Monday, August 8, 2016

Microstory 381: Commitment

Click here for a list of every step.
Ambition

I have heard people lament the institution of marriage because they think it goes against biology to stay with one person forever. Uh no, actually, no. That’s not how evolution works, and you should probably zip up your pants and take a seat over here so I can explain to you how to do a science. The whole point of this being human thing is that we are not bound by the same natural laws that govern the behavior of other animals. We get to choose how we live our lives. Some of us live way up high, some by the water; some in wood houses, some in brick houses; some don’t have houses, and some have too much house. We marry who we please based on a literally incalculable number of variables, rather than just if a mate can sing, or has a nice pebble. It’s true that there’s still a lot about us that is animalistic. We won’t be able to transcend that until step 97. But your whole “biology” argument is pure nonsense, and a symptom of your inability to rectify the fact that you’re just not that great of a person. Oh, and it’s a sign of your ignorance. Would you people please allow yourself to be uninformed instead of trying to make claims that are completely baseless? Moving on, commitment is an extremely powerful human trait that no other animal matches. Yes, there are organisms out there who mate for life, but not anywhere close to the same way we do. We hold lavish wedding ceremonies, and go on double dates, and it’s all a lot more complicated than it is for any other species. Committing to one single person is not the only way to live your life, which is actually another trait that no animal shares, as far as I know (I, for one, can admit my ignorance). If you do not want to get married, okay, but don’t piss on my beliefs because you’ve never heard of diversity. I recently attended the long-awaited wedding of two men I’ve known for about a decade and a half. Their commitment is a bond, between them, and to their children. It’s something to strive for; not belittle. I hope for that kind of connection one day.

Self-awareness

Sunday, August 7, 2016

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 2, 2087

In order to make things more difficult, The Cleanser insisted that, from now on, he only watch the movie attached to each tribulation once. In this case, Mateo had already watched 16 Blocks when it first came out, which meant he wasn’t allowed to see it again. Makarion claimed that this actually wasn’t that big of a deal, because the Cleanser also wasn’t interested in simply watching the action play out exactly as it had anyway. In fact, the whole film angle was apparently the original Rogue’s idea. The Cleanser wanted them to be more deadly, which made Mateo shiver. They’re pretty dangerous as is, so what could be worse? Really, what? That’s something he should probably be worried about.
All day, and into the next, Mateo had assumed he would be playing the Bruce Willis character, because that was what made sense, but like the Gladiator II tribulation, the Cleanser was turning it on its head. Makarion had Mateo turn around so he could put him in handcuffs. “Someone is going to be tasked with getting you to to the other side of town while others are tasked with chasing you.”
“Who are these people?”
“Your protector is someone you know, but he doesn’t know you in this reality. Your pursuers are some of the worst criminals throughout time. They’ve been given the opportunity to go free. All they have to do is kill you.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“I know, it’s proven to be impossible so far, but honestly, I like their chances.”
“Why?”
“There’s another component to this game, something that will make things more complicated for you.”
Oh no. “What is it?”
“You two, and your pursuers, will be moving at lightning speed. Everyone else around town will be placed in a temporal bubble.” He looked at his bare wrist. “All in all, the tribulation will probably only last a few minutes.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“The civilians will be protected from your pursuers as long as they stay in their bubble. You can bring anyone out of that bubble, and into your dimension, just by touching them. So you’ll have to be careful.”
“They’re like obstacles.”
“Exactly. Again, this won’t be a recreation of the film. Your goal is literally sixteen blocks away, but how you get there is up to you.”
“Understood.”
“There’s one more hiccup; I mean, besides the identity of your so-called protector.”
“What might that be?”
Makarion took out the same gun Mateo had used to kill Adolf Hitler during his short stint in 1945. Without saying another word, he shot Mateo in the stomach and teleported away.

Mateo fell to the sidewalk. Shocked by the sound of the gunshot, people who happened to be nearby tried to jolt their heads to find out where the danger was. Gradually, time slowed down for them. Half speed, quarter speed, eighth speed, all the way until they were moving at a snail’s pace. Mateo was now completely invisible to them, well...most of them. In the distance, he could see the figure of another human being running towards him. But the blood loss from the gunshot wound was starting to get to him, so his eyes were having trouble holding focus.
The figure ran straight for him and helped him to his feet. “Come on, we have to go. They’re after us.”
“Merger?”
“Nobody calls me that,” Kayetan Glaston said. A few days ago, Kayetan was the only survivor of the original Gladiator II tribulation. As they were waiting for further instructions, Mateo freed him from his temporal restraints. Kayetan then proceeded to betray him by placing him in a hell dimension for thousands of years. But that was another life. Literally.
“You’re supposed to save me.”
“That’s right. I get you to the courthouse and they give me back my powers and let me go.”
“They can strip powers from people?” Mateo started laughing like a drunken idiot as Kayetan was trying to drag him down the street. “What is his nickname, The Stripper? HA!”
“Why are you this bad? You were barely hit.”
Mateo did his best Mos Def impression, “life’s too long?
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s from the movie.”
“What movie?”
They heard a very loud banging sort of sound, and something small flew past their heads incredibly quickly. After it did so, it started to slow down, moving at a comparable speed to the people in the temporal bubble. “Oh look, a birdie.”
“We gotta go. Those bullets go fast until they’ve missed their mark.”
“Stop!” Mateo commanded. He dropped down so they could hide in an alley. A few more bullets slowly flew past them.
“No, we have to get to the finish line,” Kayetan insisted.
After maneuvering his restraints back to front, Mateo reached out and tried to grab one of the bullets. It burned his fingers, and forced him to retreat, but it also pulled it back into his time dimension, and fell to the ground. Upon seeing his arms, the attackers started firing again. There was now a whole crowd of bullets slowly moving down the street. “Those bullets are stuck in the time bubble.”
“Yeah, they can’t hurt us now, unless you try to grab one, of course like a dumbass.”
“But they can hurt someone else.”
“What?”
“Well we’re the ones going fast. Everyone else is in real-time. Those bullets aren’t actually moving so slow. We just perceive them that way. Those poor people are stuck with the bullets meant for us.”
“Yeah, I guess. How does this help us get to the courthouse?”
“We can’t just leave them there.”
“They’re not my problem.”
“Oh my God, you’re the same in every timeline.”
“That sounds like it’s supposed to be an insult.”
Taking a chance, Mateo reached out and stole as many bullets from midair as he possibly could. They burned his hand, so he used that to his advantage by lifting his shirt and placing them on his wound.
“Holy shit!” Kayetan exclaimed. “I’ve only ever seen people do that in movies.”
“We are in a movie,” he answered with a melodramatically lower register.
As the heat from the bullets continued to cauterize his wound, Mateo stood up. He kept staring at the small group of shooters as he took more bullets from the air, placing each one on his gut. Yeah, it hurt like hell, but it was medically necessary, and it also made him look like a badass. The attackers didn’t know what to think, but for now, they figured they better stop firing their weapons. Kayetan followed him down the street, but periodically ducked behind things, just in case they started shooting again.
“The man didn’t tell us you had balls,” an apparent leader noted.
“Do you have any clue what’s going on here?” Mateo asked.
“Yeah, they’re jackin’ with time,” the leader said.
“It’s a massive temporal bubble,” one of the others said, trying to help.
“Shut up, Harlan.”
“Don’t shut up, Harlan,” Mateo said. “Always be yourself.”
Harlan cracked a little smile.
“We’re supposed to kill you,” the leader said.
Mateo continued the line of questioning. “Are you time travelers?”
“Well, we’re here, ain’t we? And if we kill you, the guy who sent us here is gonna take us to any year we want and let us live free.”
“But, I mean, the first time you traveled was today. You’ve never done it before.”
The leader was lost. “No, why?”
“That’s means you’re gonna die.”
The leader lunged his gun forward, but wasn’t going to shoot, because he needed answers. “We’re the ones holding guns.”
“No, I’m not going to kill you. Believe you me, I don’t want you dead. Hell, even the guy who brought you here doesn’t want you dead, but he knows you’ll die anyway. It’s just biology. Some people can travel through time, but others can’t.” He gestured towards Kayetan, who was cowering behind a stoop. “He and I are genetically different than you. We can move through time safely as we please, but normal people get sick. Don’t ask me to explain any more than that, because I personally don’t understand it. I’m not a doctor.”
The others were starting to believe him, especially Harlan. The leader still had a decent amount of doubt. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”
Mateo didn’t actually know whether this was true; it was just something Mr. Halifax claimed. He didn’t even know what symptoms might appear, but he did know some standard time travel symptoms. Daria would get dry mouth, and Mateo would get very tired for a few moments. He saw Gilbert Boyce’s men go through this kind of thing when they were on Easter Island. “Are any of your palms really sweaty, or is your skin really tingly, or maybe it’s really cold?”
That last one made the leader twitch.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Mateo went on. “The cold thing. It’s not cold for us, that only happens to normal people. Those are the early signs of temporal sickness, so you still have time. Just count yourself lucky that your heads don’t hurt.”
“My head hurts,” one of the other shooters said.
“Oh, that’s not good. That’s a later stage. If we don’t get you out of here right now, there is a one hundred percent chance that you die within the next two hours.”
The leader finally dropped his gun, prompting the others to as well. Kayetan ventured from his hiding place an inch or two. “What do we do?” the leader asked. When Mateo started digging through his bag, he raised his gun out of fear.
“I’m just getting some paper.” He carefully and deliberately drew his notepad out.
The leader lowered his gun again and waited impatiently.
Mateo never did see what Mr. Halifax wrote on his sheet of paper, or if the paper itself was special, but he had to have faith once more. He desperately needed this to work, so he chose to believe it would. He wrote out the words Dave, a.k.a. The Chauffeur, I have six passengers here in need of a ride to Sanctuary. PS: Never open the package. He didn’t know why he made a cheeky reference to the rules in the Transporter franchise, but it felt like a good place for it. He held out his hand. “May I...?”
The leader tentatively provided Mateo with his gun. Mateo pointed it towards the ground and fired. The bullet only went a couple feet before starting to move slowly. He placed the corner of the piece of paper on the bullet and let it burn. He then knocked the bullet out of the air, forcing it to drop safely on the ground.
After the paper had completely burned out, Dave appeared, just as he had before in the graveyard. “Okay, that’s not really how it’s done, but I’ll allow it this one time. Next time I see you, remind me to teach you protocol.”
“I would appreciate that.”
“These guys here?” He motioned towards the attackers.
“Yeah, and I would be forever in your debt if you would take him back to jail too.”
“What? No,” Kayetan cried. “Screw you!” He started to run away.
Dave snapped his fingers, remotely banishing Kayetan from this moment in the timestream. “This will still cost you. I don’t work for free, and I don’t mean money.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll pay it. Just save them.”
“Very well.” All seven of them disappeared.
Mateo calmly and slowly made his way to the courthouse, careful to not touch any of the humans.
The Cleanser was waiting for him at the top of the steps. “Color me impressed.”
“Are you gonna disqualify me for that?”
“I would never. I really am impressed, and as a bonus, I’ll even let you celebrate the centennial in realtime.”

Saturday, August 6, 2016

Frenzy: The Night Before (Part IV)

I immediately regret not taking time to put on my uniform. It’s made of a special material that partially protects from hard falls and crashes, and also beads water. We both reach the balance beam at the same time. Unlike in the Frenzy, you can’t just find the fastest way through the course. When you’re doing the Gauntlet, you have to do everything, and only one person can be on the beam at a time. Theoretically one could get on behind the other, but it bends and wobbles enough with only one person. Braxton shoves his shoulder against mine and lets me fall into the Pit of Lava. No, there isn’t any actual lava, but it is filled with a slimy goop of some kind that’s colored a reddish orange. It’s like a golf course sand trap; extremely difficult to get back out of. It does dissolve quickly in water, and there is a showerhead nearby for this reason. Normally that would be perfectly fine, because it’s near the end of the course, but since we’re going the wrong way, I have no choice but to run the whole thing wet. Have I told you how much I hate water?
I take off my shirt and shoes, because at this point, that’s the only way to continue. I can hear the cheering again, along with several cat calls. Nudity never bothers me, but I try to be careful about making others uncomfortable. I throw my clothes behind me as I’m getting back in the race. Here’s one thing Braxton probably didn’t know. There’s a sweet spot on the beam where, if you hit it just right, it’ll bend just enough so that it can propel you forwards and land you safely on the other side. This works going the right way, and I take a chance that it does backwards, and am rewarded for it. There is an uproar in enthusiasm as I stick the landing and quickly move on.
The next obstacle is a halfpipe with a very specific route between posts. You can run through it incorrectly, but then an alarm is going to ring out nonstop until you go back and correct yourself. Again, apparently everything is fine going backwards. The trick is staying balanced on a curve without holding onto the posts, unless that is, you like being mildly tased. I’ve finally caught up to Braxton after getting through the halfpipe. He’s having trouble getting up to the catwalk. You’re supposed to climb up a rope, and then jump down a series of platforms, finally ending up back at the bottom by dropping into a pit of foam. He’s still trying to figure out how to shimmy up the wall, which is not part of the course. “Betcha wish you weren’t so muscular now, huh?”
Braxton is strong but heavy, which can be an asset, but something like this requires agility and nimble dance moves. With this I have the advantage. I hop back and forth between two load bearing columns against the wall and make it to the first platform with relative ease. From there I jump to the next platform and pull myself up. The Dark Knight ain’t got nothin’ on me, risen or not. I race down the catwalk and slide down the rope. It burns my hands, but I can’t think about that now. I’ve just realized that I actually have a chance of winning, and I can’t let that go to waste.
Behind me I hear a scream. Braxton finally managed to get up to the first platform, but he’s stuck on the second. He’s just hanging there by his hands, unable to lift his own weight high enough to reach safety. The crowd is shocked but unmoving. The bystander effect is preventing anyone from running out to rescue him. Where are the adults? Each one thinks that someone else will do it. He’s my opponent, which makes him my responsibility. I have to get back over to him, but it would take too long to climb back up to the catwalk, and they built a canyon under it that’s far too wide to jump over. There’s only one way, and it’s insane. This could kill me, seriously. While holding onto the rope, I run in his general direction, but not quite towards him. It’s just long enough to reach the edge of the floor. I start running on the wall itself, following the swing radius of the rope. Is this going to work, or am I going to die? The radius pulls me away from the wall and I have to start hopping across posts, poles, bars, and other obstacles intended for completely different purposes. But I’m able to keep going. There’s always something close enough to hold my growing momentum.
Finally I’ve reached critical mass and have to throw myself forwards through the swing so that it will direct me to the other side of the canyon. My heart races, not only to keep oxygen to my brain, but because remember that part where I could die? The room is completely silent as I continue through my side swing. I don’t make it to the second platform, which was my target. Hell, I would have even taken the lower platform. No, my body smashes into the wall and I fall to the floor. The shock of what I had just done presumably causes Braxton to lose his grip. Now normally he might die from a fall this high, but I’m there to break it for him, and we both somehow survive.
“Are you okay?” he asks as we’re struggling to get to our feet.
“I’m not dead at least,” I answer.
He can’t put any weight on his right leg, and I’m in some pain myself. “Betcha wish I weren’t so muscular now, huh?” He asks rhetorically.
I laugh, but the pain is growing by the moment
Finally the audience runs down to tend to us. Andrews and Rutherford push their way through the horde of racers and take over the situation. “Let’s get them to medical,” Andrews says.

I don’t spend long in the medical bay before my mother comes to pick me up. She spends the whole ride back home scolding me for what I did, saying that Braxton’s problem was the result of his own choices, and that I shouldn’t have risked my life for him. “I mean, you could have run around the canyon to get to him.”
“That would have taken too long. You wouldn’t understand, you haven’t seen the Gauntlet.”
“Oh, I understand. I saw the whole thing on Miss Buchanan’s video feeds.”
“You were watching me?”
“What, you thought your mother wasn’t hip enough to watch that sort of thing? I was one of Agent Nanny Cam’s first subscribers, even before you were a Frenzy runner.”
“I just...I’m sorry, I was just trying to help.”
“I know, and God knows nobody else was doing anything. But you know how much we hate when you leap across buildings. You do it for your city, and we can appreciate that sort of dedication. Running the Gauntlet in reverse came out of nothing but pride, from the both of you.”
“Yes, mother.”
“Okay, well we’ll probably talk more about your behavior next week, but for the rest of the day, you need to study and rest.”
“I still need to do a dry run.”
“The Gauntlet will just have to be your dry run.”
“Mom!” I complain. “That’s not the same thing!”
“You should have thought about that before.”
“You were the who wanted me to register for this race. I wasn’t even gonna do it!”
“Oh, don’t put that on me. I know you better than you know yourself, and you wanted it more than anything. You just needed someone to push you so you didn’t have to take responsibility for your own guilty pleasures.”
“That’s not it at all.” No, that was pretty much spot on.
“I’m not having this conversation.” They were back home. “Go to your room, study the map, and go to sleep.”
“What about dinner?”
“No dinner, I’m starving you.”
I stomp down the hallway.
“And no going to the bathroom either!”
I slam the door.
“And stop breathing!”
I forego the studying and go to bed extremely early instead. The only time I’ll be able to get to the city is if I sneak out at night when my family’s asleep. Alim catches me slipping out the back door, but he lets me go because he gets it. I grab my bicycle from the porch because it’s quieter than opening the garage, and I need the warm-up anyway. It’s mighty cold outside, and clouds are once again threatening rain. As late as it is, there’s still a not insignificant amount of traffic. I would normally weave in and out of it as part of practice, but more and more cars are adapting to it in a way that makes things even more dangerous. You can’t teach a driverless car that I know what I’m doing.
I reach downtown and lock my bike up on the corner. I look at it this way, if I had a school test tomorrow, and I hadn’t been studying, then I would need to take some risks in order to compensate. They say that cramming isn’t all that helpful, but when it’s all you have, it’s what you accept. So I take out a special pair of electronic training goggles. One of Andrews’ competitors built the prototypes this year, and wanted the Frenzy kids to test them out, but the council would have none of it. Still, a few of us managed to steal them, so we could try them out.
They were supposed to be for training purposes only, because these kinds of modifications are against the bylaws, but the adults don’t think they should be used at all. The screen is a special kind of augmented reality called controlled reality. Instead of enhancing your vision, it hinders it. This is supposed to teach you to move around the world without seeing where you’re going too well. It’s been programmed to delete potential hazards, replacing them with what the program thinks it looks like behind it. If you don’t use your instincts, and your other senses, you could just run into it. If you think this all sounds dangerous, then you would be entirely correct, and probably now understand why it was banned by the council. There’s bravery, and then there’s stupidity.
In the darkness, it’s even worse. I can make out the outlines of the buildings and other objects around me, but I’m having trouble pinpointing their location. Either it’s designed to flicker like that to keep me guessing, or it just has rendering bugs. I take a deep breath and start my dry run, or rather I start a wet run. As I knew it would, it’s raining. No, it’s pouring, and I just know that this will not end well. I start by springing myself off of a first floor window sill and reaching out for a fire escape ladder. The second to the bottom rung appears to be in my hand, but then the goggles flicker and show me that I’m about a centimeter short. I have to think quickly, so I open my fist again and try to take hold of the bottom rung; also known as my last chance. I make it, barely. But that rain, though. I swing forward once, then backwards, then forwards again. With this, I lose my grip and fall down for the third time today, this time to my back. That’s all I remember.

Friday, August 5, 2016

Microstory 380: Ambition

Click here for a list of every step.
Complexity

Ambition can be a divisive subject for people. The consensus, however, seems to be that it’s a naughty word. You’re allowed to have ambition, or rather you’re allowed to have it to some degree, but you’re certainly not allowed to express those feelings. Often in movies, someone loyal to the villain, or sometimes the villain themselves, will explain that they’re not bad, they’re just ambitious. So many characters are portrayed as evil only by showing them to have an insatiable hunger for more. The ultimate question in this regard is why not? Why shouldn’t they want as much as they can possibly get? This is the world you’ve signed up for. When you signed the social contract, you agreed to a capitalistic society. Due to globalization, not a single nation more advanced than a tribal stage is truly anything other than capitalistic, even if they structure their government as something else. They all need to export their goods, and they certainly need to import them, because nobody has everything. We’ve all chosen this, whether we like it or not, so we can’t really complain when people smart enough to take advantage of the system do just that. Now, I’m the first guy to tell you that Donald Trump is a piece of shit, and I will maintain that position until the day he dies, and beyond (he’s too old to be immortal). But I don’t think anyone can argue against the man being intelligent. He’s built an empire, and he’s used the law to do so. Has he broken the law as well? I’m almost 100% certain that he has, but that’s what’s strange. The law is imperfect, and by its methods of procedure, it allows itself to be broken, making certain types of illegal behavior effectively within the boundaries of law. Whoa, none of this sounds like my usual radically liberal self, does it? Well, I’m also a realist. I recognize that, even though you don’t like how we do things around here, you understand it better than me, and I better play ball. I mean I do have ambitions to change things, which is why I became a writer, but you don’t need to know about my 200-year plan. 200 years!? And you thought Donald Trump was ambitious.

Commitment

Thursday, August 4, 2016

Microstory 379: Complexity

Click here for a list of every step.
Imagination

Whenever I read a trivia page about a celebrity, they always have at least one interest that’s at least somewhat separate from what they’re known for. Vin Diesel is famous for his action movie career, but he also founded a video game development company, and loves to play Dungeons & Dragons. Harrison Ford is an actual airplane pilot. Christina Hendricks plays the accordion. I’ve talked in this series about finding that one thing where you excel, and nurturing that talent. I’ve not really said that you should also strive to be a complex person. A man named Timothy Sexton wrote the screenplay for a film called Children of Men, which is about a world where everyone is infertile. Timothy Sexton created a television series called The Lottery, which is about a world where everyone is infertile. These two productions are in no way connected, which just goes to show that this Timothy Sexton guy really only has one idea, and the first time around, it wasn’t his idea, because it was based on a book. Don’t ever be like Timothy Sexton. Have other interests besides what you’re known for. Learn to juggle, or take kickboxing classes, or keep a jar of dirt from every state in the Union. When you go to a party, and someone asks “what your deal is” it’s best if your answer takes more than one sentence. If your one job that you’ve had forever is all that defines you, then find a way to add a little spice to your life. I know that people in lower paying jobs aren’t going to have as much free time as wealthier people. Yes, trust fund kid, we’re all very impressed that you both know how to fence, and you “paint”. But just because you don’t have money to throw around, or even a lot of time, doesn’t mean you can’t find something that provides nothing for you but a sense of contentment. I won’t list all of my non-writing hobbies here, because not even 400 words is enough to explain them all, and some of them are rather lofty and ridiculous. I do, however, intend to pursue each and every one, if it’s the last thing I do. Nobody wants to be the next Timothy Sexton.

Ambition

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

Microstory 378: Imagination

Click here for a list of every step.

When I was in elementary school, I made up this story about how I was an alien. I remember my mother and sister sitting me down for an intervention to make sure I understood that I was not really from another planet. What’s funny is that I found out decades later that I’m autistic, which is often described as the feeling of being normal, but just having been born on the wrong planet. In the meantime, however, I had to discover that the stories I made up were the result of my imagination, which would be better manifested in written form. I have other flawed character traits that I’ve, sometimes subconsciously, rerouted so that they would help me write stories. Just about everything I do is designed to fuel my need to write fiction. Despite being an extremely quiet introvert, I like to try new things. I would actually try a hell of a lot more if I had money to throw around, like skydiving, archery, or futures studies. Every experience helps me understand how the real word works so that I can manipulate those truths and reapply them to my fictional worlds. My imagination is my greatest skill, and I’ve even rerouted that to help me deal with real life issues. Imagination is responsible for literally every single invention that has ever been invented ever. There was a need, and there was at least one person realizing that need who could see the solution when most people couldn’t. Too heavy? Put it on wheels. Too dark? Light a candle. Too sick? Cure smallpox. For someone like me, imagination is all that matters. Imagination tells me what happened to my characters, and how they dealt with it. For progress, however, imagination is only half the battle. True advancement comes from the ability to transform imagination into practical application, and not always by the same person. Not every imagined solution comes from someone in a position to actually do something about it. If you have an idea—even if you think someone smarter than you must have already either come to the same conclusion, or debunked it—find a way to get the word out. Hell, you might just have a vital component to the cure for cancer. Never stop dreaming.

Complexity

Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Microstory 377: Life Extension

Click here for a list of every step.

I’ve told you that I am what we in the business call a transhumanist. I’m also a futurist, which means that I study future events in the same way that historians study the past. You can actually go to school to study this, which I would do if I had the money. For now, I just do research on my own. My macrofiction series The Advancement of Mateo Matic is basically a sensationalistic textbook from the future. On subject, most people don’t really understand what aging is. Don’t feel bad, I know slightly more than you, and scientists know less than you would think. It’s a big mystery, but what we do know is that there are these things called telomeres. Every time our cells divide, our telomeres get shorter. The diminishing returns from this process ultimately leads to the death of the organism. It’s like a tiny hourglass counting down to our demise. And if this exists, then it can be stopped. The hourglass can be turned over, almost literally. Science marches on, and while we’re working to cure disease, restore vitality, and protect people from danger, we’re also working on repairing genetic flaws. You’ve all been operating on the assumption that death is inevitable. You drink, smoke, and take unnecessary risks. You think you might as well do whatever you want, because you won’t have much time on this world anyway. At most, any death is stealing eighty or ninety years from an individual. I’m here to tell you that this is no longer true. Anyone born 1960 or later is estimated to be young enough to reach the longevity escape velocity. Of course, this only works if you’re also a healthy individual. If you’re sedentary, if you have a preexisting medical condition, or if your job puts you in a level of physical danger, then I can’t guarantee you’ll last. I suppose I can’t guarantee it either way, because of unexpected dangers, but you get what I mean. The reason I keep bringing this up is because I think it’s important that people understand their options, and this is my only medium. Now is the time to change your life if you’re not happy with it, because there’s a chance it goes on forever.

Imagination

Monday, August 1, 2016

Microstory 376: Calm

Click here for a list of every step.

I know I said I wasn’t going to change the titles for any of these last couple dozen stories, but something happened to me last night (at the time of writing). I’ve always had a sleepwalking problem. I’ve gotten out of bed and tried to do things that don’t make any sense like turning the light on a poster, or looking for markers to write a greeting card I didn’t need. I’ve battled flying monsters and swiped imaginary spiders off my body. This particular episode was the worst it’s ever been, though. I was dreaming that I was sleeping in army barracks. An enemy snuck into my room and attacked. Your brain has this feature that basically paralyzes your body so that when you dream of running, your legs don’t actually move. Sleep paralysis is when your brain walks up without deactivating this feature. Sleepwalking is when the feature deactivates without waking you. This meant that I started fighting back against the attacker. I shoved my little nightstand and TV tray to the floor. On it were my glasses, remotes, jewelry, and this little glass toothpick holder my great grandmother left me, along with a few other things. During the fight, I tried to run out the exit to gather reinforcements. On my way, I knocked my television off the cart, into the wall, and down on my foot. One strange thing about my sleepwalking is that I can’t open doors. I guess it’s good that I’m not likely to end up in walking through traffic, but in this case, it made things worse because I couldn’t escape my enemy. I started slapping the walls, looking for the doorknob, and running into other things. Fortunately I recently moved my bookcase to the other room, because I probably would have thought it was a staircase. I finally woke up to cuts, bruises, and a shooting pain in my shoulder that’s still here. Sleepwalking has many causes, but in my case, it comes out of stress. I have a lot of responsibilities, and I’ve made a lot of mistakes that I’m trying to correct now. I’m feeling rather overwhelmed about it. A truly happy person is not completely free from stress, but they also know what calm is.

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