing more than a touch. Ilarion immediately stopped aging, and is unable to be killed. It's not that he heals, or that he is impervious to injury. It's more that he is invisible to death. He has never been in danger.

Over the course of several centuries, I have incidentally immortalized fourteen more people. Occasionally, they can use their ability to protect others. There was actually a domestic terrorist plot against the TCL Chinese Theatre back in 1994. The instigators were caught trying to lift the duffle bags containing the bombs. An unseen force was weighing them down, simply because two of my immortals were spending the entire day seeing the same film over and over again. A suicidal immortal jumped out of an airplane over the Atlantic Ocean in 1974. He's been hovering about 20 feet over the water ever since. He refuses to let us retrieve him.

Today, I am dying. You see, where I'm from, our scientists have mastered genetic aging. Due to overpopulation concerns, they decided to cap everyone's lifespan to a certain number of years. Despite advances that rendered resources limitless, the richer still live longer. Some of the more impoverished live the equivalent of 22 Earthan years. And we always know when it's coming. I was born into one of the wealthiest families in our solar system. I am not due for death for another few centuries. It is my guess that I expedited my time limit each time I immortalized another person.

I am writing these, my final words, not so that you will know my story. But so that you will know yours. Before coming to Earth, I encountered many fallen civilizations. They had one thing in common. An inevitable and unstoppable disease spread throughout every population that mastered genetic aging, destroying it completely in a matter of months. And Earth is on the brink of the very same discovery. But I have also discovered that the disease can be avoided, by altering the method of genetic engineering. All you have to do is

Microstory 10: Guardian Demon

Everyone else in this realm has a guardian angel. But I have a guardian demon. There was a clerical error at the Pseudocelestial Being Staffing Agency that they refuse to acknowledge. So, I'm stuck with him. One of the benefits of having a guardian is being able to name yours whatever you want. But I never did. I've regretted it no more than I do today. My demon has generally been a trickster. He'll hide my car keys in the tissue box. He'll cause my radio station to play the same Jack White song three times in one day. One time he just put on a matching set of clothes and copied my every move throughout the day. My coworkers were not amused. I giggled once, and no one has let me forget it. My demon has been on the job for 30 Earthan years now and that's usually when demons finally earn their horns. But due to what his superior officers called "a peculiar and unacceptable choice in vocation" he'll never get them. He went on a rampage. He never hurt anyone, mind you. Acting somewhat like an angel for three decades sort of softens you up. But he broke a lot of things, made several dozen people late for their yoga classes, and ridiculed a mallard to the point of tears. Yeah. They can cry. Look it up! It comes out of their tear ducks. Eventually, my demon was so exhausted that he could do no more damage except for a few nasty remarks to hipster college students passing by. One of the students stopped in his tracks and turned. His eyes gave off the familiar silvery glow of an archangel. He was being temporarily possessed. "Are you Pseudocelestial Being 97843740?" the archangel asked.

"I am," my demon replied, about to rip his own face off.

"Ah. We've been looking for you. You were supposed to earn your angel wings this morning."

"I'm a demon."

"We know. We made an exception."

"Uhh..."

"Did you make all this mess?"

"Well, yeah."

"Never mind, then."

Microstory 9: Sticks and Stones

Young Samuel Doolin sat in his class, hardly paying attention to what the teacher was saying. He was brighter than the other students, and should have been placed at least two grades higher. But he didn't care enough about school to let anyone know that. One phrase the teacher said, however, caught his ear. "Sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me."

Samuel cleared his throat, prepared himself, and raised his hand. Once called on, he said, "you're a stupid f***ing c***."

In the principal's office, Samuel was calm and collected. The principal, of course, asked him where he learned those words, and why he felt that it was necessary to say them. "Well, I speak English, don't I?" Samuel asked. "And they were necessary to illustrate a point."

"Which is?" the principal asked, curious.

Samuel began the apology. "There are three things wrong with the sticks and stones rhyme. First, it's just a lie. Words are powerful. And they can hurt deeply. Walk into a room of black people and say the "n" word, and just wait for the reaction. Secondly, the rhyme gives bullies free rein to say whatever they want, without repercussions. Obviously, that can't be true either as I am sitting right here. Thirdly, the rhyme places the responsibility on the victim to change their behavior. The bully was just saying whatever they wanted, as they are free to do. Should the victim is simply grit their teeth and ask for more?

Samuel continued, "you may either punish me for my actions, and reform your policies, or you can let me go and stick to your outdated and ridiculous values. But I will not stand for hypocrisy. Either I can say what I want because words can't possibly hurt others, or I can't, and the rhyme should be abolished from the curriculum."

The principal sat for a long while after the speech. "Okay. That makes sense. I won't punish you, because you brought up some good points. But we will change."

"No," Samuel insisted."You absolutely must punish me. That's part of the reformation. I did this in order to elicit change, not to get a rise out of you and my teacher. If I expect you to not be hypocritical, I cannot rightly be so myself." He was given detention for a week. And things began to change. Slowly.

Microstory 8: Siftens Landing (Part II)

Click here for the first installment of this series.

Previously on Siftens Landing:

Mama Siften, of the Junglewood Forest Siftens, has tried to formulate a plan to fix their problem of new neighbors. But things get complicated when she accidentally invites them over for dinner.

And now, Part II of Siftens Landing:

The youngest little Lander, of the Junglewood Forest Landers, was smarter than the others. While Mama Siften was their leader, Moe Lander fancied himself a mastermind. As his brother used the new shovel to start digging four holes in the Siftens' backyard, Moe did nothing but think. He wondered how bad the dinner would have to go to get the new neighbors to consider moving away. There's that fine line between not bad enough to work and a felony. He finally had what he thought was the best idea he's ever had. While the children of the new neighbors hopped over the wall to help dig the holes, Moe snuck away to find a frog.

Next time on Siftens Landing:

While the three families search for little Moe, Allison Siften finds herself falling in love with one of the new neighbors. Can their love survive the rift? Will Moe find that perfect frog? And just what do they plan to do with the rope, the sawdust, and the distilled water?

Find out when Siftens Landing returns, which will be whenever I think of what happens next...

Click here for the next installment...

Microstory 7: True Story II

When I was very young, no older than five years old, I saw someone on television doing gymnastics. I would later learn that the trick they performed was a round-off back handspring, backflip. I turned to my mother and said, "I want to do that." She said, "okay." Sometime later, I started gymnastics. And I did it for eleven years. I also played baseball for several years. When I entered high school, my parents made me join the dive team. I ended up doing some swimming events as well. But I never liked it. There was too much competition. And I would prefer a world where everyone wins. Plus, I'm afraid of heights! But that's all another story. The point is that I was physically active for my entire life. It was second nature. I didn't realize that it was keeping me healthy. Then I went to college. All of it stopped. I spent so much time in a different city that I didn't even walk my dog very much. The meal plan allowed me to eat as much as I wanted, and only kept track of the number of meals. I was used to eating as much as I wanted and burning it off regularly. But not anymore. I gained a lot of weight. I won't get into specifics. It wasn't entirely noticeable to others if I wore the right clothes. Which meant it wasn't entirely noticeable to me. So, it just kept getting worse. I tried some diets. I tried becoming more active. But I am SOO busy. I spend every second of every day thinking about my stories, even when I'm asleep. Even when I'm doing something else. But I can only multitask so much and working out was, well...too much work.

The other day, I decided that I needed to push myself. I needed to force myself into a workout situation that I couldn't get out of. So, I started walking the 5.8 miles (42 blocks) from my house to my parents' house. At a certain point, there was no turning back. I could have called someone to pick me up. But that would have made me a failure. And, being Japanese, that's not really an option. My fingers swelled up, worsened by the fact that I didn't think to take off my ring. My feet blistered and suffered from poor circulation. But since my fingers were swollen, I couldn't loosen my shoelaces. But I made it. I had enough water. I had some good music. And I even made a few minor breakthroughs in my stories. There is no point, or really even an end, to this story. I'm telling it, though, because it keeps me accountable. And maybe if I know that others know I did this once, it will make it that much harder to excuse myself from doing something like it again. Thank you for your time. Microfiction resumes tomorrow on my official Tavis Highfill Page.

Microstory 6: True Story (so...NOT microfiction)

So, I have this sleeping disorder that causes me to sleepwalk, but it's really intense. I never think I'm in a different place, or anything. I always think that I've woken up. But the truth is that the dream I was just having bleeds into reality. I will spend a minute or two compelled to do whatever while gradually realizing what's going on. Last time, whatever I was dreaming about gave me the impression that there was something painful on my face. I don't know what it was, but it caused a burning sensation. I jumped out of bed, stumbled into the bathroom, and even turned on the light so that I could rub off the mysterious substance. Then I woke up and went back to bed.

Today, I drove a palette over from the warehouse to assembly. There is a gap between the truck and the dock, so we drop this dock plate to connect them. It's super heavy and cumbersome. Once I was done unloading, I lifted the dock plate by myself and ended up stepping right through that gap. I lost control of the plate and ended up smashing my face into it as I fell. But not just anywhere on my face. No. It was the exact same spot that I was trying to get the mysterious acid off of while I was sleepwalking the night before. Who says I can't tell the future?

Microstory 5: Siftens Landing (Part I)

The Landers and the Siftens lived in a hidden cul-de-sac that backed up to a dense forest. The suburb was growing fast, and their corner of it was its best kept secret. And they loved it that way. Then someone moved in. The third house had been vacant since the beginning. Neither family had even bothered trying to figure out who had built it in the first place. No need to rock the boat. But now it didn't matter. They were doomed. The de facto leader of the two families, Mama Siften, formed a plan to be rid of their problem. She went off to the store and bought a shovel, some rope, a few bags of sawdust, and a gallon of distilled water. On her way back, the new neighbor stopped her for a chat. He probably had a name but who was even paying attention? It was best to keep a distance and not get at all attached. While the stranger was talking, Mama Siften panicked. She ended up inviting them all to dinner. That was going to make this much more complicated. What's-his-toes smiled and rushed off to tell his wife. Mama Siften pulled into her garage and had her kids unload the supplies while she talked things over with her husband. They were going to have to change strategies...

Click here for the next installment...

Microstory 4: The Scorpion and the Fox

One day, a turtle, a frog, and a fox are sitting at the bank of a river. A scorpion comes along and asks if one of them would carry him across the river. The turtle is hesitant. "How do I know you won't sting me?" the turtle asks. "Because then we would both drown," answers the scorpion. "I'm sorry. I can't risk that," replies the turtle. The scorpion turns to the frog who hops away without a word. "I can carry you," says the fox. The fox carries the scorpion across the river and then swims back. A snake slithers up and tells the scorpion that he probably would not have been able to keep himself from biting the fox by the time they reached the bank. "Why didn't you sting him once you were safely across?" the snake asks. "Isn't that what scorpions do?" "I am not bound by my nature," the scorpion replies. "I make my own choices." Back on the first side, the turtle asks why the fox agreed to do that when it was so dangerous. "Animals like that believe it is best to perish if it means the death of an enemy," the turtle says. "I chose to give him the benefit of the doubt," the fox answers. "Not because it was in his best interests anyway, but because not helping an enemy would reflect poorly on me more than it would on him."