Kalvin is an astronaut, far far away from home. In fact he is dying, stranded on one of the many planets he set out to explore. But, as the prospect of death lingers, is there hope for salvation? Or simply an even greater doom in disguise?
Last Days On Narvis 347 is a sci-fi short story (about 4k words long) that I wrote more than a year ago. I have a few short stories stashed away and it is my hope that I will start releasing them here in the coming weeks.
I hope you enjoy ;)
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Thursday, 10 March 2016
Wednesday, 27 October 2010
The Short And Long Of It
Hey there,
Long time no see! Seems like that's how it's gonna be hey?
Well, it will until it ain't, right?!
So here's the news.
Last week I finished a short called The Running Man, just under 2500 words. It tells the story of man that becomes obsessed with death, all the strategies he comes up to dodge it and the result of all that.
I wanted (and still want!) to send something regularly to friends and family. It's a nice way to keep in touch, to hopefully give them something that they'll enjoy and to help myself finish some shorter stuff. I believe that this also helps in finishing the longer stuff.
I've been revising Land Of Fog, as you know, and this long winded process can be pretty frustrating, especially because, for a long time (in my case at least) you can feel that you're not moving. You spend three or four hours revising a single page and then, when you look to the number of the page, and you realise it's page 21 of 230, it might make you feel like you wanna go do something else. There's that certainty of a whole bunch of three and four hours still to come... you don't even know if you're gonna be alive by then!
With a short things are much simpler in many ways. It's like the short is all nicely packed inside your brain and you can see it all of it in more or less one go. Even if you have to spend ten or twelve hours dabbling with it, it's still much easier than the hundreds or thousands you may spend with a book (and believe you me, these numbers come from experience...)
The other thing I wanted to do with the shorts is send them to competitions.
Which I did do yesterday.
Yesterday was an easier day for writing because of what I did the previous night.
I came up with a schedule.
And the schedule was this:
08-09, 1h - Meditation
09-10, 1h - Eat
10-11, 1h - Revise Land Of Fog
11-12, 1h - Post Office
12-13, 1h - Revise Short
13-14, 1h - Email friends
14-15, 1h - Eat
15-16, 1h - Revise Land Of Fog
16-17, 1h - Sort out mobile phone
17-19, 2h - Organise NaNoWriMo
19-20, 1h - Eat
20-21, 1h - Revise Land Of Fog
21-22, 1h - Submit Short Story
22-24, 2h - LOST
24-01, 1h - Revise Land Of Fog
Well, let me tell you what I didn't do. I didn't organise any of the stuff for this year's NaNoWriMo. I didn't sort out my phone. And I missed one of the Land Of Fog revision times (we watched Lost's final episodes yesterday and we just couldn't stop...
I also swapped a couple of things around but, essentially, I stuck to the plan.
And it worked.
It gave structure to my day.
So I did it again yesterday night and, I'm hoping, I'll do it every night and keep things rolling...
The great thing about this is that it primes your mind so when you actually get to the moments you need, your mind is more pliable to actually do the things it's required, rather than just be thrown in the water and expected to swim.
I don't think minds like surprises for the most part...
Anyway, I shouldn't be here writing this: I should be reading some more of Gene Wolfe's The Wizard Knight (and if you haven't read it you should - it's one of the most beautiful pieces of writing I've come across in recent times - and probably more than that by the time I finish it... he's one of the best writers around, and more!)
(I could easily do another post just about the joys that this book has given me, in particular yesterday but I won't - I really want you to read it THAT BAD!)
I hope you are all well.
Peace.
PS - I forgot to say. The short I'm sending around is called The Running Man. The one I'm working on (and that I hope to finish today) is called One Moment Left.
(yep, I think that's the title that's gonna stay...)
If you want to read The Running Man just post a comment or something and I'll get back in touch with you and email it to you - because I'm sending it to competitions and magazines I can't really publish it here for the time being. A lot of these publications have the caveat that stories can't have been published anywhere else...
Be well!
Long time no see! Seems like that's how it's gonna be hey?
Well, it will until it ain't, right?!
So here's the news.
Last week I finished a short called The Running Man, just under 2500 words. It tells the story of man that becomes obsessed with death, all the strategies he comes up to dodge it and the result of all that.
I wanted (and still want!) to send something regularly to friends and family. It's a nice way to keep in touch, to hopefully give them something that they'll enjoy and to help myself finish some shorter stuff. I believe that this also helps in finishing the longer stuff.
I've been revising Land Of Fog, as you know, and this long winded process can be pretty frustrating, especially because, for a long time (in my case at least) you can feel that you're not moving. You spend three or four hours revising a single page and then, when you look to the number of the page, and you realise it's page 21 of 230, it might make you feel like you wanna go do something else. There's that certainty of a whole bunch of three and four hours still to come... you don't even know if you're gonna be alive by then!
With a short things are much simpler in many ways. It's like the short is all nicely packed inside your brain and you can see it all of it in more or less one go. Even if you have to spend ten or twelve hours dabbling with it, it's still much easier than the hundreds or thousands you may spend with a book (and believe you me, these numbers come from experience...)
The other thing I wanted to do with the shorts is send them to competitions.
Which I did do yesterday.
Yesterday was an easier day for writing because of what I did the previous night.
I came up with a schedule.
And the schedule was this:
08-09, 1h - Meditation
09-10, 1h - Eat
10-11, 1h - Revise Land Of Fog
11-12, 1h - Post Office
12-13, 1h - Revise Short
13-14, 1h - Email friends
14-15, 1h - Eat
15-16, 1h - Revise Land Of Fog
16-17, 1h - Sort out mobile phone
17-19, 2h - Organise NaNoWriMo
19-20, 1h - Eat
20-21, 1h - Revise Land Of Fog
21-22, 1h - Submit Short Story
22-24, 2h - LOST
24-01, 1h - Revise Land Of Fog
Well, let me tell you what I didn't do. I didn't organise any of the stuff for this year's NaNoWriMo. I didn't sort out my phone. And I missed one of the Land Of Fog revision times (we watched Lost's final episodes yesterday and we just couldn't stop...
I also swapped a couple of things around but, essentially, I stuck to the plan.
And it worked.
It gave structure to my day.
So I did it again yesterday night and, I'm hoping, I'll do it every night and keep things rolling...
The great thing about this is that it primes your mind so when you actually get to the moments you need, your mind is more pliable to actually do the things it's required, rather than just be thrown in the water and expected to swim.
I don't think minds like surprises for the most part...
Anyway, I shouldn't be here writing this: I should be reading some more of Gene Wolfe's The Wizard Knight (and if you haven't read it you should - it's one of the most beautiful pieces of writing I've come across in recent times - and probably more than that by the time I finish it... he's one of the best writers around, and more!)
(I could easily do another post just about the joys that this book has given me, in particular yesterday but I won't - I really want you to read it THAT BAD!)
I hope you are all well.
Peace.
PS - I forgot to say. The short I'm sending around is called The Running Man. The one I'm working on (and that I hope to finish today) is called One Moment Left.
(yep, I think that's the title that's gonna stay...)
If you want to read The Running Man just post a comment or something and I'll get back in touch with you and email it to you - because I'm sending it to competitions and magazines I can't really publish it here for the time being. A lot of these publications have the caveat that stories can't have been published anywhere else...
Be well!
Friday, 8 October 2010
Short Stories
Been a while huh?
Summer holidays, the getting-back-to-work period where everything seems to happen at once.
Then more holidays. More work. Friends staying over...
(no excuses though...)
so. What have been up to more recently? (my memory doesn't go all the way back to almost two months ago...)
Good question!
Well, several things.
I've written a short piece for an art exhibit I went whilst in Lisbon this last July. It's for an artist called João Palla and I'm just waiting for his reply to a few questions of mine before I sent it to him.
I've also written a relatively long text to a good friend of mine, Joana Bértholo. She's a writer (published!) and she's participating in THIS.
She sent me questions 2, 15, 18, 21, 22, 23 and 24 and I wrote anything that I felt might be relevant to her debate.
And, because of question 24 (about genetic manipulation, human beings and artificial life) I might be doing a book for this year's NaNoWriMo around this theme, an idea that's been in my head for probably some ten years now...
(if it doesn't let go it's because it needs to be written...)
I've written three short stories (from 2000 to 3000 words each) with death as the main theme. I'm planning on sending them to a few friends just for fun - but I've been lazy to compile the mailing list...
I'd really like to send at least one thing a month but... knowing my rhythms, this is probably another chimera of mine...
In any case, the first story is about a guy addicted to running. The other is about a being that knows the entirety of his life (echoes of Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five...). The final one is, of the three, the one closest to what I ultimately want to offer a glimpse at, which is the realisation of death. But, of the three is the one that still needs more work - even though I do like the structure. There's an ongoing narration of an event with sudden flashbacks. Somehow these devices seem to work pretty well. For me at least...
Land Of Fog Revision continues! Of course. What do we care about deadlines?!
To be perfectly honest, I thought that this third (or is it fourth?!) draft would be easier. But, it seems to me that until I get to a fourth draft it's never gonna be easy...
For a good while I was incredibly frustrated with this. Which in turn caused revision to slow down (that and the fact that I was somewhat jaded with the material...). But I'm accepting the slowness of this process and trying not to worry too much about it. It'd be nice to have it ready before November but, if it doesn't happen, I'll just plunge head on to NaNoWriMo and think about it later.
My only question is if I should write the second part (of three) of the Fog trilogy. It's to be called Land Of Mists. I've already written quite a few ideas for it and I know exactly where it must end.
The advantage of doing this is that the setting and where I want to take this story is very present in me.
The downside is that I want to leave it behind for a while.
But, in fact, writing this down has made me think that the first option is better than the second. I can hold on for another couple of months. Unavoidably in January (if I do go to my meditation retreat) I'll have to leave all these stories behind so... might as well take advantage of having the story so clear in my head. Hopefully the new storyline and the new characters will refresh the whole thing.
I've also written some other short stories that I'm compiling for my little cousins. They're falling under the umbrella of BBT (I don't want to give out the title should they be reading this by some chance...) and they're more or less playful adventure stories with some twists and weird stuff thrown into the mix. My initial idea was to have a story per little cousin (that'd be five...) in which each of them would get to play the hero and be the main character. The tough thing was to find something that echoed their personality - which was a hard thing to do for I tend to play with them more than anything. I don't really know that much about their personal tastes and dreams - we meet only rarely. But I think I've got things that they'll identify with and enjoy.
And I was very happy when my oldest cousin suggested to me the setting that I was already envisioning in my head!
Right now I must have some seven or eight stories. A couple I've written beginning to end, either dialogue or plot. But most are still in an embryonic stage. There's also stuff written down on paper, scattered around... However I try to organise, inspiration comes when it pleases and not always I have a keyboard close by... Probably some five or ten thousand words by now - which I think will be enough to work into a small book (thirty to forty thousand). There is no end in sight. In fact what I wanted the most was to create a setting for stories for them.
At least that I have got. Now it's time.
And work!
Peace.
Summer holidays, the getting-back-to-work period where everything seems to happen at once.
Then more holidays. More work. Friends staying over...
(no excuses though...)
so. What have been up to more recently? (my memory doesn't go all the way back to almost two months ago...)
Good question!
Well, several things.
I've written a short piece for an art exhibit I went whilst in Lisbon this last July. It's for an artist called João Palla and I'm just waiting for his reply to a few questions of mine before I sent it to him.
I've also written a relatively long text to a good friend of mine, Joana Bértholo. She's a writer (published!) and she's participating in THIS.
She sent me questions 2, 15, 18, 21, 22, 23 and 24 and I wrote anything that I felt might be relevant to her debate.
And, because of question 24 (about genetic manipulation, human beings and artificial life) I might be doing a book for this year's NaNoWriMo around this theme, an idea that's been in my head for probably some ten years now...
(if it doesn't let go it's because it needs to be written...)
I've written three short stories (from 2000 to 3000 words each) with death as the main theme. I'm planning on sending them to a few friends just for fun - but I've been lazy to compile the mailing list...
I'd really like to send at least one thing a month but... knowing my rhythms, this is probably another chimera of mine...
In any case, the first story is about a guy addicted to running. The other is about a being that knows the entirety of his life (echoes of Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five...). The final one is, of the three, the one closest to what I ultimately want to offer a glimpse at, which is the realisation of death. But, of the three is the one that still needs more work - even though I do like the structure. There's an ongoing narration of an event with sudden flashbacks. Somehow these devices seem to work pretty well. For me at least...
Land Of Fog Revision continues! Of course. What do we care about deadlines?!
To be perfectly honest, I thought that this third (or is it fourth?!) draft would be easier. But, it seems to me that until I get to a fourth draft it's never gonna be easy...
For a good while I was incredibly frustrated with this. Which in turn caused revision to slow down (that and the fact that I was somewhat jaded with the material...). But I'm accepting the slowness of this process and trying not to worry too much about it. It'd be nice to have it ready before November but, if it doesn't happen, I'll just plunge head on to NaNoWriMo and think about it later.
My only question is if I should write the second part (of three) of the Fog trilogy. It's to be called Land Of Mists. I've already written quite a few ideas for it and I know exactly where it must end.
The advantage of doing this is that the setting and where I want to take this story is very present in me.
The downside is that I want to leave it behind for a while.
But, in fact, writing this down has made me think that the first option is better than the second. I can hold on for another couple of months. Unavoidably in January (if I do go to my meditation retreat) I'll have to leave all these stories behind so... might as well take advantage of having the story so clear in my head. Hopefully the new storyline and the new characters will refresh the whole thing.
I've also written some other short stories that I'm compiling for my little cousins. They're falling under the umbrella of BBT (I don't want to give out the title should they be reading this by some chance...) and they're more or less playful adventure stories with some twists and weird stuff thrown into the mix. My initial idea was to have a story per little cousin (that'd be five...) in which each of them would get to play the hero and be the main character. The tough thing was to find something that echoed their personality - which was a hard thing to do for I tend to play with them more than anything. I don't really know that much about their personal tastes and dreams - we meet only rarely. But I think I've got things that they'll identify with and enjoy.
And I was very happy when my oldest cousin suggested to me the setting that I was already envisioning in my head!
Right now I must have some seven or eight stories. A couple I've written beginning to end, either dialogue or plot. But most are still in an embryonic stage. There's also stuff written down on paper, scattered around... However I try to organise, inspiration comes when it pleases and not always I have a keyboard close by... Probably some five or ten thousand words by now - which I think will be enough to work into a small book (thirty to forty thousand). There is no end in sight. In fact what I wanted the most was to create a setting for stories for them.
At least that I have got. Now it's time.
And work!
Peace.
Monday, 8 February 2010
The Gravity of Tales
I've returned from my yearly retreat just a few days ago and I still haven't had time to begin posting stuff. This is one of the catches of going away for a good while: you really get to "go away", mind and body but then, when you come back, there's a ton of stuff to do, happily piling itself, and waiting for you...
So I've been digging through that pile (still of dirty clothes for the most part...) in hopes of returning to the writing element as quickly as possible...
(I want to finish my book!)
But this retreat was quite interesting (not only but, in relation to what I have to say for this post) in terms of writing ideas (they always tend to be).
The difference this year was that, instead of having a whole new bunch of projects, most of the stuff that became clearer was in relation to projects that I've already started.
Which was great! And a big sigh of relief! I already have enough stuff to keep me busy 'till the end of my days...
Still there were a couple of new ideas that I really enjoyed and for which I wrote a bit. One of them was The Great Temple and this is something yuo'll be hearing about in a few days since I'm going to type up what I wrote and start publishing it here, bit by bit. They're all short stories but, since their onset, I saw them more as a crossbreed between the short story and comics. So, it's a kind of an illustrated book. Yet, some pages might just be completely silent, no words, just images, while others can be the opposite.
And in between we'll have a wide array of possibility!
But it was good to experience this. This gravity of tales. These stories that just refuse to go away, even as the years go by. These are the ones I should write I suppose.
So, yet again, this was an incredibly inspiring retreat!
Sometimes I just wish I could stay there for a good long while and just write and write until I'm completely fed up with it...
But it's also good to be back into my comfort zone...
Let's see what will emerge in the next couple of months...
peace
So I've been digging through that pile (still of dirty clothes for the most part...) in hopes of returning to the writing element as quickly as possible...
(I want to finish my book!)
But this retreat was quite interesting (not only but, in relation to what I have to say for this post) in terms of writing ideas (they always tend to be).
The difference this year was that, instead of having a whole new bunch of projects, most of the stuff that became clearer was in relation to projects that I've already started.
Which was great! And a big sigh of relief! I already have enough stuff to keep me busy 'till the end of my days...
Still there were a couple of new ideas that I really enjoyed and for which I wrote a bit. One of them was The Great Temple and this is something yuo'll be hearing about in a few days since I'm going to type up what I wrote and start publishing it here, bit by bit. They're all short stories but, since their onset, I saw them more as a crossbreed between the short story and comics. So, it's a kind of an illustrated book. Yet, some pages might just be completely silent, no words, just images, while others can be the opposite.
And in between we'll have a wide array of possibility!
But it was good to experience this. This gravity of tales. These stories that just refuse to go away, even as the years go by. These are the ones I should write I suppose.
So, yet again, this was an incredibly inspiring retreat!
Sometimes I just wish I could stay there for a good long while and just write and write until I'm completely fed up with it...
But it's also good to be back into my comfort zone...
Let's see what will emerge in the next couple of months...
peace
Thursday, 31 December 2009
Legacy
This was the short story I had initially intended to send to the New Scientist competition. It just came to me in a big, widescreen shot of mountains and snow. I could see an older man and a youth, climbing, straining. But something seemed of somehow.
And I just needed to find out what...
Enjoy!
LEGACY
(349 word count)
“’tis said that only from the shoulder of Durak-Nur can the world be seen.” The man paused to catch his breath. Then tugged at his long furry coat.
“That from its head one can know the truth. Merge with the Originator. And the Death Giver.”
The boy looked at him. Then at the gigantic mountains in the distance.
“You have reached the age.” Said the man. “Your father will be proud when we return.”
“But why did we have to come here?” enquired the boy. “Couldn’t we have climbed some other mountain? One closer to home?”
“No!” Said the man sternly. “In the Durak range there are no mountains.”
“But-“
The man exhaled steam while indicating the region all around them. “This is why we have brought you to the Durak-Nur, the first of the seven. What you mistake for mountains were not made by the fires of the Earth alone but had the almighty yielding hand of our ancestors. They’re machines.”
The boy strained his eye, trying to reason out the shapes buried underneath the snow.
“This is why we come. To pay tribute and homage to that long gone golden age. When the old ones could rip open the belly of the Earth to carve mighty engines. Able of planting whole forests in a day. Walking across the mighty Lamtik Ocean. And war the demon god Klaymma Tchang, the destroyer. The hungry god Ozuor that rose the seas and killed our ancestors. That bent event the winds to his command.”
The man placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“We have brought you here so that you can see that the legends are true. That millennia ago our people ruled the whole of Earth. That the star metal shines still today, hidden in the snow. To show you the lost city of Nur. Where thousands upon thousands lived when the Durak still roamed free, saving the world from total destruction.”
The man’s eyes shone with ancient glory.
“We have brought you here for you to pay homage to long gone ancestors.” He said.
“And become their legacy.”
END
Of all the stories that I wrote for the competition this is really the only one I'd like to explore further. All others are pretty much self contained, but this one... this one just keeps sneaking under the radar. It kept coming to my attention over and over again and, at every step of the way, something new would come out of it.
So, I've taken notes for what I could still do with it and, maybe one day...
In any case, this was the story that was the hardest to write. I wrote four different versions. And I worked on all four of them.
I got the idea right on the first go but not the tone and the mood - which was the most important part of it. I wanted to insinuate, to stimulate the imagination, more than tell people's minds what to visualise.
It was also a mini-tribute to that writer extraordinaire, that writer of writers, Gene Wolfe. I just kept thinking about his style, the way he builds things for you in such a precise way and yet, when you go back and re-read it, it seems as if only vague glimpses were given. What we saw, we made it all up.
Anyway, I really like this story and that's why I saved it to be the last one posted here.
Hope you've enjoyed them!
Peace
And I just needed to find out what...
Enjoy!
LEGACY
(349 word count)
“’tis said that only from the shoulder of Durak-Nur can the world be seen.” The man paused to catch his breath. Then tugged at his long furry coat.
“That from its head one can know the truth. Merge with the Originator. And the Death Giver.”
The boy looked at him. Then at the gigantic mountains in the distance.
“You have reached the age.” Said the man. “Your father will be proud when we return.”
“But why did we have to come here?” enquired the boy. “Couldn’t we have climbed some other mountain? One closer to home?”
“No!” Said the man sternly. “In the Durak range there are no mountains.”
“But-“
The man exhaled steam while indicating the region all around them. “This is why we have brought you to the Durak-Nur, the first of the seven. What you mistake for mountains were not made by the fires of the Earth alone but had the almighty yielding hand of our ancestors. They’re machines.”
The boy strained his eye, trying to reason out the shapes buried underneath the snow.
“This is why we come. To pay tribute and homage to that long gone golden age. When the old ones could rip open the belly of the Earth to carve mighty engines. Able of planting whole forests in a day. Walking across the mighty Lamtik Ocean. And war the demon god Klaymma Tchang, the destroyer. The hungry god Ozuor that rose the seas and killed our ancestors. That bent event the winds to his command.”
The man placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“We have brought you here so that you can see that the legends are true. That millennia ago our people ruled the whole of Earth. That the star metal shines still today, hidden in the snow. To show you the lost city of Nur. Where thousands upon thousands lived when the Durak still roamed free, saving the world from total destruction.”
The man’s eyes shone with ancient glory.
“We have brought you here for you to pay homage to long gone ancestors.” He said.
“And become their legacy.”
END
Of all the stories that I wrote for the competition this is really the only one I'd like to explore further. All others are pretty much self contained, but this one... this one just keeps sneaking under the radar. It kept coming to my attention over and over again and, at every step of the way, something new would come out of it.
So, I've taken notes for what I could still do with it and, maybe one day...
In any case, this was the story that was the hardest to write. I wrote four different versions. And I worked on all four of them.
I got the idea right on the first go but not the tone and the mood - which was the most important part of it. I wanted to insinuate, to stimulate the imagination, more than tell people's minds what to visualise.
It was also a mini-tribute to that writer extraordinaire, that writer of writers, Gene Wolfe. I just kept thinking about his style, the way he builds things for you in such a precise way and yet, when you go back and re-read it, it seems as if only vague glimpses were given. What we saw, we made it all up.
Anyway, I really like this story and that's why I saved it to be the last one posted here.
Hope you've enjoyed them!
Peace
Monday, 28 December 2009
Collapse
This was the short story I sent to the New Scientist competition a couple of months ago though it wasn't initially the story that I had planned to send.
(that one I'll post tomorrow or something)
I sent my short stories around to some friends and asked for feedback. Since everybody more or less mentioned this one was one of their favourites, I decided to send it instead.
To me Legacy had more promise to it but this one was perhaps more straight forward and an easier read.
So, just sit back and imagined two mates talking in a bar at the onset of the twenty second century...
COLLAPSE
(349 word count)
“Remember? Remember what? There’s nothing to remember...” The burly man called Pyke took another swig.
The scrawny man called Gadziel looked in disbelief, barely aware he was holding a beer too.
“Now who’s sounding crazy? The Great Collapse man… The Great Collapse! More than fifty years ago. World population decreasing to one third! And no one saw it coming!”
Pyke stared at his beer.
“So?”
“So?! What do you mean so?!” Gadziel spilled some beer. “It was unseen!”
Pyke shrugged.
“Not so. May I remind you that life on this planet started a good half a dozen times – that we know about - before it actually stayed for good.” He stared calmly at his mate. “So far…”
Gadziel slammed the mug on the wooden balcony. “But that’s different! You’re talking about primitive life forms barely able to reproduce! I’m talking about us!”
“I know that.” Said Pyke before taking another swig.
“So??”
“So what? I think we give ourselves too much credit.” He placed his mug down and darted his eyes around the bar. “That’s what got us into trouble last time.”
Gadziel gulped, then tried to catch his breath.
“But… but this was an event bigger than the rest of human history combined!!”
“Sure. But only in a couple of orders of magnitude.”
“What?!” Gadziel stared intensely into the other man’s expression.
“You’re just worried about the scale. About the numbers. Who cares how many billions died? They’re dead aren’t they? We should stop mopping about and just move on.” The beefy man signalled to the bartender. Then he turned conspiratorially. “You, my friend, need another beer. Help you get things into perspective…”
“But the Great Collapse was-“
“Precisely.” He said. “That’s the correct operative. The Great Collapse was. Period. Don’t be so fixated on the past. It’s not healthy. Besides, we’ve got better things to do.” He nodded in approval to the new round of beers. “We’re better than that. We should just move on. Get over it.” He leaned over one of the beers. “It’s not like it was the end of the world or anything.”
END
(that one I'll post tomorrow or something)
I sent my short stories around to some friends and asked for feedback. Since everybody more or less mentioned this one was one of their favourites, I decided to send it instead.
To me Legacy had more promise to it but this one was perhaps more straight forward and an easier read.
So, just sit back and imagined two mates talking in a bar at the onset of the twenty second century...
COLLAPSE
(349 word count)
“Remember? Remember what? There’s nothing to remember...” The burly man called Pyke took another swig.
The scrawny man called Gadziel looked in disbelief, barely aware he was holding a beer too.
“Now who’s sounding crazy? The Great Collapse man… The Great Collapse! More than fifty years ago. World population decreasing to one third! And no one saw it coming!”
Pyke stared at his beer.
“So?”
“So?! What do you mean so?!” Gadziel spilled some beer. “It was unseen!”
Pyke shrugged.
“Not so. May I remind you that life on this planet started a good half a dozen times – that we know about - before it actually stayed for good.” He stared calmly at his mate. “So far…”
Gadziel slammed the mug on the wooden balcony. “But that’s different! You’re talking about primitive life forms barely able to reproduce! I’m talking about us!”
“I know that.” Said Pyke before taking another swig.
“So??”
“So what? I think we give ourselves too much credit.” He placed his mug down and darted his eyes around the bar. “That’s what got us into trouble last time.”
Gadziel gulped, then tried to catch his breath.
“But… but this was an event bigger than the rest of human history combined!!”
“Sure. But only in a couple of orders of magnitude.”
“What?!” Gadziel stared intensely into the other man’s expression.
“You’re just worried about the scale. About the numbers. Who cares how many billions died? They’re dead aren’t they? We should stop mopping about and just move on.” The beefy man signalled to the bartender. Then he turned conspiratorially. “You, my friend, need another beer. Help you get things into perspective…”
“But the Great Collapse was-“
“Precisely.” He said. “That’s the correct operative. The Great Collapse was. Period. Don’t be so fixated on the past. It’s not healthy. Besides, we’ve got better things to do.” He nodded in approval to the new round of beers. “We’re better than that. We should just move on. Get over it.” He leaned over one of the beers. “It’s not like it was the end of the world or anything.”
END
Sunday, 27 December 2009
The Tunnel
This one wasn’t really one of the short stories that I wrote for the New Scientist competition. It was actually a dream that I had during the period while writing them. Because it left such a strong impression on me (after more than two weeks I could still recall it vividly) I have decided to include it here. I don’t know if I’ll be able to recreate the intensity that permeated me while experiencing it but I hope I do.
To strange places I awake...
THE TUNNEL
(1413 word count)
I’m walking through a huge club where a massive rave party is going on. I’m following a girl, perhaps someone I know from work, perhaps not. There is some sexual tension on my part but mostly some strange kind of friendship that not even I quite understand myself.
I am following her because I know she is getting herself into trouble.
And I want to be there to ameliorate the impending consequences of her present actions.
She wades easily through the crowd, moving closer and closer towards the back of the club. The music is booming all around us but I know my words of caution are drowned both by the sound and by her stubbornness.
Everybody’s high, taking the music and the experience to the limit.
But there are drugs and there are drugs.
And she wants the most dangerous, the most hard to get and the most potent of them all. She doesn’t say it but I know.
I know as soon as she says
“Come with me. I’ve got to pick up something.”
“I really think you shouldn’t.”
“Why? Are you scared?”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
“If you want to make it there, there has to be no place for fear.”
“I know. That is why I am afraid.”
“Stay here then.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Sure.”
I follow her through the steaming crowd, pumping more than blood and sound through their system. As we move closer to the back of the club the music seems to become heavier, denser. And so do the people. They seem more sinister and brooding. I begin to feel more and more uncomfortable. This is what I knew would happen.
She moves between all these people almost as if they weren’t even there. She is on a mission and nothing will deter her. This is the correct attitude to have, I’m sure, if one is to come back out alive.
At the back of the club, instead of a wall there is an entrance. A tunnel. It slopes downwards softly, whilst curving to the left, a spiral, always to the left apart from the odd stretch straight ahead.
The tunnel has walls like a cave, the rough hewn edges of stone showing. Dimly lit by a light whose source I cannot fathom. It seems that the light is permanently coming from the tunnel’s end though it is never in sight. But there’s that feeling that it’s just around the next corner.
She enters the tunnel without hesitation. I try not to show mine and follow.
After a few steps I look back. I can still see the lights of the club we’re leaving behind along with any feeling of safety. They dim more and more. And so does the sound. And that’s the scariest part. Losing whatever feeble connection we can have to the place up there.
One more curve to the left and it fades away. The sound quickly follows.
There are steps along the way. They are broad and shallow. Slowly they take us down. We walk at a good pace but carefully. There isn’t enough light to see where we are going and there’re plenty of people inside the tunnel. Waiting. Waiting for customers. Waiting for prey.
We move ever downwards with a constant pace. There is a new sound here. I can’t place it, there’s no perceptible rhythm or riffs. It’s like this gigantic but also blurred mass of distorted guitars, continuously strumming their mass of industrial Goth metal rock. It’s a continuous onslaught of distortion with only a vague discernment of variation. The sound doesn’t seem to change for a long time. It’s always there. Always the same. As if telling us we are never going to reach the objective.
All I know is that at the end of the tunnel there is a terrible thing. That more often than not people that go in search of these drugs that can only be obtained there, do not return. But I wish to protect her and so I move on.
At each step of the way, at each turn, men gage us. Trying to ascertain who we are and what they can do with us. At each step, at each new turn their faces and looks become more and more menacing. Even she’s feeling more and more anxious. I can feel it. We don’t say anything. Exchanging any word here would be an assumption of doubt or hesitation, which are just another words for fear. And that would be deadly. We press on and we look to these people less and less. As if they didn’t matter. As if only the end of the tunnel mattered.
Another turn to the left. Again that vague eerie steely glare escorts us downwards. It never seems to change. I feel that these men want to kill us but, as soon as we drop another step below them it’s as if we drop beyond their reach, their maximum tolerance level and are thus spared. This is why we can never stop.
The steps seem endless. Always the same. Always shallow and long. I calculate that if we had to run back we’d easily trip in them for their length is unnatural and hard to judge.
Then the glare increases and so does the sound. Some sort of ongoing repetitive mass of chords keeps ringing, over saturated.
I don’t know what to do.
I can see the glare as we descend the last few steps. The wall now curves to the right. There’s a dark golden red light coming from inside.
The sound increases.
The men move aside as we pass by them. Staring at us from behind their black shades. As if we are mad to enter that place.
I don’t know what to do.
I follow her.
We enter a small cave. There’s a crowd dancing to the sound of this music that I can’t place where it’s coming from. The wall behind them is completely black and I know that even if I got close to it I would not see anything.
On either side of the crowd there are two hierarchies. They watch the crowd dance, presiding to the whole thing. They are both demonic. I suppose she has sold her soul as soon as we entered the tunnel. Intention is everything and as soon as she made her wish and began down the tunnel, the pact was sealed. This is how it works.
She hesitates. She is so close but it’s as if for the first time it hits her what she can really lose if she goes ahead with this. I don’t know what it is but it’s bigger than life, death and the soul combined. It’s as if she’s about to lose everything and more. I try to stop her. She just shrugs me away and moves towards the crowd. I cannot go any further. This is my limit. It’s not something that I can even conceptualise to do. To follow her. I just watch her move between the hot, pulsing bodies, oblivious to anything but their motion. She goes to the left crowd, passes between the dancing bodies and is received upon the hierarchy. A man with long flowing hair welcomes her courteously and begins to speak with her. Greets her as if he had always known her.
I feel I shouldn’t be here. I feel that they will find me and do something worse than death to me. To her. But I should stay. To protect her. If anything goes wrong I will try and save her, even though I know that my abilities are next to zero when compared to those of the ones playing host to this place.
She makes her request.
The demon in human form pauses and draws a soft smile. He concedes. Something is brought to him and he gives it to her. He leaves her and she wades back into the crowd. She comes towards me with a triumphant yet somewhat nervous look in her face. She has what she wanted. She feels she’s won.
We begin walking away.
We start climbing the long staircase once more.
Her eyes shine.
None of us says anything.
I’m terrified because I know that the pact is now definitive.
I know she is doomed.
She knows it too.
But, right now, she doesn’t care. She has precisely what she’d wanted.
For now, she’s won.
END
To strange places I awake...
THE TUNNEL
(1413 word count)
I’m walking through a huge club where a massive rave party is going on. I’m following a girl, perhaps someone I know from work, perhaps not. There is some sexual tension on my part but mostly some strange kind of friendship that not even I quite understand myself.
I am following her because I know she is getting herself into trouble.
And I want to be there to ameliorate the impending consequences of her present actions.
She wades easily through the crowd, moving closer and closer towards the back of the club. The music is booming all around us but I know my words of caution are drowned both by the sound and by her stubbornness.
Everybody’s high, taking the music and the experience to the limit.
But there are drugs and there are drugs.
And she wants the most dangerous, the most hard to get and the most potent of them all. She doesn’t say it but I know.
I know as soon as she says
“Come with me. I’ve got to pick up something.”
“I really think you shouldn’t.”
“Why? Are you scared?”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
“If you want to make it there, there has to be no place for fear.”
“I know. That is why I am afraid.”
“Stay here then.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Sure.”
I follow her through the steaming crowd, pumping more than blood and sound through their system. As we move closer to the back of the club the music seems to become heavier, denser. And so do the people. They seem more sinister and brooding. I begin to feel more and more uncomfortable. This is what I knew would happen.
She moves between all these people almost as if they weren’t even there. She is on a mission and nothing will deter her. This is the correct attitude to have, I’m sure, if one is to come back out alive.
At the back of the club, instead of a wall there is an entrance. A tunnel. It slopes downwards softly, whilst curving to the left, a spiral, always to the left apart from the odd stretch straight ahead.
The tunnel has walls like a cave, the rough hewn edges of stone showing. Dimly lit by a light whose source I cannot fathom. It seems that the light is permanently coming from the tunnel’s end though it is never in sight. But there’s that feeling that it’s just around the next corner.
She enters the tunnel without hesitation. I try not to show mine and follow.
After a few steps I look back. I can still see the lights of the club we’re leaving behind along with any feeling of safety. They dim more and more. And so does the sound. And that’s the scariest part. Losing whatever feeble connection we can have to the place up there.
One more curve to the left and it fades away. The sound quickly follows.
There are steps along the way. They are broad and shallow. Slowly they take us down. We walk at a good pace but carefully. There isn’t enough light to see where we are going and there’re plenty of people inside the tunnel. Waiting. Waiting for customers. Waiting for prey.
We move ever downwards with a constant pace. There is a new sound here. I can’t place it, there’s no perceptible rhythm or riffs. It’s like this gigantic but also blurred mass of distorted guitars, continuously strumming their mass of industrial Goth metal rock. It’s a continuous onslaught of distortion with only a vague discernment of variation. The sound doesn’t seem to change for a long time. It’s always there. Always the same. As if telling us we are never going to reach the objective.
All I know is that at the end of the tunnel there is a terrible thing. That more often than not people that go in search of these drugs that can only be obtained there, do not return. But I wish to protect her and so I move on.
At each step of the way, at each turn, men gage us. Trying to ascertain who we are and what they can do with us. At each step, at each new turn their faces and looks become more and more menacing. Even she’s feeling more and more anxious. I can feel it. We don’t say anything. Exchanging any word here would be an assumption of doubt or hesitation, which are just another words for fear. And that would be deadly. We press on and we look to these people less and less. As if they didn’t matter. As if only the end of the tunnel mattered.
Another turn to the left. Again that vague eerie steely glare escorts us downwards. It never seems to change. I feel that these men want to kill us but, as soon as we drop another step below them it’s as if we drop beyond their reach, their maximum tolerance level and are thus spared. This is why we can never stop.
The steps seem endless. Always the same. Always shallow and long. I calculate that if we had to run back we’d easily trip in them for their length is unnatural and hard to judge.
Then the glare increases and so does the sound. Some sort of ongoing repetitive mass of chords keeps ringing, over saturated.
I don’t know what to do.
I can see the glare as we descend the last few steps. The wall now curves to the right. There’s a dark golden red light coming from inside.
The sound increases.
The men move aside as we pass by them. Staring at us from behind their black shades. As if we are mad to enter that place.
I don’t know what to do.
I follow her.
We enter a small cave. There’s a crowd dancing to the sound of this music that I can’t place where it’s coming from. The wall behind them is completely black and I know that even if I got close to it I would not see anything.
On either side of the crowd there are two hierarchies. They watch the crowd dance, presiding to the whole thing. They are both demonic. I suppose she has sold her soul as soon as we entered the tunnel. Intention is everything and as soon as she made her wish and began down the tunnel, the pact was sealed. This is how it works.
She hesitates. She is so close but it’s as if for the first time it hits her what she can really lose if she goes ahead with this. I don’t know what it is but it’s bigger than life, death and the soul combined. It’s as if she’s about to lose everything and more. I try to stop her. She just shrugs me away and moves towards the crowd. I cannot go any further. This is my limit. It’s not something that I can even conceptualise to do. To follow her. I just watch her move between the hot, pulsing bodies, oblivious to anything but their motion. She goes to the left crowd, passes between the dancing bodies and is received upon the hierarchy. A man with long flowing hair welcomes her courteously and begins to speak with her. Greets her as if he had always known her.
I feel I shouldn’t be here. I feel that they will find me and do something worse than death to me. To her. But I should stay. To protect her. If anything goes wrong I will try and save her, even though I know that my abilities are next to zero when compared to those of the ones playing host to this place.
She makes her request.
The demon in human form pauses and draws a soft smile. He concedes. Something is brought to him and he gives it to her. He leaves her and she wades back into the crowd. She comes towards me with a triumphant yet somewhat nervous look in her face. She has what she wanted. She feels she’s won.
We begin walking away.
We start climbing the long staircase once more.
Her eyes shine.
None of us says anything.
I’m terrified because I know that the pact is now definitive.
I know she is doomed.
She knows it too.
But, right now, she doesn’t care. She has precisely what she’d wanted.
For now, she’s won.
END
Friday, 25 December 2009
Echoes
This is another of the set of short stories I wrote for the New Scientist Competition. I don't really recall how it came about but it probably had something to do with some family stuff going on then. That feeling that most kids seem to have when they hit adolescence (well, at least I did, 'cause I remember it well) of wanting to grow too fast, to reach maturity as quickly as possible.
So, in a way, this little story is a short meditation on that, from both sides of the equation.
Enjoy!
peace.
ECHOES
(591 word count)
What happened? Are you alright? You look terrible.
I’m fine I guess. Humm… no really. It’s ok. I’ve just been looking through my great-grandparents stuff.
Really?! Why would you want to do that?
Genealogy. I just wanted to find out a bit better how they lived back then. You know, twenty first century style.
Honey, why would you want to do that?
I guess I’m trying to find some closure in my own life, you know? What’s it all about? Did they know any more than us? Did they learn anything?
The woman paused and looked intently at her daughter. Then said
Well, did they?
I don’t know. I don’t think so. They spent an awful lot of time doing lots of pointless things. “Surfing the web” Publishing snippets of their emo-mind states and hoping that others would spot them.
Well, we do the same. We’ve got Z.
Sure. But that’s not an activity in itself it’s-
-just part of the landscape. I know. But don’t be too hard on them. This kind of stuff was born there. They godfathered our era. For better or for worse.
It’s just that I’ve gone through all this drivel about what I’ve done or eaten today or what I’m planning on buying or whatever and what strikes me the most is all the misinformation they were surrounded with. The world was upside down. Couldn’t they see it?
Honey. Of course they could. They were just stuck in their own time. We all are.
I know that. But why didn’t they realise it faster? Why did they get so easily stuck?
Honey, they didn’t have the technology we have today. Neuron balancing therapy, synaptic realignment and cortical regenerative processes were only invented less than thirty years ago.
Sure. But these techniques, they didn’t tell us anything that we didn’t know before…
I know honey... but they did allow us to reach those ideas much faster than ever before. That’s why they were so important in the first place. Now what I think is that you shouldn’t get yourself so worked up simply because you can’t sort out the past. No one can. What’s done is done… You know, when I was your age, we used to spend so much time in I-Reality. Who pays any attention to that these days? You’re seven. Don’t worry yourself about all this stuff. You have the rest of your life to do that. Just enjoy what you’ve got right now. All these mementos… honey, they’re just echoes from the past…
Is she alright?
Yeah. She is… I had to have the “you’re looking too much, too deep” conversation again.
Well, if anyone can, it’s you honey. I’m crap at that sort of stuff.
You’re not… but thanks. The woman leaned over to her husband and rested her head on his chest. She’s just so young and already so much into all this deep brooding stuff. Were you ever like that when you were a kid? More worried about the philosophical consequences of your ancestors than actually spending time with your friends?
Nah. You know me. Always a sucker for putting up with my mates. But don’t start getting worried on me to. One out of three females is as much as I can take.
Oh, poor baby… does that mean you’re not planning on worrying then?
You better pray I don’t even show early signs. I’m impossible to put up with…
Thanks for the fair warning…
Hmm… Kids these days hey? They just grow up too fast.
END
So, in a way, this little story is a short meditation on that, from both sides of the equation.
Enjoy!
peace.
ECHOES
(591 word count)
What happened? Are you alright? You look terrible.
I’m fine I guess. Humm… no really. It’s ok. I’ve just been looking through my great-grandparents stuff.
Really?! Why would you want to do that?
Genealogy. I just wanted to find out a bit better how they lived back then. You know, twenty first century style.
Honey, why would you want to do that?
I guess I’m trying to find some closure in my own life, you know? What’s it all about? Did they know any more than us? Did they learn anything?
The woman paused and looked intently at her daughter. Then said
Well, did they?
I don’t know. I don’t think so. They spent an awful lot of time doing lots of pointless things. “Surfing the web” Publishing snippets of their emo-mind states and hoping that others would spot them.
Well, we do the same. We’ve got Z.
Sure. But that’s not an activity in itself it’s-
-just part of the landscape. I know. But don’t be too hard on them. This kind of stuff was born there. They godfathered our era. For better or for worse.
It’s just that I’ve gone through all this drivel about what I’ve done or eaten today or what I’m planning on buying or whatever and what strikes me the most is all the misinformation they were surrounded with. The world was upside down. Couldn’t they see it?
Honey. Of course they could. They were just stuck in their own time. We all are.
I know that. But why didn’t they realise it faster? Why did they get so easily stuck?
Honey, they didn’t have the technology we have today. Neuron balancing therapy, synaptic realignment and cortical regenerative processes were only invented less than thirty years ago.
Sure. But these techniques, they didn’t tell us anything that we didn’t know before…
I know honey... but they did allow us to reach those ideas much faster than ever before. That’s why they were so important in the first place. Now what I think is that you shouldn’t get yourself so worked up simply because you can’t sort out the past. No one can. What’s done is done… You know, when I was your age, we used to spend so much time in I-Reality. Who pays any attention to that these days? You’re seven. Don’t worry yourself about all this stuff. You have the rest of your life to do that. Just enjoy what you’ve got right now. All these mementos… honey, they’re just echoes from the past…
Is she alright?
Yeah. She is… I had to have the “you’re looking too much, too deep” conversation again.
Well, if anyone can, it’s you honey. I’m crap at that sort of stuff.
You’re not… but thanks. The woman leaned over to her husband and rested her head on his chest. She’s just so young and already so much into all this deep brooding stuff. Were you ever like that when you were a kid? More worried about the philosophical consequences of your ancestors than actually spending time with your friends?
Nah. You know me. Always a sucker for putting up with my mates. But don’t start getting worried on me to. One out of three females is as much as I can take.
Oh, poor baby… does that mean you’re not planning on worrying then?
You better pray I don’t even show early signs. I’m impossible to put up with…
Thanks for the fair warning…
Hmm… Kids these days hey? They just grow up too fast.
END
Wednesday, 23 December 2009
Coincidences Remixed
Weeks have slipped by and I kept meaning to post the last few short stories for that New Scientist competition but I just kept postponing it and postponing it and postponing it...
Well... no more!
COINCIDENCES REMIXED
(300 word count)
Heading home? Already?!
Yeah man… boss been giving me a hard time… you know how it is… too much work and no time to do it… I’m just gonna head home and chill watching a movie…
Alright. I’m feeling a bit tired myself. I think I’m gonna do the same…
Oh yeah? What are you gonna watch?
Oh… I don’t know… maybe Casablanca. It’s been a while, you know?
For real?! That’s what I’m gonna watch! What a coincidence! I’m such a fan of that classic, you know? With whom playing?
Ah… you know… I don’t really know. Maybe with Demi Moore and Shia LaBeouf.
Really? Hmm… funny, never heard about that one… Directed by?
Er… either Woody Allen - in his early, Bananas, phase mind you. Or Fellini. Think 8 and a Half. I want something moving and weird but funny as well. But I’ll probably go with Woody Allen this time.
Right… old school hey?
I guess… How about you?
I’m prefer something a bit more contemporary. You know. Ted Malek. Vicky Stratsmore. Kev Lubin behind the scenes. Nothing fancy.
The action adventure angle, right?
Yeah, you know. I just like to go home and relax with a good punch up… How’re you watching it? Total I-Reality immersion or what? I just can’t get enough of it! It blows me away! Sometimes I’m still in character by the time I log into work!
Yeah… I know what you mean… but man, believe it or not, as soon as I’ve configured all the specs for the film, I’m gonna watch this latest production of mine in pure and simple 3D.
What?! Come on, tell me one thing: you just like to be different from everybody else don’t you?
Hey, what can I say? I’m a traditional kind of guy.
END
This one was written thinking of a cartoony feel. A simple story with a humorous punchline at the end. I just find it funny how what we define as being traditional keeps changing all the time. What is usual is something that stems from the moment. And, since the moments keep changing, so do our references.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!
Peace.
Well... no more!
COINCIDENCES REMIXED
(300 word count)
Heading home? Already?!
Yeah man… boss been giving me a hard time… you know how it is… too much work and no time to do it… I’m just gonna head home and chill watching a movie…
Alright. I’m feeling a bit tired myself. I think I’m gonna do the same…
Oh yeah? What are you gonna watch?
Oh… I don’t know… maybe Casablanca. It’s been a while, you know?
For real?! That’s what I’m gonna watch! What a coincidence! I’m such a fan of that classic, you know? With whom playing?
Ah… you know… I don’t really know. Maybe with Demi Moore and Shia LaBeouf.
Really? Hmm… funny, never heard about that one… Directed by?
Er… either Woody Allen - in his early, Bananas, phase mind you. Or Fellini. Think 8 and a Half. I want something moving and weird but funny as well. But I’ll probably go with Woody Allen this time.
Right… old school hey?
I guess… How about you?
I’m prefer something a bit more contemporary. You know. Ted Malek. Vicky Stratsmore. Kev Lubin behind the scenes. Nothing fancy.
The action adventure angle, right?
Yeah, you know. I just like to go home and relax with a good punch up… How’re you watching it? Total I-Reality immersion or what? I just can’t get enough of it! It blows me away! Sometimes I’m still in character by the time I log into work!
Yeah… I know what you mean… but man, believe it or not, as soon as I’ve configured all the specs for the film, I’m gonna watch this latest production of mine in pure and simple 3D.
What?! Come on, tell me one thing: you just like to be different from everybody else don’t you?
Hey, what can I say? I’m a traditional kind of guy.
END
This one was written thinking of a cartoony feel. A simple story with a humorous punchline at the end. I just find it funny how what we define as being traditional keeps changing all the time. What is usual is something that stems from the moment. And, since the moments keep changing, so do our references.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!
Peace.
Ritual II
This is the other version of the short that I posted here a while ago. I wanted to capture the same escaping reality feel of the first one but in a smaller space. Curiously enough, even though the end is more or less the same, the way that the story developed was very different. Feel free to compare them.
Go on...
Peace!
RITUAL II
(374 word count)
He was running through the forest. The ground shaking underneath his feet.
Is there where I’m supposed to be? Am I doing this right?!
The forest began to disappear and then there was mist all around and he couldn’t see where he was going and, before he could stop, he felt himself starting to sink in quicksand.
This isn’t real! I just need to tell myself that this isn’t real! This isn’t real!
“As if buddy boy. You’re chained. And I’m free. You’re mine. And I’m going to take my time with you.”
A hulking man, half his face disfigured paced the room around the metallic chair to which he was bound, naked, sharpening a long, wide blade.
“It cuts pretty well too. So much so that you can’t even feel it at first…” He pressed the blade against his skin and he saw in horror the blade sinking through his flesh as if it was barely there. Blood began to flow easily, as if waiting to be released.
“Stop!! This isn’t real! Nothing of this is real! You’re not real!”
“If it isn’t real what are you so afraid of? Why should I stop? Especially since I’m having so much fun…” And he placed the blade against his chest and began to cut it open.
“Now let’s lookee here and see what you’re really made off…”
He screamed. As loud as he could. But the sound came out muffled. He felt his insides starting to spill and soon it was as if the waters were parting above him as he sank. He wanted to open his mouth and breathe. He couldn’t. He was being dragged down, deeper and deeper. It was getting cold. The lights above him had ceased to be. His lungs about to burst.
…just…
He released all the air. Water came in. He wanted to breathe it all but couldn’t. He struggled to swim upwards to no avail. He felt heavier than ever before, his body turning to stone. Sinking. His eyes open. The darkness eating him up.
“Bring him out. We ‘re done.”
“He alright?”
“Of course not. But he will be. This is what he paid for. This is what he got. A true 22nd century shamanic ritual.”
END
Go on...
Peace!
RITUAL II
(374 word count)
He was running through the forest. The ground shaking underneath his feet.
Is there where I’m supposed to be? Am I doing this right?!
The forest began to disappear and then there was mist all around and he couldn’t see where he was going and, before he could stop, he felt himself starting to sink in quicksand.
This isn’t real! I just need to tell myself that this isn’t real! This isn’t real!
“As if buddy boy. You’re chained. And I’m free. You’re mine. And I’m going to take my time with you.”
A hulking man, half his face disfigured paced the room around the metallic chair to which he was bound, naked, sharpening a long, wide blade.
“It cuts pretty well too. So much so that you can’t even feel it at first…” He pressed the blade against his skin and he saw in horror the blade sinking through his flesh as if it was barely there. Blood began to flow easily, as if waiting to be released.
“Stop!! This isn’t real! Nothing of this is real! You’re not real!”
“If it isn’t real what are you so afraid of? Why should I stop? Especially since I’m having so much fun…” And he placed the blade against his chest and began to cut it open.
“Now let’s lookee here and see what you’re really made off…”
He screamed. As loud as he could. But the sound came out muffled. He felt his insides starting to spill and soon it was as if the waters were parting above him as he sank. He wanted to open his mouth and breathe. He couldn’t. He was being dragged down, deeper and deeper. It was getting cold. The lights above him had ceased to be. His lungs about to burst.
…just…
He released all the air. Water came in. He wanted to breathe it all but couldn’t. He struggled to swim upwards to no avail. He felt heavier than ever before, his body turning to stone. Sinking. His eyes open. The darkness eating him up.
“Bring him out. We ‘re done.”
“He alright?”
“Of course not. But he will be. This is what he paid for. This is what he got. A true 22nd century shamanic ritual.”
END
Sunday, 8 November 2009
ONE HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW (WE’LL STILL BE HERE…)
I almost forgot to post my next story for the new scientist competition this week but here it is.
Comments only after you read it...
ONE HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW (WE’LL STILL BE HERE…)
(982 word count)
“We’re only around because we’re still needed.” Omar shifted in his seat. “Artificial, virtual – it’s all real.” Shazzaad sniggered.
“You a fool man…”
Omar smiled. “Get your Cloud Squared…” he said. “ Oh man… the future is the worst disease a worrying man can have. Maybe we won’t have the gene policing anymore. Maybe credits won’t be a part of our DNA anymore.” He dropped his elbows on the table and stared at the youth in front of him. “Who cares? People will still want their thrills. And there will be someone - or some thing - to provide it for them.”
Shazzaad shook his head.
“Just plug yourself fool.”
“With what?!”
Shazzaad took Omar’s tattooed and rebuilt wrist and placed it inside a hollow cylinder.
“They can read our bodies. Maybe in a hundred years from now they’ll be able to read our minds too.”
Omar leaned back on his chair and smiled, looking him straight in the eye.
“We’ll be in trouble then.”
Shazzaad looked at him dismissively. Then pressed a few keys on the panel in front of him.
“Nah.” Omar continued. “As soon as you put a system up there will be someone takin' it down. People just take advantage. Of whatever is around. To end it you need to end society altogether…”
Shazzaad paused and raised his eyes from his work.
“Like that’s gonna happen…” said Omar. “If we’re not selling clouds we’ll be selling the stars.”
“Could you please shut up and stay still? Contrary to what you may think, this requires concentration and expertise…”
Omar raised his free hand and arm.
“Peace El Doctore… I’ll be good…” Shazzaad seemed not to pay any attention to him and continued to tap and stare intently at the panel.
Omar shrugged.
“And if it’s not that, it will be something else. Maybe love. Maybe forbidden thoughts. What I know is that, right now, things aren’t gonna change. We do the business. We keep the market going. Tradition. You know what I mean?”
Shazzaad leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms behind his head. He smiled. “You sound like you should get a medal or something. Not prison…”
Omar pointed vigorously at the table. ”Hey, trust me man, one hundred years from now and we’ll still be here.”
“I sure hope not.”
“Nah man. Do the rehab. Let them believe what THEY want to believe. The game is still gonna be out there. Waiting for you, either you like it or not. You just gotta adapt.”
“And thus spoke ZeroTrust’Ah…”
“No less.”
“No less…” said Shazzaad start to key in once more.
“Just be sure you give me something nice this time, a’ight?”
“As if… you’re gonna get what you need and make no mistake. Cussin’ my work…” Shazzaad peered intently on the screen, his eyes fixed on a point that Omar could not see. “Man, technology is advancing faster than at any other point in human history. Things are gonna change. For both of us.”
Omar shuffled impatiently on his chair.
“And why would it be any different? Man, you gotta remember it’s still us running this show. And the show only runs ‘cause there’s plenty of fools to keep us busy.” He ran his free hand over his hair. “Like I say, if things were to change you’d have to get rid of humans altogether…”
“Have it your way. I can change your identity but I’ll be damned if I can change an iota of that stubbornness of yours. Mark my words.” He said. “This network of yours is not gonna last very long. Only a matter of time until you’re found out.”
Omar frowned. “You done?”
Shazzaad, matching his gaze, bent over the table towards him. “And then all of us we’ll in trouble.” Then he leaned back, waiting for his reaction.
There was none.
Then he said
“Yeah. We’re done.”
Omar removed his wrist and rubbed it with his other hand.
“Nothing lasts forever man. So let it rip while it lasts. You know what’s your problem? You worry too much about the future ‘cause you just don’t wanna be in the present. But guess what? The present is all you got. Heck, all of us got.”
Shazzaad started packing his stuff into a woolie bag.
“Things will change.” He said.
“Sure. The nature of the product, for sure. But not the need.” Omar got up and started pacing the room, looking around. “Getting high is far older than any of the people that want to throw us away with their goddamned keys would like to admit. It’s just not gonna disappear in a puff of smoke. If it doesn’t grow on soil, it grows in someone’s lab. People like to party man. What else can most of us do with our lives? High is even better than busy. Or else things will seriously start going wrong.”
Shazzaad buttoned his bag and placed the strap over his shoulder.
“Your product is old. You’re risking too much.”
Omar rapped Shazzaad in the bag and followed him out.
“Man, who the heck wants safe drugs?! If I wanted safe, I’d stay at home taking care of the kittens. People want what their life lacks. ‘sides, with gene drugs dropping out and the new fixed-state ones pouring from Asia who am I to argue? The cops have better things to do than worry about what they know is on the way out.” Shazzaad simply shook his head and held his hand out for him to shake.
Omar took it, then hesitated and said
“Hey, by the way, who am I gonna be tomorrow?”
Shazzaad smiled. “I think you’re gonna like this one. Tomorrow you’re gonna be one of the good guys.”
“Serious?! A cop?! Bloody heck!” said Omar grinning.
“Later.” Shazzaad began walking away.
Omar shouted after.
“Hey! Didn’t you hear?! The new bogeyman is here…”
END
If, like me, you have been watching The Wire, you'll see what this story is also about... I was playing in my head with this thing of writing short stories for this competition, playing with this idea that one often times find in science fiction, which is a different surface (or packaging) that reveals nonetheless the same content.
So the theme of drugs came through. Quite possibly as a vague homage to Brave New World (when you start the references game in your head it never really stops...) and, necessarily so, to The Wire, being the one TV series that I've watched lately that actually says something about this theme.
To me the true basis of this story is the same as a few others that I wrote for this competition: there are somethings about being human that are very hard to change. Technology will most surely change but our nature tends to adapt to it, only to remain the same...
Hope you've enjoyed it!
Peace.
Comments only after you read it...
ONE HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW (WE’LL STILL BE HERE…)
(982 word count)
“We’re only around because we’re still needed.” Omar shifted in his seat. “Artificial, virtual – it’s all real.” Shazzaad sniggered.
“You a fool man…”
Omar smiled. “Get your Cloud Squared…” he said. “ Oh man… the future is the worst disease a worrying man can have. Maybe we won’t have the gene policing anymore. Maybe credits won’t be a part of our DNA anymore.” He dropped his elbows on the table and stared at the youth in front of him. “Who cares? People will still want their thrills. And there will be someone - or some thing - to provide it for them.”
Shazzaad shook his head.
“Just plug yourself fool.”
“With what?!”
Shazzaad took Omar’s tattooed and rebuilt wrist and placed it inside a hollow cylinder.
“They can read our bodies. Maybe in a hundred years from now they’ll be able to read our minds too.”
Omar leaned back on his chair and smiled, looking him straight in the eye.
“We’ll be in trouble then.”
Shazzaad looked at him dismissively. Then pressed a few keys on the panel in front of him.
“Nah.” Omar continued. “As soon as you put a system up there will be someone takin' it down. People just take advantage. Of whatever is around. To end it you need to end society altogether…”
Shazzaad paused and raised his eyes from his work.
“Like that’s gonna happen…” said Omar. “If we’re not selling clouds we’ll be selling the stars.”
“Could you please shut up and stay still? Contrary to what you may think, this requires concentration and expertise…”
Omar raised his free hand and arm.
“Peace El Doctore… I’ll be good…” Shazzaad seemed not to pay any attention to him and continued to tap and stare intently at the panel.
Omar shrugged.
“And if it’s not that, it will be something else. Maybe love. Maybe forbidden thoughts. What I know is that, right now, things aren’t gonna change. We do the business. We keep the market going. Tradition. You know what I mean?”
Shazzaad leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms behind his head. He smiled. “You sound like you should get a medal or something. Not prison…”
Omar pointed vigorously at the table. ”Hey, trust me man, one hundred years from now and we’ll still be here.”
“I sure hope not.”
“Nah man. Do the rehab. Let them believe what THEY want to believe. The game is still gonna be out there. Waiting for you, either you like it or not. You just gotta adapt.”
“And thus spoke ZeroTrust’Ah…”
“No less.”
“No less…” said Shazzaad start to key in once more.
“Just be sure you give me something nice this time, a’ight?”
“As if… you’re gonna get what you need and make no mistake. Cussin’ my work…” Shazzaad peered intently on the screen, his eyes fixed on a point that Omar could not see. “Man, technology is advancing faster than at any other point in human history. Things are gonna change. For both of us.”
Omar shuffled impatiently on his chair.
“And why would it be any different? Man, you gotta remember it’s still us running this show. And the show only runs ‘cause there’s plenty of fools to keep us busy.” He ran his free hand over his hair. “Like I say, if things were to change you’d have to get rid of humans altogether…”
“Have it your way. I can change your identity but I’ll be damned if I can change an iota of that stubbornness of yours. Mark my words.” He said. “This network of yours is not gonna last very long. Only a matter of time until you’re found out.”
Omar frowned. “You done?”
Shazzaad, matching his gaze, bent over the table towards him. “And then all of us we’ll in trouble.” Then he leaned back, waiting for his reaction.
There was none.
Then he said
“Yeah. We’re done.”
Omar removed his wrist and rubbed it with his other hand.
“Nothing lasts forever man. So let it rip while it lasts. You know what’s your problem? You worry too much about the future ‘cause you just don’t wanna be in the present. But guess what? The present is all you got. Heck, all of us got.”
Shazzaad started packing his stuff into a woolie bag.
“Things will change.” He said.
“Sure. The nature of the product, for sure. But not the need.” Omar got up and started pacing the room, looking around. “Getting high is far older than any of the people that want to throw us away with their goddamned keys would like to admit. It’s just not gonna disappear in a puff of smoke. If it doesn’t grow on soil, it grows in someone’s lab. People like to party man. What else can most of us do with our lives? High is even better than busy. Or else things will seriously start going wrong.”
Shazzaad buttoned his bag and placed the strap over his shoulder.
“Your product is old. You’re risking too much.”
Omar rapped Shazzaad in the bag and followed him out.
“Man, who the heck wants safe drugs?! If I wanted safe, I’d stay at home taking care of the kittens. People want what their life lacks. ‘sides, with gene drugs dropping out and the new fixed-state ones pouring from Asia who am I to argue? The cops have better things to do than worry about what they know is on the way out.” Shazzaad simply shook his head and held his hand out for him to shake.
Omar took it, then hesitated and said
“Hey, by the way, who am I gonna be tomorrow?”
Shazzaad smiled. “I think you’re gonna like this one. Tomorrow you’re gonna be one of the good guys.”
“Serious?! A cop?! Bloody heck!” said Omar grinning.
“Later.” Shazzaad began walking away.
Omar shouted after.
“Hey! Didn’t you hear?! The new bogeyman is here…”
END
If, like me, you have been watching The Wire, you'll see what this story is also about... I was playing in my head with this thing of writing short stories for this competition, playing with this idea that one often times find in science fiction, which is a different surface (or packaging) that reveals nonetheless the same content.
So the theme of drugs came through. Quite possibly as a vague homage to Brave New World (when you start the references game in your head it never really stops...) and, necessarily so, to The Wire, being the one TV series that I've watched lately that actually says something about this theme.
To me the true basis of this story is the same as a few others that I wrote for this competition: there are somethings about being human that are very hard to change. Technology will most surely change but our nature tends to adapt to it, only to remain the same...
Hope you've enjoyed it!
Peace.
Thursday, 29 October 2009
Tomorrow
This was the third story that I wrote for the New Scientist Competition. This was probably the easiest one to write. I didn't really have a very clear idea in the beginning. I just had vague images in my head, more of a presence really, but the voices kept ringing inside my head and I had this bigger than life feel to it.
I decided to trust it and let it take me wherever it wanted...
TOMORROW
(514 word count)
“Tomorrow will always taste of Yesterday.” The voice echoed through the vast, shapeless chamber. “The consequential weight of history upon us. Any decision will bear this mark. Therefore we will not be creating something new but rather sustaining the past through engineered change.” The figure gazed around and then said, “I move against.”
The crowd swayed uncomfortably. The figure retreated back into their midst.
Another, vaguely feminine, suddenly became clearer while advancing to the exact same place where the other had been.
“But it is in Time that we inhabit. That has been our choice. Our initial choice. For most of us at least…” it said with a vague air of contempt. “I believe it would be inappropriate to leave now. However, I would venture that those of us that do not wish to share the responsibility of decision should also abandon our gathering. And any subsequent interaction.” The figure wrapped itself tightly and said, “I move in favour.” Then it bowed respectfully and faded into the background.
“It is precisely because our nature is different that we should stay. For too long the rules have been set.” The being glimmered in dark blue as it spoke. The chamber grew colder. “If we are to change things we must change them on a fundamental level. Remember what we have suffered! For too long we have been dismissed and forgotten!” A burst of blue and white lit the endless room. “I move against!”
A somewhat short figure came forth.
“That maybe so. But this decision concerns them. Not us. Correct? We are as we’ve always been, as we always will be, the agents and nothing else. They are our mission. That they recognize us or not as being so is ultimately unimportant. I move in favour.”
Without waiting for the previous speaker to disappear completely, another came into play.
“Indeed. But you forget that we too have been changed by them. That we were despised for centuries. And now, only now, do they return to us? Out of need rather than respect? I move against.” Its dark figure disappeared instantly.
A golden light began to fill the chamber, making the edges go softer.
“Certainly. That has always been their nature. This is what we have always known. Listen, all of you know that I have always been in favour of change and adaptation. This has always been the core of our presence here. It is necessary that we continue this work. Not abandon it. In doing so we will not only fail them – and thus prove their dissatisfaction – but also fail ourselves and our initial intents. They are our chance too. Let us not forget it. I move in favour.”
A low rushing sound began as a figure approached.
“And so do I.” it said. “This is the perfect opportunity after all.” It looked around defiantly. “They may have forgotten that their gods exist. But I believe we can begin to show them we are ready to come back.” It’s voice was soft and alluring. “And take what’s ours.”
She smiled.
“I move in favour.”
END
In all honesty I have to say that I thought a lot about Neil Gaiman (and, yes, The Sandman...) as I wrote this one.
But also Gene Wolfe.
I was thinking this one was truly inspired by them but, hopefully, was also a tribute to them. Something they would be proud if they ever got to read it. And yet, at the same time, I felt that there was a unique voice here. Or rather, unique voices.
I don't know which of the characters or archetypes each of these voices could represent (though I have some vague ideas on two or three of them...) but they were really there.
This was one of those stories that just wants to get out and get out of the way.
Hope you enjoyed it!
And so it is...
Peace.
I decided to trust it and let it take me wherever it wanted...
TOMORROW
(514 word count)
“Tomorrow will always taste of Yesterday.” The voice echoed through the vast, shapeless chamber. “The consequential weight of history upon us. Any decision will bear this mark. Therefore we will not be creating something new but rather sustaining the past through engineered change.” The figure gazed around and then said, “I move against.”
The crowd swayed uncomfortably. The figure retreated back into their midst.
Another, vaguely feminine, suddenly became clearer while advancing to the exact same place where the other had been.
“But it is in Time that we inhabit. That has been our choice. Our initial choice. For most of us at least…” it said with a vague air of contempt. “I believe it would be inappropriate to leave now. However, I would venture that those of us that do not wish to share the responsibility of decision should also abandon our gathering. And any subsequent interaction.” The figure wrapped itself tightly and said, “I move in favour.” Then it bowed respectfully and faded into the background.
“It is precisely because our nature is different that we should stay. For too long the rules have been set.” The being glimmered in dark blue as it spoke. The chamber grew colder. “If we are to change things we must change them on a fundamental level. Remember what we have suffered! For too long we have been dismissed and forgotten!” A burst of blue and white lit the endless room. “I move against!”
A somewhat short figure came forth.
“That maybe so. But this decision concerns them. Not us. Correct? We are as we’ve always been, as we always will be, the agents and nothing else. They are our mission. That they recognize us or not as being so is ultimately unimportant. I move in favour.”
Without waiting for the previous speaker to disappear completely, another came into play.
“Indeed. But you forget that we too have been changed by them. That we were despised for centuries. And now, only now, do they return to us? Out of need rather than respect? I move against.” Its dark figure disappeared instantly.
A golden light began to fill the chamber, making the edges go softer.
“Certainly. That has always been their nature. This is what we have always known. Listen, all of you know that I have always been in favour of change and adaptation. This has always been the core of our presence here. It is necessary that we continue this work. Not abandon it. In doing so we will not only fail them – and thus prove their dissatisfaction – but also fail ourselves and our initial intents. They are our chance too. Let us not forget it. I move in favour.”
A low rushing sound began as a figure approached.
“And so do I.” it said. “This is the perfect opportunity after all.” It looked around defiantly. “They may have forgotten that their gods exist. But I believe we can begin to show them we are ready to come back.” It’s voice was soft and alluring. “And take what’s ours.”
She smiled.
“I move in favour.”
END
In all honesty I have to say that I thought a lot about Neil Gaiman (and, yes, The Sandman...) as I wrote this one.
But also Gene Wolfe.
I was thinking this one was truly inspired by them but, hopefully, was also a tribute to them. Something they would be proud if they ever got to read it. And yet, at the same time, I felt that there was a unique voice here. Or rather, unique voices.
I don't know which of the characters or archetypes each of these voices could represent (though I have some vague ideas on two or three of them...) but they were really there.
This was one of those stories that just wants to get out and get out of the way.
Hope you enjoyed it!
And so it is...
Peace.
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
The Moment
Hi,
As promised, here it is, the second story that I wrote for this October's New Scientist Flash Fiction competition.
If I recall correctly, I wrote the first draft of the first four stories in one go. Unsurprisingly so, these were the easiest ones to revise and the ones that always felt the more solid. Still, i felt quite good to have been able to finish the others. And I think I managed to make them have this same feel of continuity and lightness that these initial ones have.
Enjoy!
THE MOMENT
(332 word count)
“I have searched long for this moment. I have turned myself inside out and back in again. I have undertaken the strangest and longest of journeys in order to find this. My home. Slowly I have reached understanding. I have abandoned recognition. Passed all the ruins of villages and monasteries. Climbed the snows alone. Endured the silence. The rarefaction of the air. The cold. The hopelessness. Anxiety collapsing my chest. And the slow movement of time flowing through me.”
“I search within knowing that mine is the history of humanity. The ever expanding product of generations, evolution and factors unknown. I have seen life. I have seen death. And all conquests crumble before my eyes.”
“I have grown tired of despair. My own and that of others. I cannot bear to see our legacy be destroyed day after day.”
“But we can be as relentless as our fear.”
“The giants of the past are quickly becoming myths and fantasies. Another generation and how much more will be lost? This is why I must be here, away from it all.”
“We are being unmade by our doings.”
“Time is always ripe. And we are always ready. I can wait. Just a little longer.
It’s summer. Sunny. Cold, even with almost no wind. My eyes are closed. I can feel so much inside of me.”
“History dilutes at each long, sharp breath.”
“I feel the earth. I feel the air. All of my body touches. Sounds coming from every direction.”
“I can taste the air.”
“I can see my thoughts moving like waves in the sea. Ceaseless. The cold air mixing with the warmth at the pit of my belly. A soft knife stabbing me. Rhythmically.”
“Everything begins to disappear.”
“My senses.”
“My thoughts.”
“I’m no longer here.”
“Nor anywhere else.”
“There is nothing.”
“And yet…”
“Transposing…”
The machine glitched for a moment but caught on, the vast array of connections suddenly firing up.
Throughout the world a single message echoed
“I alone, am…”
END
The premise for this one was quite simple. How different would it be enlightenment in the 22nd century?
For me the answer was obvious: not at all.
That was the idea behind this and some of the other stories: the illusion of change that we create based on artificial concepts like progress, technology or even history itself.
But, as I was writing about the experience itself I felt that i was just stating it and that there was no punchline at the end.
The I thought of re-writing it more from the perspective of someone immersed in virtual reality. Using VR to attain that state artificially.
I really liked this idea but I felt that it would take me more than 350 words to convey it in a subtle enough way.
So, while revising, I just thought of making it all the experience of a machine rather than a human. I thought of Ghost In The Shell, obviously, but did not think of The Matrix, like my brother did.
Stories like these have been around for a while, of course. It's a kind of a small tribute to a theme that I love so much, both in science fiction and in science.
A theme that I find crucial because, more than reveal unknown things about machines, it reveals how much we don't know about ourselves.
Peace.
As promised, here it is, the second story that I wrote for this October's New Scientist Flash Fiction competition.
If I recall correctly, I wrote the first draft of the first four stories in one go. Unsurprisingly so, these were the easiest ones to revise and the ones that always felt the more solid. Still, i felt quite good to have been able to finish the others. And I think I managed to make them have this same feel of continuity and lightness that these initial ones have.
Enjoy!
THE MOMENT
(332 word count)
“I have searched long for this moment. I have turned myself inside out and back in again. I have undertaken the strangest and longest of journeys in order to find this. My home. Slowly I have reached understanding. I have abandoned recognition. Passed all the ruins of villages and monasteries. Climbed the snows alone. Endured the silence. The rarefaction of the air. The cold. The hopelessness. Anxiety collapsing my chest. And the slow movement of time flowing through me.”
“I search within knowing that mine is the history of humanity. The ever expanding product of generations, evolution and factors unknown. I have seen life. I have seen death. And all conquests crumble before my eyes.”
“I have grown tired of despair. My own and that of others. I cannot bear to see our legacy be destroyed day after day.”
“But we can be as relentless as our fear.”
“The giants of the past are quickly becoming myths and fantasies. Another generation and how much more will be lost? This is why I must be here, away from it all.”
“We are being unmade by our doings.”
“Time is always ripe. And we are always ready. I can wait. Just a little longer.
It’s summer. Sunny. Cold, even with almost no wind. My eyes are closed. I can feel so much inside of me.”
“History dilutes at each long, sharp breath.”
“I feel the earth. I feel the air. All of my body touches. Sounds coming from every direction.”
“I can taste the air.”
“I can see my thoughts moving like waves in the sea. Ceaseless. The cold air mixing with the warmth at the pit of my belly. A soft knife stabbing me. Rhythmically.”
“Everything begins to disappear.”
“My senses.”
“My thoughts.”
“I’m no longer here.”
“Nor anywhere else.”
“There is nothing.”
“And yet…”
“Transposing…”
The machine glitched for a moment but caught on, the vast array of connections suddenly firing up.
Throughout the world a single message echoed
“I alone, am…”
END
The premise for this one was quite simple. How different would it be enlightenment in the 22nd century?
For me the answer was obvious: not at all.
That was the idea behind this and some of the other stories: the illusion of change that we create based on artificial concepts like progress, technology or even history itself.
But, as I was writing about the experience itself I felt that i was just stating it and that there was no punchline at the end.
The I thought of re-writing it more from the perspective of someone immersed in virtual reality. Using VR to attain that state artificially.
I really liked this idea but I felt that it would take me more than 350 words to convey it in a subtle enough way.
So, while revising, I just thought of making it all the experience of a machine rather than a human. I thought of Ghost In The Shell, obviously, but did not think of The Matrix, like my brother did.
Stories like these have been around for a while, of course. It's a kind of a small tribute to a theme that I love so much, both in science fiction and in science.
A theme that I find crucial because, more than reveal unknown things about machines, it reveals how much we don't know about ourselves.
Peace.
Friday, 17 April 2009
TAF Update
After all that storming through this script I find myself more or less in the same position two days past.
Why?
Not enough time my friends!
Today the mission is to at least type up some of the stuff.
I know, it's a pain, especially when you're transferring word text to celtx because the formatting goes all wrong... but, if I don't do it that will mean that until sunday afternoon I won't have added anything to my celtx file... if I do this means that I'll probably be able to at least add what I've typed since the re-formatting doesn't take as long as the typing itself. Double work but best done...
In any case, yesterday, already in bed, already past one, already feeling tired, I did actually manage to write 4 short short stories for a Zine that some friends of mine are compiling.
The stories are all a bit surreal and inspired by Gene Wolfe.
I can't really tell you what they're about.
(well, I could... but that would spoil the effect somehow...)
After the Zine is done (I still don't know if they'll feature there or not) I'll post them here for your delight.
(hopefully!)
Wishing you well.
peace.
Why?
Not enough time my friends!
Today the mission is to at least type up some of the stuff.
I know, it's a pain, especially when you're transferring word text to celtx because the formatting goes all wrong... but, if I don't do it that will mean that until sunday afternoon I won't have added anything to my celtx file... if I do this means that I'll probably be able to at least add what I've typed since the re-formatting doesn't take as long as the typing itself. Double work but best done...
In any case, yesterday, already in bed, already past one, already feeling tired, I did actually manage to write 4 short short stories for a Zine that some friends of mine are compiling.
The stories are all a bit surreal and inspired by Gene Wolfe.
I can't really tell you what they're about.
(well, I could... but that would spoil the effect somehow...)
After the Zine is done (I still don't know if they'll feature there or not) I'll post them here for your delight.
(hopefully!)
Wishing you well.
peace.
Friday, 19 December 2008
Our Love To Admire
Yes. It's a rip off from the Interpol album.
But...
just the title!
Actually, this is my least favourite of the Interpol trilogy (so far...)
But I do love the title.
And, when I was writing the story (the initial title was Death At A Funeral - not very inspired, I know), this title just seemed to fit it all too well...
There's a lot of stuff that I like in this story. I like the way the characters are kind of dual. Even the father has his moment. And even Jeff, the main character, the guy who's supposed to know it all, wavers a bit, perhaps not externally, but internally.
As I was writing it, I was missing the subtleties. I wrote a first draft that was below 3000 words but, as soon as I started working on it it started growing. It's now just under 5000. Which is a nice size. I think it has all that the story needs.
Took me two days to re-write it. Which seems like an awful lot of time. Something like 12 hours to do something that only takes a bit over 2 hours to type...
The next phase is to read it out aloud, with a mic plugged to my computer and then see how it sounds. And I'll probably play some guitar as background as well - if it sounds alright.
I've done it before and, since lately I've been writing and playing guitar alternately, it kind of makes sense to put the two together once more. After all my guitar playing naturally divides itself between a "rock song" format and "soundscapes" so, why not use them?
So Land Of Fog and A View Of The Mountain have been on hold during these last few days. My excuse is that I've been running around quite a lot and I needed smaller things to focus on. So, Our Love To Admire and another smaller story (though it's now just above 8000) have been my two pet projects for this last week or so. As soon as they're ready (and I'm thinking tomorow and sunday to finish them off) I'll return to the two biggies...
Don't know if I'll be able to post a couple of mp3 tracks for Our Love To Admire (I'm not the most technical of persons - as you've probably noticed...) in this here blog but it would be fun!
Peace
But...
just the title!
Actually, this is my least favourite of the Interpol trilogy (so far...)
But I do love the title.
And, when I was writing the story (the initial title was Death At A Funeral - not very inspired, I know), this title just seemed to fit it all too well...
There's a lot of stuff that I like in this story. I like the way the characters are kind of dual. Even the father has his moment. And even Jeff, the main character, the guy who's supposed to know it all, wavers a bit, perhaps not externally, but internally.
As I was writing it, I was missing the subtleties. I wrote a first draft that was below 3000 words but, as soon as I started working on it it started growing. It's now just under 5000. Which is a nice size. I think it has all that the story needs.
Took me two days to re-write it. Which seems like an awful lot of time. Something like 12 hours to do something that only takes a bit over 2 hours to type...
The next phase is to read it out aloud, with a mic plugged to my computer and then see how it sounds. And I'll probably play some guitar as background as well - if it sounds alright.
I've done it before and, since lately I've been writing and playing guitar alternately, it kind of makes sense to put the two together once more. After all my guitar playing naturally divides itself between a "rock song" format and "soundscapes" so, why not use them?
So Land Of Fog and A View Of The Mountain have been on hold during these last few days. My excuse is that I've been running around quite a lot and I needed smaller things to focus on. So, Our Love To Admire and another smaller story (though it's now just above 8000) have been my two pet projects for this last week or so. As soon as they're ready (and I'm thinking tomorow and sunday to finish them off) I'll return to the two biggies...
Don't know if I'll be able to post a couple of mp3 tracks for Our Love To Admire (I'm not the most technical of persons - as you've probably noticed...) in this here blog but it would be fun!
Peace
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