Friday, October 2, 2015
Saturday, August 8, 2015
Response to a prompt
Warning:I decided to go into somewhat gruesome detail.
The quiet rumbling of thousands of people just waking up quickly became unbearably loud as they began cheering and screaming. The first float was drifting by, and it was much more than what they had expected. It was by itself fairly generic. Lots of colored paper flapping from the edges. Paper mache furniture. But it's occupants. They were something else entirely. A man dressed as a bulky, paper mache astronaut sat in one of the chairs, legs stretched out across the floor. Another man, the tattooed 2050 presidential candidate from Texas was screaming and flailing around. They were both very much on fire. Something in his ink made it quite flammable, and it was a spectacular sight. The strange shapes of fire that rose from the dark purple markings of his skin. Burning pieces of paper fell from the astronaut and into the crowd as he continued to give no regard to the fire. Very quickly, the crowds began to wonder at the realism of the special effects on the float. The astronaut was of course just a paper mache sculpture, but the movement of the screaming robot seemed a bit too fluid and varied. They spoke to each other, trying to figure out if there really was something wrong. A few people spread the news through the crowd that everything was fine. There was some explaining of the technology. They were apparently satisfied. The tattooed candidate had stopped moving. He was curled up in a fetal position on the float. Not moving. Still burning. Quite charred. The astronaut had burned away, and there was a strange and blackened flowing figure sitting in the chair now. Jerkily, it raised up an arm and waved. It was garish. A man started yelling. Protesting the over the top gruesomeness of the float. He ran up to it and hoisted himself up over the edge. Two policemen stopped their cars and got onto the float. Yelling, they forced him to the ground and handcuffed him. They assured the crowds that everything was alright. At this point, they were louder. Angry voices. Parents. Screaming children. Vomit. Things were thrown. The police chose not to engage, and instead escorted the man into the car. A window shattered inward. They sped off. The float continued. Until the first few people found weapons and began to attack the wheels. They were beat at with sticks and crowbars from people's cars. It dropped onto the ground and the astronaut slipped off it's chair. It was stiff. More police arrived. They chased away the people and told them all to go home. The parade was over. Most people left. Both bodies were eventually autopsied. There was metal inside. silicon muscle, mostly burned away. The silicon skins were both gone. The company responsible was sued.
The quiet rumbling of thousands of people just waking up quickly became unbearably loud as they began cheering and screaming. The first float was drifting by, and it was much more than what they had expected. It was by itself fairly generic. Lots of colored paper flapping from the edges. Paper mache furniture. But it's occupants. They were something else entirely. A man dressed as a bulky, paper mache astronaut sat in one of the chairs, legs stretched out across the floor. Another man, the tattooed 2050 presidential candidate from Texas was screaming and flailing around. They were both very much on fire. Something in his ink made it quite flammable, and it was a spectacular sight. The strange shapes of fire that rose from the dark purple markings of his skin. Burning pieces of paper fell from the astronaut and into the crowd as he continued to give no regard to the fire. Very quickly, the crowds began to wonder at the realism of the special effects on the float. The astronaut was of course just a paper mache sculpture, but the movement of the screaming robot seemed a bit too fluid and varied. They spoke to each other, trying to figure out if there really was something wrong. A few people spread the news through the crowd that everything was fine. There was some explaining of the technology. They were apparently satisfied. The tattooed candidate had stopped moving. He was curled up in a fetal position on the float. Not moving. Still burning. Quite charred. The astronaut had burned away, and there was a strange and blackened flowing figure sitting in the chair now. Jerkily, it raised up an arm and waved. It was garish. A man started yelling. Protesting the over the top gruesomeness of the float. He ran up to it and hoisted himself up over the edge. Two policemen stopped their cars and got onto the float. Yelling, they forced him to the ground and handcuffed him. They assured the crowds that everything was alright. At this point, they were louder. Angry voices. Parents. Screaming children. Vomit. Things were thrown. The police chose not to engage, and instead escorted the man into the car. A window shattered inward. They sped off. The float continued. Until the first few people found weapons and began to attack the wheels. They were beat at with sticks and crowbars from people's cars. It dropped onto the ground and the astronaut slipped off it's chair. It was stiff. More police arrived. They chased away the people and told them all to go home. The parade was over. Most people left. Both bodies were eventually autopsied. There was metal inside. silicon muscle, mostly burned away. The silicon skins were both gone. The company responsible was sued.
Sunday, August 2, 2015
Do What You Do (work in progress)
Unique is good. It's great, but I feel like people try too hard to be unique. They give it too much importance. You are already something different. Just do what you do.
Everybody want to be something new
Unique is what we all want to do
You write books and sing songs, buy a new face
There's a price for everything and you're willing to pay it
Terrified to be part of the crowd
If you're not unique, you pay a fine.
And what you have cannot be mine.
It's like a religion and we adhere to it
Scheming, we spend years for it.
Sure we'll all die, but will they remember?
Don't let me fall into the abyss.
We're all uniquely the same and there's nothing different
And that's okay; I'm not any worse for it.
Everybody want to be something new
Unique is what we all want to do
You write books and sing songs, buy a new face
There's a price for everything and you're willing to pay it
Terrified to be part of the crowd
If you're not unique, you pay a fine.
And what you have cannot be mine.
It's like a religion and we adhere to it
Scheming, we spend years for it.
Sure we'll all die, but will they remember?
Don't let me fall into the abyss.
We're all uniquely the same and there's nothing different
And that's okay; I'm not any worse for it.
Monday, May 18, 2015
Yesterday was the last day(refer to post called "commitment")
My first post today will be a recap. I think that's what it's called. Needless to say, it's not finished; this is just what I have so far. Later, I might add actual illustrations to make it less of a wall of text. Bear in mind that this is a very rough first draft and I haven't yet examined it deeply or done any major editing. Here it is. The product of my two week commitment. forgive me for the two hastily and poorly computer sketched illustrations.
Untitled
The camera sweeps across the scene to a man. He is sitting in the corner of the room, staring off into space. He notices the photographer and tilts his hand in a kind of wave. His eyes never seem to focus.Everything blurs for a second, and then all that can be seen is the floor. It bobs up and down in the frame as the photographer walks around the room, seemingly unaware that his camera is still recording.
Fred scratched his beard, his eyes sweeping across the room in search of anything more to look at than a dirty-looking man and the shapes in the wood floor. He remembered once losing his keys in his garden. They had disappeared with a rattle of metal and he spent a good forty five minutes looking for them. When it seemed he had looked everywhere, he began looking under rocks and pots. This was like that. No matter how hard he looked, interest was not to be found in this room. If he wanted that, he would have to go somewhere else.
I lean back against the wall. The rough hewn stone at least offers some variety of sensation. Makes it a bit less like one of those white sensory deprivation rooms. A shiver runs down the length of my arms. It might have been wiser to bring a sweater or something. But that isn't what I am here for. It would be more productive for my mind to dwell on more relevant things.
The environment in the room is so painfully boring. I sweep my hand across the cold floor and gather some dust in a pile. In my mind, I build up a mountain range over the unsanitary collection of various particles. That makes me realize how dirty this place must be. I wipe my hands a few times on my pants and pull out some hand sanitizer to disinfect my person.
With a fingernail, I flip up the cap, and then squeezed a light green gel onto the palm of my hand. I close the bottle, drop it into my pocket, clasp my hands together, and began viciously rubbing them together.
I bring my hands up to my face to smell the sharp, beautiful smell of the hand sanitizer. It fades quickly and they are left a bit more moist, coated in a bitter taste known well to people who like to wash their hands with it before eating. I resume my gaze into the wall at the other end of the room.
A moving figure enters my vision and I recognize the camera man's posture. He has the camera pointed at me. Slightly annoyed that he hasn't bothered too ask to film me, I give him a jerky, cut-off half wave with my fingers. The camera holds still for a moment, then he brings his arms down, holding it with his right hand and starts walking around the room.
He too is looking and failing to find anything interesting in this almost featureless room. My arms are damp with sweat.
The scene, cropped into a rectangle is almost motionless. It sways just about imperceptibly. Two men are sitting at the far end of the room. They are only a few feet apart from each other. One is dressed rather casually in sweats and a black shirt. The other is in a business suit. His hair is the tangled ghost of a sharp haircut.
The one in sweats sways restlessly, legs drawn up to his chest. There is no expression on his face, but he somehow still seems to be conscious and sane. Business suit man is also rather restless, but that can only be seen just barely in the beat he is tapping out with his shoe.
The whole room turns on it's side with a rustle and a dull, plastic sound. Everything is a blur again and then the camera is focusing on the two men. The rather disheveled looking man in street clothes has curled up on the floor. He is breathing, but only very slightly.
Fred glanced at his informal companion. He was on his side, still with his knees drawn close to his chest. It would be so much easier to just sleep until they all had to leave. Better not to risk missing it though. The humidity loosened the threads in his suit and he was able to relax a bit. Leaning against the wall, eyes half closed, he felt ready to complete the objective. With any luck, they wouldn't starve during the wait.
It happened almost in stages. I rest my face in my hand and lean my whole body on my elbow to get more comfortable. That is nice for a while, but then my arm goes numb. Small, precise, needling pinpricks of sensation envelope my hand. It feels cold and wet. I shift a little and it only gets worse.
I lean forward on both elbows with my head between my legs, resting on my hands. My back doesn't quite bend right to accommodate the pose. I ease myself onto my side and close my eyes. I won't go to sleep. Can't afford to miss it. I'll just lay here and think about movies and stormy nights sitting at my computer.
The man in the suit has almost closed his eyes. He is nestled into his suit and barely moves. Consciousness appears to bubble back up and his eyes snap open. Slowly and with some degree of difficulty, he stands up and stretches. His head and upper torso disappear.
Stiffly, the man in the suit begins walking. He goes out of frame and comes back a few seconds later, filling the whole screen. He disappears and returns at the opposite side of the room again.
Fred felt his conscious mind beginning to melt away. Physical will was replaced by a longing for rest. His sense of time was inconsistent. It seemed to spurt out and then start dripping like a hose that had been bent. That wasn't completely the effect of the sluggish state of mind that was easing him into a deep sleep.
He suddenly realized what was happening and stood up on wobbly legs. In an effort to regain his consciousness, he made himself start walking around the rectangular establishment. The informal one arched his back and blearily opened his eyes.
A quiet clipping noise, like the sound of high heels on concrete. It's quiet, but I still notice it. The noise gets louder as the high heels lady comes closer. It somehow has a different quality from everything else. Maybe its' constant regularity. It gets louder than ever, then almost disappears. A few seconds later, I start to hear it again.
I am laying down on my face and I open my eyes. There is a lady who goes by. She fades away, and then returns as a horse with two legs. The optical manifestations are all different, but the noise is the same.
There is an echo now. And everything is gone. It's all a strange landscape of shades of red. They are moving synchronous to the sound. A sensation is suddenly present. It feels too far away, but it's connected somehow. I realize it's my hand. The other hand fades into my version of reality. Then my legs. Then my face. I open my eyes. A shiny black shoe flies right by my face.
The informal one sits up and looks around. His eyes are wide. A gasp of air exits his mouth, shrill and abruptly cut off. The man in the suit looks at him and the frame shifts as the cameraman focuses on him, guiding the camera with his feet. Suddenly,the floor is all that can be seen. There is a sound like a button being pressed and then...Nothing.
Fred looked behind him at his companion in sweats. It looked like his mind was already beginning to fester in this environment. That couldn't be allowed to happen. If one of them went, the other two would soon follow. He clawed around in his pocket for something. Anything, really.
There was only a pen. Thin, shiny black. It was a simple design. His own design, actually.
Joints burning slightly, but in what felt like a good way, he knelt down and offered the pen to his companion. Unfocused, confused eyes looked up at him. "It'll make this place a little more interesting." Fred said, "Draw with it and stuff. We could play games too, if you want." He took it and pushed the tab that connected the cap to the body. It slid off with a click. "Thanks." Leaning into the wood, he began to draw.
I sketch some lines onto the floor. The pen slides across the floor a bit too well. If I had some sandpaper, I could have made a much better drawing surface. But this is fine. My mind feels more active than it has since I came in. My friend is facing me, kneeling on the ground.
It is a new video now. The perspective is higher than it had been for the majority of the last one. "Stupid shit." A voice comes from somewhere behind. The other person looks up from what he is drawing. "It's not the equipment that's at fault. It was you who forgot to turn it off." He disappears from the frame.
Everything spins around as the cameraman shifts it to the angle of the artist. A little bit of hair is visible at the bottom of the frame. His arm reaches out to create lateral detail on the inside of the door he has been drawing. A few more smaller lines and the material of the door has some definition. It looks like a heavy bamboo screen.
Fred looked at the drawing. He looked to his left. And back again. "Maybe you should draw something else." He said. His companion looked up. "Oh. Sure." He moved to a clean section of wood and started drawing.
With skill that must have been learned from a lot of practice, he sketched the shape of a slim face with four very light markings in the lower half of it.
Untitled
The camera sweeps across the scene to a man. He is sitting in the corner of the room, staring off into space. He notices the photographer and tilts his hand in a kind of wave. His eyes never seem to focus.Everything blurs for a second, and then all that can be seen is the floor. It bobs up and down in the frame as the photographer walks around the room, seemingly unaware that his camera is still recording.
Fred scratched his beard, his eyes sweeping across the room in search of anything more to look at than a dirty-looking man and the shapes in the wood floor. He remembered once losing his keys in his garden. They had disappeared with a rattle of metal and he spent a good forty five minutes looking for them. When it seemed he had looked everywhere, he began looking under rocks and pots. This was like that. No matter how hard he looked, interest was not to be found in this room. If he wanted that, he would have to go somewhere else.
I lean back against the wall. The rough hewn stone at least offers some variety of sensation. Makes it a bit less like one of those white sensory deprivation rooms. A shiver runs down the length of my arms. It might have been wiser to bring a sweater or something. But that isn't what I am here for. It would be more productive for my mind to dwell on more relevant things.
The environment in the room is so painfully boring. I sweep my hand across the cold floor and gather some dust in a pile. In my mind, I build up a mountain range over the unsanitary collection of various particles. That makes me realize how dirty this place must be. I wipe my hands a few times on my pants and pull out some hand sanitizer to disinfect my person.
With a fingernail, I flip up the cap, and then squeezed a light green gel onto the palm of my hand. I close the bottle, drop it into my pocket, clasp my hands together, and began viciously rubbing them together.
I bring my hands up to my face to smell the sharp, beautiful smell of the hand sanitizer. It fades quickly and they are left a bit more moist, coated in a bitter taste known well to people who like to wash their hands with it before eating. I resume my gaze into the wall at the other end of the room.
A moving figure enters my vision and I recognize the camera man's posture. He has the camera pointed at me. Slightly annoyed that he hasn't bothered too ask to film me, I give him a jerky, cut-off half wave with my fingers. The camera holds still for a moment, then he brings his arms down, holding it with his right hand and starts walking around the room.
He too is looking and failing to find anything interesting in this almost featureless room. My arms are damp with sweat.
The scene, cropped into a rectangle is almost motionless. It sways just about imperceptibly. Two men are sitting at the far end of the room. They are only a few feet apart from each other. One is dressed rather casually in sweats and a black shirt. The other is in a business suit. His hair is the tangled ghost of a sharp haircut.
The one in sweats sways restlessly, legs drawn up to his chest. There is no expression on his face, but he somehow still seems to be conscious and sane. Business suit man is also rather restless, but that can only be seen just barely in the beat he is tapping out with his shoe.
The whole room turns on it's side with a rustle and a dull, plastic sound. Everything is a blur again and then the camera is focusing on the two men. The rather disheveled looking man in street clothes has curled up on the floor. He is breathing, but only very slightly.
Fred glanced at his informal companion. He was on his side, still with his knees drawn close to his chest. It would be so much easier to just sleep until they all had to leave. Better not to risk missing it though. The humidity loosened the threads in his suit and he was able to relax a bit. Leaning against the wall, eyes half closed, he felt ready to complete the objective. With any luck, they wouldn't starve during the wait.
It happened almost in stages. I rest my face in my hand and lean my whole body on my elbow to get more comfortable. That is nice for a while, but then my arm goes numb. Small, precise, needling pinpricks of sensation envelope my hand. It feels cold and wet. I shift a little and it only gets worse.
I lean forward on both elbows with my head between my legs, resting on my hands. My back doesn't quite bend right to accommodate the pose. I ease myself onto my side and close my eyes. I won't go to sleep. Can't afford to miss it. I'll just lay here and think about movies and stormy nights sitting at my computer.
The man in the suit has almost closed his eyes. He is nestled into his suit and barely moves. Consciousness appears to bubble back up and his eyes snap open. Slowly and with some degree of difficulty, he stands up and stretches. His head and upper torso disappear.
Stiffly, the man in the suit begins walking. He goes out of frame and comes back a few seconds later, filling the whole screen. He disappears and returns at the opposite side of the room again.
Fred felt his conscious mind beginning to melt away. Physical will was replaced by a longing for rest. His sense of time was inconsistent. It seemed to spurt out and then start dripping like a hose that had been bent. That wasn't completely the effect of the sluggish state of mind that was easing him into a deep sleep.
He suddenly realized what was happening and stood up on wobbly legs. In an effort to regain his consciousness, he made himself start walking around the rectangular establishment. The informal one arched his back and blearily opened his eyes.
A quiet clipping noise, like the sound of high heels on concrete. It's quiet, but I still notice it. The noise gets louder as the high heels lady comes closer. It somehow has a different quality from everything else. Maybe its' constant regularity. It gets louder than ever, then almost disappears. A few seconds later, I start to hear it again.
I am laying down on my face and I open my eyes. There is a lady who goes by. She fades away, and then returns as a horse with two legs. The optical manifestations are all different, but the noise is the same.
There is an echo now. And everything is gone. It's all a strange landscape of shades of red. They are moving synchronous to the sound. A sensation is suddenly present. It feels too far away, but it's connected somehow. I realize it's my hand. The other hand fades into my version of reality. Then my legs. Then my face. I open my eyes. A shiny black shoe flies right by my face.
The informal one sits up and looks around. His eyes are wide. A gasp of air exits his mouth, shrill and abruptly cut off. The man in the suit looks at him and the frame shifts as the cameraman focuses on him, guiding the camera with his feet. Suddenly,the floor is all that can be seen. There is a sound like a button being pressed and then...Nothing.
Fred looked behind him at his companion in sweats. It looked like his mind was already beginning to fester in this environment. That couldn't be allowed to happen. If one of them went, the other two would soon follow. He clawed around in his pocket for something. Anything, really.
There was only a pen. Thin, shiny black. It was a simple design. His own design, actually.
Joints burning slightly, but in what felt like a good way, he knelt down and offered the pen to his companion. Unfocused, confused eyes looked up at him. "It'll make this place a little more interesting." Fred said, "Draw with it and stuff. We could play games too, if you want." He took it and pushed the tab that connected the cap to the body. It slid off with a click. "Thanks." Leaning into the wood, he began to draw.
I sketch some lines onto the floor. The pen slides across the floor a bit too well. If I had some sandpaper, I could have made a much better drawing surface. But this is fine. My mind feels more active than it has since I came in. My friend is facing me, kneeling on the ground.
It is a new video now. The perspective is higher than it had been for the majority of the last one. "Stupid shit." A voice comes from somewhere behind. The other person looks up from what he is drawing. "It's not the equipment that's at fault. It was you who forgot to turn it off." He disappears from the frame.
Everything spins around as the cameraman shifts it to the angle of the artist. A little bit of hair is visible at the bottom of the frame. His arm reaches out to create lateral detail on the inside of the door he has been drawing. A few more smaller lines and the material of the door has some definition. It looks like a heavy bamboo screen.
Fred looked at the drawing. He looked to his left. And back again. "Maybe you should draw something else." He said. His companion looked up. "Oh. Sure." He moved to a clean section of wood and started drawing.
With skill that must have been learned from a lot of practice, he sketched the shape of a slim face with four very light markings in the lower half of it.
Saturday, May 16, 2015
two days again. first one was too short
I sketch some lines onto the floor. The pen slides across the floor a bit too well. If I had some sandpaper, I could have made a much better drawing surface. But this is fine. My mind feels more active than it has since I came in. My friend is facing me, kneeling on the ground.
It is a new video now. The perspective is higher than it had been for the majority of the last one. "Stupid shit." A voice comes from somewhere behind. The other person looks up from what he is drawing. "It's not the equipment that's at fault. It was you who forgot to turn it off." He disappears from the frame.
Everything spins around as the cameraman shifts it to the angle of the artist. A little bit of hair is visible at the bottom of the frame. His arm reaches out to create lateral detail on the inside of the door he has been drawing. A few more smaller lines and the material of the door has some definition. It looks like a heavy bamboo screen.
Fred looked at the drawing. He looked to his left. And back again. "Maybe you should draw something else." He said. His companion looked up. "Oh. Sure." He moved to a clean section of wood and started drawing.
With skill that must have been learned from a lot of practice, he sketched the shape of a slim face with four very light markings in the lower half of it.
It is a new video now. The perspective is higher than it had been for the majority of the last one. "Stupid shit." A voice comes from somewhere behind. The other person looks up from what he is drawing. "It's not the equipment that's at fault. It was you who forgot to turn it off." He disappears from the frame.
Everything spins around as the cameraman shifts it to the angle of the artist. A little bit of hair is visible at the bottom of the frame. His arm reaches out to create lateral detail on the inside of the door he has been drawing. A few more smaller lines and the material of the door has some definition. It looks like a heavy bamboo screen.
Fred looked at the drawing. He looked to his left. And back again. "Maybe you should draw something else." He said. His companion looked up. "Oh. Sure." He moved to a clean section of wood and started drawing.
With skill that must have been learned from a lot of practice, he sketched the shape of a slim face with four very light markings in the lower half of it.
Friday, May 15, 2015
Sometime in the future...
I can tell that at some point in the future, I'm going to find this first draft of the story rather embarrassing. I hope the polished, completed thing brings me nothing but pride.
Two day's work again/Getting interesting maybe
The informal one sits up and looks around. His eyes are wide. A gasp of air exits his mouth, shrill and abruptly cut off. The man in the suit looks at him and the frame shifts as the cameraman focuses on him, guiding the camera with his feet. Suddenly,the floor is all that can be seen. There is a sound like a button being pressed and then...Nothing.
Fred looked behind him at his companion in sweats. It looked like his mind was already beginning to fester in this environment. That couldn't be allowed to happen. If one of them went, the other two would soon follow. He clawed around in his pocket for something. Anything, really.
There was only a pen. Thin, shiny black. It was a simple design. His own design, actually.
Joints burning slightly, but in what felt like a good way, he knelt down and offered the pen to his companion. Unfocused, confused eyes looked up at him. "It'll make this place a little more interesting." Fred said, "Draw with it and stuff. We could play games too, if you want." He took it and pushed the tab that connected the cap to the body. It slid off with a click. "Thanks." Leaning into the wood, he began to draw.
I sketch some lines onto the floor. The pen slides across the floor a bit too well. If I had some sandpaper, I could have made a much better drawing surface. But this is fine. My mind feels more active than it has since I came in. My friend is facing me, kneeling on the ground.
Fred looked behind him at his companion in sweats. It looked like his mind was already beginning to fester in this environment. That couldn't be allowed to happen. If one of them went, the other two would soon follow. He clawed around in his pocket for something. Anything, really.
There was only a pen. Thin, shiny black. It was a simple design. His own design, actually.
Joints burning slightly, but in what felt like a good way, he knelt down and offered the pen to his companion. Unfocused, confused eyes looked up at him. "It'll make this place a little more interesting." Fred said, "Draw with it and stuff. We could play games too, if you want." He took it and pushed the tab that connected the cap to the body. It slid off with a click. "Thanks." Leaning into the wood, he began to draw.
I sketch some lines onto the floor. The pen slides across the floor a bit too well. If I had some sandpaper, I could have made a much better drawing surface. But this is fine. My mind feels more active than it has since I came in. My friend is facing me, kneeling on the ground.
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
Two days work(complications)
Stiffly, the man in the suit begins walking. He goes out of frame and comes back a few seconds later, suddenly filling the whole screen. He disappears and returns at the opposite side of the room again.
Fred felt his conscious mind beginning to melt away. Physical will was replaced by a longing for rest. His sense of time was inconsistent. It seemed to spurt out and then start dripping like a hose that had been bent. That wasn't completely the effect of the sluggish state of mind that was easing him into a deep sleep.
He suddenly realized what was happening and stood up on wobbly legs. In an effort to regain his consciousness, he made himself start walking around the rectangular establishment. The informal one arched his back and blearily opened his eyes.
A quiet clipping noise, like the sound of high heels on concrete. It's quiet, but I still notice it. The noise gets louder as the high heels lady comes closer. It somehow has a different quality from everything else. Maybe it's constant regularity. It gets louder than ever, then almost disappears. A few seconds later, I start to hear it again.
I am laying down on my face and I open my eyes. There is a lady who goes by. She fades away, and then returns as a horse with two legs. The optical manifestations are all different, but the noise is the same.
There is an echo now. And everything is gone. It's all a strange landscape of shades of red. They are moving synchronous to the sound. A sensation is suddenly present. It feels too far away, but it's connected somehow. I realize it's my hand. The other hand fades into my version of reality. Then my legs. Then my face. I open my eyes. A shiny black shoe flies right by my face.
Fred felt his conscious mind beginning to melt away. Physical will was replaced by a longing for rest. His sense of time was inconsistent. It seemed to spurt out and then start dripping like a hose that had been bent. That wasn't completely the effect of the sluggish state of mind that was easing him into a deep sleep.
He suddenly realized what was happening and stood up on wobbly legs. In an effort to regain his consciousness, he made himself start walking around the rectangular establishment. The informal one arched his back and blearily opened his eyes.
A quiet clipping noise, like the sound of high heels on concrete. It's quiet, but I still notice it. The noise gets louder as the high heels lady comes closer. It somehow has a different quality from everything else. Maybe it's constant regularity. It gets louder than ever, then almost disappears. A few seconds later, I start to hear it again.
I am laying down on my face and I open my eyes. There is a lady who goes by. She fades away, and then returns as a horse with two legs. The optical manifestations are all different, but the noise is the same.
There is an echo now. And everything is gone. It's all a strange landscape of shades of red. They are moving synchronous to the sound. A sensation is suddenly present. It feels too far away, but it's connected somehow. I realize it's my hand. The other hand fades into my version of reality. Then my legs. Then my face. I open my eyes. A shiny black shoe flies right by my face.
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Perception(working title)
This is what I've got for today. It's starting to look good and I'm trying to figure out the meaning of this story and what it's about. Details and all that.
The whole room turns on it's side with a rustle and a dull, plastic sound. Everything is a blur again and then the camera is focusing on the two men. The rather disheveled looking man in street clothes has curled up on the floor. He is breathing, but only very slightly.
Fred glanced at his informal companion. He was on his side, still with his knees drawn close to his chest. It would be so much easier to just sleep until they all had to leave. Better not to risk missing it though. The humidity loosened the threads in his suit and he was able to relax a bit. Leaning against the wall, eyes half closed, he felt ready to complete the objective. With any luck, they wouldn't starve during the wait.
It happened almost in stages. I rest my face in my hand and lean my whole body on my elbow to get more comfortable. That is nice for a while, but then my arm went numb. Small, precise, needling pinpricks of sensation envelope my hand. It feels cold and wet. I shift a little and it only gets worse.
I lean forward on both elbows with my head between my legs, resting on my hands. My back doesn't quite bend right to accommodate the pose. I ease myself onto my side and close my eyes. I won't go to sleep. Can't afford to miss it. I'll just lay here and think about movies and stormy nights sitting at my computer.
The man in the suit has almost closed his eyes. He is nestled into his suit and barely moves. Consciousness appears to bubble back up and his eyes snap open. Slowly and with some degree of difficulty, he stands up and stretches. His head and upper torso disappear.
Stiffly, the man in the suit begins walking. He goes out of frame and comes back a few seconds later, suddenly filling the whole screen. He disappears and returns at the opposite side of the room again.
The whole room turns on it's side with a rustle and a dull, plastic sound. Everything is a blur again and then the camera is focusing on the two men. The rather disheveled looking man in street clothes has curled up on the floor. He is breathing, but only very slightly.
Fred glanced at his informal companion. He was on his side, still with his knees drawn close to his chest. It would be so much easier to just sleep until they all had to leave. Better not to risk missing it though. The humidity loosened the threads in his suit and he was able to relax a bit. Leaning against the wall, eyes half closed, he felt ready to complete the objective. With any luck, they wouldn't starve during the wait.
It happened almost in stages. I rest my face in my hand and lean my whole body on my elbow to get more comfortable. That is nice for a while, but then my arm went numb. Small, precise, needling pinpricks of sensation envelope my hand. It feels cold and wet. I shift a little and it only gets worse.
I lean forward on both elbows with my head between my legs, resting on my hands. My back doesn't quite bend right to accommodate the pose. I ease myself onto my side and close my eyes. I won't go to sleep. Can't afford to miss it. I'll just lay here and think about movies and stormy nights sitting at my computer.
The man in the suit has almost closed his eyes. He is nestled into his suit and barely moves. Consciousness appears to bubble back up and his eyes snap open. Slowly and with some degree of difficulty, he stands up and stretches. His head and upper torso disappear.
Stiffly, the man in the suit begins walking. He goes out of frame and comes back a few seconds later, suddenly filling the whole screen. He disappears and returns at the opposite side of the room again.
Saturday, May 9, 2015
In a sweaty room
A moving figure entered my vision and I recognized the camera man's posture. He had the camera pointed at me. Slightly annoyed that he hadn't bothered too ask to film me, I gave him a jerky, cut-off half wave with my fingers. The camera held still for a moment, then he brought his arms down, holding it with his right hand and started walking around the room.
He too was looking and failing to find anything interesting in this almost featureless room. My arms were damp with sweat.
The scene, cropped into a rectangle is almost motionless. It sways just about imperceptibly. Two men are sitting at the far end of the room. They are only a few feet apart from each other. One is dressed rather casually in sweats and a black shirt. The other is in a business suit. His hair is the tangled ghost of a sharp haircut.
The one in sweats sways restlessly, legs drawn up to his chest. There is no expression on his face, but he somehow still seems to be conscious and sane. Business suit man is also rather restless, but that can only be seen just barely in the beat he is tapping out with his shoe.
The whole room turns on it's side with a rustle and a dull plastic sound. Everything is a blur again and then the camera is focusing on the two men.
He too was looking and failing to find anything interesting in this almost featureless room. My arms were damp with sweat.
The scene, cropped into a rectangle is almost motionless. It sways just about imperceptibly. Two men are sitting at the far end of the room. They are only a few feet apart from each other. One is dressed rather casually in sweats and a black shirt. The other is in a business suit. His hair is the tangled ghost of a sharp haircut.
The one in sweats sways restlessly, legs drawn up to his chest. There is no expression on his face, but he somehow still seems to be conscious and sane. Business suit man is also rather restless, but that can only be seen just barely in the beat he is tapping out with his shoe.
The whole room turns on it's side with a rustle and a dull plastic sound. Everything is a blur again and then the camera is focusing on the two men.
Friday, May 8, 2015
Brainstorming Again
Okay, it is now time to brainstorm. Again. Maybe there are actual brainstorming strategies to be used during times of...Writer's block. I will go and look that up right now. There are undoubtedly some. And that was undoubtedly the most clumsy sentence I have ever written.
I am back. Just realized something. I learned all that in school. A technique I will probably employ tonight while I wait for morning is mind mapping. I don't think I could do it effectively on the computer, so I'll just wait and post a pic tomorrow. But for now, I will try some others.
The camera sweeps across the scene to a man. He is sitting in the corner of the room, staring off into space. He notices the photographer and tilts his hand in a kind of wave. His eyes never seem to focus.Everything blurs for a second, and then all that can be seen is the floor. It bobs up and down in the frame as the photographer walks around the room, seemingly unaware that his camera is still recording.
Fred scratched his beard, his eyes sweeping across the room in search of anything more to look at than a dirty-looking man and the shapes in the wood floor. He remembered once losing his keys in his garden. They had disappeared with a rattle of metal and he spent a good forty five minutes looking for them. When it seemed he had looked everywhere, he began looking under rocks and pots. This was like that. No matter how hard he looked, interest was not to be found in this room. If he wanted that, he would have to go somewhere else.
I leaned back against the wall. The rough hewn stone at least offered some variety of sensation. Made it a bit less like one of those white sensory deprivation rooms. A shiver ran down the length of my arms. It might have been wiser to bring a sweater or something. But that wasn't what I was there for. It would be more productive for my mind to dwell on more relevant things.
The environment in the room was so painfully boring. I swept my hand across the cold floor and gathered some dust in a pile. In my mind, I built up a mountain range over the unsanitary collection of various particles. That made me realize. I wiped my hands a few times on my pants and pulled out some and sanitizer to disinfect my person.
With a fingernail, I flipped up the cap, and then squeezed a light green gel onto the palm of my hand. I closed the bottle, dropped it into my pocket, clasped my hands together, and began viciously rubbing them together.
I brought my hands up to my face to smell the sharp, beautiful smell of the hand sanitizer. It faded quickly and they were left a bit more moist, coated in a bitter taste known well to people who like to wash their hands with it before eating. Now that that was all gone, I resumed my gazing at the wall at the other end of the room.
A moving figure entered my vision and I recognized the camera man's posture. He had the camera pointed at me. Slightly annoyed that he hadn't bothered too ask to film me, I gave him a jerky, cut-off half wave with my fingers.
I am back. Just realized something. I learned all that in school. A technique I will probably employ tonight while I wait for morning is mind mapping. I don't think I could do it effectively on the computer, so I'll just wait and post a pic tomorrow. But for now, I will try some others.
The camera sweeps across the scene to a man. He is sitting in the corner of the room, staring off into space. He notices the photographer and tilts his hand in a kind of wave. His eyes never seem to focus.Everything blurs for a second, and then all that can be seen is the floor. It bobs up and down in the frame as the photographer walks around the room, seemingly unaware that his camera is still recording.
Fred scratched his beard, his eyes sweeping across the room in search of anything more to look at than a dirty-looking man and the shapes in the wood floor. He remembered once losing his keys in his garden. They had disappeared with a rattle of metal and he spent a good forty five minutes looking for them. When it seemed he had looked everywhere, he began looking under rocks and pots. This was like that. No matter how hard he looked, interest was not to be found in this room. If he wanted that, he would have to go somewhere else.
I leaned back against the wall. The rough hewn stone at least offered some variety of sensation. Made it a bit less like one of those white sensory deprivation rooms. A shiver ran down the length of my arms. It might have been wiser to bring a sweater or something. But that wasn't what I was there for. It would be more productive for my mind to dwell on more relevant things.
The environment in the room was so painfully boring. I swept my hand across the cold floor and gathered some dust in a pile. In my mind, I built up a mountain range over the unsanitary collection of various particles. That made me realize. I wiped my hands a few times on my pants and pulled out some and sanitizer to disinfect my person.
With a fingernail, I flipped up the cap, and then squeezed a light green gel onto the palm of my hand. I closed the bottle, dropped it into my pocket, clasped my hands together, and began viciously rubbing them together.
I brought my hands up to my face to smell the sharp, beautiful smell of the hand sanitizer. It faded quickly and they were left a bit more moist, coated in a bitter taste known well to people who like to wash their hands with it before eating. Now that that was all gone, I resumed my gazing at the wall at the other end of the room.
A moving figure entered my vision and I recognized the camera man's posture. He had the camera pointed at me. Slightly annoyed that he hadn't bothered too ask to film me, I gave him a jerky, cut-off half wave with my fingers.
Continuing...
Harsh, warm light radiated from the window to his right. He could feel the heat on his closed eyelids. The combination of the gentle warmth and the silky sheets he was wrapped in made his wait a very relaxing one.
And then the writer suddenly lost interest.. Human 2.0 was trapped in a couple paragraphs, forever locked in a small room, on his bed, waiting for his arm to connect.
I think I have writer's block. I haven't written a story in a while, so it's kind of hard to come up with new ideas and stuff. The skill must be exercised.
And then the writer suddenly lost interest.. Human 2.0 was trapped in a couple paragraphs, forever locked in a small room, on his bed, waiting for his arm to connect.
I think I have writer's block. I haven't written a story in a while, so it's kind of hard to come up with new ideas and stuff. The skill must be exercised.
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Missed a Day
I missed a day. Maybe I'll make up for it. Alright. Now to begin.
I think I want to organize this thing into a few main events, and then work from there. So first I have to come up wit an idea. That's really the hard part. I always come up with horrific cliches first, when I'm trying to come up with a story idea. I won't even bother to write those down. I think it should be something...relatable. But not so much that it's just a slice of life story. Dunno though. Slice of life might be the way to go. I'm picturing a forest. Lots of trees. Tall ones, too. Something like maybe a cross between a game of tag and paintball with real bullets. Or..maybe bows or someth--Nope, that's the Hunger Games. Maybe it should take place in somebody's mind. maybe two minds. Maybe a battle of minds, or perception, or something. Or maybe it should have something to do with robots. Or transhumanism. Ah. I like where this is going.
Just a quick sketch of what I'm thinking. It's pretty horrible, I know. I didn't put a whole lot of effort into it. That contact looking think up top is like a skin for the electronic eye pictured to it's right. The gray matrix in the arm is supposed to look kind of like silicone or something. Ahright. Now I will try to just write it out.
Human 2.0 fit the smooth hemisphere to a dip in his exposed scapula. He held the new arm against his shoulder as the gel between natural bone and the stuff grown in a lab became harder, to simulate a joint. Blood vessels reconnected, guided by markings in the individual cells. The feeling was strange. Like an insect was moving around under his skin. Not entirely pleasant.
It was stable enough to let go of now. He lay down in his bed wait through the remaining forty minutes he had until the connection was complete and seamless. In an earlier upgrade, he had tried to read, but found it...Difficult to concentrate. After he had read the first four pages over again several times, he just set the book down, closed his eyes and went to sleep.
Harsh, warm light radiated from the window to his right. He could feel the heat on his closed eyelids. The combination of the gentle warmth and the silky sheets he was wrapped in made his wait a very relaxing one.
AAAND....Now I'll stop for the day. I can feel my writing getting clumsier from lack of good descriptive language and stuff, so I'll resume tomorrow and see if I'm better. If I'm not, I'll just have to push through and see what I get.
I think I want to organize this thing into a few main events, and then work from there. So first I have to come up wit an idea. That's really the hard part. I always come up with horrific cliches first, when I'm trying to come up with a story idea. I won't even bother to write those down. I think it should be something...relatable. But not so much that it's just a slice of life story. Dunno though. Slice of life might be the way to go. I'm picturing a forest. Lots of trees. Tall ones, too. Something like maybe a cross between a game of tag and paintball with real bullets. Or..maybe bows or someth--Nope, that's the Hunger Games. Maybe it should take place in somebody's mind. maybe two minds. Maybe a battle of minds, or perception, or something. Or maybe it should have something to do with robots. Or transhumanism. Ah. I like where this is going.
Human 2.0 fit the smooth hemisphere to a dip in his exposed scapula. He held the new arm against his shoulder as the gel between natural bone and the stuff grown in a lab became harder, to simulate a joint. Blood vessels reconnected, guided by markings in the individual cells. The feeling was strange. Like an insect was moving around under his skin. Not entirely pleasant.
It was stable enough to let go of now. He lay down in his bed wait through the remaining forty minutes he had until the connection was complete and seamless. In an earlier upgrade, he had tried to read, but found it...Difficult to concentrate. After he had read the first four pages over again several times, he just set the book down, closed his eyes and went to sleep.
Harsh, warm light radiated from the window to his right. He could feel the heat on his closed eyelids. The combination of the gentle warmth and the silky sheets he was wrapped in made his wait a very relaxing one.
AAAND....Now I'll stop for the day. I can feel my writing getting clumsier from lack of good descriptive language and stuff, so I'll resume tomorrow and see if I'm better. If I'm not, I'll just have to push through and see what I get.
Sunday, May 3, 2015
Commitment
My school is just about over. I have an assignment to do. It is a commitment to write for ten minutes each day for two weeks, starting today. So, I think I will begin work on a new short story. And I promise--I will finish this one. This is just sad. -_- Like talking to a brick wall. But the good thing about that is, I can say whatever I want. That also has it's drawbacks though. So, this is going to start out looking really rough. I'll just type up any ideas I have and then publish them all as soon as ten minutes have passed and I'm done. This should be fun. This blog is like a journal. But without all those sketches in the margins. I must work on that. Maybe I should start drawing all the illustrations.(I think they're pretty important in a blog, if the story goes on and on. Kind of gives a rest, does all the visualizing work for you for a scene or two.)
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
It's my own fault anyway. Nobody to blame but myself.
I don't know quite what this was supposed to be. I wanted to express my present feelings and this is what came out of that. Stop laughing. As you can probably discern, my fingers are getting worse. It almost looked like they were looking better. Guess not. :/ Alright, this is the last bit of...Writing about me. I'm kind of feeling a new story idea coming on.
Gradually
Into my mind it's creeping
Only fine when I'm sleeping
It all rose from a sting
I've got no time for this
Don't have the mind for this
Why won't it just go
Driving me crazy
Typing's no more for the lazy
I'm kind of sick, my mind's hazy
Maybe
Yep, I've got contact dermatosis.
Gradually
Into my mind it's creeping
Only fine when I'm sleeping
It all rose from a sting
I've got no time for this
Don't have the mind for this
Why won't it just go
Driving me crazy
Typing's no more for the lazy
I'm kind of sick, my mind's hazy
Maybe
Yep, I've got contact dermatosis.
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Specimen
A flame of hope,
a bucket of matchwood
To my surprise,
A deviation
A new curiosity,
responsibility,
Life I can hold in my hand
Delicate now but hopefully,
I'll have a routine
A tiny structure dependent on me,
I have to watch attentively
Plans held down by a few strands of root,
But carefully they will substantiate,
For now though, I'll have to wait
Explanation:The sagebrush specimen I brought from Idaho has rooted!
Monday, April 13, 2015
Jolina Mae~Short Story
I'll probably draft this a few times, but for now, this is what I've got.
Jolina Mae was a rather quiet person. She was the mother of five children, who were all gone, and the grandmother of twenty five children, who rarely got to visit her. It was all fine with her; none of them liked her, and the littler ones found her terrifying. Her husband was dead and she lived by herself in a house in the middle of a large forest. When she and her husband had first bought it, she found the whole thing very romantic. Now it was the perfect place to be for an old lady who quite frankly despised other people.
When she felt like dying, she planned to sit in her rocking chair facing the door to her house and quietly pass on into whatever awaited her at death, leaving her withered corpse staring into the frame with cold, burnt out eyes. A kind of sentry to guard her house from the attention of children too curious for her own good. Eventually, that time came.
She was dusting her furniture; slowly making her way through the house when an odd feeling of release washed through her whole being. It felt like the conclusion to an extremely long story; rest for someone who had been walking without pause for a thousand years. Euphoria filled her mind as she hobbled over to the chair. This was it, and her end felt almost...poetic. She sat down and reached across the table at her side to turn on a small stove that had been worked into the surface. As Jolina Mae was waiting for her final cup of tea, her grip on the armrest loosened, and suddenly, there was nothing.
Jolina Mae was a rather quiet person. She was the mother of five children, who were all gone, and the grandmother of twenty five children, who rarely got to visit her. It was all fine with her; none of them liked her, and the littler ones found her terrifying. Her husband was dead and she lived by herself in a house in the middle of a large forest. When she and her husband had first bought it, she found the whole thing very romantic. Now it was the perfect place to be for an old lady who quite frankly despised other people.
When she felt like dying, she planned to sit in her rocking chair facing the door to her house and quietly pass on into whatever awaited her at death, leaving her withered corpse staring into the frame with cold, burnt out eyes. A kind of sentry to guard her house from the attention of children too curious for her own good. Eventually, that time came.
She was dusting her furniture; slowly making her way through the house when an odd feeling of release washed through her whole being. It felt like the conclusion to an extremely long story; rest for someone who had been walking without pause for a thousand years. Euphoria filled her mind as she hobbled over to the chair. This was it, and her end felt almost...poetic. She sat down and reached across the table at her side to turn on a small stove that had been worked into the surface. As Jolina Mae was waiting for her final cup of tea, her grip on the armrest loosened, and suddenly, there was nothing.
Thursday, April 9, 2015
Put wet in--Get dry out
This isn't really relevant -- Sure it's a story, but I did even worse than writing myself in.(cause that's apparently a bad thing) The whole thing is about me. Sit back and read. This seemed longer when I put it on Google+.
So, I don't expect anybody to care;I'm just kind of logging something kind of...Ironic I guess. So, in the past week I've noticed that the skin between my fingers was was starting to sting. I noticed a fine webbing of what kind of looked like --trigger warning xD-- xacto blade cuts. It's gotten worse and I became slightly concerned. Now, for anyone to get this, you have to know that I have...An ocd...Of sorts. If I touch anything that a lot of people touch, I get a weird feeling like I can feel the germs moving around, trying to get in and I refrain from touching any of my stuff(cause it might get dirty) until my hands are washed. I sometimes bring toilet paper to public spaces to avoid touching stuff. So I wash my hands a lot. After almost everything I do. So now you know that, I will continue. I was on my computer, and I thought I should look it up to see if there was some kind of cure for my dry hands. I looked up the symptoms and in about ten minutes read something in the description for 'contact dermatitis.' At the top of the list for causes was frequent hand washing. O_O It appears that in a strange, ironic twist of fate, I made my hands all dry by getting them all wet. I have contact dermatitis. In a few weeks, my hands should be fine.
So, I don't expect anybody to care;I'm just kind of logging something kind of...Ironic I guess. So, in the past week I've noticed that the skin between my fingers was was starting to sting. I noticed a fine webbing of what kind of looked like --trigger warning xD-- xacto blade cuts. It's gotten worse and I became slightly concerned. Now, for anyone to get this, you have to know that I have...An ocd...Of sorts. If I touch anything that a lot of people touch, I get a weird feeling like I can feel the germs moving around, trying to get in and I refrain from touching any of my stuff(cause it might get dirty) until my hands are washed. I sometimes bring toilet paper to public spaces to avoid touching stuff. So I wash my hands a lot. After almost everything I do. So now you know that, I will continue. I was on my computer, and I thought I should look it up to see if there was some kind of cure for my dry hands. I looked up the symptoms and in about ten minutes read something in the description for 'contact dermatitis.' At the top of the list for causes was frequent hand washing. O_O It appears that in a strange, ironic twist of fate, I made my hands all dry by getting them all wet. I have contact dermatitis. In a few weeks, my hands should be fine.
Friday, February 27, 2015
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Cartographer
Droplets
rested on black trees. The air was light, and to get a good
breath you really had to struggle. But people survived. It was day
two, and the eternal night was gone. Now they had a good long day
ahead. Many of them would make it through, and in good health too.
But their science couldn't keep everyone around. They were half an
hour through through and Aalam was fourteen minutes old; by no means
the first.
The
arid dirt whipped itself up into a dust devil behind him. Dark yellow
soil filled the soles of his shoes. He wasn't going
anywhere in particular; just wandering. There where many places yet
to be discovered and explored. Aalam fit a mask over his face, so
that he could get more air and go a little faster. He jumped into a
canyon in a dusty cloud of dirt, and landed softly. There were no
trees here; this place hadn't yet been reached.
The
sinuous, contorted shapes of the rocks had a certain wonder about
them that he didn't want muffled by trees. But that wasn't for him to
decide. Yet. He scrambled up a large stone without any fear of
falling. The landscape was filled with huge, smooth mountains and
sharp dips. Also trees, in places. Yellow was the color that
dominated. Dark, smooth yellow. People said it was a calming color.
The houses were everywhere. They were made to blend in though, so
they didn't stand out. There was enough atmosphere above for a light
purple sky.
He
sat down in a dip at the very tip of the rock. Leaned back into the
crumbly stone. The sun was like a blanket. A rock fell into the
canyon. He looked up. Someone was walking along the edge. Aalam watched the person for a while until she disappeared behind a rock.
After a while, the waking world and dream began to blur, so he forced
himself to get up and start toward home.
Along
the way was a forest of dwarf trees. They reached up to his
shoulders, brushing past him easily. They were very soft. He heard
voices ahead. When he reached them he realized it was one of the
houses in the ground. There was no one else close, so he tapped on
the ground above them with his foot and ducked under the trees. He
found a huge rock that was at least twenty feet high and stuck his
hands into a crack. The door opened easily.
Aalam
lived by himself. He had a family, but he had chosen to live alone
because he liked seclusion. There were two levels in the house,
connected by a rope trailing down from a hole in the ceiling of the
first one. He walked over to his computer screen and unclipped a
black box from the side of his jumpsuit and dropped it into the slot
to empty into the database. His task was to map out all of the
uncharted land here. The table to his right was covered in equipment.
One more thing, the mask was added to the table.
While
a drink was brewing for him, he sat down and began switching the
perspective for the video he had taken to areal. The video was long,
so it took a while. The drink finished before processing was done. On
the screen was a wide trail that wound around in a vaguely straight
line. He zoomed in and typed up a note about a mineral deposit he had
found interesting.
It
was tempting to just delete the canyon or make it look like trees
were already there. But some people had already tried that, and he
didn't want to share their fate. He did delete the girl though. The
edit was small and he made sure it was untraceable. The other
cartographers did that too. That way, it was harder to be watched.
Some people deliberately wandered into the map so that the authority
didn't get suspicious. Those people were payed generously, even
though they never asked for money.
He
zoomed out and collected his trail to put in the map. When he had it
hovering over the correct place he noticed that most of what he'd
worked on was already mapped. The section assimilated onto the map,
overlapping some things. That would just mean more information, so he
wasn't mad. Whoever had mapped before him had put notes in, and he
read them. There was something moving in the trees.
Upon
closer inspection it was revealed to be a person. He copied that
section and changed it back to land view. There he was, in the
trees. Somebody had followed him. And put him...on the map. It was
easy to delete; he had the code. But somebody had put him on the map.
He was incredulous. A quick search gave him names and locations of
all of the cartographers near him.
He
found the computer address of the most likely culprit: ”FOX21,”
and angrily asked why he had not been deleted. FOX21 answered quickly
in audio:”Sorry. I didn't see you.”
“You
followed me.” He said.
“No
I didn't. You're being a baby.”
He
heard a finger on a computer screen from her audio. And then the
sound went out. She had changed the address.
Aalam
sighed. He was probably just being paranoid. But she had followed
him, which was bad enough, but she didn't even delete him. Maybe she
was spying for the authorities. But then, they probably already
watched them. They said that everyone had to be cataloged so that
they could make “informed decisions.” He could kind of see the
logic in that. But they could live with just one or two people off
their grid.
The
rotation was not quite over. It was hard to tell, of course, but
everybody had watches and things. And their biological clocks. Of
course he had to use that time for mapping. But he could have some
food and a nap without any trouble. The hydroponics lab was on the
level above. He jumped and grabbed the rope, then climbed up, locking
it between his knees like his parents had taught him. The plants were
green up there.
That
was because radiation was filtered for the healthiest plants
possible. It was set up in racks. They were a twelve by twelve grid
and the plants grew in the squares, with containers full of the water
and other things necessary for their existence right below, where
they grew. There was a glass cover over each rack that filtered the
light.
He
reached under and unhooked the water container for a potato plant,
careful to support the roots in one gloved hand while he cut off two
large potatoes. After they were each cut in half, he fed them into
the shredder and dropped them all in a pan. It was a self heating
pan, so he could take it anywhere. He slid down to the first floor
and let it cook on his lap, with a plastic board protecting him from
the heat.
Aalam
woke up and immediately knew that something was wrong. Of course. He
had overslept. Outside, everything was quiet and the stars silently
radiated light through the tiny holes in the rock wall. This time
always creeped him out so that he usually didn't miss the curfew. It
took less than five minutes for him to fall asleep, curled up under
his covers with the hole leading to the first floor covered by one of
his cooking appliances. Yeah, he was paranoid.
A
buzzing in his ear brought him back. He rotated back in. There were
twelve revolutions of the clock left before he had to get back to
work. The clocks were amazing. Coming to this place, they had to
reconfigure time, but they went a step further and designed 3dTIME.
They were made up of two rings, one over the other like a sphere that
had been chopped up in a really weird way. Floating inside the cage
of the 3dTIMe was a little ball that made them turn slowly with a
radio signal. It looked like an atom. At least, the old model,
Bohr's.
He
removed a touchscreen from the wall in front of him and found a book
to read. After two revolutions, he realized he wasn't being careful
with his time. With a swipe of his finger across the screen, the
default breakfast mixed itself up and declared itself ready with a
chime. He leaned over and opened up his desk to take it. The default
breakfast wasn't without options. Maybe that made it something other
than a default. Today, he had it made as a drink to be efficient.
The
last revolution came around quickly, and he jumped down the hole.
When the box was turned on, he looked at the map for a new place,
found one and ran out into the stars. The authorities had instructed
them to turn their heads a lot and get as much land as possible, but
after a while of that it was realized that the distances warped the
map. He instead focused on the detail in the small slice of the map
that he was making. He stopped and looked closely at a shimmering
rock. It was probably just a small sampling of the bigger deposit
likely right under his feet. He made an audio note about that. A
dozen small vials were clipped to his arms and he took of one so that
he could take a dirt sample. The dirt analyzers would like that.
A
scraping of feet on rock made him pause. There was somebody behind
him. Probably taking video. And he didn't feel like he would be
deleted. Quietly, he slipped a small gun out of his bag. Not lethal;
it was issued to mappers for the crazies that occasionally popped up.
The person got a little bit closer. Just about close enough to shoot,
he thought. Quickly, he turned around with the gun pointed straight
at...somebody.
Disclaimer thing(not sure if I need to, but I'll just play it safe) I don't own any of the photographs.
Disclaimer thing(not sure if I need to, but I'll just play it safe) I don't own any of the photographs.
Artificial age~Sonnet
Think deeply.
Is it true?
Ancient forms
Dwarfed by you
Crown is shorn
It is old
It is young
Easy sold
It is done
Twisted, gnarled, chemical
Paradox
Towering soul
shallow rocks
Time invested
Age digested
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