Roadrunner Musings

Wandering with my eyes and heart open, searching for pieces to add to my own personal big picture.

Tag: science fiction

Try? Maybe I Just Don’t Want To

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On November 2, 2021

In Short Stories

Today’s thirty minute fiction write for your entertainment: “Try” I’m posting these daily, with just a little editing, for fun and practice. They are not fully thought out pieces, most likely ramble and go nowhere, but I’m having fun and want to share them with you as I go!

try
“These birds are far more promising.”

Here we go. Thirty minutes of words on try.

Try. Try, again.

Try?! That’s your advice? Try?

One does not try to jump off a cliff or get hit by a car. One does not try to perform open-heart surgery. And one does try to…

Try to what? I don’t know.

Try not. Do or do not. That Yoda guy. But we all try things? Right? I always thought that was a silly saying. I try new foods…sometimes. I try my hand at new skills. I try to be nice. I try to understand and fail miserably.

Try. Ok…let’s see.

I paste a smile on my face as I walk into the room but instantly think better of it. A neutral look would be better. Don’t bring attention to yourself. Act natural. This is what people do. They walk into bars, sit down, and order a drink. But this is no bar, it’s a coffee shop. Hmm…

A quick scan of the room shows me there aren’t too many people, plenty of places to sit and watch…I mean, relax while I have a cup of coffee. How does this work? Oh, yes, approach the counter.

“Hello! What can I get for you?” Cheerful. Noted. Sounds positive, non-threatening.

I stumble with the use of the voice. “Umm…” Cough. Heavy breath in. Ok, got it. “Yeah. Um…I’ll have a large black coffee.”

The barista gives a strange looking smirk, I think it’s called. Does it know? I mean, does she know? I think I’m not sure. They all look alike really. “Ok. Room for cream?”

I stumble again. Their language is complicated by emotion and vagueness. On top of that, they don’t seem to listen well. Their communication system really needs updating.

I pause to think, wonder if I have used the wrong words, then realize it’s one of their comprehension gaps, “No, thank you.”

Turning to take a step away, I hear behind me, “That will be three dollars and fifteen cents, please.”

“What?”

“Three fifteen.”

My brain struggles to decipher the words and behavior. Shit. I knew it was too soon to try this. I should have kept a shade and watched from a high corner, or at least remained invisible to move through the motions one more time before attempting to be seen.

“Cash or card?”

Oh! Yes! I got it! “Oh, of course. I’m sorry, my mind wandered.” To another time and place where I didn’t have to try so hard to communicate. Yikes. Waving my hand gently before me, connecting my mind with hers, I create the memory of my payment, and she responds, “Thank you!” She hands me the cup.

I know. It’s cheating. If I want the real experience, I really should have been better prepared. But rather than abort the whole effort, I try to keep going by fudging where I need to.

Taking the cup from her hand, I smile. “You have the most beautiful earlobes.” In my studies, I’ve read they love this kind of compliment, but it seems to fall flat, or I’m misinterpreting the facial expressions. Geez! Why is this so hard?!

Laughing, “I’m sorry. I mean earrings! My English. I mix the words.”

I’m not waiting for a response. I quickly turn away and move toward an empty table near the windows.

As I sit with my back toward the bar, so that I can’t be distracted by the human chatter, I try once again to observe in peace. My gaze lands on the dense foliage outside the floor to ceiling windows and the tiny, winged creatures hopping on two feet beneath them.

Now this is interesting. I hear nor feel anything from these simple creatures. They hop contentedly among each other, pecking the ground and pushing each other aside. Now and then, one spreads its brown wings and flies away, only to be replaced by another. The new arrival begins the same pecking action, at what I cannot see. The particles are two small for my eyes. They do seem so much less hostile than the humans behind me, from which I still hear the discussion of my mistake in nouns a moment ago.

I take a sip of the coffee I procured and settle in to watch the “birds” again.

There’s a hand on my shoulder, not physically, the sense of being brought to task descends on me. “How many times must you read about this, make the attempt, and fail like this? It’s like you’re not even trying.”

Maybe I just don’t want to succeed. I think these birds are far more promising.

Read yesterday’s post prompted from the word “ruins,” “NaNoWriMo: But It’s NOT a Novel, It’s…”

Isaac Asimov: Robots and Space Travel

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On September 20, 2021

In Book Quote Commentary

I finished reading “The Roving Mind” by Isaac Asimov over the weekend. 348 pages in 13.92 hours. But who’s counting?!

isaac asimov

The man invented the word “robots,” but he’d never used a computer. He knows that the word is only attributed to him, but he knows he heard it somewhere before. He used a typewriter and when told a newfangled word processor would at least speed up his writing, he scoffed. He wrote a book a month and so many essays. “Prolific” doesn’t begin to describe him.

I enjoyed reading some of these essays more than others. My favorites being the last few that he wrote about himself. I was encouraged to hear that he often wrote “off the cuff” and only went back to clean up some mistakes and maybe rearrange a bit. That’s typically my style as well. I’m not saying I’m a genius, but what I write is usually what I’m thinking as I think it. It may not be brilliant but it’s honest, real.

There was one bit about space exploration that I found inspiring. Imagine space colonies, people living in space, children growing up on a space station. They’d be the people that went on the long journeys into space, the ones that got on that light speed vehicle and headed into the vast unknown. They would be used to that life and not as likely to be unnerved by the confinement.

Also, reading Isaac Asimov describe how big the universe really is, not to mention our own dang solar system. Amazing.

I’m not big sci-fi fan. Hell, I’m not even a big science fan. I’d rather delve into relational human issues, spirituality and imagination, than ponder the secrets only meticulous science can unravel. But space travel is fascinating to me. The prospect of it. What’s out there? Who’s out there? I’m not concerned with how we get there or if there will be metals to mine or an atmosphere on that distant planet. What I want to know is, how we will talk to them. Will we even be able recognize a sentient lifeform from an entirely different galaxy?

It’s probably why I love Star Trek so much. The exploration of space. “This is a science vessel!” How would we even begin to communicate and interact with a species that developed completely outside our own system? How will they be different? How will they be similar? It boggles my mind.

The only drawback to this book for me was that, because it was written in 1983, it felt a little dated. Many of the things we thought were going to destroy the world in the next decade never came to fruition. Don’t get me wrong, some of them still could, eventually. But, like a lot of predictions and panics, we’re assuming that technology will remain the same when we look forward to a grim future. These days, with the rapid development of technology, anything can happen.

When I look to the future, I wonder what crazy new thing will have been invented and embraced that will change how my grandchildren live. I’m curious and optimistic, unless I’ve just been to the grocery store, and they’ve put my spaghetti sauce on top of my loaf of bread…again. Then I’m afraid that I am convinced there is no hope for us a species.

Are you a sci-fi fan? Do you read Isaac Asimov fiction? What’s your favorite?

Go back and read my first post, “The Roving Mind: New Read” to see where I came from.

When The Sleeper Wakes: New Read

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On September 2, 2021

In New Reads

I thought some classic science fiction would be a good companion read for Asimov’s essays. I went right to H.G. Wells, of course. And I happen to have one of his books on my TBR shelf, so I grabbed it up. At first glance, “When the Sleeper Wakes” sounds like a retake on the Rip Van Winkle story. A man falls asleep and wakes up years later, but it already has an interesting twist. It’s 200 years later and he hasn’t aged.

The last science fiction I read was “The Gods Themselves” by Isaac Asimov, back in February. I’m sensing a theme in my reading this year. Hmm…

when the sleeper wakes

I love to see how old science fiction has stood the test of time. “When the Sleeper Wakes” was written in 1899, one hundred and twenty-two years ago. Technology has changed, as much as the sleeper experiences in the book, but in different ways. I’m curious if it will be a utopian future, but from the first chapter, I believe it will be more of a religious one? I’m not sure.

There was one funny thing that I wish already existed in our world, a clothing making machine. It seems much like a “replicator” from Star Trek, but this one manufactures clothing on the spot from measurements a tailor takes from you. Pretty neat, but it would be nicer if you could just tell the machine your measurements and style and let it pop out clothes for you, wouldn’t it? I hate shopping and I’m so tired of my favorite jeans not being available because I’m the only one that doesn’t want skinny jeans that don’t stay up on my butt, or pretty shirts that have enough room for my shoulders and don’t creep up my waist while I work. …sigh…

I loved “War of the Worlds” and “The Time Machine” when I read it years ago, and I thoroughly enjoyed listening to my husband read “The First Men in the Moon” to the boys when they were little, so I’m sure this one will follow suit.

Have you read any of H.G. Wells’ books? Or have you seen any of the multitude of movies based on them? I’d love to hear your comments!

Want to read more? Follow me through the book in these posts.
To Sleep Like the Dead and Be Reborn Each Day
H.G. Wells, You Old So-and-So

Can Tyranny Bring Peace in the Long Run? A Book Review

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On July 8, 2021

In Book Quote Commentary

Some believe that tyranny is the only way to control the darker side of humanity, the long game that will bring peace. “Yes, I killed millions and destroyed worlds, but it had to be done…for the good of the many.” You have to break a few eggs to make an omelet, right? How many times must we hear this?!

Tyranny to peace? Songmaster

“Songmaster” took me about half the book to get into and then it suddenly came flooding in on my heart. Like Ender’s Game, the premise is a complicated one for me to stay with. It just hurts too much and, in my opinion, is just…wrong? Or is it? Is there ever a reason to systematically torture young children in the hopes of weeding out the one that will save us all? Does tyranny of the relatively few make the galaxy a better place in the long run?

At first the story is crazy. A whole planet devoted to developing beautiful singers to entertain a chosen few. They are worshipped like beautiful works of art. But these are human beings. Each of them is taken to the “school” as a toddler and taught in a way that gives them no choice in the matter. Of course, there are some that cannot be taught, but they are pretty much useless in the world and end up serving the school in some capacity for the rest of their lives.

But if we put all that real world stuff aside for a moment, it makes a great story. It’s “the chosen one” theme, right? Like Anakin Skywalker or The Golden Child.

The book got exciting for me when it went in a direction I wasn’t expecting. The political strategy was interesting. Characters were playing the long game, which never works in real life, especially when we’re talking about governing a galaxy. Of course, there’s some crazy violence throughout. The “you have to be a crazy murdering tyrant to bring peace to the galaxy” kind of violence. Darth Vadar thought so too.

As usual, what really got me in the feels was the relationship stuff. The connections between characters, the questioning of moral standards. Homosexuality is not acceptable and acted on violently in this society, but homosexuals are shown in a light love and connection. It broke my heart.

Child molestation comes up and is not condoned or put in a positive light. I felt that was very well done. The school gives a young singer to a master and the child is expected to sing as a beloved slave until they are fifteen years old when they return to the school. The music is beautiful and said to inspire love and passion, bring peace, so you can only imagine the implications.

One of my favorite lines was, “Ansset, your love was never slight. You gave without bar, and received without caution, and just because it brought pain doesn’t mean that it is gone.” Pain comes along with love because the only way to love and be loved is to be vulnerable. We cannot build a tight fortress around our hearts and minds and expect to feel anything.

That’s what the singers are taught to do. The build a high wall of control around their own feelings and cut everyone out. I’m not sure how that makes them better singers, or how it makes their songs change people. Somehow, they are able to use their songs as interpreters of the heart, without opening their own. It doesn’t make sense to me.

There was a much larger story, the one about bringing a real peace to the galaxy, not one controlled by violence and fear through tyranny, but it’s one I’m can barely see the outlines of. I’d have to read it all again and bounce it off someone else that read it to get more. The love story is what caught my attention, and I know that love story mirrors what was happening politically and spiritually, I just can’t quite put my finger on it.

Here’s where I feel like I’m lacking when I read. I’ll write this and then put the book down, keep the basic feeling of the story, letting the details and the broader connection fade in my memory. Once again, I’m left wishing there was someone else that had read this recently and wanted to talk about it.

If you’d like to read my first post about this book, go back to “Songmaster by Orson Scott Card: New Read”

Songmaster by Orson Scott Card: New Read

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On June 28, 2021

In New Reads

Songmaster by Orson Scott Card

“Songmaster” by Orson Scott Card will be the third book I’ve read by Card, the first being, of course, Ender’s Game. I read that long before the movie. The whole family read it and we loved it. It scared the crap out of us, and we all cried and yelled about it as we read. When we heard that a movie was going to come out, and Harrison Ford was going to be in it, there was much rejoicing.

The second one was the second book in that series. I never finished it. It was just too … weird? I’m not sure I have a word for it. This book is, so far, similar in weirdness.

I’ll be honest, I’m not huge fan of sci-fi. I know…geez! But I have enjoyed the classics in the past.

I saw this book by Card in the pile of freebies, so I picked it up and put it on my TBR shelf. I started reading it yesterday and I’m not sure I like it. I just don’t care about the characters. I haven’t found any that I can relate to or sympathize with, no connection.

My problem with sci-fi, and a lot of fantasy, is the settings and situations can get so far outside of what I know of my own world, that I can’t picture the scene. And then, when the characters follow suit, I just can connect with what they are feeling. It’s like watching a thriller tv show where you just don’t care which character dies next.

I’ll keep reading Songmaster, though. I want to know why this boy was kidnapped and how he will sing the world to destruction. That’s just weird, see? Maybe I’m not in the right frame of mind?

And what’s up with Card and his obsession with very young children put into impossible (usually horrible, violent, and abusive) circumstances to save the world? This boy was kidnapped at two or three years old and raised into a very strict cult (to my thinking) that schools children into singers that serve mankind. I’m not sure how or why. They seem to be raised to be entertainment slaves.

The boy in Songmaster is about six or seven years old when he is sent to serve his new master and will retire around fourteen, to spend the rest of his life inside the cult supporting and teaching other very young children.

It’s all so strange. Let me know if you’ve read this one. I’d love to hear someone else’s opinion. Maybe I’m missing something deeper to the story.

…sigh…

I just did a quick search to see if I had written about Ender’s Game in the past but found something terrible. Another confirmation that I only remember a tiny fraction of what I read. I have read a third book by Card in the past and loved it, “Enchantment.” THAT was a beautiful book!

To read my final thoughts on “Songmaster,” read “Can Tyranny Bring Peace in the Long Run? A Book Review”

Does Change Have to be Violent?

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On September 23, 2020

In Book Quote Commentary, New Reads

Change… “will come to pass by violence and upheaval, by flame and by fury, for no change comes calmly over the world.”
“It will be so. We do not will it so.”
“Ignorance is king. Many would not profit by his abdication. Many enrich themselves by means of his dark monarchy. They are his Court, and in his name they defraud and govern, enrich themselves and perpetuate their power.”

A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller, Jr.

In the story, I totally agree. A big change is coming and it’s yet to be seen whether or not it will be a good one; good in the “better for all of mankind” kind of way.

But I don’t think change must be violent. Big dramatic changes can disrupt everything, but small, steady, almost unnoticeable changes can be just as good and for more people. The Grand Canyon was slowly eroded into what it is today, or was it? Children are can be born and grow up without violence and pain. A tree grows from seed into a towering pine over hundreds of years.

But I like the small line in the middle most. “It WILL be so. We do not WILL it so.” Inevitability. He believes he’s stating a natural law. He doesn’t want violence, but violence will be the natural consequence of the changes that are coming to their world.

Is progress always violent? Growth spurts are inevitable, I suppose. The more we try to reign in the changes of technological advancement, the more problems we cause in the long run possibly; the old adage of ripping the bandage off quickly.

Pop – A Love Story

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On November 15, 2019

In Short Stories

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Photo by Laith Abdulkareem on Unsplash

“One Arrow” simply scrawled in pencil on the back of an old faded business card with a familiar address. She grinned. This one was easy. Excitement spread through her body as she made her way through the city, not to the address on the card but to the one the “one arrow” had directed her to. He’ll be waiting there with that smile, with that touch her soul craved.

She had found the card wedged in the driver’s side window of her VW when she left work. It wasn’t the first one she’d found. She’d been seeing Jay for months and every time he was able to get away from his work, she’d find a business card on her windshield, a short cryptic message about where she could find him. She’d smile when she saw the card, pluck it from its spot and sit inside the car to muse over it and figure out where to meet him that afternoon. As soon as she had it, she’d turn the key in the ignition, fire the old bug into action, and make a beeline for the spot.

Sometimes it was a secluded part of the wilderness park, an empty lot, or some other remote outdoor location. Other times it was an abandoned house on the edge of town or a friend’s apartment that he’d secured for the meeting. Once it was a swanky hotel room in the city with a giant bathtub, eight flights up, and set in a giant window overlooking the streets below. She just never knew where he’d lead her next and that was the fun of it.

When she arrived at the “one arrow,” the big wilderness park at the edge of the city, she knew something was different the moment she saw him. She pulled her car into a parking spot and switched the ignition off as he moved toward the car door to let her out. Taking her hand and pulling her from the car, she moved easily into his arms and held him close.

Walking to their usual spot near the pond, she sensed his nervous energy. She felt as if he might take wing at any moment. Car horns, birds, a barking dog, all made him jump out of his skin. When she asked him if anything was wrong, he said he was worried that someone was following him.

“Why would someone be following you?” she asked.

“You know I’m not supposed to be here.”

“I know but…” her answer trailed off as she thought about why. He had never really told her why and for some strange reason she accepted it and didn’t press for answers. She wasn’t typically the gullible sort, but his mystery intrigued her and she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. She didn’t want to.

He wasn’t all that handsome, not much taller than her and thickset. He had dark, close-cut hair and deep-set eyes that glimmered when he looked at her in the strangest way as if they had no real color. His eyes were almost silvery, reflecting the colors he was wearing or looking at. He wasn’t skinny or fat, but he looked big, well-fed and strong. It was his hands that attracted her, his strength when he pulled her close and kissed her. She felt overpowered and weak, a feeling she had never enjoyed in the past. With him, she felt safe, at home, and all the mystery only made the affair more alluring to her.

“There are things I need to tell you. Things I didn’t think I’d have to tell you, but…”

“You can trust me, you know.” She murmured, looking down at her feet dangling over the edge of the block wall they were sitting on. “I’m not going anywhere.” The park was empty this time of day. Large trees looming over them, as they sat together on the retaining wall along the edge of the park. The sun was starting to set and the shadows were deepening.

“It’s getting late and I don’t want us to get caught in the dark. Not now.” They hopped off the wall and started to make their way back to the cars. She could feel his tension get stronger. Something was really bothering him. Walking up between their two cars, he took her hands in his and kissed her. She melted. All was right. She was starting to think maybe he enjoyed creating the mystery as much as she enjoyed being in it.

“Come back here tomorrow. Ok?”

“Again? So soon? It won’t be suspicious of you leaving two days in a row?”

“Maybe, but it’s important. I’ll think of some excuse. I need to talk to you, but it doesn’t feel safe right now. Tomorrow?”

“Sure. Same time?”

“Yes.”

He pulled her close, one hand behind her head, wrapped up in her hair and kissed her deeply.

“I love you.” She whispered as he walked away.

She was only a few miles from home, but the ‘wilderness’ park was in the edge of the city and driving home just after sunset, rush hour, took her more time than usual. She pulled into the parking garage under her apartment building well after dark. Even in the familiar garage, she was never comfortable coming home alone at night.

Her reserved spot was tight for most cars, but her 69 VW bug fit with ease. Shutting off the engine, it sputtered once and died. She grabbed her bag from the vinyl seat next to her, got out and fumbled with the key to lock the door behind her. That’s when she heard the noise.

Coming home in the dark always set her on edge and even though the parking garage was brightly lit, there were deep shadows in the corners and plenty of places to hide behind cars of all shapes and sizes. She ignored the quiet shuffle and pop sound she believed came from the stairwell beside the elevator entry and walked on.

As she approached the elevator doors, she breathed a sigh of relief when she pushed the call button and the door immediately slid open. Stepping inside, turning to push the button for her floor, the doors started to close, stopped, opened, and then closed again as if someone had put their hand in the way to hold them open.

The doors closed completely and the quiet hum of the elevator machinery filled her mind as the car carried her slowly to the third floor where she lived.

That soft pop sound again. Her heart raced when she heard it, especially so close and in such a confined space. But she could see there was no one there, nothing to bother with, probably just the elevator noise she reasoned.

The elevator stopped at her floor and in a moment the doors slid open to let her out. Walking down the hall toward her apartment, she heard the doors stop closing, open, and then close again behind her. She walked a bit faster, with her keys clutched in her fist just in case, unreasonably frightened. Why was she being so skittish? Maybe his strange fear and cryptic tone had creeped her out more than she thought. But he was just being mysterious to make it more fun. It’s just a game.

Instinctively she pulled the door key out as she approached, slid it in the deadbolt lock, swung open the door, stepped inside and quickly shut it behind her, sliding the bolt back at the same time. A big sigh came from her. That felt good. She was home. Safe.

Turning into her apartment, she dropped her bag on the floor and screamed. He was there, just sitting down on the couch. What the hell? How could he be here? She had never told him where she lived.

Jumping up from the couch, he rushed to her side, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…sorry…let me get that.” The words tumbled out of his mouth as they both reached for her bag and keys.

“How in the world…?” She couldn’t even form whole sentences. Even now, standing up straight, knowing it was him not a murderous intruder, her heart was racing in her chest from fear.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…let’s sit down a minute. Let me get you a drink of water or something.” He ushered her to the couch and sat her down, moving through her apartment as if he had lived there for months. She set her purse down on the couch beside her and stared wordlessly as he moved toward the kitchen and reached for the cabinet to get a glass. He crossed over and grabbed her favorite whiskey, the one she hid behind the breadbox, not the cheaper mixed drink stuff she had in the pantry for parties.

He walked back in, short glass, two ice cubes, two fingers of whiskey, just how she liked it. How? They’d never drank together. He’d never been here. She just sat and stared, trying to slow her heart rate and catch her breath as he sat beside her and handed her the glass.

“Are you ok?” he asked. She hadn’t yet said a word. She just stared and took a sip, watching him warily.

“I guess, but…”

“How did I get in?”

“How did you even know where I lived and why are you here? You said meet again tomorrow.”

“I have a lot of ‘splainin’ to do’ right Lucy?”

She just sat dumbfounded. Jokes. Right now? Maybe she should call 911. He might be crazy. She didn’t really know him that well, really. What if he turns violent? Why in the world is he here?

“Don’t be afraid of me. I’m not.”

And now confusion filled her. She started to set her glass down but picked it up again. She might be able to use it as a weapon.

He smiled sweetly. “I’ve scared you and I’m so sorry I had to do that. There was no other way.”

“No other way to do what?”

“Get away from them. I couldn’t say it out loud or even really think of it too much. I just had to follow my instincts. You’re easy to follow in that red bug, so I just followed you here tonight.”

“But how…you were here before me.”

“Just seconds.”

“How? If you followed me, how could you be on my couch when I walked in?”

“That’s going to take a bit more explaining. Finish your drink while I make us a snack. I know you’re hungry at this hour.”

Just as casually as he uttered those words, he rose from the couch and went to the kitchen. The open layout between the livingroom and the kitchen of her small apartment allowed her to watch him as he moved around the kitchen with ease, throwing together a plate of salami, cheese and some grapes he found in the fridge. When he returned, he set the plate between them on the couch and encouraged her to relax and take a few bites while he told his story.

The gist of it?

Several years ago, he came here and was soon followed by three “things” that didn’t want him to be here. They made it abundantly clear he was not welcome on this planet.

“Wait, ‘on this planet’?”

“Yes. I guess I kind of jumped into that. Maybe I should back up.”

“I’d say.” He had to be crazy. She sat munching quietly listening to his story, all the while trying to figure out how to get away from him. Could she make a run for the door? Her building was notorious for ignoring the drama that went on in the halls on a daily basis. Would her neighbors just assume there was some domestic dispute going on and ignore her cries for help? Maybe she could fain fidgeting with her phone but really be dialing 911 while he spoke. They’d send someone to investigate if someone called 911 but just left the line open, right?

“I’m not going to hurt you, you know. I’m the same person I was an hour ago. The same person you’ve been meeting and loving for the past six months.”

“Yes. But…now you’re mysteriously in my apartment and telling me how you came to be on earth. I have some reason to a little wary, don’t you think?” She was feeling bolder. Oddly enough, even now, she really didn’t feel threatened by him. Just like at their meetings, she felt strangely pulled toward him. He’d always given her a safe, at-home feeling. It was why she had started to fall in love with him. What was he doing to her?

He began his story again but from farther back. He was an alien, not a non-citizen from another country, a real alien from another planet. “Right out of the movies,” she thought. It figures. The man she finally feels something for ends up not even human.

He said he couldn’t get into the physics of it, how he got there, etc. Not that she wasn’t smart enough to understand, but the less she knew, the safer she was. That old line. Really, he just didn’t think he had time to explain at the moment. The important things needed to be said first, before they found him and did what they wanted to do.

He came here to get away and figured he would just blend right in with us. It was working for a while, until he met her. At first, he was only a little interested in her. She was attractive and intelligent, fun to talk to over a couple beers and a cheeseburger. He had been on this planet for what seemed like a few years to humans, but millennium to him. He was beginning to be lonely and then there she was, someone to talk to. Why was she different? He didn’t know. He only knew that he felt safe with her, at home for the first time in eons.

The relationship progressed with ease, from dinner and drinks to long days at the beach, and then one day she kissed him and it was over. He felt that kiss all the way to his toes. He was alien, he kept telling himself. This can’t happen. But it did.

There they were, checking into a hotel, and the rest was history. It had been the best months of his long, lonely life. She touched his soul and he couldn’t let go.

“I felt that, you know?” She stopped his story.

“Felt what?”

“That instant connection.” She instinctively moved closer to him, putting her hand on his knee.

“I’ve never felt that with anyone before. I was planning on telling you tonight but you were so anxious and then we parted so quickly. I didn’t have the chance to bring it up.”

“I’m sorry about that. There’s something going on. They’ve caught on to where I am and it could be any moment that they take me back.”

“Who? What? You need to explain more. Maybe I can help?” She was starting to get caught up in this crazy story.

He sat bolt upright at a sound she didn’t hear. “What?” she asked, “What’s happening?”

He looked into her eyes, took her hand, and suddenly a feeling of complete peace. She saw nothing, felt no physical sensation whatsoever. There was only thought, presence.

“I knew it!” She felt him think. She felt it. She couldn’t hear it or see it. The thought was just there.

“You’re one of us!” His elated astonishment washed over her like a wave of warm liquid.

“One of what? What’s happening?” She wanted to panic, knew she should be panicked by this sudden lack of physical being, but she couldn’t. Just like the first time she saw him and that first kiss, she felt at home here, as if she had always been this way.

Just as suddenly it was gone. Pop, they were standing in the park hand in hand. She collapsed to the ground under the sudden return of weight on her consciousness. For a split second it was devastating. She gasped for breath, feeling her lungs fill with the heavy physical air. He knelt beside her, reassuring her that he was still with her.

“The first time is a shock. I’m so sorry you have to feel it. It gets easier.” He whispered to her as she took another breath and attempted to slow her heart rate.

“What the hell?” Losing her physical body for a moment was exhilarating, coming back to it was terrifying. How did it happen? And how could anyone get used to it? She felt crushed and smothered by the weight of the universe. That’s when she threw up.

“I’m sorry. Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry you had to go through it like this.” His cooing over her was becoming annoying now.

Getting herself under control, another deep breath, she stood and straightened her shirt, shivering in the cold. Too bad they couldn’t have manifested some jackets when they popped out of and back into existence!

“We need to move.” That was the soundest thing he’d said so far. Walking would keep them warm and distract her from the thoughts racing through her head. “We may have escaped the moment, but they won’t be distracted for long. I’m afraid I’ve dragged you into this now.”

“Dragged me into what? What just happened, Jay? What are you?”

“Alien to this world, but it looks like you are too. Did you not know?”

“I’m not alien! I was born right here in this city. I know my parents. We have never moved to another neighborhood, let alone another planet. You have the wrong girl.” This was insane. Clearly he had drugged her or done some hypnosis trick on her to get her to think this was all real. It all seemed like a pretty elaborate hoax to get her to run away with him. And completely unnecessary. She’d already started to fall for him. Why must she always fall for the crazies?

They walked quickly toward a thicker stand of trees and away from the entrance of the park.

“Where are we going? I’m freezing and I’d really like to go home now.”

“There’s a cave further into the park. It’ll be safe there for a while and we’ll be warmer.”

They walked in shivering silence for several minutes. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t run from him here. It was dark and cold and no one was around. The park had been closed for hours, no rangers or park attendants to help. She was stuck. She thought maybe she could humor him for a while until she found a way to escape, all the while not really wanting to. It was that safe feeling again like she was where she was supposed to be. So strange.

“Here it is.” And he pushed aside some branches to reveal a small hidden cave dug out of the sandstone. It was just surreal like she’d stepped into an old movie. There were a few blankets and bottles of water stored away in the back of it. He rummaged around, picked up a flashlight, turned it on and set it up on its end to shine on the ceiling of the cave, casting a warm glow around them.

“There. That’s better.”

“Is this your house? Do you live out here?” She looked around her, the flashlight lantern dispelling the darkness to the far reaches of the cave and revealing a small homey interior.

“Well, not really. Not all the time. It’s just one place I like to come to when I need to be alone. For some reason, they can’t find me here but I can’t stay in it forever.”

He bustled about making tea on a small camp stove, like an old frontier woman. Shaking out a sleeping bag and draping it over a rock, he motioned to her. “Here. You can sit here and keep warm in this for now.” She reluctantly sat as he draped the sleeping bag over her shoulders.

“How long do we have to stay here? Who can’t find you here? And what in the hell just happened?” Her questions came pouring out of her as she became more and more aggravated by his empathy for her.

“I know. You have lots of questions. So do I! I had no idea that would happen. I’m as shocked as you are really. I know we had a connection, but I had no idea it went that far. I had no idea anyone else could do it. I thought I was the only one!”

While she was shocked, scared, and a little hostile, his line of questioning was excited and curious. The more he rambled on about transbody experiences and “they” and how can this happen, the more irrationally irritated she became.

“Stop, Jay. Just stop. You need to slow down and tell me what’s happening as best you can. I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

“Oh yes! I’m sorry. I’ve just been alone for so long. You have no idea how lonely it is. I mean, I’m here walking among you but connecting with no one. Surrounded by people but completely separated. The very idea that one other like me could exist never occurred to me.”

“One other like what? What are you?”

“Well, that’s a good question. Since I always believed I was the only one, there is no definition, no simple title. You could be called a woman, a human, an American, but me? I’m nothing. I belong to no group that helps others define me. I’m…a…me.”

She just sat staring at him for several minutes while he sat across from her smiling like the Cheshire Cat. He was shivering and instinctively she pulled him close and shared the sleeping bag with him. There was that feeling again, that home feeling. She turned her head to look at him and he was still grinning.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You did it. I can’t believe it. I took your hand and you just gave it up, your whole existence in a flash. It was unbelievable.”

“I didn’t do anything. You did it to me. You took my hand and pulled me somewhere.”

“No,” he said shaking his head, “that’s not possible. I’ve done this a hundred times over the years I’ve been here and no one has ever come with me. I was only feeling bad that I was about to pop out of your life to get away from them. You just came with me. You trusted me. You instinctively let your physical self go and POP we were gone. You’re different.”

There was silence between them for quite some time. They huddled close together in the warmth of the sleeping bag, both considering what had just occurred. He was right. She had gone with him, voluntarily. The moment he took her hand and looked at her…

Never before had she felt so complete. All her life she’d struggled to fit in with the people around her. Her parents were good people with honest intentions. They loved her. She knew it, she felt it every day. But something was missing. The people she had met at school, at work, online in chatrooms and social media groups, filled her life with obligations and responsibilities. But every day, she came home to her apartment alone. She had never felt connected to them, never felt a kinship. It was like there was an invisible bubble around her that kept her from actually reaching out. She had begun to believe something was wrong with her. Had she created that bubble? What kind of person can’t love?

And then she met him and it all changed. It didn’t creep up on her. It didn’t slowly seep into her consciousness. It hit her. The bubble burst. No, he walked right into her bubble and they were in it together. The rest of the world didn’t exist to them.

He didn’t need to explain the details of his existence. He didn’t need to comfort her or take care of her. They were home when they were together and nothing else mattered.

He sat upright again listening. “What do you hear?” she asked him, knowing already what it was. Footsteps nearby, several heavy people shuffling through leaves and murmuring in hushed tones. The sound of quiet searching.

“They can’t see us here. They’ll walk right by. They know we’re close but for some reason this place shields us.”

“But we can’t stay here forever.”

“No, we can’t.”

She took his hands this time, looking into his eyes. And POP. They were gone forever.

Day Ten

By

On October 1, 2019

In Short Stories

kelly-sikkema-Z895fnYRbog-unsplash

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

A big round number, the first of the double digits, brings me to this point. I’ve watched her for ten cycles. Ten times the clock has come round to 8AM. I can’t really call them days, since “days” brings me back to Earth. I no longer orbit that fiery ball of gas but how else do I measure the time? And should I bother at all?

Here I float in the darkness, stranded, not knowing how much longer I have in this existence, but here I sit, watching her. Shouldn’t I be spending my time more wisely, living in the moment, seizing the day? That is what I intended to do once I realized there was no going back and no going forward either. Sure. I’m alone. Stranded in a strange place with nothing beyond the scant supplies I have on hand and the tin can they called a transport. Why should I not enjoy the last few days I probably have?

Thirty days is a long time to spend in solitude, but the lure of a new world, the prospect of a whole new life was worth the seclusion, worth the risk of travel in this god forsaken can. What would I find there? Who would greet me? I’d heard wonderful things, fantastical things. Would the reality be anything compared to my imaginings? Probably not. But anything had to be better than the hell I was leaving, so I went.

Then that noise came, that quiet thump, a small tick I believed was only my imagination for days, until it became louder. And then suddenly, nothing. No sound at all. The physical sensation of movement ceased completely. It took me a few days to realize my situation. Something had gone seriously wrong and I was stuck with no way to communicate with the world outside my craft. And I was alone.

Until I saw her. And now I lay watching. Day ten. She climbed to the top of my bunk and spun her futile web. There are no flies to catch, my dear. It is only you and I…for eternity. She doesn’t seem to mind. She can’t conceive of the future. She only spins and crawls. My only friend. I wish I were you.

Thank you, WritersWrite, for the inspiring prompt!

Pre-Warp

By

On March 25, 2019

In New Reads

What if we aren’t alone in the universe?

What if there are civilizations out there that HAVE discovered infinite energy and now, after a hundred years of violent adjustment, live in a scarcity free and peaceful world?

Because they have not needed to conserve resources in any way, they are technologically advanced far beyond our understanding and have been able to avoid our tentative reaches into space.

What if we worked on discovering that kind of energy?

Time Difference

By

On December 31, 2018

In Short Stories

Something strange is going on.

For a long time, I thought new digital clocks were just not made like they used to be. I had the same clock in my room since college. It was your typical digital clock; red numbers, snooze button, brown and black case. It sat there on my dresser for twenty-five years. A power surge was what killed it. It was kind of sad to have to throw it away, like losing an old friend.

I’ve bought several new ones over the years. Two were from the discount store. I clock is a clock, right? I just want to be able to look up when I wake in the night and know I don’t have to get up without having to push any buttons on my phone. I’d bring them home, unwrap them, plug them in, and set the time from the time on my phone, but within a few weeks the time was off. Ten minutes slow.

I didn’t notice it at first, only a couple minutes at a time went missing. I’d get out of the shower and think, “Cool. Ten more minutes. I have time for coffee before I go.” And then I’d walk out into the kitchen, see the clock on the stove and have to run out the door right away. It was frustrating. I hate to rush like that.

I’d set my bedroom clock back to the correct time and go about my business. Maybe the power went out for a minute when I wasn’t home. But then wouldn’t all the clocks be off? I decided it was bad clock and buy a new one.

But now I’m starting to wonder. Is it really a bad clock? Or is something else going on? Could it be that all the clocks are just generally inaccurate like that? The clock in the livingroom and the one on the stove don’t seem to have a problem keeping up.

I think I’ll have to do some experiments.

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