Microstory 16: Murder is Murder

I am a murderer. I have intentionally killed dozens; possibly hundreds. The definition of murder is unlawful and willful killing of someone with a soul. This is why you can’t murder an animal. We might call that animal cruelty, but we kill game and livestock all the time, and only some people are bothered by it. What people don’t know, however, is that a few animals do indeed have souls. They aren’t complex souls like those of humans, but they still have them. Dolphins, elephants, and mice are a few examples of animals with simplex souls. A soul can be shared between a human and an animal, which means that all your pets have souls too. There is one creature that most would not expect to have souls. Spiders. The problem is that they have twisted, evil souls. They are utterly bent on the destruction of all life in the universe. Just because they aren’t logically capable of such a thing, doesn’t make their motivations any less real. I consider it my duty as an ensouled individual to kill as many spiders as I possibly can. Many scorpions believe this to be their duty as well, and they regularly sting and eat spiders that they encounter. You still probably wouldn’t call this murder, and that’s great for me. As long as you keep thinking that there is nothing wrong with it, I get to keep going with my mission. I will never stop, until I myself am dead, and then one day after that.

Microstory 15: The IQ Trick

I always tell people that I have an IQ of 185. Then I laugh and admit that it’s only 130. You see, intellectually, they know that I have normal intelligence. They will never expect me to do anything particularly outstanding. But subconsciously, they will always be looking to attribute everything I do to my genius. So when I do something that they would consider wrong, they won't look down on me too much because, in the back of their minds, they’ll wonder whether I had it right the whole time, and if they aren't simply incapable of fathoming the logic. The trick is to use this on any given person only a single time. Don’t ever mention it again. The more they think about it, the closer their subconscious impressions get to the truth. And it is absolutely imperative that you never reveal your deception to anyone. Which, I know, sounds ironic, because I've just revealed it to you. But here’s the thing, a truly gifted individual can maneuver their way out of the inconsistency. And I’m gifted. Obviously I am, since I came up with this on my own, at a very young age. And that is the true irony. Because the fact is that I've been joking with you the whole time. I actually do have an IQ of 185. Just kidding. It’s only 180.

Microstory 14: Inhibition

They’re always green with a white stripe. Today, they are white with a green stripe. I reach into my memory and try to recall, just to make sure that I’m not mistaken. But I cannot confirm it. Did scientists change the design of the pills? Was I remembering it wrong? Was I about to take the wrong medication? I shrug my shoulders and take two. I guess I have to trust the professionals. I feel nothing, not that I should so quickly anyway. The pills never fix my anxiety. They’re supposed to slightly lower my inhibitions; just enough to give me confidence to get through the day. Without them, I would not be able to do my job. My clients expect quite a bit out of me, and I have always delivered. I’ve really only had trouble concentrating for the last few months. My memory hasn’t been great either. I think one of my assignments slipped through my fingers the other day, but I can’t remember. I breathe deeply and place my hands on the corners of the vanity as memories once lost slowly return. That’s why I recieved company this morning, waiting for me in the living room. The longer I stand here, the more I feel different. They were definitely the wrong pills. I feel the same as I do with the regular ones, but far more intensely. Second by second, the inescapable urge to tell the truth swells over me. I try to suppress it. I can’t lose my job. But it overcomes me. Consequences begin to seem like nothing. Yes. Wrong pills. In fact, I think the pharmacist did it on purpose. What did she know about him? In a bit of a daze, I walk out of the bathroom and approach the visitors. One of the police officers is holding up a photograph. “Yes, I know him. I tried to kill him, but he got away. I’m still under contract, so I need to find him. Why do you ask?”

The Shape of Things to Come

I know that you are just absolutely dying to read my first flash fiction piece. Well, you're going to have to wait until next Saturday. Why? Because I want to start this new process at the beginning of the week; not somewhere in the middle, or the end. This coming Monday, one new microstory. The last one I wrote was...on November 18? Wow, it's been that long? What a hack. Anyway, I have no idea what it's going to be about, but that's the exciting part. I could lie to you and tell you that I will write only one a day, on the day of publishing, but I won't. I may start a bank, like I sometimes do with my nanofiction. I can't risk not having anything to produce. I'm actually probably going to write one today, as well as start on the first installment of "The Advancement of Mateo Matic".

I've really been thinking hard about whether I want to do something on Sundays. I've already made a list of potential YouTube videos. They would be pretty short, and would just involve me talking to the camera. I don't know how easy/hard it is to superimpose text, insert pictures, and use other editing techniques. Each one would be on a different topic that gives me the chance to explain some interesting, ridiculous, or misunderstood linguistic concepts. There would also be a few in there that are really just about logical fallacies that people make. Topics include contranyms, chicken or the egg, and unusual idiom origins.

Here's my problem with a YouTube series, I am not an actor. I don't have charisma, I have trouble getting my lines out, I'm not that attractive, and worst of all, I have a terrible voice. It's nasally and annoying and hard to understand. I would probably call it my worst quality, and I have autism! But if I want to be famous, which I do, then perhaps I ought to do it anyway. I'm supposed to be stepping out of my comfort zone, as is everyone. I still don't know...

In the meantime, here is a picture of my late digger baby, Sophie. Because reasons.

Microstory 13: The Direct Line

In the Earthan year of 1984, a witch on the planet Persephone named Indira Felrey was discovered to be using Craft to commit crimes. Witchcraft itself was not illegal, however, certain practices resulted in outcomes that were necessarily against Martian Law. Unfit for general prison sentence, she was instead exiled to Earth where Craft was fundamentally impossible. The hidden structure of the universe prevented the exploits of Craft from ever being an issue within the Sol System.

Contrary to common lore, witchcraft does not rely on magic. Magic does not exist. Witches are in tune with an ancient infrastructure built billions of years ago. The maintainers of the structure spent hundreds of years connecting every living and non-living entity in the universe in order to study them and keep records.

No one is born a witch. Anyone can learn Craft. Some are able to learn the secrets quicker than others, but this is true of any skill. Witches exploit unavoidable functions of the structure in order to complete tasks and gain insight into the cosmos. This inherently limits their spells to a finite number of physically possible Engagements. In reality, they are voice commands, as one would use on a smartphone.

In 1987, the witch Indira Felrey discovered an authentication bypass that allowed her access to the structure while still on Earth. She opened a portal that she programmed to map the entirety of the surface of the planet. Only after it was finished could Craft be used on Earth, though still with some restrictions, due to different cosmological procedures. During a metaphysical crisis within the structure, The Supervisor and a rogue archief discovered the witch's glitch as it began. They could have shut it down, but they decided to let it play out and see what came of it. Indira died of natural causes before the mapping program could be completed in 1991, but the Archief and The Supervisor soon realized that they would be able to use the exploit for their own purposes.

And thus began one of the most important endeavors in the history of the universe, The Direct Line.

Writing Communities I Belong To

I found three writing communities where I'm planning to upload my short fiction. You can find my Figment profile here. You can find my Wattpad profile here. Lastly, you can find my Writer's Cafe profile here.

Follow me there too. Give me all the follows! Please and thank you.

Microstory 12: Round House

Detective Urdea raced through the alleyway, the suspect always at least four meters out of reach. They flung themselves over a fence, under a railing, and in a space so tight, the buildings might as well have been attached. Urdea was about to take his shot when they found themselves in a large crowd. There was some kind of block party. They zigged and zagged and weaved and bobbed through the mess of arms, beer cups, and balloon animals. Instead of trying to protect himself within the crowd, the suspect got himself out, and Urdea took his shot. Dead.

After checking for a pulse, he opened the case that the suspect had evidently stolen. Eight slots. Seven vials. He ordered the contents to be analyzed immediately. They discovered it to be what's known as The Silver Plague, a bioweapon that could wipe out the planet. And Urdea had apparently killed the only person who could have told them where the last vial was.

For the next several hours, he and his partner sifted through restaurant receipts and security cameras, trying to find out who the suspect had been working with, and what they were planning to do with the plague. They talked to confidential informants, family members, field experts, and sister departments. Nothing. Meanwhile, the entire metropolitan area was evacuated. The country was put on DEFCON 3. The nation panicked. The world held its breath.

Finally, a uniformed officer caught someone trying to break into the dead suspect's apartment. They took him to an "off-the-books" location and started "interrogating" him,  using the phone book as a "frame of reference". They asked him questions about how he knew the dead suspect, what he did for a living, etc. But they said nothing of the vials, hoping that after hours of questioning, he would give away what they needed without even realizing it. Finally, he appeared to be broken, and they asked the real questions. "Where is the vial?"

"What vial?"

They hit him again. "The other vial!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

The phone book was more red than it was yellow. "What did you do with the missing vial!"

"I don't have any other vial. They were all in the case!"

Urdea was growing impatient. "You're telling me that there were eight vials when you last saw the case?"

"What? No." He spit some blood on the floor. "There were seven vials. There are ONLY seven vials."

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" Urdea growled. "There are eight slots in the case. I'm not gonna ask you again. Where. Is. The last one!?"

"Yeah, I DO think you're an idiot," the man shouted. "The case manufacturer could not have known exactly how many slots we would need. They didn't have one with only seven slots, so we rounded up! You have all the vials! You've had them the whole time!"

New Blog, Who Dis?

This is my new blog. As you can see, I uploaded microstories in rapid succession. I used to post these to a different blog that was iframed on another blog that had no template, so that I could write my own HTML for it. I also posted them to my facebook accounts, and will continue to do so. I've been making changes in my life. I'm trying to go full force on this self-publishing situation in an attempt to get my name out there. I'm going to be more diligent about posting. I really need to make sure I keep this thing updated with content. My current plan is this:

• Post a few nanofiction tweets every day
• These are also known as LIES
• Please do not mistake these for truths
• Some of them are ridiculous
• Others sound like they could be real
• They are NOT
• Post a new microstory every weekday
• In the past, these have been one to a few paragraphs long
• I need to limit them to one paragraph, to better distinguish them from flash fiction
• And because "ain't nobody got time for that"
• Post one new flash fiction story every week on Saturday
• This will be a series entitled The Advancement of Mateo Matic
• This used to be the name of a set of novelas that I had planned
• The original story took place in another galaxy
• The premise of the original had nothing to do with time slips
• The original books were intended to belong to my universal canon
• This will now be a part of a separate canon, which frees up my slate to account for the fact that IT'S TAKING FOREVER JUST TO PUBLISH MY FIRST BOOK

Like I said above, my microfiction should appear every week day. On Saturdays, instead of a paragraph long microstory, you'll find a flash fiction piece. It will be the next installment in a series called The Advancement of Mateo Matic. Each installment takes place over the course of a single day. In the beginning, Mateo led an average life. One day, for reasons I haven't figured out yet, he jumps forward exactly one year. And every day since then, he lives for one day per year. At the end of it, he jumps forward again. Please note: title and format subject to change. This post doesn't control my future! The plot of this series might sound like "Brigadoon" or Groundhog Day. Please erase the memories you have of these earlier works. I am the originator of everything I do.

I am trying to bump up the numbers of fans, followers, friends, likes, comments, and other interactions. Please friend me on Facebook, 'Like' my "business" page on my other Facebook, follow my Nanofiction twitter account @NickFisherman, follow my Dream Journal account @IHadaDreamWhere, follow my Personal twitter account @TavisHighfill, and follow my Random Photo instagram feed for all the "WTF is that?" moments you can handle. Recognize that my nanofiction and personal accounts used to be switched. I swapped the username for several reasons, not the least of which is the fact that building my fanbase from Facebook is NOT WORKING OUT. Instead of trying to get my real name out there, I'm going to try to get my pseudonym out there. Everything fictional I write is "by" Nick Fisherman. Everything real is by Tavis Highfill.

You may be wondering, "Tavis—Nick; whatever the hell your name is, why use a pseudonym? Who do you think you are, Voltaire?" The name Nick Fisherman has been with my for as long as I can remember. He was once my imaginary friend, then my alias, and now he's my pen name. I've come up with a canonical reason for him to exist, but I haven't decided to go through with that yet. The out-of-universe reason is for marketing purposes. "Nick" is a common name that everyone accepts. "Tavis" makes people wonder why my parents forgot the "r". "Fisherman" is a common word. It's easy to remember, and you're going to like it whether you like it or not!

A few more things;

Q: "If you post microfiction on weekdays, and flash fiction on Saturday, what happens on Sunday?"

A: That's God's day of rest, you heathens! LOLJK I might come up with something later. YouTube videos? Probably not. You know what they say, I have a face for radio, and a voice for books.

Q: "Who are you again?"

A: Don't worry about it.

Q: "What was the third thing; the one that justifies you using the word few?"

A: I'm also looking into posting my work on third-party sites. There are a few writers communities out there, and I need to find the best one(s) for me. I will let you know where else you can find me. I need all the exposure I can get.