Microstory 100: Lifespan Tattoo

Ethan woke up with a slight itch on his arm. He lifted his sleeve and discovered a tattoo that he had no recollection of getting. He had only put his head down for twenty minutes for a nap, and he didn’t drink. There was no way he could get a fully healed tattoo and not remember it. It read Ethan Daniels 2002 - 2044, which was incredibly ominous. He rode his bike to various tattoo parlors in town but they all assured him that they would never ink a 13 year-old without his parents’ permission. He knew his parents would never agree to such a thing either, even if he asked. Eventually, he gave up on finding a logical reason for it, and instead focused on the warning. It was clear that someone was trying to tell him that he was going to die in 29 years. As he continued trying to go about his normal life, the message ate away at him. He took classes and did research online about precognition, ghosts, time travel, and anything else so much as mildly relevant to his situation. He found himself obsessed with the possibility of immortality. He ended up studying longevity in college and began a company of his own that put vast amounts of resources into solving death by attacking the problem from multiple angles. His death loomed, and he was running out of time. The tattoo didn’t show a date, so he had always assumed that it would happen on his birthday, July 10. On that day, despite objections from his team, he subverted safety protocols and uploaded his consciousness to an android body. It worked. The artificial neural network soaked up his brain patterns like a sponge. It was only then that he realized the truth. The tattoo was never predicting the year of his death; it was predicting the year of his birth.

Microstory 99: Problems (in no particular order)

People who refuse to work but expect money from their parents; That my dog is dead; Paper; Ignorance; Machismo; Customer service; Running; Microsoft; Trash; Religions holding back progress; Hypocrisy; Gender roles; Lack of (sex) education; Cheapness of fast food and expense of healthy food; Hunger; People who pronounce en route more like “in route” (that’s not right, it’s French); People eating babies; Yemen; Emojis in place of words; Texting and driving; Sweat shops; Libertarianism; Sports; Animal abuse; PETA; Treating teenagers like their thoughts and issues are trivial; Oil dependence; Neo-nazis; Betrayal; Global warming; Global warming deniers; Facebook; Rapists being considered part of a “culture”; Speed limits; Victim blaming; Slut-shaming; Entitlement; Show cancellations; Expensive healthcare; The sixth extinction; Smart but mean people; People who are above owning a television; Police brutality; People who try to correct my grammar even though I’m the one with the linguistics degree (e.g. claiming it’s wrong to end a sentence in a preposition); Infant mortality; Cold weather; Homelessness; People who are grossed out by the human body; Awkward situations; Claiming that all poor people choose to be poor; Facial and body hair; Shaving; Donald Trump; Utah in general; Nerd/Geek superiority complexes; People who don’t shower before bed (ya’ll got dirty beds); (Young Earth) Creationism; Illiteracy; Inequality; Pollution; Bad drivers (and the excuses for them); Parties of all kinds; Insurance (I pay monthly so that when something happens, I’ve already paid for it. If you raise my rates then you are charging me twice!); Homophobia; Spiders; Apple (the company); Terrorism; States rights; Glamorization of poor role models; People who spell it as theater; Tobacco, alcohol, and other recreational drugs; Apathy; Amazon (the company); Hunting for sport; People caring about a politician’s personal sex life; Car racing; Mormon encouragement of child rape; Colony Collapse Disorder; Freak accidents; Freeganism; Tax loopholes; Depression; Public bathroom doors that open inward; Side effects; Drought; Death; Piercings and tattoos (a.k.a. bad skin); Overpopulation; Guilt trips; Poverty; Disease; Onions; The U.S. Constitution (it’s outdated); Nuclear research for weapons rather than energy; The Lumineers; Scientology; War; The Bible; Idiocracy (the concept)

Microstory 98: The Typist

Diego Villa was considered to be one of the most prolific writers in history. He basically did nothing with his time but write; starting out using a typewriter, and moving on to computers as they became available. For the last couple of years, the physical act of typing had become more difficult. A few months ago, he was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis which made his carpal tunnel syndrome practically permanent. It was heartbreaking for him to learn that he could no longer continue with the one constant in his life. He had plenty of money, so he didn’t need to work, but he felt useless throughout the day. His computer remained off most of the time, and he would spend hours trying to sleep off the depression. One day, he woke up from naptime with an amazing idea, and for a few seconds, he completely forgot his obstacle. But it quickly returned to his memory. The story would forever be stuck in his brain. Still, Diego couldn’t help but try.

He switched his machine on and just stared at the screen, with nothing better to do. After several minutes of this, a single letter appeared on the screen. What? He kept concentrating, and more letters followed. The more he tried, the faster the words appeared. The keyboard wasn’t moving, so he hadn’t somehow spontaneously developed telekinesis. No, this was all in his head. His brain had figured out how to trick his eyes into seeing something that wasn’t even there. Despite being certain that none of this was real, he sat there for hours, the sentences and a paragraphs streaming out at the speed of thought. Eventually, he stopped thinking of the individual words, and simply came up with the general plot developments. Entire pages blinked into existence instantly. His nose began to bleed and his head burned with pain, but he ignored it. He had to keep pretending. His final push. It was near midnight when he reached the final words of the greatest story he had ever told. Just before the last period could appear on screen, Diego fell over and died. His caretaker arrived the next day and discovered his body. She contacted the family, and within months, they had published Diego Villa’s final novel. It sold more copies than his other books combined.

Microstory 97: Homeless Tenant

Everyday around 8:30, I look in the windows and make sure that no one was in the house that I didn’t know about. Sometimes the homeowner doesn’t leave at all, and I’m stuck outside; but if she does leave, she always returns at exactly 6:30 in the evening. The first time I discovered this house, she had accidentally left it unlocked, but then I found a spare key in her desk. I had an extra one made and have been using it every day since. I don’t ever steal anything valuable. The first thing I do is take a nice warm shower. That way, the water heater has time to compensate by the time she gets back home. She keeps a lot of fruit in her kitchen, so I pick and choose what won’t be noticed. I also like to have a piece of toast, careful to clean up the crumbs. Since she doesn’t own a television, I spend the rest of the day reading the books she has in her library. After a couple years of this, I had all of the narrative fiction read; some of them twice. I moved on to the more technical material that would have been far beyond me before. She was apparently some kind of astrophysicist. I was this close to finishing high school, but I’ve learned more in the last few years of reading on my own than I ever did as a kid. I found her educational literature to be fascinating, and wished that I had had an opportunity to go to college. After exhausting her resources, I started to check books out of the public library, but I would always read them in her house. It felt more like home to me, even though I could never sleep there. One day, I was in the middle of a book about exoplanets, when the door opened. The homeowner walked in and dropped a stack of papers on the coffee table. I’m stunned. “Applications for your GED, college admittance, and financial aid,” she said. “I think it’s time we move you on to a formal education.” How long has she known?

Microstory 96: New City

“I keep hearing people say, ‘this city will be great once they finish building it’ so here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna built a new city, right next to the old one. It's gonna be a complete retooling of what we think the definition of a city is. It'll have terrace farming all over the place, wind turbines that look like trees, solar highways, sidewalks that generate energy from foot traffic. It'll be awesome. But no one is gonna live there until it's done. The only people you'll see there are the engineers, construction workers, and hooligans. Teenagers will sneak in to make trouble, and we'll slap them on the wrist, but they're kids; wadya gonna do? Anyway, when the city's completely complete, every single resident of the old city is going to be relocated to the new city. Every home will be nice and new. Even the units for the poor will only be cheaper because they're smaller. Once everyone has been moved—I see that happening in max three days—we're gonna tear down the old city. We're gonna demolish every building and I dunno, like, recycle? Then we're gonna build another town of the future, right where the old one used to be. And then people will be able to move back if they want because, God, we're not fascists. Anyway. That's my plan. Thoughts?”

“You're an idiot.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 6, 2030

« < » > Table of Contents

Mateo slept all the way across midnight. The sun was still not out when he found Leona sitting on the other side of the lawn, watching birds argue with each other in a nearby tree. He approached her carefully. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said back. “Now I know why you left on the train. I don’t want my family to go through this. I’ve disappeared, and that’s tough, but they’ll get through it and move on.” She looked up at him. “We need to keep them out of this.”

“I agree.”

“But I refuse to go to Utah.”

He laughed and sat down next to her. “You won’t hear me trying to force you.”

“I do wish that I could have said goodbye to my little brother, but it’s for the best. I can’t touch him now that I’ve been activated. I don’t want him to become one of us.”

Oh boy. “There’s something you should know.”

She patiently waited while a car pulled up behind them that they ignored.

“He already is one of us.”

He could feel her surprise, but she did a pretty good job of hiding it. “Since when?”

“Since before he was born. Apparently, we can sometimes be reincarnated. The way I understand it, he died at quite an old age.”

She turned her head towards Mateo, but kept her eyes to the grass. “Then maybe it’s hereditary.”

“How do you mean?”

“Think about it. Out of all the salmon we’ve met, most of them have been related to one of us. Your birth parents, your aunt, your cousin, and my brother. Hell, that doctor and the Delegator might be our children from the future, for all we know.”

“There was a guy who healed me with his blood when I had an allergic reaction after the surgery. He walked through a portal in the wall.”

She looked at Mateo. “Grandson?”

He shook his head with uncertainty. “I don’t know that what you’re saying is how it works.”

She went back to watching the birds. “Yeah, it doesn’t matter either way. I still need to stay away from Theo. Maybe he would need to be reinitialized, and I still don’t want that for him if I can stop it. He may be an old man, but to me he’s just my baby brother.”

“I hate when you call be a baby,” said Theo behind them.

They turned around. “Theo!” Leona cried.

Mateo chuckled uncomfortably. “What are you doing here?”

“I came here to find you. Did you already go in?”

“The chapel? I’m not sure I’m even Christian anymore.”

Theo snorted. “Neither is that place.” Leona pulled herself away when Theo tried to help her up. “You can’t hurt me, sestra.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t have time for this crap.” And with that, he deliberately placed his hand on Mateo’s shoulder. “There, it’s too late. Now is it asking too much for my big sister to give me a hug.”

She looked like she was about to cry, but she jumped up and hugged him, both despite and because of her feelings.

Mateo led the way towards the chapel. “Why are we going in there?”

“Didn’t you just speak with the Delegator?”

“We did.”

“And he sent you here.”

“Right.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“We don’t have a car.”

“No, that’s not it. In the daylight, you can see Lebanon from here. You knew you were supposed to be here. He still should have told you. He’s not doing his job right.” He opened the door and stepped in like he was showing them their new house. “This chapel hasn’t always been here. In fact, it was destroyed once twenty-two years ago. But they can’t destroy what’s underneath.”

“What’s underneath?”

Theo smiled menacingly and spoke the magic words. Literally. “Open sesame seed bun! Fresh meat! The coast is clear!” A few seconds later, the entire floor began to descend. It started off slowly until settling into a second set of walls which closed above them to form a new roof. “Hold onto something.” The elevator dropped dramatically, faster than any before, but thankfully slowed down again after a while. “The base is 144 stories under the ground. Engineers and construction workers were sent back in time to build it. We don’t know exactly when, but we think it’s been here for millions of years. We call it The Constant.”

“What is it for?”

“It’s a resupply station. Down here you’ll find meds, food, appropriate clothing for your new time period, etcetera. There are some other creature comforts if you want to take a break from your mission, but they won’t let you stay too long. There’s only one person who stays down here, and she’s always here. Like I said, this is a constant. It doesn’t move through time like our graveyard. It was built in one place, at one time, and then left alone, which means that The Concierge isn’t like other salmon. She’s very special, though.” The elevator stopped.

“She’s special in what way?”

The doors opened. “I’m immortal.” It was Salinger.

“Danica!”

“It’s very nice to see you again, Mateo.”

“How long has it been for you?”

“No one knows how long I’ve been here. They compare notes and have their guesses, but I’ve never told a soul. I won’t make an exception for you, even though you’re my cousin.”

Mateo couldn’t help but embrace her. They hardly knew each other, but she was family, and that counted for something. Leona joined in the hug, followed by little Theo. “Do you regret your choice? To go through the other door at Stonehenge?”

“For the most part, I do not,” Danica replied. “But there are many more minutes than there are salmon. It can get lonely, but I have a television.”

They laughed.

Danica looked at her watch and began to frown. “Unfortunately, you don’t have long here. I’ve been authorized to give you these.” She presented to them five futuristic mobile phones. We’ve put you on a family plan. They won’t run out of battery, and the network will never go down, however they’ll usually only connect to each other. I don’t know for sure, but you probably cannot be separated from them. Time should always tether you to them.”

“Why are there five?” Leona asked.

“That’s why you need to leave. You’re scheduled to meet up with the other two people in your party.”

“You can’t come with us, just for the day?”

“I’m part of the Constant. I haven’t left in—ohohoho! Almost had me there! Let’s just say that I haven’t left in forever.”

“Who else are we picking up?” Leona asked.

Danica shrugged. “I haven’t been given that information.” She looked something up on her device. “I only know that you’re supposed to be in a city called Huntsville, Ontario in less than nineteen hours. Which means you’ll have to speed. I promise not to pull you over.” She winked.

“Will I ever see you again? Will they ever let me back down here?”

“I imagine so. However, I promise you nothing. This is here for when you need it. The basic premise of this whole time travel thing is that you’re put where you don’t belong and have to find a way to survive and do some good. It’s not a vacation; it’s a calling. This place is for furloughs.” With that, they said their goodbyes and left.

The car automatically drove them halfway across the country, and into Canada where they presented fake passports that Theo had drawn up. Presumably, they would know what they were looking for when they found it. They later discovered that they wouldn’t have to look very far. Near the end of whatever it was they were doing, Theo motioned them over. “You should sit over here.”

“What? Why?”

“Just come sit over here with me. That seat needs to be empty. I just know it.”

“For what?”

“You’ll see. Would you two just do it? Have we not yet learned trust?”

Mateo and Leona reluctantly crawled over and sat on either side of Theo. It was awkward. “This is awkward.”

Theo looked at his watch. “It should be happening any minute.”

Leona shifted, trying to get more comfortable. “Are we gonna get hit by a meteorite or something?”

“Just wait,” Theo insisted. “You’ll like this surprise.”

After a few moments of waiting, a formless blob faded into view on the other seat where they had been sitting. Detail by detail, the image focused and became clear. The blob turned into two blobs, then two people, then two people with features. They were kissing each other, but stopped after the transition was completely finished. They looked up and around, but not directly at the other three. “Are we in a motor vehicle?” the man asked.

“We jumped to the future,” the woman continued. “Why is that?”

Mateo recognized the woman. He would know that face and voice anywhere, even though he hadn’t seen her in twenty years. “Mom?”

« < » > Table of Contents

Seeing is Becoming: Freelancers (Part VII)

« < » > Entire Story

The man’s office turned out to be the remains of Stonehenge. He called himself the Delegator and claimed that it was his job to help salmon figure out what they were supposed to do with their new lives. Yalshi was allowed to witness the meeting, as long as she kept quiet. “They’re going to be doing something different with you two,” the Delegator announced to them.

“Different how?”

“Most salmon aren’t given a conscious choice. They’re dropped wherever and whenever the powers want them, and they’re expected to do whatever they’re told. And for the most part, you’ll do the same. However, after each completed mission, you’ll be given a few options for your next assignment. These options may send you to Earth, to another planet, to the past, or the present. You’ll be given a bit of information, and from there you can make a decision. Isn’t that great?”

“You force us into these decisions, but since most people have no illusion of free will, you expect us to be grateful that you’re letting us decide where to risk our lives?”

“I expect nothing. I’m middle management,” the Delegator explained. “But I am getting the feeling that something has changed. You’re not the first salmon to have been granted a weird exception. Though, to be honest, that hasn’t technically happened yet since we’re in the past.” He shook the tangent out of his brain. “It is my guess that the powers have recruited someone new. Don’t quote me on that, but I think he’s interested in changing the program. It would certainly explain why you and only a handful of others are being treated differently. Again, I’m not sure that that is how it works. I have more information about this than you do, but I don’t have all of it.”

“Ya know,” Vearden began, “there’s one thing I’ve already decided. I don’t really care. I don’t care who the powers that be are. I don’t care why they’re doing this, and I don’t even care about figuring out how to stop it. I can stop it. You can drop me wherever you want, but if I don’t want to do something, I just won’t.”

“Speaking from experience, bad things happen when you don’t do what you’re told,” the Delegator said. “I don’t mean that I’ve seen it happen; I mean that I’ve caused it. Yes, I’m different, but also very much like you. My job as Delegator is just another mission. I exercise very little control.”

“How about you exercise some of the control you do happen to have right now?” Saga asked, but it was more of a command.

“Pardon?”

“Let me chose my next mission. Forget the multiple choice. I want to go where I want to go.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“1743,” Saga answered.

The Delegator lifted his head, considering the proposition. “I cannot guarantee such a request.”

“Well, what can you do?” Vearden asked.

“I’ll tell you what.” The Delegator rubbed his eyes from exhaustion. “I need you to make a quick stop for me. It’ll only be a few hours. Afterwards, if the powers have accepted your motion, then you’ll find out. If not, it’s out of my hands. I’m not certain you’re quite understanding that I’m more of a messenger than anything.”

Vearden whispered to Saga. “Is there any point trying to reason with these people? Do we have any chance?”

“I think they can hear us even when you whisper,” Saga returned. “Which, to be honest, probably means that we don’t have a chance. But I don’t like the idea of being pushed around. That’s why I became a freelancer.”

“That’s your name!” the Delegator exclaimed. “The Freelancers.”

“I’m sorry?”

“We like to give each other nicknames. That’s yours.”

“We are not children,” Saga insisted.

“Fine.” The Delegator was noticeably hurt. “I’m still gonna call you that,” he muttered under his breath.

“Where are we supposed to go now?” Vearden asked.

“Would you like to have a final moment with your alien friend? You won’t ever see her again.”

Yalshi had been so good at keeping quiet, that Saga and Vearden had forgotten that she was even there. “This has given me an interesting bit of insight,” she told them.

“What are you going to do with it?”

She looked to the ground for answers. “Knowledge is power, right? I’m going to seize control from my father, and make a few changes to our cultural biases.”

“We will return in another few decades to check on your work,” Saga smiled.

“He just said you wouldn’t be able to.”

“We don’t follow the rules,” Vearden said. “We will see you again.”

Yalshi smiled back at them. “I better get going. Who knows how long I’ve been away?” She stepped back through the portal. It shuddered and faded away, slowly revealing a different view. A few graves could be seen by the moonlight.

“Is that for us?”

“Indeed,” the Delegator confirmed.

The two of them walked through the portal without another word. On the other side, they found humans driving land vehicles into the cemetery. They were talking and laughing joyfully, spreading throughout the graves to start their own conversations.

A stranger holding a beer approached them. “Hey, are you two here for the party?”

“Uh no,” Vearden said apologetically . “We just came to visit an old friend.”

“Ah, sorry for your loss. We can move to a different corner, if you’d like.”

“Is this some morbid goth party, or something?”

The stranger giggled. “It’s a birthday party. We used to hangout here as kids. We don’t get too rowdy, though. Mateo, the birthday boy finds cemeteries to be inexplicably comforting.

“Mateo you say?” Saga asked, giving Vearden a look.

“We knew him way back when. Could we say hi?”

“Yeah, sure. He’s over there.” The stranger nodded vaguely in one direction. “I’m Kyle, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Kyle,” Saga said, offering her hand.

“We’re The Freelancers,” Vearden said, much to the dismay of his friend.

They walked over and could soon clearly see the face of Mateo Matic, a man who appeared to be particularly special, even amongst other salmon. “Is that really him?” Saga asked of Vearden.

“It most certainly is,” he replied.

Saga lifted her hand again and shook Mateo’s. “We’ve heard it’s your birthday.”

“That’s what they tell me,” Mateo said.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight. Already feel like an old man.”

“Happy with your life?” Vearden asked.

It was a bit of a weird question, but Mateo seemed open to it. “Actually, I am. It hasn’t always been easy. I’ve experienced loss. But I’m in a pretty good place now. I couldn’t imagine it getting any better.”

“Oh,” Vearden said. “Well, be careful.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s just something my mother used to say before I left the house. It’s become my catchphrase.”

“I see.” He patted both of them on the shoulders. “Well, have a beer or two. I know we’re in a place of death, but tonight, we celebrate life.”

They spent the rest of the night getting to know other people at the party. Despite them being strangers, everyone accepted them and treated them like they belonged. Saga informed Vearden that it was presently the year 2014, which was more than a decade earlier than the time they originally left. They kept an eye on Mateo, mostly out of curiosity. The Delegator had wanted them to be there at that particular time, so it must have been meaningful. Exactly at midnight, they saw Mateo disappear. His beer exploded, sending a few remaining shards into Kyle’s skin. As they were running to help, Vearden noticed something wrong. “Saga.”

“What?”

“Tombs don’t usually just put a date on the front, right?”

“Of course not. They engrave the family name on it.” She looked up and saw the date January 3, 1743 marked over the door of the tomb. The lettering had a light but definite glow to it.

“I think this is our ride.”

“Come on, V.” Saga took Vearden’s hand and led him towards the tomb that was doubling as a portal. “There are a couple of people that I would like you to meet.”

The two friends opened the door and began a new time-traveling adventure together.

« < » > Entire Story

Microstory 95: Crying Man

I was headed back towards my crappy new apartment after a lonely walk along the river when I noticed a man on the other side of the street. He was sitting up against a parking garage. I was too far away and listening to music, so I couldn’t hear him, but he was clearly crying. No, not just crying; he was bawling. He looked like a loved one had just died, or his life had somehow otherwise been ruined. I told myself that there was nothing I could do about it, that he was a stranger, and that he probably just wanted to be left alone. Even though I’m known for being distant and socially awkward, I felt the urge to go over to him. Without looking for traffic, I jaywalked across the street and slowly approached him, no clue what I was going to do once I got there. Without saying a word, I leaned my back against the wall and slid down next to him. At some point, he noticed that I was there, but he made no move. He didn’t ask me to leave, and he didn’t try to tell me what was wrong. Gradually, I began to feel his pain. Without knowing the details of the actual event, I started to feel an incredible sense of loss. This was not about being fired, or a broken down car, or a breakup. This was profound, primal, and real. As my eyes began to tear up, his bellowing turned to blubbering, and then to sobbing, then to weeping, until finally he was only sniffling. Thoughts flooded into my head. I was remembering all the pain that I had felt in my entire life, along with his. My first really bad grade in school, his best friend moving out of the state; crashing my father’s car, dropping his mother’s favorite wine glass; my divorce, his struggle to find a job; the death of my dog, and the sudden death of his infant son. For a few moments, we were one person. And then we were separated once more. He stood up and breathed deeply several times. “Thank you,” he said, “for being there. And for somehow helping.” He walked away, and I never saw him again.