Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Microstory 297: Perspective Seventy-Three

Perspective Seventy-Two

Did you know that there is not a single civilization in history that has not found a way to lay their dead to rest? It make sense, of course; you never hear about a culture that just throws the bodies to the side and moves on with their lives. Some deceased are buried, others are entombed, and some are even placed in coffins to be hung over the side of a mountain. To become a funeral director, I didn’t need all that much schooling, but I did need some. I first became fascinated with the process in college when I began to study anthropology. My school let me develop my own curriculum so that I could focus on death. I know that sounds morbid...literally, but I just really wanted to know how people dealt with death, so that I could help them through it. Being there for the loved ones of a deceased person is so incredibly rewarding. It’s my job to send someone off to their final resting place, to make sure their family and friends feel that they’ll be moving on to a better place. I don’t claim to know what happens to a person after they die, but I have a lot of experience with what happens to everyone else. And I can tell you that a caring, calm, but unbiased professional is something nearly everyone needs. They don’t need me to sell them a package, or tell them how to feel, they just need me to tell them what’s going to happen. They need to feel like their loved ones are being cared for, so that when they inevitably come my way, they’ll be shown the same respect. Humans are not the only species with the instinct to bury dead. We’re just the only ones with fancy tools for it. Chimpanzees do it as well, which is not entirely surprising since we both originate from a common ancestor. The most interesting case, however, is elephants. They are known to throw leaves and dirt over their dead, and will even return to the site later. They are also thought to go through some kind of mourning process. I see a lot of death, and I do not enjoy it, but my work is important, and I’m proud to do it.

Perspective Seventy-Four

Monday, April 11, 2016

Microstory 296: Perspective Seventy-Two

Perspective Seventy-One

I want to make it clear that I do not have an obsession with death. Most people balk when I tell them I went through eight years of education just to wind up down in a morgue. There also seems to be this belief that all MEs are antisocial jerks who are smart enough to be doctors, but don’t deal with people well. “The dead don’t talk back” and crap like that. The truth is that I didn’t start my schooling with the intention of becoming an ME. It sort of happened gradually. The more classes I took, and the more subjects I studied, the more fields I was able to eliminate from my list. When it came time to determine my specialty, this was really the only option. I consider it an honor to be the last medical professional to handle a person. These people all have different lives, with different experiences, and different perspectives. But they all end up in a place like this. Sooner or later, unless a body is never found, someone like me is asked to provide the deceased’s loved ones with the last remaining answers to their life. This job is important, even if an autopsy isn’t necessary. Somebody has to have the expertise to decide on that, and somebody has to get the body to where it’s going; its final resting place. I’ve just received a body of a young man who had so much ahead of him. I, of course, do not know the details, but there was a witness to his death. He claims that the deceased fought with another man who ended up with the upper hand. It sounds like he didn’t actually mean to kill him, but he also didn’t stick around to explain himself. The police are out looking for him, but they need me to know where to look, and what questions to ask. The murder weapon, if that’s what we end up calling it, was found at the scene. My colleagues are analyzing it, along with other evidence at the scene, to find out exactly what happened here tonight. But they need me to match their evidence with the condition of the body. My job may not be as glamorous as you see on TV (I’m lookin’ at you, CSI franchise) but it matters. Any way you slice it, I help catch criminals. Sure, I could probably be making better money as a physician, but I do all right. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Perspective Seventy-Three

Sunday, April 10, 2016

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 16, 2070

They slept the rest of the day away, but were still tired come midnight. Just after jumping into the future, Makarion aggressively woke them up. “I know you’re still tired from your little Martian romp, but you’re getting an assignment today.”
Mateo rubbed his eyes, but in that cartoonish way with closed fists. “My dog will probably just eat this one too.”
“Cute,” Makarion responded before moving on. “I’m going to be giving you the DVDs for eleven movies. You must pick five and watch them all. Out of the remaining six movies, you must pick six, and watch those as well.”
“Are you serious?” Leona asked incredulously. “Is there even enough time for all of them?”
“I did the math myself,” Makarion assured them. “You won’t have much time for anything else, but you can fit them all in. Oh, and if you don’t get through all of them—and I mean, actually watch them—you will be punished. You can sleep or dawdle as much as you want, but I recommend going as fast as possible. For obvious reasons.”
“What did we do wrong?”
“Pardon?”
“Why are we doing another tribulation? We should have the day off.”
“This is your day off. Have you heard of a film where the character has to watch other films?”
“No, but I figured you had chosen something obscure, or one that postdates our time period.”
“No, my dear friends,” Makarion said with a hint of sincerity. “This is in preparation for your next tribulation. Next year, you’ll be watching several more movies, and then you will perform for me. This time, instead of recreating a single scene, or even a whole film, it’s more of a subgenre.”
Perform,” Leona repeated. Mateo could see her logicking her way into understanding without further information. “You’re going to make us dance, aren’t you?”
“Very good guess!” Makarion exclaimed. “See? I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you in an alternate timeline.”
“What?” Mateo grew defensive.
“I’m kidding. Little bit of salmon humor. Too soon?”
“Why are you making us do this? Forgive me, but it seems to stray from your usual tastes.”
“I’m gettin’ tired of watching you two bicker. Nothing brings people together like a good dance number. I proudly serve as your common enemy, but right now, you need to fall in love again. We’ve all had enough of the I can’t believe you killed a guy, and the I can’t believe I killed a guy. And waa waa waa!
“Not sure why you care,” Leona said.
“I care because I ship you two, even if I can’t decide on a shipper name. Truthfully, I never understood your relationship with Reaver in the alternate timeline. He was too charming, yet uninteresting. It was doomed from the start; that shipper name was Leaver, haha.” Makarion’s nose wrinkled at his own mention of Reaver’s name. He clearly didn’t like him, but did they even know each other? Not in the alternate timeline, that’s for sure, so why would he have such strong feelings about it? There was something Makarion wasn’t telling about himself. It would take nothing but time to uncover the mystery, though. Villains all have different motivations, but the one thing they all have is a need to be understood, especially by their targets of aggression. He would slip up sooner or later, and then they would have him.
Mateo stopped questioning their situation and went back to the conversation while putting on his pants. “Just give us the goddamn movies and be on your way. That is, unless you have more jokes to tell.” He used air quotes.
“Ouch,” Makarion said. “You wound me. And are you allowed to take the Lord’s name in vain like that?”
“It doesn’t bother Him as much as torture.”
“Fair enough.” Makarion reached under their bed and retrieved a small box of DVDs, dropping them at their feet. “Have fun!”
“Wait,” Mateo stopped him before he could teleport away.
“What is it?”
“I want your word that the rules stop here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You say we have to watch all eleven movies by day’s end.”
“This is true.” Makarion was still confused.
“I want to hear you say that you won’t randomly change things later on when you learn that we’ve bested you.”
They could all but hear Makarion work through the problem in his head, trying to figure out where Mateo was going with this. He seemed to think his parameters were perfect, and that there was no reason to clarify or readjust. “Why should I have to promise you such a thing?”
“You’re the one here who likes games. And games have rules. Without them, you might as well pick an arbitrary winner and just walk away. We’ve been suffering yours and the original Rogue’s whims. That’s not fair. That’s not how games work. From now on, you give us the rules, and you don’t change them.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll call in the Cleanser,” Mateo lied.
“I still don’t believe that you know him. Because why wouldn’t you just do that right now?”
“I can only play that card once,” Mateo said convincingly. “And once I do...he’ll start coming after me. I can use him for one job, but then he puts the two of us back in play. I don’t wanna do that, of course, but if you force my hand, I may I feel I have no other options.”
Makarion had to think some more, but Mateo felt he had him beat. He was getting better and better at lying. It wasn’t very Catholic of him, but there was no way to survive this new world without changing. “Very well. I have laid out the rules. You must watch all eleven movies today, and five tomorrow. I promise to not change the rules, and to agree to rules for later tribulations beforehand. But I won’t promise to not throw in twists, or make things difficult. Knowing the rules is not the same as knowing the outcome.”
“Okay,” Mateo said back.
“But,” Makarion added, “to make sure you understand. You have to watch every second of the films. You can’t let it run and leave the room, and you can’t just skip through it. You have to experience every single moment. I’ll allow blinking, of course.”
“We understand that,” Leona said. “Now go, you’re wasting our time. We’re trying to watch a movie!”
Mateo scoffed and disappeared.
“Okay, what’s the plan, Mateo?” Leona asked. “You’ve obviously found a loophole, so are you able to let me in on it?”
“Oh yeah, I can,” Mateo replied. “He just said that he’s not changing the rules, and we have no choice but to hope he’s telling the truth.” He couldn’t help but be happy with himself for having come up with this solution to their oncoming sleep deprivation problem. He wasn’t as technically intelligent as Leona, but he knew one thing they could use to their advantage. It had to be possible, and if not, surely Leona would be able to rig something up with little programming effort. “He said we had to watch all eleven movies, but he never specified that we had to watch them in real time.”
“He said that we can’t fastforward,” Leona argued.
“And we won’t. We’ll just watch them at double speed, and still experience every moment. I know you can do that for a certain online video site. I can’t imagine that’s not a feature on DVD players. And if it isn’t, I guess I assumed you would be able to make it do that anyway.”
Leona smiled, in that way she used to, before he became a killer. “Mateo, that’s genius. We’ll halve our time, and be able to sleep when we’re done.”
“That is indeed clever. You’re learning.” The Cleanser had jumped into the room. “You called?”
“No, I don’t think I said your name three times.”
“You better hope he doesn’t do a Beetlejuice tribulation. But no, I just like to keep my eye on you.”
“Are you gonna rat me out to Makarion that you and I aren’t really friends?”
“The Rogue and I have an understanding. You might say that there are rules to our own game. I have no obligation to divulge information like that. It’s actually in my best interest to let him worry about yours and my relationship.”
“Could he not be watching us right now?”
“Oh, you mean like I do, with the paraphases? Nah, he can’t do that. All he can do is teleport. If he concentrates enough, he can apport people, but nothing more.”
Mateo looked to Leona for answers who explained that apportation was teleporting other people from one place to another without teleporting themselves. He used it to pull them out of space and into the Kansas City water fountain. Paraphases, she said, must have been what he called the observer dimensions they used to spy on people without being noticed.
“So as long as he’s not around, we can speak freely,” Mateo said.
“Well, unless the Cleanser is watching,” Leona spelled out. “Or the powers that be. Or anyone we do not yet know about.”
“You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here,” the Cleanser said, feigning emotion.
“We never know when you’re here anyway,” Mateo said with snark. “Remember when we were talking about that? It’s okay if you don’t recall; it was five seconds ago, after all.”
“You’ve become saucy,” the Cleanser said. “I love the new you.”
The Cleanser left after a few more annoying remarks. Mateo and Leona watched all eleven movies in about as many hours. Darko, Theo, Aura, and Samsonite joined in for a few of them. Then they got some more sleep.

Saturday, April 9, 2016

Perspective Seventy-One

Perspective Seventy

I’m not a doctor, but I’m close; closer than most. Wow, that rhymed, and I definitely didn’t want it to. I can’t point to a single moment, or a single incident, that sparked my interested in medicine. It’s just been brewing for a while. I guess I could say that, whenever I watch action/adventure television, I notice they usually don’t have doctors around. It’s supposed to make it more exciting to watch the characters run around in dangerous situations without the luxury of a nearby hospital. They may be stranded on a remote island, or trapped in a hostage crisis, or it’s just the zombie apocalypse and all the doctors are dead. The best of these shows will have a character who acts as the next best thing; someone who’s had a little bit of training, but is still prone to panic. Ever since scouting, I guess I’ve just had this general obsession with being prepared. I watch those survivalist reality shows, research microponics, and read lifehacks online. So it was no surprise that I snatched my opportunity to learn some medicine.

I was browsing social media a few months ago when I came across this post from a friend of a friend who knew of an EMR program nearby. An Emergency Medical Responder is one step above first aid; something that many lay people know, and one step below Emergency Medical Technician; a path chosen for a career. I had always called it “second aid” without knowing that it was a real thing. I’m not the richest of people, but I don’t spend much on much, so I budgeted the class out and decided that it was important enough to me. We met two or three times a week for a few weeks. A lot of the material was actually the same used for EMT classes, and wouldn’t be on the final exam, but I didn’t mind. The more the better. Even before completing the course in full, I started mulling over the possibility of pursuing this field. But like I said before, that’s a career move, and not one I was totally comfortable with making without more thought. I wasn’t sure if wanted to actually drive an ambulance and respond to calls on the regular. I just wanna know, in case...the zombies show up. I did want to know if there was a way to take EMT classes, and to keep up to date on the license, without practicing. Does anyone in the world do that? If I had asked my instructor that question, she probably would have laughed me out of the room. So I just kept quiet.
Last night, I was wishing I had gone ahead with the more advanced training anyway. I don’t really work out all that much, but every once in awhile, I get this urge to just go out and walk. I took a few laps around the park on the edge of my neighborhood, then cut through the parking lot of a grocery store building that closed down years ago, and is still empty. I saw two men arguing up against a recycling dumpster, so my instincts took over and forced me to make myself as small as possible behind a pole. I wanted to be brave, and just keep walking, because they probably weren’t going to hurt me, but I was frozen. Then I just wanted to turn around and leave so I didn’t see something I would regret, but I still couldn’t move. God, all those hours watching heroes on TV, and I’m completely useless. I mean, how many police procedurals have I seen? Enough to do better than cower, I know this much.  That’s probably an unhealthy way to look at things, though, isn’t it? I’m not a cop, or a hero. I’m just some guy; some guy who knows how to treat wounds, but not prevent them.

The man with the tire iron appeared to be winning. I wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying, and he was swinging his weapon around threateningly, but I got the distinct impression that he didn’t really want to use it. All of the sudden, his opponent shot both hands forward and struck tire iron guy in the shoulders. He fell to his ass and dropped the tire iron. It barely had any time on the ground, however, before the other guy picked it up and raised it over his head. The first guy tried backing away, still on the ground, but the bad guy wasn’t having it. He dropped the tire iron down in an arch and knocked it into one ankle. Then after a follow-through that would have made my little league baseball coach proud, he dropped it down again and struck the other ankle. I pushed a scream back down my throat, but the one being attacked was unable to do the same. He released a screeching howl, like that of a fox, loud enough to wake up a neighborhood. Unfortunately, for him, this part of town was all but abandoned, and only I was there to hear. Surely fearing for this life, the injured man reached up and grabbed the other end of the tire iron. The two of them played tug o’ war with it for a few seconds before the attacker let go. It didn’t even look like he lost his grip; he was just smart enough to know what would happen. The man on the ground was pulling it towards him with all his strength, so when he won the contest, he ended up smashing it into his own forehead.

This time, I couldn’t keep the scream down, but it wasn’t too loud, and the attacker did not appear to notice it. He stared at the guy on the ground for at least a minute, possibly waiting for him to move, but he didn’t. Even in the darkness, I would have seen movement. After the shock had worn off, the attacker wiped the tire iron with the sleeve of his shirt, and ran off. Finally, now that the danger had passed, I was able to remove myself from my stupor, and go help the poor guy. When Emergency Medical Services arrived, they claimed that I had properly used my training, and that there was nothing I could do, but I was not convinced. Sure, I technically had no obligation to step in before the fight had a chance to escalate, but I’ll always wonder how things would have turned out if I had just done it anyway. The man didn’t die instantly, but he had suffered from sufficient enough trauma to prevent him from speaking to me. Yet in my mind, I’ll always imagine him having asked me why I didn’t save him. When I call upon the memory of that night, that’s what he’ll be saying to me, and I will never have an answer. But I might be able to stop this sort of thing from happening to me ever again. I’ll be signing up for EMT training on Monday. Screw my career.

Perspective Seventy-Two

Friday, April 8, 2016

Microstory 295: Perspective Seventy

Perspective Sixty-Nine

Oh yeah, I’ve definitely been stalking someone. But you know what the say; you only fight fire with fire. I guess you don’t, because you would then just end up with more fire, but you know what I mean. My girlfriend is being stalked by this guy from college she never actually ever met. He just saw her one day and became delusional about the nature of their relationship. That is to say, he thinks there to be a relationship, when really my girlfriend was just being polite by accepting his friend request online. I guess I shouldn’t say that she’s my girlfriend, because that makes me sound like I’m stalking her. We’re not together anymore, and I legitimately don’t think it’ll happen again, but it might. I’m only stalking him to protect her because we’re still friends, and I would still do anything for her. She’s tried to go to the cops, but proving a stalker is next to impossible, as most people know. Technically, he hasn’t broken any laws, so I’ve had to take things into my own hands. I’ve studied and memorized his schedule, so I know when he’s going to be alone. He spends a lot of time like that, so getting to him should be pretty easy. Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill him. We’re not there yet, but he does need to know who he’s messing with when he tries pushing himself onto an innocent young woman. So I’m going to scare him. And yeah, probably beat him a little bit. People like that don’t learn if you just use a stern tone or write a strongly-worded letter. In order for the lesson to sink into his already-damaged mind, it’s gotta be engraved on a wooden bat. Or maybe a tire iron. I can’t be sure which one will be less likely to lead to his accidental death. I can’t look up online which one I should pick, because then there’s a paper trail that leads right to me. It would like that guy who left his kid in the car to die, claiming that he just forgot the baby was in there. Then they went through his browser history and discovered that he, and I think his wife, had been planning the whole thing for a while. What an idiot. I can’t be that stupid. No one can know what I’m doing, which is why I haven’t so much as told the father of my ex-girlfriend's baby. I probably could; I think he would understand, but I have to maintain plausible deniability for them. If I go down, then I have to go down alone. Can anyone tell me how to knock someone unconscious with a blunt object without them suffering from permanent brain damage? Regular people do it on TV all the time, but it’s never explained how they know how much force to put behind the blow. I’m just gonna wing it.

Perspective Seventy

Thursday, April 7, 2016

Microstory 294: Perspective Sixty-Nine

Perspective Sixty-Eight

Okay, first of all, I don’t call it stalking. I’m passionate. When I first saw this girl, it’s not like I immediately fell in love and knew she was “the one”. I was just sitting in the dorm cafeteria one night, eating my dinner alone, like I do. I had no ill intentions, I assure you, but she caught my eye, and she was just absolutely stunning. She stood out from the crowd, and I couldn’t understand why other people weren’t staring at her. She was only in my field of vision for a few seconds before disappearing around the corner, but that was all the information I needed. I noticed that she was walking right behind someone I recognized from one of the school libraries. I didn’t even know if they were friends, or just happened to be walking in the same direction, but I still had my starting point. I didn’t know her friend’s name, but I knew she worked with another girl from one of my classes. I didn’t know her name either, but I could find out from the list of my classmates through the school web portal. It took me a while to hunt down the right person, but I found her. Then I cross-referenced her social media friend list by using the library as work parameters, and found the possible friend of my target. Then I browsed through her friend list to find the girl I was looking for. She was even more beautiful now that I could stop and look at static pictures. I had a pretty extensive debate in my own head about what I should do next. I didn’t actually think I would find her, but I did, so I could either leave it alone or do something about it. But I had to do something. It was a sign. Somebody upstairs wanted us to be together, otherwise my search would have hit a brick wall, right? I friended her, and she asked me why, so I told her...part of the truth, at least. She let me stay connected with her, but never talked to me, so I knew she was just feeling me out to see if it was real. And it’s real. I’ve been working the problem since we graduated, and I grow closer and closer to a date every day. Now she’s claiming I’m stalking her, which is ridiculous. It’s not like I’m secretly watching her behind the bushes. I know she’s not in love with me, I’m not crazy. I also know she could be, if she just gave me a chance. That’s all I need; one chance. I’m actually a good person. At the very least, I’m better than the guy she keeps breaking up with. I can’t be a stalker anyway, because I’m being stalked.

Perspective Seventy

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Microstory 293: Perspective Sixty-Eight

Perspective Sixty-Seven

Baby daddy. That’s not really what I call him, but that’s almost the best way to describe our relationship. But we’re not together and we never were, so I agree that it’s complicated and awkward. We’re pretty good friends, though, so that helps. We met each other by a nightclub and went back to his place for a one night stand. When I say it was by a nightclub, that’s exactly what I mean. Neither of us belongs to the club scene. My car broke down and I was lost, and he just happened to be there, having just dropped someone off who had used his ridesourcing service. We used protection, but something must have gone wrong, because I found out I was pregnant a few weeks later. We never exchanged contact information, but I did catch his first name, which is rare enough to pinpoint him online. He was ready and willing to help me through everything, so that was a nice change from the horror scenarios I had been running through my head upon first learning of my situation. We didn’t have to go through the courts. He moved back to the area to continue his postgraduate education closeby, which he said he could do pretty much anywhere. The guy is obsessed with education, or rather he’s obsessed with not having to worry about making decisions. No one told him how self-driven PhD programs were, I guess. Oops, slipped my mind. Anyway, things are pretty great. We share our calendars online, and always know where the other one is, and one of us is almost always available to take care of the runt. And when we’re not, my on-again off-again boyfriend can usually step in. Wow, I suppose I never realized how lucky I am to have two upstanding men in my life to help me out. Most of my friends can’t even find one, and I’m technically just as single as they are. I don’t want to push back women’s progress by suggesting I need these men, but I can’t help that they’re around. The thing is that they’re feminists too, so that’s just another way I’m lucky. If I didn’t have such a great group of friends, I would have had to move back in with my parents clear on the wrong side of the tracks on the other side of the country. I wasn’t really interested in that; I’m pretty happy in the South Atlantic. Good job, perfect family, and everything I ever wanted and more. Now if I could just figure out what to do about my stalker.

Perspective Sixty-Nine

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

Microstory 292: Perspective Sixty-Seven

Perspective Sixty-Six

I feel comfortable saying that I’m more excited about the prospect of my father’s retirement than he is. He works harder than anyone should have to. We’re supposed to be heading towards a world with fewer work hours, but it seems as if every company is just trying to eke as much out of their employees as they can. Me, I dread having to move all the way into the workforce. I spent a year after graduating from college looking for a job, but no one was hiring. They all wanted a number of years of experience. I don’t know what world they’re living in, or how they think physics works, but I can’t get experience until someone hires me and gives me some. You see how that works? Time? You know time? So I gave up. I mean, I was applying for at least five jobs a day, including weekends. That’s almost 2,000 jobs, and I didn’t get a bite. So I just went back to school. I wasn’t the first to do that, and I read an article later that it was becoming a trend; putting off work to go to graduate school. I moved away from my family and spent a few more years learning everything I could about communications and marketing. Once I was nearing the end of that, though, I realized that I still wasn’t ready to be done with school, so I started going after a PhD. I don’t particularly like school, but I’ve become quite accustomed to it. It’s really the only thing that makes sense to me right now. Go to class, take notes, finish homework, write papers, and take tests. Rinse and repeat. Education carries a sort of simplistic beauty unmatched by anything in the world. Make no mistake, I am working, but only part time, and I can leave whenever I want to. What I don’t have is the pressure to find and build a career around a single thing. I rather enjoy moving around, learning a bunch of different random things, and quickly forgetting about them upon moving on to something else. I don’t know that I ever want to leave school at all. The mother of my child suggests that I just stay in school forever, and do research for the university. I’m gonna look into that, because that actually sounds great. Always being beholden to deadlines, but never expected to make any significant breakthroughs in the field? Sign me up.

Perspective Sixty-Eight