Friday pt. III
This drive down to Oregon is taking forever. I drive faster, only to get caught up in another pack of sheepish drones, following each other nose-to-ass, getting over into the middle lane or even the far left lane when there isn't anyone in front of them. I never understood what goes through the thought process of 99% of the drivers out there. Every day I almost get into an accident at least once. I can be driving down the road and if I spot something driving sporadically in any way, I can pinpoint what that driver is or what that driver is doing. Talking on his or her cellphone or, drum roll please, Asians. Settle down, I'm not racist, I'm just saying that when I label a driver in front of me in one of those two categories, about 75% of the time I will catch up and look over to find that I was correct. Let's not forget about old farts either, doing 45 in a 60MPH freeway. Heaven forbid you get near an old Asian. Or an old Asian talking on that damn cellphone.
I finally reach Kelso, WA and pull off on the exit. The town is alright, better than Longview, but still leaves something to be desired. It is almost as if it wants to be a ghetto, but the guys up top are putting just enough money into the shopping malls to keep the masses from smoking meth and gang-raping each other. Have to keep 'em occupied. The speed limits are all set too low throughout the streets, myself doing 25MPH over a small bridge when I can clearly be doing at least 35 without causing any harm to anything even remotely around me. I take a left after the bridge and nearly stick my radiator into the tailpipe of a tiny Geo doing a little over 15MPH in a 30. I get up close, inches away from the rear bumper, moving my headlights from side to side as to catch his eye in his side view mirrors, but nothing phases this driver. This only lasts a few seconds before I pull into the center turn lane and gas it past the small car. What do you know, an old Asian.
It is always a little exciting to come back to my hometown, crossing the Lewis and Clark bridge and looking across the river to the small town of Rainier. I have always enjoyed that view, making Rainier out to be this quaint, perfect town for your children to grow up in or for you and your hubby to retire and enjoy the rest of your days. Picturesque.
When you arrive into town all you can see across the river are giant haystacks with black smoke billowing high into the air and piles and piles of recently cut trees, stripped naked for easier hauling.
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Monday, July 2, 2012
Thursday, June 28, 2012
A Taste
Friday pt. I
I swear, today, work is lasting far longer than normal. And I am even getting off a little bit early, in this position's standards anyway, nine to ten hours being the norm. All day long, strip varnish and look at the clock. Strip more varnish, burn myself with the heat gun and look at the clock. Tape up a section of fiberglass, strip, burn, look. A process that repeats itself.
A process that repeats itself.
Finally, 4:30 rolls around. I gather my equipment inside the cockpit of the sailboat, safely stowed under the canvas awning as to keep them dry over the weekend. The owners said absolutely to my asking permission to leave my tools on board over the weekend. Very sweet people. A man of about 50 and a slightly wonky eye, you can tell he has a few stories. He comes out in the morning and says, "Hey Jay. How are ya." It's nice to hear a greeting with my name in it, seems much more personable. Myself, I cannot remember names for the life of me. I have to meet you two or three times before I even start remembering what your name starts with. It isn't that I don't care (well, I don't to an extent), it's my terrible short term memory. A pathetic memory it is. Give me a number, I'll forget it in 15 to 20 seconds. If I am in the bathroom for example getting ready for work and I remember to do something before I leave, I will even repeat it out loud to myself over and over, but as soon as I stop the repeat process, gone, remembered half way to the city. That's the thing too, I'll remember what I forgot just a little bit after when I was supposed to do it. As if my brain is a simple, archaic processor, maxing out it's power after a couple thoughts, having to store away early thoughts to make way for new ones and once the new once have dissipated the old ones can begin to resurface. I can't remember his name.
She is a good-looking, middle-aged blondie, extremely generous. She comes out to make sure I have everything I need. It is raining so she brings me hot black tea to warm me up and help with a little vigor. I am assuming that is her kayak on their private little pebble beach, the word "MILF" in colorful letters on the side. I can't remember her name either.
My car is packed to the brim with camping gear. Two rubberware containers of dry, plum tree wood (pieces from branches that had broken off in my back yard during the last snow storm) sit in the back taking up most of the room. A sleeping bag, tent, crab trap, shovel and axe.
I swear, today, work is lasting far longer than normal. And I am even getting off a little bit early, in this position's standards anyway, nine to ten hours being the norm. All day long, strip varnish and look at the clock. Strip more varnish, burn myself with the heat gun and look at the clock. Tape up a section of fiberglass, strip, burn, look. A process that repeats itself.
A process that repeats itself.
Finally, 4:30 rolls around. I gather my equipment inside the cockpit of the sailboat, safely stowed under the canvas awning as to keep them dry over the weekend. The owners said absolutely to my asking permission to leave my tools on board over the weekend. Very sweet people. A man of about 50 and a slightly wonky eye, you can tell he has a few stories. He comes out in the morning and says, "Hey Jay. How are ya." It's nice to hear a greeting with my name in it, seems much more personable. Myself, I cannot remember names for the life of me. I have to meet you two or three times before I even start remembering what your name starts with. It isn't that I don't care (well, I don't to an extent), it's my terrible short term memory. A pathetic memory it is. Give me a number, I'll forget it in 15 to 20 seconds. If I am in the bathroom for example getting ready for work and I remember to do something before I leave, I will even repeat it out loud to myself over and over, but as soon as I stop the repeat process, gone, remembered half way to the city. That's the thing too, I'll remember what I forgot just a little bit after when I was supposed to do it. As if my brain is a simple, archaic processor, maxing out it's power after a couple thoughts, having to store away early thoughts to make way for new ones and once the new once have dissipated the old ones can begin to resurface. I can't remember his name.
She is a good-looking, middle-aged blondie, extremely generous. She comes out to make sure I have everything I need. It is raining so she brings me hot black tea to warm me up and help with a little vigor. I am assuming that is her kayak on their private little pebble beach, the word "MILF" in colorful letters on the side. I can't remember her name either.
My car is packed to the brim with camping gear. Two rubberware containers of dry, plum tree wood (pieces from branches that had broken off in my back yard during the last snow storm) sit in the back taking up most of the room. A sleeping bag, tent, crab trap, shovel and axe.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Unexpection
What a weekend. Had an amazing time surfing. Caught some pretty good waves and tried to teach my buddy how to even sit upright on his board. I am incredibly tired right now and my left arm is killing me (pretty sure I slept on it wrong last night). I think I've forgotten how much of a workout this passion is.
I think I can write out a pretty decent short story based on this trip. My own form of gonzo. A look into the wanting of getting out, the stress and anxiety you bring with you and realizing that you are yearning to go back to the one you love.
I am going to try and work on this today during lunch. In fact, I am going to hit the showers right now and if I have time before I have to leave, begin outlining it.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Weekend Work and Some Scifi
Well, it's Saturday morning and here I am, drinking my coffee, laptop in front of me, preparing for work. Actually, I haven't started preparing for work and based on the fact that I have been working every weekend on top of the normal work week, I think I'll get ready and leave whenever I damn well please. Luckily I don't ever have a problem waking up at 5:00AM. Unless I am really hungover.
So I thought I might post up that short science fiction story for today. As I've said before I am trying to expand it into a 150-160 page novella. I've been told that it is along the lines of a Heinlein book, which is incredibly flattering, but Robert certainly doesn't have the most vivid, in depth characters. They all seem to act like the same person. It's kind of weird, although Methuselah's Children was a damn good book. Anyway, here it is, the short story and soon to be novella, REUNITE.
I am not guilty.
“Jackson, I want you to meet Delilah.”
Jackson turns the key on his yellow Hoverec. He lowers the kickstand, propping the Hoverec inches off the ground and waits for the engine to die down before looking up. His jaw drops and Delilah smiles, the static in the air seemingly rising around them. Hundreds of honking horns reverberate between the buildings and the layers of rush hour, air traffic above the ground-level causes the sunlight to strobe upon Delilah’s jet black hair, the poof hinted with purple. Her red lips vibrantly stand out, contrasted against pale skin. And a slender, red dress. Jackson hasn’t seen a woman in a dress in a long time, skin-tight suits being all the rage. After wiping the moisture content of his palm onto his pant leg, Jackson holds his hand out. “Hi. Jackson.”
“Delilah.”
The introducer, Kyren, a bartender at one of the only ground-level bars left on Earth, looks at each of them, a smile smeared on her face. Her silver, skin-tight leotard flashing reflections onto the couple, hands still locked together and faces rushing with blood. “Sooo… do you two want to go in? First drinks are on the house.” She waves them in through the red door across the sidewalk, a neon ‘OPEN’ sign buzzing on and off above her head.
Jackson nods and nearly stutters. “Yea. Absolutely.”
His eyes never leave her.
“Jackson Harper, you have been found guilty of the rape and murder of Delilah Harper.”
A witness. A woman on the stand claiming to have seen me herself doing the deed that need not be said. My body shakes with sadness, boils with anger, shudders with repulsion. Soon all the emotions flooding my head melt and form into each other. My poor Delilah. She did not deserve this. I have never felt my heart sink so low.
The judge glares at me.
“You will be sentenced to life in penal colony 032986, Naphorim.”
And then it sinks deeper than I could have possibly imagined. I try to scream at the bitch upon the podium, obscenities ready to fly through the air and stab her in the forehead, but my mouth is paralyzed, injected earlier with a muscle number, keeping me from having “outbursts”.
The worst of the worst reside in Naphorim. It isn’t even Earth-exclusive. I am talking about the melting pot of the universe. The bottom-of-the-barrel scum, far worse than the most vile Earth-history-warlords you can think of. I try to close my eyes, the images of tentacle-wielding rapists and pedophiles flooding my brain, but the muscle number has done the trick. My eyes stay wide open.
And that’s just the inhabitants. Naphorim’s atmosphere is thick with sulfur, burning your nose with a goulash of eggs and shit with every breath. Seas of stagnate, infested waters pocket the landscape, making you hope to god someone or something here has figured out how to purify the rancid liquid.
“You will be cast in a hibernation tube, frozen in a paralyzed, conscious state, much like the paralysis you are undergoing now, for the duration of the journey, approximately 50 years.”
Son of a bitch.
“When you reach Naphorim, you will be quickly thawed to begin your sentence.”
I would cry if my tear ducts weren’t already bone dry. I have never been so aware as I am now of how much the judicial system relishes in the suffering aspect of incarceration. And another 50 years tacked on? For what, contemplating my actions?
“This is part of your sentence Mr. Harper. The hibernation tube will slow down your body’s ageing process while still allowing you to have partial vision and auditory use and a conscious state of mind. This will give you the time to think about what you have done.”
Motherfucker.
“Once you get to Naphorim, you won’t have time to think.”
The judge slams her mallet down.
Jackson’s index finger and thumb measure out an inch, displaying it in front of Delilah’s face. “I love you this much.”
Delilah giggles and shoves Jackson’s hand away. A smile forcefully makes it’s way between her cheeks when looking at Jackson‘s face. “Really,” she says. “Tell me. How much?”
They both lay naked, sweaty limbs entangled with one another. Jackson stares into Delilah’s eyes, both of their fingers running themselves up and down the slippery skin of each other’s back, legs and arms. Brushing hair from her face he says, “Your eyes are what pull me in. I find myself floating freely from star to star. That’s what you make me feel. Lost in the vastness and free from the constraints at the same time. Absolute freedom.”
Delilah grabs Jackson’s head and presses it against her own, their lips mashed into each other. Jackson smiles and holds up the measured inch between his fingers. Laughter ensues and they cover themselves up with the sheet as they begin to press their bodies against one another.
I can’t help but feel like I’m being buried alive as I slide into the red, coffin-shaped hibernation tube. I have never traveled off of Earth, so having no experience in hibernation is making this a nerve-racking moment on top of a shitty situation.
The doctor on my right begins to speak. A mad scientist sound. “Alright Mr. Harper, I understand this is your first time in hibernation. Once the lid shuts the process will begin instantaneously. There will be pain and then a state of being. Once thawed on Naphorim you will slowly regain all your senses in which time you will be held under security as for your protection.”
A state of being? What is this supposed to be, a vision quest? And why the security?
“Now, during the hibernation state, you will be able to somewhat hear and see, and you will be fully mentally conscious. Although you won’t be able to close your eyes (we will make sure they are open, with the right devices), your mind will go into shutdown if it needs to. The equivalent of sleeping. It could last for minutes and it could last for years.”
Let’s hope the latter is more prominent.
“Ok Mr. Harper. Keep your arms inside.” The doctor pushes a button on a panel in front of him and the lid to the tube begins to seal itself over me. Light continues to shine in my eyes through the clear panel inset into the lid, right in front of my face. With the sound of the locking mechanism comes the pain. Ice daggers stab and twist every inch of my body, instantaneously.
The pain demands for my mind to shutdown.
The pain decides for my mind to wake up.
My entire body aches but not nearly as bad as the experienced pain earlier.
Earlier? How earlier? How long have I been out for? I try to move my hands and legs and laugh at myself for even trying. All I can see through the glass panel is a metal wall, red lights giving it a bloody hue. Crew members and guards periodically pass through my vision. I can hear them talking to each other, though slightly muffled by the ice caked in my ears. I hear them referring to me as a rapist and murderer. And what they do to rapists in Naphorim.
The physical connection to my body is becoming less prominent already.
The solid red lights shining on the wall in front of me begin flashing, a siren reverberating off the metal. Crew members are racing back and forth. I can hear the automated female voice over the intercom. An emergency landing?
Maybe this is a good thing.
I can feel the floor vibrating. Subtly at first, then violently. So violently my coffin is disconnected from its base and topples to the floor. After hitting the floor, expecting the jarring to hurt, I realize that I barely felt it at all.
I am facing upwards, all I can see is the ceiling of the ship, but luckily a ceiling with a window. Through the window is heat. The heat is so intense it takes on a physical form, glazing over my window, the horizon of a planet spinning around the edge. We must be entering the atmosphere. Then another thought crosses my mind. We may be a space faring, human civilization, but the universe is still vastly unexplored. We could be stuck on this planet for years. I could be stuck in this thing for an insane amount of time.
My coffin is violently slammed against a wall as the ship comes to an immediate, crashing halt.
Delilah takes out a piece of paper and lays it on the table of their booth. On it are names written in ink. Baby names. “Oh really,” Jackson says, grinning.
The waitress arrives and pours Jackson and Delilah each a cup of coffee.
Beaming, Delilah says, “They’re just suggestions. Names that I’ve actually had picked out for quite some time. But they are here so you can look them over. I want you to pick your favorite.”
Jackson slides the paper from across the table and looks over the names. “I like them all, but gimme some time.” Delilah nods and Jackson folds the paper and slips it in his pocket. “We aren’t pregnant yet.”
Delilah looks down at her cup of coffee, the steam wafting up into her nostrils. “I know, but just the thought of starting a family with you makes me feel amazing.” She looks up into Jackson’s eyes, Jackson returning the gaze. “I just love you so much. You‘ve been there for me like no one ever has.”
Jackson grabs her hands. He smiles and says, “And I’m a damn good kisser.” He smiles and Delilah raises an eyebrow. “ Oh come on, you know I’m only joking. To the end of days Delilah. To the end of days.
They both grin. Jackson takes a sip of his coffee. ‘If you love me so much,” he says, “tell me something you would only know about me.”
Delilah looks around the restaurant, from the register to the windows. Her eyes move down to the napkin on the table in front of her, a knife, fork and spoon placed neatly on top. She grabs the silverware and holds up the spoon and fork. “You like small spoons and big forks.”
Jackson begins to laugh out loud, leans over the table and kisses Delilah.
Years pass. I am assuming. I have been in the pitch green depths of this planet’s ocean, little light reaching my whereabouts. Very similar to Earth’s sea water, but seems to be thicker, creatures move incredibly slow. And these are some of the largest, most prehistoric looking creatures I could have ever imagined.
My mind is no longer confined to my own body. I feel my limbs no more. My thoughts are trapped within this metal coffin with a window for my viewing pleasure.
Minutes feel like seconds. Hours feel like minutes. Days feel like hours.
No, years feel like hours.
Shutdown.
A light shines through the glass panel and stimulates my physical optic nerves. Before me is a mass of bipedal humanoids very much similar to ourselves and the indigenous peoples of Earth, before we, the “sophisticated form of human“, exterminated them. They have me propped on a small stage made of various branches and stone. I hear them chant as they dance around a large fire, free from the fashion constraints of my own civilization, loin cloths being the hot item. I seem to be a worshipped artifact.
Wait, decades feel like hours.
I have no idea how long I have been buried. I witnessed a whole tribe grow and unify with their surroundings, only to be systematically destroyed by a neighboring, advanced race of the same humanoids. Funny how things work in the universe. My being a sacred piece of history to the clan, I have been tossed and erased from memory by the enemy, buried away from view.
Centuries most certainly have passed. My memories have become extremely faint and my mind has become a separate being from the physical form that bound it. My mind is constantly wrapped up in thoughts that take an immense amount of time to form themselves, my physical brain slowing down from the freeze. With nothing to stimulate my physical senses, time becomes an element of ancient history.
Once again, a light shines through the glass panel. Sand and dirt is brushed away from the window, allowing the sun to whitewash my vision. I am once again found and being transported.
I spend a bit of time in a large white room surrounded by these bipedal humanoids in white clothes. Sophisticated versions of the indigenous peoples that worshipped me centuries ago. A laboratory? I overhear them exclaiming that they are close.
Close to figuring out how to open this blasted thing.
Wait? Freedom? No. They will find out who I am. Who I am… I realize I haven’t used a label on myself in centuries. I have no memory of this. Why am I even in this tube? Do I want to be released? This is my world. This viewpoint is my world. Why would I want to leave it?
In the meantime apparently I have been put up for display in a museum. Men, woman and children… well, I guess I can’t really tell how many sexes there actually are in this species… they all line up, gazing at this strange box with a preserved, ancient human being inside.
The beings in white return me to the white room. This time they seem to have figured out how to unlock my world without destroying the contents inside, but the necessary tools are on a neighboring planet. Once again, I am to be shipped.
The night is brisk and the small lights along the path give the ground a slight, golden hue. Jackson and Delilah are jogging side by side. Delilah speaks between gasps of air, “How did I let you talk me into doing this?”
Jackson laughs. “Oh come on. It isn’t that bad. It’s good for you. Besides, you better start working out now before you get too far in your pregnancy.”
“I know, I know.”
As Jackson and Delilah trot around a small bend, a man in a skin-tight, black suit steps out from behind a bush, a steel pipe in his right hand. He begins to catch up to the couple, his speed picking up as he gets closer and closer. He raises his equipped right hand and the pipe slams across the back of Jackson’s head, knocking him unconscious. On an immediate backswing, knocks Delilah across the jaw. She stumbles and falls on her back. Immediately the assailant is atop Delilah, buttons flying as he begins to violently rip her clothing off.
Her shrieks ring out in the night sky.
Jackson slowly regains consciousness and is made alert by his wife’s cries. He looks over to the battered woman and runs to her side. Lifting her head to his lap, blood smearing on his hands, he positions her head so her eyes could meet his own. Tears well up in Jackson’s eyes. “Which way did he go baby,” Jackson exclaims. “Where did he go?!”
Delilah points into the darkness and Jackson runs, following her finger’s accusation.
A nearby woman sees Jackson run off and quickly makes her way over to Delilah. She takes out her communicator and begins calling emergency meditechs. “Who did this,” the woman asks Delilah. “Who was that man?”
Delilah whispers, “Jackson.”
The ship I am being loaded on is massive. Larger than any ship I have ever seen.
Later I find out that the gargantuan size of the ship is due to the fact that by “a neighboring planet”, they mean a 150 year trip. Being that they don’t make these too often, a large amount of others will be coming. Especially for such a historical moment as cracking open a centuries-old piece of history. An arsenal is also required. Space pirates love treasure.
I’m curious if they will be able to restore my memories. Nowadays though, they are all but faint, blurry dreams. I believe they are hard to reach because of the slow processing power of my former body. If I am released and am placed back into my carrier, my memories might be restored. Then I think, do I want to go through with that?
I am placed against a wall and strapped down. A strange feeling, seeing guards and crew members walking back and forth. Almost like a déjà vu. A green light gives the wall in front of me a mossy hue.
75 years have passed. I know this because these humanoids have realized that I could still be fully conscious and started showing me current calendars and clocks through my viewing panel.
As a child humanoid is reading me a story, an adult figure runs up and grabs up the young one in his arms. Distress is all around. Faces look scared, sad, angry. The green light creates a strobe effect on the wall. It wasn’t long before an explosion rings out through a nearby hallway. The pressure drops and almost immediately I am ejected through a small puncture in a window.
As I slowly float away from the destruction, my view of the battle becomes a vista. Smaller ships fly in and around the massive ship. Some begin to board the vessel, others take more shots at the small evacuation pods. The ship begins to dissect itself.
I am not seen; overlooked debris.
I float indefinitely. The vastness of space before me. Stars sparkle in the distance.
A tear freezes over my cornea.
So I thought I might post up that short science fiction story for today. As I've said before I am trying to expand it into a 150-160 page novella. I've been told that it is along the lines of a Heinlein book, which is incredibly flattering, but Robert certainly doesn't have the most vivid, in depth characters. They all seem to act like the same person. It's kind of weird, although Methuselah's Children was a damn good book. Anyway, here it is, the short story and soon to be novella, REUNITE.
1
CONFESSION
I am not guilty.
2
INTRODUCTION
“Jackson, I want you to meet Delilah.”
Jackson turns the key on his yellow Hoverec. He lowers the kickstand, propping the Hoverec inches off the ground and waits for the engine to die down before looking up. His jaw drops and Delilah smiles, the static in the air seemingly rising around them. Hundreds of honking horns reverberate between the buildings and the layers of rush hour, air traffic above the ground-level causes the sunlight to strobe upon Delilah’s jet black hair, the poof hinted with purple. Her red lips vibrantly stand out, contrasted against pale skin. And a slender, red dress. Jackson hasn’t seen a woman in a dress in a long time, skin-tight suits being all the rage. After wiping the moisture content of his palm onto his pant leg, Jackson holds his hand out. “Hi. Jackson.”
“Delilah.”
The introducer, Kyren, a bartender at one of the only ground-level bars left on Earth, looks at each of them, a smile smeared on her face. Her silver, skin-tight leotard flashing reflections onto the couple, hands still locked together and faces rushing with blood. “Sooo… do you two want to go in? First drinks are on the house.” She waves them in through the red door across the sidewalk, a neon ‘OPEN’ sign buzzing on and off above her head.
Jackson nods and nearly stutters. “Yea. Absolutely.”
His eyes never leave her.
3
SYSTEMATIC BETRAYAL
“Jackson Harper, you have been found guilty of the rape and murder of Delilah Harper.”
A witness. A woman on the stand claiming to have seen me herself doing the deed that need not be said. My body shakes with sadness, boils with anger, shudders with repulsion. Soon all the emotions flooding my head melt and form into each other. My poor Delilah. She did not deserve this. I have never felt my heart sink so low.
The judge glares at me.
“You will be sentenced to life in penal colony 032986, Naphorim.”
And then it sinks deeper than I could have possibly imagined. I try to scream at the bitch upon the podium, obscenities ready to fly through the air and stab her in the forehead, but my mouth is paralyzed, injected earlier with a muscle number, keeping me from having “outbursts”.
The worst of the worst reside in Naphorim. It isn’t even Earth-exclusive. I am talking about the melting pot of the universe. The bottom-of-the-barrel scum, far worse than the most vile Earth-history-warlords you can think of. I try to close my eyes, the images of tentacle-wielding rapists and pedophiles flooding my brain, but the muscle number has done the trick. My eyes stay wide open.
And that’s just the inhabitants. Naphorim’s atmosphere is thick with sulfur, burning your nose with a goulash of eggs and shit with every breath. Seas of stagnate, infested waters pocket the landscape, making you hope to god someone or something here has figured out how to purify the rancid liquid.
“You will be cast in a hibernation tube, frozen in a paralyzed, conscious state, much like the paralysis you are undergoing now, for the duration of the journey, approximately 50 years.”
Son of a bitch.
“When you reach Naphorim, you will be quickly thawed to begin your sentence.”
I would cry if my tear ducts weren’t already bone dry. I have never been so aware as I am now of how much the judicial system relishes in the suffering aspect of incarceration. And another 50 years tacked on? For what, contemplating my actions?
“This is part of your sentence Mr. Harper. The hibernation tube will slow down your body’s ageing process while still allowing you to have partial vision and auditory use and a conscious state of mind. This will give you the time to think about what you have done.”
Motherfucker.
“Once you get to Naphorim, you won’t have time to think.”
The judge slams her mallet down.
4
ETERNAL
Jackson’s index finger and thumb measure out an inch, displaying it in front of Delilah’s face. “I love you this much.”
Delilah giggles and shoves Jackson’s hand away. A smile forcefully makes it’s way between her cheeks when looking at Jackson‘s face. “Really,” she says. “Tell me. How much?”
They both lay naked, sweaty limbs entangled with one another. Jackson stares into Delilah’s eyes, both of their fingers running themselves up and down the slippery skin of each other’s back, legs and arms. Brushing hair from her face he says, “Your eyes are what pull me in. I find myself floating freely from star to star. That’s what you make me feel. Lost in the vastness and free from the constraints at the same time. Absolute freedom.”
Delilah grabs Jackson’s head and presses it against her own, their lips mashed into each other. Jackson smiles and holds up the measured inch between his fingers. Laughter ensues and they cover themselves up with the sheet as they begin to press their bodies against one another.
5
ITINERARY
I can’t help but feel like I’m being buried alive as I slide into the red, coffin-shaped hibernation tube. I have never traveled off of Earth, so having no experience in hibernation is making this a nerve-racking moment on top of a shitty situation.
The doctor on my right begins to speak. A mad scientist sound. “Alright Mr. Harper, I understand this is your first time in hibernation. Once the lid shuts the process will begin instantaneously. There will be pain and then a state of being. Once thawed on Naphorim you will slowly regain all your senses in which time you will be held under security as for your protection.”
A state of being? What is this supposed to be, a vision quest? And why the security?
“Now, during the hibernation state, you will be able to somewhat hear and see, and you will be fully mentally conscious. Although you won’t be able to close your eyes (we will make sure they are open, with the right devices), your mind will go into shutdown if it needs to. The equivalent of sleeping. It could last for minutes and it could last for years.”
Let’s hope the latter is more prominent.
“Ok Mr. Harper. Keep your arms inside.” The doctor pushes a button on a panel in front of him and the lid to the tube begins to seal itself over me. Light continues to shine in my eyes through the clear panel inset into the lid, right in front of my face. With the sound of the locking mechanism comes the pain. Ice daggers stab and twist every inch of my body, instantaneously.
The pain demands for my mind to shutdown.
The pain decides for my mind to wake up.
My entire body aches but not nearly as bad as the experienced pain earlier.
Earlier? How earlier? How long have I been out for? I try to move my hands and legs and laugh at myself for even trying. All I can see through the glass panel is a metal wall, red lights giving it a bloody hue. Crew members and guards periodically pass through my vision. I can hear them talking to each other, though slightly muffled by the ice caked in my ears. I hear them referring to me as a rapist and murderer. And what they do to rapists in Naphorim.
The physical connection to my body is becoming less prominent already.
The solid red lights shining on the wall in front of me begin flashing, a siren reverberating off the metal. Crew members are racing back and forth. I can hear the automated female voice over the intercom. An emergency landing?
Maybe this is a good thing.
I can feel the floor vibrating. Subtly at first, then violently. So violently my coffin is disconnected from its base and topples to the floor. After hitting the floor, expecting the jarring to hurt, I realize that I barely felt it at all.
I am facing upwards, all I can see is the ceiling of the ship, but luckily a ceiling with a window. Through the window is heat. The heat is so intense it takes on a physical form, glazing over my window, the horizon of a planet spinning around the edge. We must be entering the atmosphere. Then another thought crosses my mind. We may be a space faring, human civilization, but the universe is still vastly unexplored. We could be stuck on this planet for years. I could be stuck in this thing for an insane amount of time.
My coffin is violently slammed against a wall as the ship comes to an immediate, crashing halt.
6
PLANNING AHEAD
Delilah takes out a piece of paper and lays it on the table of their booth. On it are names written in ink. Baby names. “Oh really,” Jackson says, grinning.
The waitress arrives and pours Jackson and Delilah each a cup of coffee.
Beaming, Delilah says, “They’re just suggestions. Names that I’ve actually had picked out for quite some time. But they are here so you can look them over. I want you to pick your favorite.”
Jackson slides the paper from across the table and looks over the names. “I like them all, but gimme some time.” Delilah nods and Jackson folds the paper and slips it in his pocket. “We aren’t pregnant yet.”
Delilah looks down at her cup of coffee, the steam wafting up into her nostrils. “I know, but just the thought of starting a family with you makes me feel amazing.” She looks up into Jackson’s eyes, Jackson returning the gaze. “I just love you so much. You‘ve been there for me like no one ever has.”
Jackson grabs her hands. He smiles and says, “And I’m a damn good kisser.” He smiles and Delilah raises an eyebrow. “ Oh come on, you know I’m only joking. To the end of days Delilah. To the end of days.
They both grin. Jackson takes a sip of his coffee. ‘If you love me so much,” he says, “tell me something you would only know about me.”
Delilah looks around the restaurant, from the register to the windows. Her eyes move down to the napkin on the table in front of her, a knife, fork and spoon placed neatly on top. She grabs the silverware and holds up the spoon and fork. “You like small spoons and big forks.”
Jackson begins to laugh out loud, leans over the table and kisses Delilah.
7
NATURAL HISTORY
Years pass. I am assuming. I have been in the pitch green depths of this planet’s ocean, little light reaching my whereabouts. Very similar to Earth’s sea water, but seems to be thicker, creatures move incredibly slow. And these are some of the largest, most prehistoric looking creatures I could have ever imagined.
My mind is no longer confined to my own body. I feel my limbs no more. My thoughts are trapped within this metal coffin with a window for my viewing pleasure.
Minutes feel like seconds. Hours feel like minutes. Days feel like hours.
No, years feel like hours.
Shutdown.
A light shines through the glass panel and stimulates my physical optic nerves. Before me is a mass of bipedal humanoids very much similar to ourselves and the indigenous peoples of Earth, before we, the “sophisticated form of human“, exterminated them. They have me propped on a small stage made of various branches and stone. I hear them chant as they dance around a large fire, free from the fashion constraints of my own civilization, loin cloths being the hot item. I seem to be a worshipped artifact.
Wait, decades feel like hours.
I have no idea how long I have been buried. I witnessed a whole tribe grow and unify with their surroundings, only to be systematically destroyed by a neighboring, advanced race of the same humanoids. Funny how things work in the universe. My being a sacred piece of history to the clan, I have been tossed and erased from memory by the enemy, buried away from view.
Centuries most certainly have passed. My memories have become extremely faint and my mind has become a separate being from the physical form that bound it. My mind is constantly wrapped up in thoughts that take an immense amount of time to form themselves, my physical brain slowing down from the freeze. With nothing to stimulate my physical senses, time becomes an element of ancient history.
Once again, a light shines through the glass panel. Sand and dirt is brushed away from the window, allowing the sun to whitewash my vision. I am once again found and being transported.
I spend a bit of time in a large white room surrounded by these bipedal humanoids in white clothes. Sophisticated versions of the indigenous peoples that worshipped me centuries ago. A laboratory? I overhear them exclaiming that they are close.
Close to figuring out how to open this blasted thing.
Wait? Freedom? No. They will find out who I am. Who I am… I realize I haven’t used a label on myself in centuries. I have no memory of this. Why am I even in this tube? Do I want to be released? This is my world. This viewpoint is my world. Why would I want to leave it?
In the meantime apparently I have been put up for display in a museum. Men, woman and children… well, I guess I can’t really tell how many sexes there actually are in this species… they all line up, gazing at this strange box with a preserved, ancient human being inside.
The beings in white return me to the white room. This time they seem to have figured out how to unlock my world without destroying the contents inside, but the necessary tools are on a neighboring planet. Once again, I am to be shipped.
8
DENIED EQUILIBRIUM
The night is brisk and the small lights along the path give the ground a slight, golden hue. Jackson and Delilah are jogging side by side. Delilah speaks between gasps of air, “How did I let you talk me into doing this?”
Jackson laughs. “Oh come on. It isn’t that bad. It’s good for you. Besides, you better start working out now before you get too far in your pregnancy.”
“I know, I know.”
As Jackson and Delilah trot around a small bend, a man in a skin-tight, black suit steps out from behind a bush, a steel pipe in his right hand. He begins to catch up to the couple, his speed picking up as he gets closer and closer. He raises his equipped right hand and the pipe slams across the back of Jackson’s head, knocking him unconscious. On an immediate backswing, knocks Delilah across the jaw. She stumbles and falls on her back. Immediately the assailant is atop Delilah, buttons flying as he begins to violently rip her clothing off.
Her shrieks ring out in the night sky.
Jackson slowly regains consciousness and is made alert by his wife’s cries. He looks over to the battered woman and runs to her side. Lifting her head to his lap, blood smearing on his hands, he positions her head so her eyes could meet his own. Tears well up in Jackson’s eyes. “Which way did he go baby,” Jackson exclaims. “Where did he go?!”
Delilah points into the darkness and Jackson runs, following her finger’s accusation.
A nearby woman sees Jackson run off and quickly makes her way over to Delilah. She takes out her communicator and begins calling emergency meditechs. “Who did this,” the woman asks Delilah. “Who was that man?”
Delilah whispers, “Jackson.”
9
FLOW
Later I find out that the gargantuan size of the ship is due to the fact that by “a neighboring planet”, they mean a 150 year trip. Being that they don’t make these too often, a large amount of others will be coming. Especially for such a historical moment as cracking open a centuries-old piece of history. An arsenal is also required. Space pirates love treasure.
I’m curious if they will be able to restore my memories. Nowadays though, they are all but faint, blurry dreams. I believe they are hard to reach because of the slow processing power of my former body. If I am released and am placed back into my carrier, my memories might be restored. Then I think, do I want to go through with that?
I am placed against a wall and strapped down. A strange feeling, seeing guards and crew members walking back and forth. Almost like a déjà vu. A green light gives the wall in front of me a mossy hue.
75 years have passed. I know this because these humanoids have realized that I could still be fully conscious and started showing me current calendars and clocks through my viewing panel.
As a child humanoid is reading me a story, an adult figure runs up and grabs up the young one in his arms. Distress is all around. Faces look scared, sad, angry. The green light creates a strobe effect on the wall. It wasn’t long before an explosion rings out through a nearby hallway. The pressure drops and almost immediately I am ejected through a small puncture in a window.
As I slowly float away from the destruction, my view of the battle becomes a vista. Smaller ships fly in and around the massive ship. Some begin to board the vessel, others take more shots at the small evacuation pods. The ship begins to dissect itself.
I am not seen; overlooked debris.
I float indefinitely. The vastness of space before me. Stars sparkle in the distance.
A tear freezes over my cornea.
END
So I put this story away for a few months and now as I am reading it over I am getting really excited about expanding it. There is a lot that can be done, and I look forward to brainstorming his tragic journey.
Thanks for reading and I will see you laters!
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