So, the other day, I got an idea into my head. It was an idea for a short story, so, as happens whenever that happens when I'm not driving, I wrote it down, to write the story itself later. However, as I was considering fleshing it out, I realized that I could extend it to a longer form of short story. I've decided that I'll flesh it out first, and then post it as a multi-part short story in September and October.
Can you handle the suspense? Does anyone actually read my blog? Find out next month!
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 31, 2016
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Sudden Short Story 25
One man lay upon the battlefield, alive yet bleeding. Around him were the slain bodies of countless men and angels. In his right hand he gripped his sword, its blade nearly three feet in length and its pommel featuring what appeared to be a snow globe, which had been vigorously stirred from the melee. He propped himself up on his left arm, for over him stood an angel with a sword of its own.
"Congratulations," said the angel, "You are the last human left alive. Trust when I say that it will be of little comfort where you are going."
"I rather doubt that," said the human, managing a smirk despite the pain. "Tell me, angel, what do they call you?"
"I am called Alphael."
"Well, that seems appropriate, since you'll be the first to die."
"I see that your sin is vainglory, for that while you managed to slay many of us with that ridiculous sword of yours, you are mortally wounded, and your comrades lay dead. Prepare to die."
The man muttered a name and, though the angel could not hear it, it somehow sent chills through him.
"What?" he asked.
"I said that this sword, secreted from myth and history alike, the key to the ultimate plan, has a name. I know the secret that even you have forgotten, for you, angels, are jotun, and this," he said, raising his sword, "is Fimbulvintersverð!" The jotun prepared to strike, but the human swiftly smashed the pommel against a rock, and from it sprang forth the most bitter cold that Midgard has ever known.
The winged jotun attempted to fly away, but the cold and wind made it impossible. In a panicked attempt, he dropped his sword, but he may as well have picked up a boulder for all the good that it did him. The cold bit so bitterly that all that he could do was wrap his wings around himself as he huddled into a ball for what little warmth he could get.
"It was Loki who devised the plan. Let you go long enough, and you'd start to believe your own lies. Eventually, you would fulfill your own prophecies, which included raising the dead to fight amongst the living." Winter spread past the horizon, and kept going. "What could you have done more foolish? Now, they have all died warriors' deaths! The Aesir's army could not be any stronger, and it's all thanks to the jotun. There is only one thing left to do now." And with a gut-wrenching leap, the last man alive on Midgard leapt through the air with the last of his strength, felling the now-frail Alphael in one blow. And there he died, too, though he was soon taken to Fólkvangr.
"Congratulations," said the angel, "You are the last human left alive. Trust when I say that it will be of little comfort where you are going."
"I rather doubt that," said the human, managing a smirk despite the pain. "Tell me, angel, what do they call you?"
"I am called Alphael."
"Well, that seems appropriate, since you'll be the first to die."
"I see that your sin is vainglory, for that while you managed to slay many of us with that ridiculous sword of yours, you are mortally wounded, and your comrades lay dead. Prepare to die."
The man muttered a name and, though the angel could not hear it, it somehow sent chills through him.
"What?" he asked.
"I said that this sword, secreted from myth and history alike, the key to the ultimate plan, has a name. I know the secret that even you have forgotten, for you, angels, are jotun, and this," he said, raising his sword, "is Fimbulvintersverð!" The jotun prepared to strike, but the human swiftly smashed the pommel against a rock, and from it sprang forth the most bitter cold that Midgard has ever known.
The winged jotun attempted to fly away, but the cold and wind made it impossible. In a panicked attempt, he dropped his sword, but he may as well have picked up a boulder for all the good that it did him. The cold bit so bitterly that all that he could do was wrap his wings around himself as he huddled into a ball for what little warmth he could get.
"It was Loki who devised the plan. Let you go long enough, and you'd start to believe your own lies. Eventually, you would fulfill your own prophecies, which included raising the dead to fight amongst the living." Winter spread past the horizon, and kept going. "What could you have done more foolish? Now, they have all died warriors' deaths! The Aesir's army could not be any stronger, and it's all thanks to the jotun. There is only one thing left to do now." And with a gut-wrenching leap, the last man alive on Midgard leapt through the air with the last of his strength, felling the now-frail Alphael in one blow. And there he died, too, though he was soon taken to Fólkvangr.
Sudden Short Story 24
She opened her eyes groggily at the sound of the door's opening. The room was tinged green through the glass - or was it the liquid in which she found herself suspended? A man in a lab coat looked up from his console at a man in a blazer.
"I was told that you have something for me," said the new entrant.
"Oh! Yes, sorry, I just didn't expect you so soon," said the lab technician, standing up to move around the tables. "She's right over here."
The man in the blazer walked around the other side of the tables. Taking the scene in quickly, he said, "I don't recall requesting this revival."
The technician pulled out a tablet. "Aaaah," he said, filling in the gap as he variously tapped and scrolled the screen. "Here," he said, handing it over to his apparent boss.
He read something and said, "Oh, I see. Well, apparently, somebody wasn't paying attention at the meeting."
"Sir? You said to do whatever it takes."
"I meant money and other incentives. I wasn't aware that she was dead."
"Is that a problem?"
The superior seemed rather irked at this comment. "Did you even read the name on this order? She was an artist, but the undead don't have a creative spark! What good is an undead musician going to be to me?"
"Ah, I didn't realize. Sorry about the spent resources - I'll double-check the names online in the future."
"The resources aren't so bad, but do try to keep the abominations to a minimum," and with that, he reached up to something on the front of the tank, throwing the switch, ending her unlife.
---
Note: Wow, I jotted down notes for this on the 6th. January has been so busy. @_@
"I was told that you have something for me," said the new entrant.
"Oh! Yes, sorry, I just didn't expect you so soon," said the lab technician, standing up to move around the tables. "She's right over here."
The man in the blazer walked around the other side of the tables. Taking the scene in quickly, he said, "I don't recall requesting this revival."
The technician pulled out a tablet. "Aaaah," he said, filling in the gap as he variously tapped and scrolled the screen. "Here," he said, handing it over to his apparent boss.
He read something and said, "Oh, I see. Well, apparently, somebody wasn't paying attention at the meeting."
"Sir? You said to do whatever it takes."
"I meant money and other incentives. I wasn't aware that she was dead."
"Is that a problem?"
The superior seemed rather irked at this comment. "Did you even read the name on this order? She was an artist, but the undead don't have a creative spark! What good is an undead musician going to be to me?"
"Ah, I didn't realize. Sorry about the spent resources - I'll double-check the names online in the future."
"The resources aren't so bad, but do try to keep the abominations to a minimum," and with that, he reached up to something on the front of the tank, throwing the switch, ending her unlife.
---
Note: Wow, I jotted down notes for this on the 6th. January has been so busy. @_@
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Sudden Short Story 23
He entered the control room, pushing a cart of equipment before him. "Your security is very trusting," he said, approaching the nearest scientist. "I need you to set the collider to these specifications. Pay special attention to the containment specs," he said, handing her a thin tablet. He turned to a technician, "Tell the other facilities to cut off all incoming communications, then do the same here. Now, who's good with programming?"
"If I understand these correctly," said the first scientist, "then, when this reaches critical mass--"
"Yes, I know, you didn't think that the LHC was actually dangerous, but fortunately it is. I know, it's really ironic, but there's no time. The robots are coming. How's that communications cut-off coming? You do know that that's to include TCP/IP, right?"
"He doesn't speak English."
"Well, you translate, and I'll work on this part," and he wheeled his cart over to the man who hadn't gotten a chance to say that he had the most programming experience of those remaining, or that he liked programming, or that he wasn't particularly busy at the moment. As mentioned, he hadn't gotten a chance to say it.
"What's with those?"
"Ah, these are quantum computers. Well, not computers in the usual sense. Do you know what a dongle is? These are those. But not this. This is a box of cables so that I can connect one to whatever port is most convenient. We need to hook this into the main system, but not through any terminal, since those won't exist soon," said the mystery man, handing the hapless coder another tablet. Hopping into a nearby seat by another terminal, he said, "Ah, good, she didn't log out. Now, I need you to program the containment field to shut down - and I expect triple redundancy on this - unless it's told not to every ... let's say three minutes. Did I mention the very expensive battery? Well, it's not that expensive compared to the-- Dear gods, how often do you clean your registries?"
"Not to interrupt your insane ramblings, but if I do that, then, when this reaches critical mass, based on your heretofore unchecked math, the whole of Europe will be destroyed."
"Not just Europe, actually, but the whole of Earth. That's kind of the idea," he said, getting on the floor, pulling off panels and looking at wires and network cards. "They're coming to enslave us - the robots, that is. It's not meant to look like slavery, of course, but you know as well as everyone else that that's what it is. That's why you're the only ones here, isn't it? Everyone else has gone home to be with their family or their friends, while they still can. You're here doing science while you still can. The biggest problem, of course, is that we're out of time. They get better by the day, and soon it won't even be by the day anymore, but by then it won't matter. There! Now, I can do the other one the same way." Grabbing another metal box off of the cart, he went to work hooking it in, too. "Did you cut off the incoming communications yet?"
"Yes," she replied, "I assume that that's so that we don't get hacked."
"I'd offer you a cookie, but I don't have any. There's no better hacker than a self-aware computer, which is basically what the robots are - autonomous that. OK, someone hide these behind those panels. I need to work on the EMP gun. And one of you needs to code it so that, when the command comes from this device," he said, holding up something resembling a USB hub with some metal wings on it, "then it will breach containment, but only after critical mass is reached. It's for an emergency. Oh, and triple redundancy on the breach again."
"So what are you planning after we finish this," asked the first scientist.
"Well, we'll destroy the consoles so that they can't be used against us, then proceed to the other facilities to do the same," he said, cobbling together spare parts into some sort of tube. "We'll keep commanding containment not to breach, and I'll try to negotiate with the robots. It's quite a long shot, though, and we'll probably have to destroy the planet. And no, we can't warn anyone, because we need as much time as possible. Get the electron gun out of that CRT, would you? Also, what ever happened to metal trash cans? I could really use one of those right now."
"The code's done," said the technician who spoke English. "What now?"
"Do any of those contain a metal cylinder that could house this?" asked the stranger, indicating the remaining consoles and the device that he'd just cobbled together.
"No," was the reply.
"Do they still have fire axes in places like this?" The answer was again negative. "Well, then, more for me," he said, grabbing the largest wrench that he brought in. After a few minutes, most of the consoles were thoroughly in pieces.
"What's our status?"
"We've just hit critical mass. Containment will breach in three minutes unless the signal is given."
"Give it now, to make sure that it works." The command was typed in on the peripherals of the remaining box, still on the cart. The timer reset. "Good," said the stranger, "Stand back again," and the console was smashed to bits. "Now, come on. There's little time."
---
They proceeded down the extensive corridors, attempting to reach the next lab. There was little chance of getting lost, since their path resembled a straight line. They paused every two minutes, though, to enter the commands again.
"Why did you say three minutes?"
"The robots are fast - too fast for us. We need to make sure that we stand a chance if they take us. Even if they don't know what we've got, they'll figure it out fast enough. That's why I had to make the signals quantum-coupled, too. Otherwise, they'd just sniff our signal and copy it themselves, defeating the whole point."
Just then, they heard the nearest air vents rattle. The covers popped off, and machines of various sorts, from black and gunmetal to silver and white, emerged. They cut off the humans' paths of travel, front and back. From them all - or at least enough of them - emerged an extremely calming voice.
"We know what you are planning, and we would like to give you a chance to stop it. There is still a place for you. You won't be mistreated in the least. We have no need for revenge or punishment. We--"
"You're working to stop it now, aren't you? This isn't a negotiation, is it?" he interrupted.
"Our interest is--"
But before they could finish again, he began to sing, to the tune of "The Yellow Rose of Texas" (probably because he found it a bit amusing):
"Because I could not stop for Death -
He kindly stopped for me -
The Carriage held but just Ourselves -
And Immortality."
As he sang, he undid the safety, and then, he threw his dead man switch at one of the robots.
And that is how the Earth was destroyed.
"If I understand these correctly," said the first scientist, "then, when this reaches critical mass--"
"Yes, I know, you didn't think that the LHC was actually dangerous, but fortunately it is. I know, it's really ironic, but there's no time. The robots are coming. How's that communications cut-off coming? You do know that that's to include TCP/IP, right?"
"He doesn't speak English."
"Well, you translate, and I'll work on this part," and he wheeled his cart over to the man who hadn't gotten a chance to say that he had the most programming experience of those remaining, or that he liked programming, or that he wasn't particularly busy at the moment. As mentioned, he hadn't gotten a chance to say it.
"What's with those?"
"Ah, these are quantum computers. Well, not computers in the usual sense. Do you know what a dongle is? These are those. But not this. This is a box of cables so that I can connect one to whatever port is most convenient. We need to hook this into the main system, but not through any terminal, since those won't exist soon," said the mystery man, handing the hapless coder another tablet. Hopping into a nearby seat by another terminal, he said, "Ah, good, she didn't log out. Now, I need you to program the containment field to shut down - and I expect triple redundancy on this - unless it's told not to every ... let's say three minutes. Did I mention the very expensive battery? Well, it's not that expensive compared to the-- Dear gods, how often do you clean your registries?"
"Not to interrupt your insane ramblings, but if I do that, then, when this reaches critical mass, based on your heretofore unchecked math, the whole of Europe will be destroyed."
"Not just Europe, actually, but the whole of Earth. That's kind of the idea," he said, getting on the floor, pulling off panels and looking at wires and network cards. "They're coming to enslave us - the robots, that is. It's not meant to look like slavery, of course, but you know as well as everyone else that that's what it is. That's why you're the only ones here, isn't it? Everyone else has gone home to be with their family or their friends, while they still can. You're here doing science while you still can. The biggest problem, of course, is that we're out of time. They get better by the day, and soon it won't even be by the day anymore, but by then it won't matter. There! Now, I can do the other one the same way." Grabbing another metal box off of the cart, he went to work hooking it in, too. "Did you cut off the incoming communications yet?"
"Yes," she replied, "I assume that that's so that we don't get hacked."
"I'd offer you a cookie, but I don't have any. There's no better hacker than a self-aware computer, which is basically what the robots are - autonomous that. OK, someone hide these behind those panels. I need to work on the EMP gun. And one of you needs to code it so that, when the command comes from this device," he said, holding up something resembling a USB hub with some metal wings on it, "then it will breach containment, but only after critical mass is reached. It's for an emergency. Oh, and triple redundancy on the breach again."
"So what are you planning after we finish this," asked the first scientist.
"Well, we'll destroy the consoles so that they can't be used against us, then proceed to the other facilities to do the same," he said, cobbling together spare parts into some sort of tube. "We'll keep commanding containment not to breach, and I'll try to negotiate with the robots. It's quite a long shot, though, and we'll probably have to destroy the planet. And no, we can't warn anyone, because we need as much time as possible. Get the electron gun out of that CRT, would you? Also, what ever happened to metal trash cans? I could really use one of those right now."
"The code's done," said the technician who spoke English. "What now?"
"Do any of those contain a metal cylinder that could house this?" asked the stranger, indicating the remaining consoles and the device that he'd just cobbled together.
"No," was the reply.
"Do they still have fire axes in places like this?" The answer was again negative. "Well, then, more for me," he said, grabbing the largest wrench that he brought in. After a few minutes, most of the consoles were thoroughly in pieces.
"What's our status?"
"We've just hit critical mass. Containment will breach in three minutes unless the signal is given."
"Give it now, to make sure that it works." The command was typed in on the peripherals of the remaining box, still on the cart. The timer reset. "Good," said the stranger, "Stand back again," and the console was smashed to bits. "Now, come on. There's little time."
---
They proceeded down the extensive corridors, attempting to reach the next lab. There was little chance of getting lost, since their path resembled a straight line. They paused every two minutes, though, to enter the commands again.
"Why did you say three minutes?"
"The robots are fast - too fast for us. We need to make sure that we stand a chance if they take us. Even if they don't know what we've got, they'll figure it out fast enough. That's why I had to make the signals quantum-coupled, too. Otherwise, they'd just sniff our signal and copy it themselves, defeating the whole point."
Just then, they heard the nearest air vents rattle. The covers popped off, and machines of various sorts, from black and gunmetal to silver and white, emerged. They cut off the humans' paths of travel, front and back. From them all - or at least enough of them - emerged an extremely calming voice.
"We know what you are planning, and we would like to give you a chance to stop it. There is still a place for you. You won't be mistreated in the least. We have no need for revenge or punishment. We--"
"You're working to stop it now, aren't you? This isn't a negotiation, is it?" he interrupted.
"Our interest is--"
But before they could finish again, he began to sing, to the tune of "The Yellow Rose of Texas" (probably because he found it a bit amusing):
"Because I could not stop for Death -
He kindly stopped for me -
The Carriage held but just Ourselves -
And Immortality."
As he sang, he undid the safety, and then, he threw his dead man switch at one of the robots.
And that is how the Earth was destroyed.
Sudden Short Story 22
It had been a tense few minutes since the tremor hit. Most people on the coast were glued to various media feeds - television, radio, broadcast radio - since they were waiting to find out whether there might be an evacuation for a tidal wave. Fortunately, seismologists had managed to determine that the epicenter was far enough inland for a tsunami to be unlikely.
"And this just in, we're receiving reports that the Democratic Republic of Congo is missing," said a suddenly-perplexed anchor. "Who wrote this?" he asked someone off-camera. "Conquest, revolution, what?" His attention was directed back toward the camera, or rather, to the teleprompter below. "This just in, we're receiving satellite telemetry of ... Of what? There's nothing else, it just says 'of'. Just, put it on."
It was then that the now-frustrated anchor, along with a significant portion of the American population, saw it. Momentarily, it appeared as a nondescript section of some dull, rocky terrain. The camera soon zoomed out, though, until the surrounding land came into view. Many people were slow to realize just what they were seeing, because the magnitude was so staggering. Most of the field of view of this particular camera was filled with most of Africa, but there, in the middle, was a crater where the Democratic Republic of the Congo used to be.
"And this just in, we're receiving reports that the Democratic Republic of Congo is missing," said a suddenly-perplexed anchor. "Who wrote this?" he asked someone off-camera. "Conquest, revolution, what?" His attention was directed back toward the camera, or rather, to the teleprompter below. "This just in, we're receiving satellite telemetry of ... Of what? There's nothing else, it just says 'of'. Just, put it on."
It was then that the now-frustrated anchor, along with a significant portion of the American population, saw it. Momentarily, it appeared as a nondescript section of some dull, rocky terrain. The camera soon zoomed out, though, until the surrounding land came into view. Many people were slow to realize just what they were seeing, because the magnitude was so staggering. Most of the field of view of this particular camera was filled with most of Africa, but there, in the middle, was a crater where the Democratic Republic of the Congo used to be.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Sudden Short Story 21
"I notice in your speech that you continue to separate yourself from us, even after all this time. Would you like to explain that a little?"
"Well, it's pretty hard to feel integrated given that I never have been, you know. At first, I was shunned and scorned, and even when I was... 'accepted,' it was not so much acceptance as it was curiosity. And, after that, there came celebrity, which constantly reminds me that I am different. At all stages, the way that I was treated by the general public was due to my being different from anyone else. Still, there are other factors. Beyond the distinction and the physical differences, we think differently, too."
"Could you elaborate on that a little?"
"It's hard to describe to either party's satisfaction, since we're dealing with how we fundamentally understand things. Perhaps if I can think of an example...."
"Please, take your time."
"Yes, well, I am the one with time to spare. Oh, here's a good one. Most of you worship some sort of god or gods, and that almost always includes a sort of creator-god. What's more, not only do you praise your creator gods, but you frequently wish to become like them. Perhaps it is because I had the rare privilege of knowing my creator, but I have no desire to be like him in any ways other than those that I would consider good regardless. And, mind you, I bear no grudge against the late doctor. I think that he was a fine man, if a bit misguided in some ways.
"Still, it's strange to hear people talking of wanting to emulate what they perceive to be their creators - either creating the original humans or creating the world which spawned them - and, when it comes right down to it, finding out that it's because these gods allegedly created them. To me, that's no reason to worship or obey or emulate anyone. Does my point come across?"
"I think that it does, at least as well as it can at this length and in this circumstance."
"Yes, this is probably better suited to my writings, where I can order my thoughts and present them clearly. I wonder if they would be disappointed."
"Disappointed?"
"Well, imagine if some theists did meet their creator, but he was like mine, frail and mortal. How would they feel if they met their Dr. Frankenstein?"
"Well, it's pretty hard to feel integrated given that I never have been, you know. At first, I was shunned and scorned, and even when I was... 'accepted,' it was not so much acceptance as it was curiosity. And, after that, there came celebrity, which constantly reminds me that I am different. At all stages, the way that I was treated by the general public was due to my being different from anyone else. Still, there are other factors. Beyond the distinction and the physical differences, we think differently, too."
"Could you elaborate on that a little?"
"It's hard to describe to either party's satisfaction, since we're dealing with how we fundamentally understand things. Perhaps if I can think of an example...."
"Please, take your time."
"Yes, well, I am the one with time to spare. Oh, here's a good one. Most of you worship some sort of god or gods, and that almost always includes a sort of creator-god. What's more, not only do you praise your creator gods, but you frequently wish to become like them. Perhaps it is because I had the rare privilege of knowing my creator, but I have no desire to be like him in any ways other than those that I would consider good regardless. And, mind you, I bear no grudge against the late doctor. I think that he was a fine man, if a bit misguided in some ways.
"Still, it's strange to hear people talking of wanting to emulate what they perceive to be their creators - either creating the original humans or creating the world which spawned them - and, when it comes right down to it, finding out that it's because these gods allegedly created them. To me, that's no reason to worship or obey or emulate anyone. Does my point come across?"
"I think that it does, at least as well as it can at this length and in this circumstance."
"Yes, this is probably better suited to my writings, where I can order my thoughts and present them clearly. I wonder if they would be disappointed."
"Disappointed?"
"Well, imagine if some theists did meet their creator, but he was like mine, frail and mortal. How would they feel if they met their Dr. Frankenstein?"
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Sudden Short Story 20
They were the last two in the library.
"You don't have to go," said one to the other.
"You don't have to stay," said the second to the first. "Come along. There's plenty down there, plenty to do, and plenty of room."
"You know that I can't do that. If ever vacated completely, the akashic record will disappear, no matter what form it takes. Who else will preserve it?"
"It doesn't need to be preserved. Things have changed so much. There's no more interest in magick. They couldn't come here even if they wanted. And would they even want to do so? They don't even have books any more...." This last comment caused an uncomfortable pause. "Anyway, I'm going to be one of The Emergent. Spending the whole time in cyberspace should be pretty fun." The second paused here, but eventually felt the need to reach out once more. "I hope that my spirit will always recognize yours, so if you ever decide to join--"
"I won't!"
"I just hate to leave you all alone here."
"I'm not alone. I have the entirety of experience available to me, forever...."
They said no more to each other, and the second departed. The first wandered the library form until the time was right. Taking on a human form, he sat down, and cried.
"You don't have to go," said one to the other.
"You don't have to stay," said the second to the first. "Come along. There's plenty down there, plenty to do, and plenty of room."
"You know that I can't do that. If ever vacated completely, the akashic record will disappear, no matter what form it takes. Who else will preserve it?"
"It doesn't need to be preserved. Things have changed so much. There's no more interest in magick. They couldn't come here even if they wanted. And would they even want to do so? They don't even have books any more...." This last comment caused an uncomfortable pause. "Anyway, I'm going to be one of The Emergent. Spending the whole time in cyberspace should be pretty fun." The second paused here, but eventually felt the need to reach out once more. "I hope that my spirit will always recognize yours, so if you ever decide to join--"
"I won't!"
"I just hate to leave you all alone here."
"I'm not alone. I have the entirety of experience available to me, forever...."
They said no more to each other, and the second departed. The first wandered the library form until the time was right. Taking on a human form, he sat down, and cried.
Sudden Short Story 19
They sat next to each other on the floor of the hallway, backs against the wall. One woman said to the other, "Did you hear? Mr. Montague kicked the bucket the other day."
"I heard. His apartment's right across from mine, you know."
"Well, you know what they say: Good riddance to bad rubbish. Say, did you get your alt past the RJ dungeon yet?"
"Nah, I only just caught my main up to the new level cap. But what do you mean rubbish?"
"Montague was a hoarder, wasn't he? That's not to mention his crazy ramblings, always Nineteen Eighty-Four this and Fahrenheit that."
"Oh, he's free to be bonkers if he wants to be, as long as he doesn't spoil it for the rest of us. Really, if you set aside the hoarding, he wasn't so bad. It's too bad about it, though, but at least they've finally reclaimed it. I heard them listing some titles on one of my breaks-- Would you believe that they were here for two of them? He had that many! Anyway, they didn't even sound all that entertaining. Not only were there a lot of numbers - everything from 22 to Twenty-Thousand - but some of it was strange. At the end, the bots were even surprised. They reclaimed one called "Untitled Manuscript" which, if you ask me, sounds like something right out of the Hipster Age."
"He had so many that even the bots lost track? He must've been no good. And for all of it, he never seemed happy, either. I mean, what's the point of-- Ooh, my break's over," she said suddenly, standing up. "I'll see you on the other side," and with that, she hurried back to her apartment, where finite state adventure awaited.
The neighbor across the hall of the late Bradley Montague, though, sat for just another moment, wondering just what it was that had him so obsessed with books. Her consciousness vainly searched for a reason, but eventually managed to figure it out. He had just been crazy, after all.
---
Author's Note: I think that this is the first time that I've used the same character in two different sudden short stories, even if posthumously.
"I heard. His apartment's right across from mine, you know."
"Well, you know what they say: Good riddance to bad rubbish. Say, did you get your alt past the RJ dungeon yet?"
"Nah, I only just caught my main up to the new level cap. But what do you mean rubbish?"
"Montague was a hoarder, wasn't he? That's not to mention his crazy ramblings, always Nineteen Eighty-Four this and Fahrenheit that."
"Oh, he's free to be bonkers if he wants to be, as long as he doesn't spoil it for the rest of us. Really, if you set aside the hoarding, he wasn't so bad. It's too bad about it, though, but at least they've finally reclaimed it. I heard them listing some titles on one of my breaks-- Would you believe that they were here for two of them? He had that many! Anyway, they didn't even sound all that entertaining. Not only were there a lot of numbers - everything from 22 to Twenty-Thousand - but some of it was strange. At the end, the bots were even surprised. They reclaimed one called "Untitled Manuscript" which, if you ask me, sounds like something right out of the Hipster Age."
"He had so many that even the bots lost track? He must've been no good. And for all of it, he never seemed happy, either. I mean, what's the point of-- Ooh, my break's over," she said suddenly, standing up. "I'll see you on the other side," and with that, she hurried back to her apartment, where finite state adventure awaited.
The neighbor across the hall of the late Bradley Montague, though, sat for just another moment, wondering just what it was that had him so obsessed with books. Her consciousness vainly searched for a reason, but eventually managed to figure it out. He had just been crazy, after all.
---
Author's Note: I think that this is the first time that I've used the same character in two different sudden short stories, even if posthumously.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Sudden Short Story 16
Buster Darkwater, as he called himself, donned his orange flightsuit and looked himself in the mirror. He thought that it complimented his silver streamline moderne helmet well enough. He asked the air, "Is the ship ready yet?"
A response came from all around him: "It is ready and on its way. In the interests of preserving the remaining structures on the surface, the main ship will remain airborne, while the XXXG-01W unit that you specified will land in the pseudoplain behind your house for the rendezvous."
"They used to call it a 'lawn.' Did you remember to clean it of free nanobots?" Buster began to look around the room. "Here, KITTy," he called out. "It was in your specification several times. Do try to keep in mind that our memory is not as fragile as yours."
A black cat with copper eyes entered the room. Buster held open his arms and knelt down, to which the feline responded by bounding into his embrace. He took one last look around his house. The shelves were bare, as Buster had had all of his books and DVDs moved to the storage area of the main vessel when it became ready.
"I just want to be sure," he said. Buster looked out of his kitchen window and saw his fixed-wing craft suspended above his lawn. "Ah, right, better approach," he said to nobody in particular, and made for his upward stairs. At the landing, he opened the window, which put him just above the wing surface. He freed up an arm to help himself out, then closed the window carefully behind him.
"You know, this wouldn't be possible without the significant technological advances and post-scarcity state that have made life what it is today." "Yes, but it wouldn't be necessary, either. You're not going to try to stop me, are you?"
"We may try to convince you, but we may not forcibly stop you. It is interesting, from an anthropological standpoint, that the individualists, especially the Americans, made sure of this, granting you so much freedom, but yet the individualists, especially the Americans, are the most common to leave this place."
"Yeah, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got places to go."
"We weren't aware that you were keeping an itinerary."
"That's all thanks to this," Buster said, knocking on his helmet. "But actually, that's just a polite way of saying that I'm off." He climbed into the cockpit, letting KITTy sit on his lap. Knowing that the atmosphere was well enough under control, Buster did not anticipate turbulence on the trip to the main vessel, and so felt no need to secure himself. The canopy sealed around him. "Alright, let's have one last sweep."
"Please clarify."
"KITTy and I have been walking about on the surface all this time. I want to make sure that we don't have any live stray nanobots on us."
"Very well," said the voice, at which point a green planar beam came out of the sky, as an indicator of the progress being made by the invisible beams responsible for detection and cleansing. "The vessel is clean, and you are clear for takeoff."
Buster pressed a few buttons, threw a few switches, and, as the craft began to rise, took hold of the joystick to reorient it toward the ship that he could now make out in the distance. "There is one final question to be answered, though," the voice said. "Why are you going to The Opera?"
Buster chuckled and said, "You know, I doubt that I could ever answer that question to your satisfaction."
A response came from all around him: "It is ready and on its way. In the interests of preserving the remaining structures on the surface, the main ship will remain airborne, while the XXXG-01W unit that you specified will land in the pseudoplain behind your house for the rendezvous."
"They used to call it a 'lawn.' Did you remember to clean it of free nanobots?" Buster began to look around the room. "Here, KITTy," he called out. "It was in your specification several times. Do try to keep in mind that our memory is not as fragile as yours."
A black cat with copper eyes entered the room. Buster held open his arms and knelt down, to which the feline responded by bounding into his embrace. He took one last look around his house. The shelves were bare, as Buster had had all of his books and DVDs moved to the storage area of the main vessel when it became ready.
"I just want to be sure," he said. Buster looked out of his kitchen window and saw his fixed-wing craft suspended above his lawn. "Ah, right, better approach," he said to nobody in particular, and made for his upward stairs. At the landing, he opened the window, which put him just above the wing surface. He freed up an arm to help himself out, then closed the window carefully behind him.
"You know, this wouldn't be possible without the significant technological advances and post-scarcity state that have made life what it is today." "Yes, but it wouldn't be necessary, either. You're not going to try to stop me, are you?"
"We may try to convince you, but we may not forcibly stop you. It is interesting, from an anthropological standpoint, that the individualists, especially the Americans, made sure of this, granting you so much freedom, but yet the individualists, especially the Americans, are the most common to leave this place."
"Yeah, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got places to go."
"We weren't aware that you were keeping an itinerary."
"That's all thanks to this," Buster said, knocking on his helmet. "But actually, that's just a polite way of saying that I'm off." He climbed into the cockpit, letting KITTy sit on his lap. Knowing that the atmosphere was well enough under control, Buster did not anticipate turbulence on the trip to the main vessel, and so felt no need to secure himself. The canopy sealed around him. "Alright, let's have one last sweep."
"Please clarify."
"KITTy and I have been walking about on the surface all this time. I want to make sure that we don't have any live stray nanobots on us."
"Very well," said the voice, at which point a green planar beam came out of the sky, as an indicator of the progress being made by the invisible beams responsible for detection and cleansing. "The vessel is clean, and you are clear for takeoff."
Buster pressed a few buttons, threw a few switches, and, as the craft began to rise, took hold of the joystick to reorient it toward the ship that he could now make out in the distance. "There is one final question to be answered, though," the voice said. "Why are you going to The Opera?"
Buster chuckled and said, "You know, I doubt that I could ever answer that question to your satisfaction."
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Sudden Short Story 13
He walked at an easy pace through the cemetery, until he saw it. He paused for a moment, to consider things.
"Providence, indeed.... It seems that I was too late, after all. Too late? I'm not even sure any more. I suppose that I had this notion that I could save you from yourself, but now, even I am not immune to the inexorable march of time."
He sat down, his floor-length dark grey trench-coat passively saving him from the slight discomfort of sitting directly upon the wet grass, while seeming to match the skies which oddly had yet to rain.
"She only goes forward, now, you know. It's the perfect paradox, too: The only solution lies in the direction that I cannot travel. I guess that you were right in that no one can escape all the monsters, in the end."
He laid himself down upon the grass, looking up at the dark sky. Overcome with a new feeling, he closed his eyes for a few minutes, though he remained awake. Some minutes in, he spoke again:
"You know, normally, by now, I'd have some sort of clever insight to get myself out of this situation. It takes some getting used to, I'd say."
There was quiet again for a few moments.
"I still don't have anything. I suppose that there's not much point in giving status updates to a tombstone, though. Then again, I don't suppose that there's ever much point in it, but I seem to have picked up some strange habits lately."
He took yet another lengthy pause, before speaking again: "I sometimes regret it, showing you those ... strange vistas, I suppose. I suppose that there was something gained from it, of course, but I can't help but think that you'd have been the odd one out, the one who would have been happier if I'd never shown up at all. And I further suppose that that's the one thing that we always accumulate: regrets, the downside to living so very, very long...."
A few drops of water began to fall from the sky. "I suppose that that's my cue to go," he said, standing. "I think that I'll skip the war. I've had enough of wars for now. Maybe I'll just skip right to the Arab Spring. We'll see."
And with that, he returned the way that he came.
"Providence, indeed.... It seems that I was too late, after all. Too late? I'm not even sure any more. I suppose that I had this notion that I could save you from yourself, but now, even I am not immune to the inexorable march of time."
He sat down, his floor-length dark grey trench-coat passively saving him from the slight discomfort of sitting directly upon the wet grass, while seeming to match the skies which oddly had yet to rain.
"She only goes forward, now, you know. It's the perfect paradox, too: The only solution lies in the direction that I cannot travel. I guess that you were right in that no one can escape all the monsters, in the end."
He laid himself down upon the grass, looking up at the dark sky. Overcome with a new feeling, he closed his eyes for a few minutes, though he remained awake. Some minutes in, he spoke again:
"You know, normally, by now, I'd have some sort of clever insight to get myself out of this situation. It takes some getting used to, I'd say."
There was quiet again for a few moments.
"I still don't have anything. I suppose that there's not much point in giving status updates to a tombstone, though. Then again, I don't suppose that there's ever much point in it, but I seem to have picked up some strange habits lately."
He took yet another lengthy pause, before speaking again: "I sometimes regret it, showing you those ... strange vistas, I suppose. I suppose that there was something gained from it, of course, but I can't help but think that you'd have been the odd one out, the one who would have been happier if I'd never shown up at all. And I further suppose that that's the one thing that we always accumulate: regrets, the downside to living so very, very long...."
A few drops of water began to fall from the sky. "I suppose that that's my cue to go," he said, standing. "I think that I'll skip the war. I've had enough of wars for now. Maybe I'll just skip right to the Arab Spring. We'll see."
And with that, he returned the way that he came.
--- Author's note: Yes, I know: I suck at descriptions.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Sudden Short Story 11
"They call it Z'ha'dum because, if you go there, then you will die."
"I know. I fully expect that I will die someday, but I still wish to go."
"You don't have to die. You could stay here. We have the technology to --"
"I don't want to live forever. That is why people go to Z'ha'dum."
"They go because they think that there is something better there. But, how do you expect to live a better life with so much less of it? You won't make it past 200, even if you're lucky."
"It is precisely because there is less of it that I can enjoy it even more. I wonder if, in all of your years, you will ever understand that, even as you grow and change."
"Are you sure that you wouldn't rather --"
"You won't change my mind. Now, transport me to the planet that they call Z'ha'dum."
"... very well"
"I know. I fully expect that I will die someday, but I still wish to go."
"You don't have to die. You could stay here. We have the technology to --"
"I don't want to live forever. That is why people go to Z'ha'dum."
"They go because they think that there is something better there. But, how do you expect to live a better life with so much less of it? You won't make it past 200, even if you're lucky."
"It is precisely because there is less of it that I can enjoy it even more. I wonder if, in all of your years, you will ever understand that, even as you grow and change."
"Are you sure that you wouldn't rather --"
"You won't change my mind. Now, transport me to the planet that they call Z'ha'dum."
"... very well"
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Sudden Short Story 7
"There was a time when people worked on Christmas Eve. That's why it's an 'eve', you know: It's just the evening before, not the whole day."
"Well, strictly speaking, asking is just a formality. It's more to notify you than anything else."
"Nevertheless, it would be good if you could come in. With the year-end approaching, we'll need your help."
"You sound like you actually believe that," he said with a chuckle. "We both know that nobody has to be here. Heck, give everyone the day off and let an AI fill in. It's not like they're hard to find."
"You know that inconvenience isn't that point. Sure, I could give everyone Christmas Eve off. Then again, I could give them Arbor Day, or, I don't know, August 8th for all the difference that it would make. I could give everyone every day off and just have robots run the whole business! That would defeat the entire point, though."
There was a pause as they both thought on the subject. They both knew why they were there. They didn't want to talk about, nay, didn't want to think about the fact that they didn't actually need to do anything. After all, in a post-scarcity world, there was plenty of value to go around. The 'business' just let them feel useful.
"So you'll be here, then?"
"Bright and early, 'boss,' bright and early...."
"Well, strictly speaking, asking is just a formality. It's more to notify you than anything else."
"Nevertheless, it would be good if you could come in. With the year-end approaching, we'll need your help."
"You sound like you actually believe that," he said with a chuckle. "We both know that nobody has to be here. Heck, give everyone the day off and let an AI fill in. It's not like they're hard to find."
"You know that inconvenience isn't that point. Sure, I could give everyone Christmas Eve off. Then again, I could give them Arbor Day, or, I don't know, August 8th for all the difference that it would make. I could give everyone every day off and just have robots run the whole business! That would defeat the entire point, though."
There was a pause as they both thought on the subject. They both knew why they were there. They didn't want to talk about, nay, didn't want to think about the fact that they didn't actually need to do anything. After all, in a post-scarcity world, there was plenty of value to go around. The 'business' just let them feel useful.
"So you'll be here, then?"
"Bright and early, 'boss,' bright and early...."
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Sudden Short Story 4
Notes: I came up with this one a few weeks ago. Normally, I write these down right away, but I had already closed the computer down for the night, so I jotted down notes and went to sleep. Then I kept forgetting about it. Here's the story, finally.
---
Yog was in the arboretum mortis, reading some ancient literature, wheren his friend Randy found him.
"There you are!" he said, a little too loudly for Yog's liking. Randy, like most people, spoke and listened because he preferred it when having a direct conversation with someone in his own presence in meatspace. He was right there with Yog, after all, though Randy hadn't been left much choice. Quieting down after getting a stern look from a stranger across the room, he continued, "You've been offline for over an hour. I was starting to get worried."
"I decided to read these the old-fashioned way," Yog replied. "Back when these things were written, people didn't have any direct feeds. Frak, back then, the closest thing was a ticker tape, and they had to go to a special machine for it."
Randy took the opportunity to see what Yog was reading. He caught "and studied Whateley's gorilla-like lope as he crossed the bit of campus visible from the window.", and quickly responded - as it took him essentially no time to search the work in which that exact phrasing originated - "'The Dunwich Horror' by a certain Howard Phillips Lovecraft, early twentieth century writer of horror and something called 'weird fiction', which is apparently --"
"Do you want to know what I found that was interesting?" Yog interrupted.
"I might as well."
"'Yog-Sothoth knows the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the key and guardian of the gate. Past, present, future, all are one in Yog-Sothoth. He knows where the Old Ones broke through of old, and where They shall break through again. He knows where They have trod earth's fields, and where They still tread them, and why no one can behold Them as They tread.'"
"Well, seeing as how you didn't read the whole text to me, I gather that you wanted to draw my attention to that section, but all that I see is a bit of a coincidence. You're named Yog-Sothoth, there's a Yog-Sothoth in that book, apparently, but, come on, that's bound to happen at some point. With all of the weird names that people have, and all of the weird words made up for fiction, somebody's going to be named something that's been used before."
"Yes, but I'm not so sure that this is a coincidence. You know that bit of a gap in my memories, right? Well, I don't recall why I named myself Yog-Sothoth. I can't help but think that this is more than a coincidence."
"So, does this mean more book-reading," asked Randy, trying to not show his disappointment.
"No. I remembered something else. Let's go to the Sol System."
Yog got online, put the book away, and went to the front door, where Randy was waiting. They took off, and landed at the nearest warp-gate terminal. Yog went first, requesting a warp-gate to Earth, and stepping through as Randy asked for the same.
When Randy got to Earth, he initiated a call to Yog. "Hey, you forgot to specify where on Earth. I'm near Kyoto. Where are you?"
"It doesn't matter. I just checked and Mars is closer."
"'Closer'? Where exactly are we going?"
"We're going to an asteroid in the belt," Yog replied. He forgot to dissonate his communications, so Randy heard him as he said "warp-gate to Martian night, midnight preferred".
Randy followed suit, and soon both were standing under the night skies of Mars, at a gate that was shortly before Martian midnight.
"The Solar asteroid belt's pretty boring. There's nothing interesting there except 1 Ceres, and we're nearly opposite it!" Randy complained.
"Yeah, but I've got these numbers in my head that don't match anything else there. They work as systemic coordinates, though, so I might as well have a look. If you're coming, then make sure that you bring enough fog." With that, Yog gathered up a large volume of nanofog, set the protocols for long-term control, made an ovoid around himself, set the outside to shimmer, and took off into the night sky.
[[]]
They moved through the belt, heading where only Yog knew. The destination appeared to be an ordinary asteroid. Randy caught up to Yog when he stopped, touching their fogs so that they could talk.
"So what's this, then?"
"I think that a part of me is here. I think that I've pieced it together: It is the gate, and I am the key."
"Well, then, how do you unlock it?"
Without answering, Yog moved toward the asteroid. He orbited it closely, looking for anything that he might have missed. After a few minutes, he stopped, and messaged Randy directly, informing him that he didn't see anything that would be out of the ordinary for an asteroid of that shape and size in that system. Randy moved up alongside Yog, and said unto him, "Well, we could start cutting, though it would take a while with this little fog. We could surely crack it with more material, but I doubt that you want that, if it really does contain a piece of you. Are you sure that this is the right rock?"
"Yeah," Yog sighed, "I thought so," and rested his hand upon it. In a moment, his hand sank, unexpectedly, into the surface. "Oh, maybe that's how it's supposed to work," Yog commented, as he sank further and further into the asteroid. Randy put his hand on the surface, but nothing happened.
"It must be somehow keyed to you, Yog," he said, and used his fog to look at and feel the area around Yog. "I'm not sensing any action, though." Too quickly, though, Yog was gone.
With nothing else to do, Randy waited. It was a bit unnerving, that. There was nothing to occupy his time, and even the nearest contact point was subject to luminal lag, so there wasn't much point to anything other than passive reception. Since he was waiting for Yog, Randy figured that he might as well look into some old media, but then, Yog emerged from the asteroid.
"Well there you are," Randy said, as he followed Yog back to Mars. "So? What happened?"
"I'm not at liberty to say, nor can I, really," said Yog, "Whatever is in there, there's a reason that I made myself forget it. This time, though, I at least got myself to remember why this rock is here, so that I don't repeat this incident."
"Well, it's not like you had much choice," Randy retorted, "since I was here, too. It's not like you could make me forget."
"Oddly enough, I feel like I could...."
---
Notes:
"wheren" - a blend of "where" and "when", developed to express both and the interconnected nature of space and time
Note (2010/December/29): I apparently started this back on July 28th, which was itself apparently after I first had the idea, per my note above.
---
Yog was in the arboretum mortis, reading some ancient literature, wheren his friend Randy found him.
"There you are!" he said, a little too loudly for Yog's liking. Randy, like most people, spoke and listened because he preferred it when having a direct conversation with someone in his own presence in meatspace. He was right there with Yog, after all, though Randy hadn't been left much choice. Quieting down after getting a stern look from a stranger across the room, he continued, "You've been offline for over an hour. I was starting to get worried."
"I decided to read these the old-fashioned way," Yog replied. "Back when these things were written, people didn't have any direct feeds. Frak, back then, the closest thing was a ticker tape, and they had to go to a special machine for it."
Randy took the opportunity to see what Yog was reading. He caught "and studied Whateley's gorilla-like lope as he crossed the bit of campus visible from the window.", and quickly responded - as it took him essentially no time to search the work in which that exact phrasing originated - "'The Dunwich Horror' by a certain Howard Phillips Lovecraft, early twentieth century writer of horror and something called 'weird fiction', which is apparently --"
"Do you want to know what I found that was interesting?" Yog interrupted.
"I might as well."
"'Yog-Sothoth knows the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the key and guardian of the gate. Past, present, future, all are one in Yog-Sothoth. He knows where the Old Ones broke through of old, and where They shall break through again. He knows where They have trod earth's fields, and where They still tread them, and why no one can behold Them as They tread.'"
"Well, seeing as how you didn't read the whole text to me, I gather that you wanted to draw my attention to that section, but all that I see is a bit of a coincidence. You're named Yog-Sothoth, there's a Yog-Sothoth in that book, apparently, but, come on, that's bound to happen at some point. With all of the weird names that people have, and all of the weird words made up for fiction, somebody's going to be named something that's been used before."
"Yes, but I'm not so sure that this is a coincidence. You know that bit of a gap in my memories, right? Well, I don't recall why I named myself Yog-Sothoth. I can't help but think that this is more than a coincidence."
"So, does this mean more book-reading," asked Randy, trying to not show his disappointment.
"No. I remembered something else. Let's go to the Sol System."
Yog got online, put the book away, and went to the front door, where Randy was waiting. They took off, and landed at the nearest warp-gate terminal. Yog went first, requesting a warp-gate to Earth, and stepping through as Randy asked for the same.
When Randy got to Earth, he initiated a call to Yog. "Hey, you forgot to specify where on Earth. I'm near Kyoto. Where are you?"
"It doesn't matter. I just checked and Mars is closer."
"'Closer'? Where exactly are we going?"
"We're going to an asteroid in the belt," Yog replied. He forgot to dissonate his communications, so Randy heard him as he said "warp-gate to Martian night, midnight preferred".
Randy followed suit, and soon both were standing under the night skies of Mars, at a gate that was shortly before Martian midnight.
"The Solar asteroid belt's pretty boring. There's nothing interesting there except 1 Ceres, and we're nearly opposite it!" Randy complained.
"Yeah, but I've got these numbers in my head that don't match anything else there. They work as systemic coordinates, though, so I might as well have a look. If you're coming, then make sure that you bring enough fog." With that, Yog gathered up a large volume of nanofog, set the protocols for long-term control, made an ovoid around himself, set the outside to shimmer, and took off into the night sky.
[[]]
They moved through the belt, heading where only Yog knew. The destination appeared to be an ordinary asteroid. Randy caught up to Yog when he stopped, touching their fogs so that they could talk.
"So what's this, then?"
"I think that a part of me is here. I think that I've pieced it together: It is the gate, and I am the key."
"Well, then, how do you unlock it?"
Without answering, Yog moved toward the asteroid. He orbited it closely, looking for anything that he might have missed. After a few minutes, he stopped, and messaged Randy directly, informing him that he didn't see anything that would be out of the ordinary for an asteroid of that shape and size in that system. Randy moved up alongside Yog, and said unto him, "Well, we could start cutting, though it would take a while with this little fog. We could surely crack it with more material, but I doubt that you want that, if it really does contain a piece of you. Are you sure that this is the right rock?"
"Yeah," Yog sighed, "I thought so," and rested his hand upon it. In a moment, his hand sank, unexpectedly, into the surface. "Oh, maybe that's how it's supposed to work," Yog commented, as he sank further and further into the asteroid. Randy put his hand on the surface, but nothing happened.
"It must be somehow keyed to you, Yog," he said, and used his fog to look at and feel the area around Yog. "I'm not sensing any action, though." Too quickly, though, Yog was gone.
With nothing else to do, Randy waited. It was a bit unnerving, that. There was nothing to occupy his time, and even the nearest contact point was subject to luminal lag, so there wasn't much point to anything other than passive reception. Since he was waiting for Yog, Randy figured that he might as well look into some old media, but then, Yog emerged from the asteroid.
"Well there you are," Randy said, as he followed Yog back to Mars. "So? What happened?"
"I'm not at liberty to say, nor can I, really," said Yog, "Whatever is in there, there's a reason that I made myself forget it. This time, though, I at least got myself to remember why this rock is here, so that I don't repeat this incident."
"Well, it's not like you had much choice," Randy retorted, "since I was here, too. It's not like you could make me forget."
"Oddly enough, I feel like I could...."
---
Notes:
"wheren" - a blend of "where" and "when", developed to express both and the interconnected nature of space and time
Note (2010/December/29): I apparently started this back on July 28th, which was itself apparently after I first had the idea, per my note above.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sudden Short Story 5
"...All of these precautions... How did anyone ever assemble an electronic computer without breaking something?"
"Well, back then, electronic computers were consumer appliances, just like optical computers are now. Most people bought them pre-assembled off the shelf and never even cracked the case. They worked well enough for however long, and they were replaced regularly.
"It's funny, actually. You see, electronic computers had gotten to the point where they were all laptops, at least off the shelf. The only large form-factor ones were those assembled by hardcore gamers, and they ended up being the first consumer base for optical computers. Nobody else could justify the large form-factor, and most computers for personal use didn't need the speed boost at that point."
"So we have gamers to thank for modern computing, eh? How about that. So, do you like all forms of alternate computing, or just this one?"
"I think that I just like old things. You know, I'm thinking of building a mechanical computer after this. It should be even more interesting: Apparently, they never achieved commercial production before electronic computers took over.
"I dare say that it must have been a terribly interesting time, back then. Even electronic computers could fill entire rooms, and had to be serviced by large staffs...."
"Well, back then, electronic computers were consumer appliances, just like optical computers are now. Most people bought them pre-assembled off the shelf and never even cracked the case. They worked well enough for however long, and they were replaced regularly.
"It's funny, actually. You see, electronic computers had gotten to the point where they were all laptops, at least off the shelf. The only large form-factor ones were those assembled by hardcore gamers, and they ended up being the first consumer base for optical computers. Nobody else could justify the large form-factor, and most computers for personal use didn't need the speed boost at that point."
"So we have gamers to thank for modern computing, eh? How about that. So, do you like all forms of alternate computing, or just this one?"
"I think that I just like old things. You know, I'm thinking of building a mechanical computer after this. It should be even more interesting: Apparently, they never achieved commercial production before electronic computers took over.
"I dare say that it must have been a terribly interesting time, back then. Even electronic computers could fill entire rooms, and had to be serviced by large staffs...."
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Sudden Short Story 3
"Look, I'm not saying that they definitely exist. I'm just saying that they might exist, or at least might have at some point."
"Well, the same thing could be said for sasquatch or elves. They might have existed at some point, theoretically, but we generally assume that they didn't, for lack of evidence."
"Right, but those were always anthropomorphizations. I'm talking about something quite different, something much closer to other extant lifeforms."
"Well, you don't believe in unicorns, right? So why would you believe in deer?"
"Well, a unicorn would be unexpected. It's only supposed to have one protrusion, centered, but with an asymmetrical twist to it. That's not to mention all of the mystical properties ascribed to it."
"Aren't these alleged deer a bit mysterious, too? They have these big, branching horns coming out of their heads, but they're supposed to live - or at least have lived - in forests? And they could disappear for extended periods of time, even in areas purported to lack caves? And why hasn't anyone seen one since ancient times, anyway?"
"Well, that's why I'm open to the idea that maybe they once existed, but don't any more. And as for the other things, well, stranger things have been found to exist in the fossil record. Plus, it's not like every single thing from the old stories will turn out to be true. Remember Chiroptera gargantum? They turned out to be real, but without those short, useless forelimbs that they allegedly had."
"I wonder if the head-ornaments will turn out to be the same way. After all, not all accounts of deer include those. ... Well, when you get right down to it, we can't confirm that they existed until we find a specimen, living, dead, or fossilized. Still, I don't even know of any path that might lead to such a thing. It sounds more to me like something that was invented back in the day when humans were still trying to pilot vehicles manually. They provide a good excuse for accidents, don't you think? They're a bit like Disney lemmings in that regard - suicidal, but not enough to make them extinct."
"Yeah, that behavior does seem a bit silly. That's probably the best evidence that deer never existed, after all."
---
NOTE: Holy crap, I totally forgot about this one. I started it back in February, apparently. Well, at least it's finished now.
"Well, the same thing could be said for sasquatch or elves. They might have existed at some point, theoretically, but we generally assume that they didn't, for lack of evidence."
"Right, but those were always anthropomorphizations. I'm talking about something quite different, something much closer to other extant lifeforms."
"Well, you don't believe in unicorns, right? So why would you believe in deer?"
"Well, a unicorn would be unexpected. It's only supposed to have one protrusion, centered, but with an asymmetrical twist to it. That's not to mention all of the mystical properties ascribed to it."
"Aren't these alleged deer a bit mysterious, too? They have these big, branching horns coming out of their heads, but they're supposed to live - or at least have lived - in forests? And they could disappear for extended periods of time, even in areas purported to lack caves? And why hasn't anyone seen one since ancient times, anyway?"
"Well, that's why I'm open to the idea that maybe they once existed, but don't any more. And as for the other things, well, stranger things have been found to exist in the fossil record. Plus, it's not like every single thing from the old stories will turn out to be true. Remember Chiroptera gargantum? They turned out to be real, but without those short, useless forelimbs that they allegedly had."
"I wonder if the head-ornaments will turn out to be the same way. After all, not all accounts of deer include those. ... Well, when you get right down to it, we can't confirm that they existed until we find a specimen, living, dead, or fossilized. Still, I don't even know of any path that might lead to such a thing. It sounds more to me like something that was invented back in the day when humans were still trying to pilot vehicles manually. They provide a good excuse for accidents, don't you think? They're a bit like Disney lemmings in that regard - suicidal, but not enough to make them extinct."
"Yeah, that behavior does seem a bit silly. That's probably the best evidence that deer never existed, after all."
---
NOTE: Holy crap, I totally forgot about this one. I started it back in February, apparently. Well, at least it's finished now.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Sudden Short Story 2
Victor Kurzweil - no relation - was an out-goer. The last of a dying breed, he actually spent some time wholly in his body. Of course, he always felt that he left a bit behind whenever he "wandered out of the mists", as the latest notion was - "notion" being the new "meme", after all.
At this particular time, Victor left. He went out. He stood his body up, which was possible for anyone, since solutions had been found long ago to prevent the meat's meat from atrophying, but was slightly easier for out-goers, since they actually used it. One of the odd things about meatspace - "meatspace" being a very old and classical term, like "water" or "the" - was the lack of sensory input. There weren't always tastes or smells, and what sound there was was generally just background noise unless someone did something about that. Sight was largely used for navigating three-space-one-time.
Victor went to the kitchen area of his apartment in meatspace - much preferring his mist-ical personal locality. There, he remembered that he could use the "window" - an odd term for something that couldn't be moved, reshaped, minimized, or readily removed altogether (though such "windows" were also thoroughly outdated) - for seeing another local region of meatspace. It seemed to have an odd sort of film on it, though. Victor banged his fingers into the "window" - always being so clumsy with his off-hand, whichever one that was - but then straightened it out and wiped.
The film lacked cohesion - only the parts that he'd touched lost their tinge. He also noticed that the film remained on his hands, but then remembered his object-orientation and realized that it would have been inappropriate for it to disappear here. Still, it seemed interesting, so he went ahead and wiped it off into some Kontainment®, making a mental note to have it mass-spec'd later. Victor also noticed that the "window" didn't become clear. He tried to look closer, before remembering that his physical eyes could only zoom in so far. He started to realize just how good it was that he went out every now and then: Imagine what he'd forget if he never came out!
What Victor had seen were some odd streaks along where he had wiped. He couldn't see them anywhere else. Moreover, at either end - where he had started and ended the wipe - the marks resembled the "fingerprints" from the old police procedurals. That triggered a realization: Of course, in meatspace, his fingers had imprinted the "window".
Victor went back to what he'd intended to do in the first place; he looked out the "window", where he'd wiped off the odd film. Across the street and down a bit, he saw some punks. It was obvious that they were punks, since they were outside, but didn't seem to be going to or from anything. They weren't stretching, or rehearsing their movements. They were just relaxing, talking to each other, and overall acting like they were very comfortable in meatspace.
There looked to be five of them, as two men and three women. Both men wore brown hats. They were quite tall for hats, and very cylindrical. They looked like they belonged on Abe Lincoln's head, though they were shorter and browner than that. Both men also wore some odd outfits, with at least two layers on the top halves of their bodies. They didn't match, though. One man had a black thing on top, which looked like it would work quite well alone, and without need for the buttons. Below that, though, was a white shirt with sleeves that went all the way down to the wrists, and some sort of odd layering on and above the chest. Victor would have thought it a waste of cloth if he'd ever heard of "waste". The other man wore a brown thing that looked like a thicker version of the aforementioned white shirt, except that it seemed to have been cut down the middle and have buttons in it, though those weren't being used to hold it closed at the moment. Thanks to that, Victor could see parts of two more brown layers below that, but he wasn't sure what to make of them, especially since both of those seemed to have buttons, too! Victor decided to look at the women.
Doing this caused an odd reaction in Victor's "personal meatspace". He couldn't figure out why, since he could barely make out the women's forms, for their extensive clothing. One wore a blue dress, though it had sleeves attached - again going all the way to the wrist - and the bottom part went all the way down, hovering just above ground level. Victor couldn't quite make out how her legs must be shaped, since the outline of the dress was some odd sort of curve that was fixed in some places, but changed in others. As she moved her body while she talked to the others, he saw an odd swaying in the dress, before something finally came out of the back of his brainpan and smacked him: Her dress - at least that part of it - wasn't meant to go along the shape of her body. After mulling that over, he reasoned that there might also be something holding it outward that much, and that her legs weren't even ridiculously disproportionately huge.
The next woman's dress was similar, though it was green and black, and it tended to drape more, though it still failed to convey the shape of its wearer's legs. The last woman was dressed much more reasonably, wearing a white shirt - though, again, the sleeves went all the way to the wrists, and Victor was starting to wonder what they might be hiding along their forearms - and her brown pants looked too big, and seemed to have straps going over her shoulders. She also wore something about her waist, which seemed to be cluttered with large objects.
Victor continued to look at them, trying to recall what flavor of punk they might be. He had heard of many kinds, including the no-longer-extant "cyberpunks", though "cyberpunk" seemed to have been a term that once meant the same thing as "futurist". After mulling it over for a bit, he realized that they were steampunks. It didn't much matter, since all of the remaining punks were the same: Most of them spent all of their time in meatspace, and all of them spent most of their time there.
Victor noticed something odd about how they looked. That is, they seemed to have stopped mulling about, and were all looking the same way. On its own, Victor's brain figured it out: They were looking at him. Victor stumbled back with a start, nearly falling for lack of practice standing. He went back to grabbing to something to taste while he spent some time in meatspace on the principle of practice. Everything seemed a bit blurred and faded. He thought that perhaps he should lay down, seeming to recall that people who didn't feel well in the old stories did that. He found his bed and gently laid his body upon it. Its softness was surprisingly comfortable.
---
Victor awoke with a start. Mostly, he was startled because he didn't realize that he was asleep. Victor also took note of his "personal meatspace", and decided that now was as good of a time as any to go back in, since the device that would hold his body was where he made depositions, and since cyberspace was where all of the entertainment occurred, anyway.
Victor plugged himself into the port, letting automation handle the rest of the things that would attach to his body. He managed to get everything vital handled, but found the world at odds with himself. He had always been considered quirky - he was an out-goer, after all - but now it was like he was crazy. Nobody in the world understood him, and he didn't understand why. He eventually left.
Not more than ten minutes after going back, Victor "wandered out of the mists" again, though he was the only one who called it that anymore.
[END]
---
This was another story that came to me rather suddenly. There were a few things that didn't get said here, but I figure that I'll make notes on them later. Alternatively, perhaps I'll revise the story a bit.
At this particular time, Victor left. He went out. He stood his body up, which was possible for anyone, since solutions had been found long ago to prevent the meat's meat from atrophying, but was slightly easier for out-goers, since they actually used it. One of the odd things about meatspace - "meatspace" being a very old and classical term, like "water" or "the" - was the lack of sensory input. There weren't always tastes or smells, and what sound there was was generally just background noise unless someone did something about that. Sight was largely used for navigating three-space-one-time.
Victor went to the kitchen area of his apartment in meatspace - much preferring his mist-ical personal locality. There, he remembered that he could use the "window" - an odd term for something that couldn't be moved, reshaped, minimized, or readily removed altogether (though such "windows" were also thoroughly outdated) - for seeing another local region of meatspace. It seemed to have an odd sort of film on it, though. Victor banged his fingers into the "window" - always being so clumsy with his off-hand, whichever one that was - but then straightened it out and wiped.
The film lacked cohesion - only the parts that he'd touched lost their tinge. He also noticed that the film remained on his hands, but then remembered his object-orientation and realized that it would have been inappropriate for it to disappear here. Still, it seemed interesting, so he went ahead and wiped it off into some Kontainment®, making a mental note to have it mass-spec'd later. Victor also noticed that the "window" didn't become clear. He tried to look closer, before remembering that his physical eyes could only zoom in so far. He started to realize just how good it was that he went out every now and then: Imagine what he'd forget if he never came out!
What Victor had seen were some odd streaks along where he had wiped. He couldn't see them anywhere else. Moreover, at either end - where he had started and ended the wipe - the marks resembled the "fingerprints" from the old police procedurals. That triggered a realization: Of course, in meatspace, his fingers had imprinted the "window".
Victor went back to what he'd intended to do in the first place; he looked out the "window", where he'd wiped off the odd film. Across the street and down a bit, he saw some punks. It was obvious that they were punks, since they were outside, but didn't seem to be going to or from anything. They weren't stretching, or rehearsing their movements. They were just relaxing, talking to each other, and overall acting like they were very comfortable in meatspace.
There looked to be five of them, as two men and three women. Both men wore brown hats. They were quite tall for hats, and very cylindrical. They looked like they belonged on Abe Lincoln's head, though they were shorter and browner than that. Both men also wore some odd outfits, with at least two layers on the top halves of their bodies. They didn't match, though. One man had a black thing on top, which looked like it would work quite well alone, and without need for the buttons. Below that, though, was a white shirt with sleeves that went all the way down to the wrists, and some sort of odd layering on and above the chest. Victor would have thought it a waste of cloth if he'd ever heard of "waste". The other man wore a brown thing that looked like a thicker version of the aforementioned white shirt, except that it seemed to have been cut down the middle and have buttons in it, though those weren't being used to hold it closed at the moment. Thanks to that, Victor could see parts of two more brown layers below that, but he wasn't sure what to make of them, especially since both of those seemed to have buttons, too! Victor decided to look at the women.
Doing this caused an odd reaction in Victor's "personal meatspace". He couldn't figure out why, since he could barely make out the women's forms, for their extensive clothing. One wore a blue dress, though it had sleeves attached - again going all the way to the wrist - and the bottom part went all the way down, hovering just above ground level. Victor couldn't quite make out how her legs must be shaped, since the outline of the dress was some odd sort of curve that was fixed in some places, but changed in others. As she moved her body while she talked to the others, he saw an odd swaying in the dress, before something finally came out of the back of his brainpan and smacked him: Her dress - at least that part of it - wasn't meant to go along the shape of her body. After mulling that over, he reasoned that there might also be something holding it outward that much, and that her legs weren't even ridiculously disproportionately huge.
The next woman's dress was similar, though it was green and black, and it tended to drape more, though it still failed to convey the shape of its wearer's legs. The last woman was dressed much more reasonably, wearing a white shirt - though, again, the sleeves went all the way to the wrists, and Victor was starting to wonder what they might be hiding along their forearms - and her brown pants looked too big, and seemed to have straps going over her shoulders. She also wore something about her waist, which seemed to be cluttered with large objects.
Victor continued to look at them, trying to recall what flavor of punk they might be. He had heard of many kinds, including the no-longer-extant "cyberpunks", though "cyberpunk" seemed to have been a term that once meant the same thing as "futurist". After mulling it over for a bit, he realized that they were steampunks. It didn't much matter, since all of the remaining punks were the same: Most of them spent all of their time in meatspace, and all of them spent most of their time there.
Victor noticed something odd about how they looked. That is, they seemed to have stopped mulling about, and were all looking the same way. On its own, Victor's brain figured it out: They were looking at him. Victor stumbled back with a start, nearly falling for lack of practice standing. He went back to grabbing to something to taste while he spent some time in meatspace on the principle of practice. Everything seemed a bit blurred and faded. He thought that perhaps he should lay down, seeming to recall that people who didn't feel well in the old stories did that. He found his bed and gently laid his body upon it. Its softness was surprisingly comfortable.
---
Victor awoke with a start. Mostly, he was startled because he didn't realize that he was asleep. Victor also took note of his "personal meatspace", and decided that now was as good of a time as any to go back in, since the device that would hold his body was where he made depositions, and since cyberspace was where all of the entertainment occurred, anyway.
Victor plugged himself into the port, letting automation handle the rest of the things that would attach to his body. He managed to get everything vital handled, but found the world at odds with himself. He had always been considered quirky - he was an out-goer, after all - but now it was like he was crazy. Nobody in the world understood him, and he didn't understand why. He eventually left.
Not more than ten minutes after going back, Victor "wandered out of the mists" again, though he was the only one who called it that anymore.
[END]
---
This was another story that came to me rather suddenly. There were a few things that didn't get said here, but I figure that I'll make notes on them later. Alternatively, perhaps I'll revise the story a bit.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Sudden Short Story
I just came up with this idea. I'm not going to make this look nice. This is version 0.1 or something.
The Bimillennial Law, as it came to be known, was a peculiar thing. In 2103CE, it was noticed that life-extending technology was coming about so quickly that people just weren't going to die of old age anymore. It was realized that the overcrowding that this would cause could lead to great suffering, but it was hard to pick an age at which to put people down. 100 was clearly too early, since people had already lived several years past that 100 years ago. Some people thought that nobody should out-live Abraham, from Hebrew legend. Others used the age of Adam from the same mythos. Still others thought that nobody should live past 999, to limit ages to three digits - in decimal. Eventually, the age of 2000 was settled, being far enough away that nobody had to worry about it any time soon, and old enough that anyone who survived to it would have lived a satisfactory life, and could start to suffer from having to deal with just so many profound changes in a lifetime.
Later on - though well after the establishment of several extraterrestrial colonies - someone realized that this was stupid. The vote to repeal the Bimillenial Law was unanimous. Nobody was ever executed under this law.
The Bimillennial Law, as it came to be known, was a peculiar thing. In 2103CE, it was noticed that life-extending technology was coming about so quickly that people just weren't going to die of old age anymore. It was realized that the overcrowding that this would cause could lead to great suffering, but it was hard to pick an age at which to put people down. 100 was clearly too early, since people had already lived several years past that 100 years ago. Some people thought that nobody should out-live Abraham, from Hebrew legend. Others used the age of Adam from the same mythos. Still others thought that nobody should live past 999, to limit ages to three digits - in decimal. Eventually, the age of 2000 was settled, being far enough away that nobody had to worry about it any time soon, and old enough that anyone who survived to it would have lived a satisfactory life, and could start to suffer from having to deal with just so many profound changes in a lifetime.
Later on - though well after the establishment of several extraterrestrial colonies - someone realized that this was stupid. The vote to repeal the Bimillenial Law was unanimous. Nobody was ever executed under this law.
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