RITUAL version I

This is another of the short fiction texts that I wrote for the New Scientist Competition. The idea behind this one was quite simple as you will soon see...
Because I really liked it but this version was definitely too long, i decided to see if I could write a different one.
And that you will see next week...
Enjoy!

RITUAL
(936 word count)
As he began to walk down the corridor he started to doubt if all of this was just happening in his imagination.
Was he really dreaming? How long had it been since he arrived? And how many had died simply because he refused to believe all of this was real? He remembered the car being torn apart, bits of metal flying everywhere, eating lives away.

I can feel it now.

He motioned cautiously, trying to be as silent as possible, blood pumping in his temples, breaking his focus. He held his breath but his chest burned more and more. Behind him there was a scrapping sound.

I’m getting closer.

He started to run. He could hear the hooves and the crescendo of the odzark’s sucking sounds. The walls shook in fury and began to collapse. He plunged into a large room filled with all manner of animals. He darted between them looking for cover. They stared at him, barely moving. The odzark burst into the room shortly after. Everything went silent and cold for a moment. He turned. The animals tried to run but, one by one, they were sucked out of existence as they fled. Then it saw him. It advanced. He tried to run. But there was no window. No door. He was trapped.

Emotions gathering. Taking over.

He was inside water. A pool. He couldn’t move. The waters were too thick, lukewarm and gelatinous. There were screeches and wails everywhere. Something bit hard into his leg. He screamed as he felt it being ripped apart. He tried to push it away but teeth gnawed it off.
Then they began to emerge.
The dead.
The dead were eating him alive.

My body is breaking up. My mind will surely follow. And the soul will become clearer.

The air, too dry for him to breathe. No. Not dry. Something stuck in his throat. Dust? No, not dust. Something else. Something tightening. All around him. Ropes? No, not that. He tried to move but at every gesture thin and strong threads won him over, again and again. Then a thumping sound and a whisper almost below hearing level. With utmost effort he turned his head and he saw a huge spider rushing towards him. Its fangs reared, dripping poison. Its mouth ajar, glowing jade green, hungry for his flesh. And he could feel his flesh beginning to melt as the acid dripped all over.

A burning sensation all over me. Is this what I was meant to feel? Where am I again?...

Everyone had died and he was alone. There was no escape. There never had been. It had all been a trick since the beginning. The ghosts started emerging from the walls and the trees and the lake. And at each time that they touched a fragment of his being dissolved and vanished. He could feel himself disappear one piece at a time.

What if I’m not dreaming this time? Is it going all wrong? Am I dying?!

He was running faster than he’d ever ran before. His heart racing so fast he thought he would soon die of a heart attack rather than sheer exhaustion. He could feel the hunger of the creature chasing after. It was like a scent that traversed his skin and made his brain want to scream. He could hear its claws tearing down the trees like paper. Its footsteps falling on the ground like a jackhammer.

Can someone save me?! Please!!!

As the ceiling of the cave collapsed in a great THUD! He could feel the dust crawling slowly into his lungs. How could he breathe? He couldn’t even move. It was getting hot. Hotter. The dry air, unable to fill his lungs. His heart pumping out of control. He kept on, trying to breathe, pushing his lungs in and out, desperately, but there was never enough oxygen. His mind raced. He was going to die here. He was trapped and he was going to die. He would suffocate so far away from everybody else that no one could ever possibly rescue him in time.

I can’t breathe… I can’t think… I can’t…

The air stopped working. His body felt made of sand. Then it went numb. His mind was retreating fast, into a corner of itself where it could not be seen. He was going to die.
His mind disappeared.
And with it all fear vanished as well.
A great peace washed over him. A burning sensation overcame his senses, eliminating everything, everywhere.

He felt himself wake up as if he’d always been awake within a sleepless dream.

“Welcome back.” said the smiling man with the long white hair.
“For a moment there we thought you were not going to make it.” said a younger man with dark rimmed spectacles.
He tried to get up from the table. The two men rushed towards him.
“Now now. Don’t move. You’re not ready yet.”
“You’re still plugged in. Your brain is still digesting the information cocktail we’ve been feeding it.”
“Don’t worry. In a couple of hours everything will be alright.”
“What happened? What’s all this?” He asked.
The room began to coalesce in his mind. There was a bonfire. There were candles burning. Stones carved with runes. Strange symbols painted in red on the husk of trees.
He was outside. There was a lake. A forest. And… cables?
He could now see the neural disruptor half hidden beneath a fabric depicting an epic battle scene on a great plain. There was also a tipi.
“Congratulations. You’ve just completed your shamanic vision quest. But, tell me, what did you see?”
END

Technology fascinates me. And one of the things that attracts me about it is the fact that technology doesn't merely deliver some sort of future to our doorstep. For me technology also allows us to retain the past in a different form. I think this has been at least part of the history of our world. After all many of our traditions have simply been changed superficially, accomodated within the new technological constraints.
when the Guillotine appeared it was said to be a most humane method of serving the death penalty.... and so many centuries have passed and, even though the guillotine is no longer in use, the death penalty still is around...
In any case this story affirms my belief that the near future at least will still carry today's beliefs in disguise.
I was just reading a bit about Ancient Egypt, how the Greeks and then the Romans took over the leadership of the country. Their beliefs were affected by this, of course, but more than simply disappearing and being replaced, they were altered. After all it is best to use what's already there to one's advantage rather than start from scratch (in these cases at least... the last time someone attempted to start from scratch things didn't go that well for a lot of people... and yes, I am thinking of Adolf H...)

I think that the methods may change but the core reality will not.

So, to me, this story is not saying, Shamanism will always be an illusion and a creation of the mind. For me it is saying that our own quests will make usage of anything in their way in order to make themselves real.
Technology merely opens doors in new ways, perhaps more easy ways.
It is up to our perception to cross them or not...
but beware of consequences.
Like the Hermetic Tradition teaches, there are many levels of causality and consequence - not all of them perceptible...

peace

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.

NaNoWriMo...ing

Well, the great word race has started!
As in previous years I started just after midnight, in the first few hours of the 1st of November.

I'm writing two books this year. One about the "missing" years of Jesus life and another about a killer on a (almost) deserted island. The Lost Years and It's Not Too Dark Here, respectively.

They're both being written in English and, believe it or not, I feel that the two somehow mirror each other...

Not to say that the plot is the same (far from it), but there are definitely lost of elements in common. Human misunderstanding being a major one.

The killer story had been brewing in my mind since last November and I had a chance to plot it out in broad terms. It's just one of those stories where, at eash step of the way, you can just feel it's incredible potential. And I'm hoping that it will be challenging (and sometimes chilling...) one.
A part of me is trying to keep away from gore and extreme violence but, I do think some good measure of it will be needed in order for me to be able to drive the point forward.
I'm just at the beginning of this story. Only 6000 words into it, but it's picking up speed and there's a feeling of something alien present underneath what's happening. This is what I want to aim most of all. The world has its ways and ideas but, sometimes, there are those that are truly outcasts. Because they way they see the world is entirely different from ours. Well, at least on some very fundamental ways it is.

This is why I say that this story is a mirrored image of The Lost Years. They focus on the same themes but from different viewpoints.

In fact The Lost Years is nothing but a continuation of Morto. And, to a certain extent, also a mirror of that story. But that's a tale for another day...

I was a bit afraid of doing two books in one go but since I couldn't decide which and both were so incredibly appealing I decided to take the long route...

For the first time since I started NaNoWriMo (and actually finished at least the first draft of a book) I've never felt so much in control with this whole thing about writing a novel. It feels doable. It feels almost easy. I struggle here and there but I know at every step of the way that any obstacle is not unsurmountable. And I know it not only in my head but also from past experience.

As before, the project that I was more afraid to start - The Lost Years - is the one that's been the easiest to write. I must've put s much energy into it, in trying to work out some of the details and problems I could foresse, that it has been such a pleasant and enjoyable experience to write.

This week for instance, on tuesday, I spent the whole day at home, reading stuff and writing. It was long day, some 12 or 15 hours spent around this book and only 8 or 9000 words to show for it, but it was such a smooth and consistent ride. It felt really good.

Nume (that's the other name I give to It's Not Too Dark Here) has been a different matter. I feel I haven't resolved some of the important parts of the story quite clearly yet and so I'm always giving myself preference to write The Lost Years.
Aside from that Nume is also a more descriptive book than The Lost Years, which is more dialogue based. Something that I'm loving as well!

In both books we have quite few flashbacks showing us a bit better the conditions that brought these characters to the present moment in the story.

So far Nume is a bit behind schedule but The Lost Years is more or less on track. Days at work have been long and busy and at home there has also been quite a few things needing sorting out. So, writing has been minimal for the last two or three days. Which, in NaNoTime is a lot!!
I'm going to have to catch up tomorrow and tonight and next week when I have my friday to sunday days off work.

I won't give you the sinopsis of each of the chapters already written for now, but I will do so at a later stage. I wanted to post a daily update on this but I just don't seem to have the time.

Let's just hope that I keep the focus!

Peace.

The Last Few Days

The last few days (I tricked you didn't I?! You thought that the title was the title of something I'd been writing but you were wrong, right?) I have spent typing up some more stuff on Morto. I finalised the revision of the penultimate section of the book and have also prepared the writing of the last one.

I have also bought a cinema projector and have been watching some Battlestar Galactica episodes... the new series, obviously...

And even before I started watching I had already started plotting a whole new series...

I don't know why I do these things, but the fact is that the ideas started surfacing and I just went along for the ride...

Well, I do know why I do these things. I do them because they are related to themes that I'm very hooked on. Artificial Inteligence. Consciousness. Epic feel. Messianic Complex. You name it. It's probably there...

I have also been writing stuff down for The Lost Years.

On sunday, on my way to see my cousins in Billericay, I had quite a few ideas about this story. Some that I had had the previous day or two but that I had still not had time to note down. However my TI Voyage 200 (the granny of those palms or whatever they're called these days...) had no battery and so I had to keep them thoughts rolling around in my head...

I only wrote them that night but still, there were some pretty interesting ideas there that I'm hoping I will be able to explore. And that will make sense to those reading them. There's just so many books I'd love to write!

(and I know that this is an attachment... I'm just not too worried about it because I also know how to get rid of it if it gets to dangerous levels...)

Anyway, that's it for now!

I think I'm gonna write another post somewhere else... I'm in the mood it seems...

Peace

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.

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.

Death And Homecoming

During the last few days I've been revising the Friends section in my book. It has taken me quite a while because when I initially wrote it I didn't have the characters defined at all. I defined them while writing about them and, obviously, now there's a lot of stuff that no longer makes sense or is contradictory.
But I am close to the finish line! I can see it looming in the horizon!

I've realised as well that some of the stuff here actually belongs to another section but that's something easily solved.

Today I was focussing on quite a few of the friends.
Paula and her relationship with his parents, coming to life via what her parents have to say about the situation.
Rita's relationship with her mom, also steming from her reaction to a chat she's had with Cristina (just returned from the funeral).
How the news of his death are released onto the group of friends.
And finally, a broad view of the various parents and their children while uncovering Cristina's feelings about the whole ordeal.

All of these chapters focus much more on dialogue (with minimal visual description) than in internalized monologue, heavy on description.

I still need to finish Cristina's chapter. I don't think I'm gonna write (or re-write, rather) a long chapter for João. I think I'll stick to the one page one that I did today. We'll find out more about what he feels later on anyway.
Maybe I'll do a kind of a meddley chapter for Tomás, Rui and António.
maybe.
But, if so, it will be a short one as well. Maybe a paragraph for Tomás and a page for each of the other two.
And maybe I'll end it (or do another one, also a page, page and a half long) with a brief description of what every one of his friends does in that first night after knowing that he is dead.
Maybe... I've just looked at what I had written and there's some stuff there that I enjoy so...~

Still have another chapter, this one about Paulo, but I don't know if I'm gonna use it or not. It's quite strong but I don't really know if it's necessary at this point or not...

Anyway, that's all for today!

peace.