Wayne Cole

Fiction Fragment Friday

This story started with the first two lines. I woke up and they came into my head. The story that grew from them is one that I could have never imagined intending to write. It had to grow organically from the writing. Readers may find the main character sympathetic or they may find him irredeemable. I don’t disagree with either view. He is a broken person, but there comes a point where everyone must accept responsibility for their own actions.

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                It’s been fifteen years since the first dead person stood up and started walking again.  There are those among us in the community who have never known a world without them.   In my youth, technology grew so quickly we would talk about how the next generation would never understand what the world was like before it.  Little did we know that the very next generation after them would never understand how integrated that technology had been with society. 

                “Jay.  Are you listening?” 

                I had, in fact, not been listening.  Instead, my mind was lost in thought, focused on all the things that the dead had taken from us.  After fifteen years, we had a secure community with walls, electricity, and food.  It was practically a paradise compared to how we lived in the first few years, but the youngest among us didn’t know how much better it had been.  There are the obvious things like the internet and cell phones of course.  It was the less obvious losses that hurt the most. 

                Before the dead there was a global supply chain.  The variety of food and entertainment would overwhelm these kids.  They would never travel from city to city because it is still too dangerous to do so.  Medications have become rare and treatments for long-term illnesses are almost unheard of.

                “JAY.”

                “I hear ya, I hear ya.”  I put down my binoculars on the table and turned to look at the recruit.  “What do you want?”

                He shuffled on his feet, a bit obviously nervous to deliver his message.  “I’m here to relieve you on watch, sir.  General Michaels said you needed a break and to tell you to get lunch.” 

                “General Michaels.  Well, you can tell my daughter that I’ll eat when I damn well decide it’s time.” 

                “She said when you said that to tell you it’s an order.”

                I groaned audibly at hearing that.  Of course, she would know how I would react.  I hate that she can predict me so well and I don’t feel like I even know her anymore.  It makes me feel like a failure as a father.  We were supposed to leave them a better world than the one we were born into, but that didn’t happen.  Our scientists just had to experiment with fungus, virus, and nanotech.  I have no idea which one or blend of them caused the dead to stand up and start killing us. 

                I see the recruit hasn’t budged.  “Fine, I’ll go.”

                He took my binoculars and began his watch.  I could tell right away that he would be more focused than I was.  Not for the first time I wondered if my inability to prevent my mind from wandering would someday cost lives.  Maybe I really shouldn’t still be on watch duty.  I hated admitting my daughter was right.  It is hard to let go and admit your child is more capable than you are.  More accurately, you are no longer as capable as you used to be.

                I entered the cafeteria, met by the scent of corn, potatoes, and chicken.  I would give anything for a good steak, but we don’t have many cows.  Half the people in the community have never even tasted beef.  As my eyes adjusted to the lighting, they focused on my daughter sitting at a table by herself patting a chair for me.  She already had a tray of food waiting.            

                “I’m not helpless, you know.  I’m fully capable of getting my own food.”  My voice came out more harshly than I wanted it to.

                “I know.  I figured this would give us more time to talk, though.  Her voice was gentle, and I knew she was trying to avoid upsetting me.   

                “Is that an order, too?”  Damn it I don’t want to fight with her, but I just can’t help myself.  I saw the hurt on her face and hated myself for putting it there.  Pride and shame are horrible feelings that drive a wedge between you and those you love.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean that.”

                “Yes, you did, but I understand.  You have to know I didn’t want to take your job.”

                I did know.  The town voted her in charge of the town guard.  They felt I was too old and out of touch.  It doesn’t hurt that she accepted the role.  She is good at it.  It doesn’t even hurt that the community doesn’t trust me.  That isn’t true.  Both do hurt, but they are not what hurts most.  What hurts most is that the community was right.  I’m not the man I used to be.  Too much loss, too many injuries, and the weight of too many years.  The fact that I’ve been so petty and let it come between us says more about my not being fit for the position anymore than anything else does. 

                “Your mom would be proud of you.”  It isn’t what I want to say.  I wanted to tell her that I was proud of her.  Why is it so hard to say what I’m really feeling?  I look up and see the tears in her eyes.  She will not let them fall.  Not in public. Trying to bury her emotions is one of my many negative traits that she inherited. 

                “I need to tell you something and considering how much you hate my husband, I’m not sure how you are going to feel about it.”

                “Did he cheat on you?  I’ll kill him.” 

                “No dad.  He’s a good man, damn it.  You just can’t see it.”  The anger is so obvious in her voice that even I can’t miss it.  She is right to be angry.  Her husband is a good man, but he took my baby girl from me.  They were too young to get married.  In this modern world of the dead, that isn’t actually true and I know it.   I can’t help that I grew up in a different world.  I don’t like him, but he makes my daughter happy.  Why can’t that be enough for me.

                “Sorry.”  I say it, but there is no conviction in my voice.  I do mean it, but I can’t bring myself to get over the bitterness.  “What do you need to tell me?”

                “I’m pregnant.  You’re going to be a grandpa.” 

                My heart was filled with joy, but my head was racing in many directions.  What kind of world was this to bring a child into?  How can she lead the town guard while she is pregnant?  Is my good-for-nothing son-in-law going to be able to take care of them?  She saw something in my face that she didn’t like.  I’m not sure what the expression was, but I didn’t hide it well enough.

                “I told him.  I told him, but no Jeremy said that you would be happy for us.  He still thinks he can win you over.  After everything you have said to him over the years, he still thinks you have a heart in there somewhere.  I tried to tell him any heart is a shriveled-up husk, but no he still defended you.”

                Her words hit me harder than a punch to the gut.  My son-in-law still defended me. He had hope for me that I couldn’t even generate for myself.  “I am happy for you,” I say trying to put as much sincerity into my words as I can.  “I’m just worried too.” 

                “Forget it.  I’m done.  Maybe once you hold your grandchild you can become human again.”  She stood up and loudly bussed her tray. 

                I sat there and ate the rest of my lunch in silent self-loathing. 

Fiction Fragment Friday

I decided this week I wanted to do a story in second person present tense. This was partially to get outside of my comfort zone, but more because I had a scene and delivery in my mind to start with and it just demanded to be written. I don’t think I have to say that with this being outside of my usual tense and perspective this story will be different for me. I think the story has an extra punch to it not just because of content but because of the perspective choice.

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               It’s cold and dark with a faint humming sound all around you.  The sound agitates the throbbing pain of a sinus headache.  Damp air is difficult to breathe through stopped-up nostrils, so you gasp in deeply through your mouth.  The movement causes your arms to hit walls one either side.  You feel tugging on your forearms and realize that there are tubes running into them.  This and the hard flat surface you are laying on are the only sensations on your skin.  You are completely naked in a container that is barely large enough to hold you.

               You have a moment to feel grateful that you are not claustrophobic.  The moment the very concept of claustrophobia enters your mind you feel it take hold.  Your heart starts to pound in your chest.  Uncontrollable shaking overtakes your body, and your efforts to curl into the fetal position are thwarted by the lack of space.  Already struggling to breathe you begin to hyperventilate gasping in panic.  Every sense in your body tells you that you are going to die.

               The panic has your complete attention, so you don’t notice the hissing sound that starts around you.  The lid of the container imprisoning you slides down.  Fluorescent light feels like knives made of fire stabbing into your eyes.  Without making conscious choices you lurch to a sitting position wrapping your arms tightly around your chest as you rock back and forth.  The sudden motion ripped the tubes from your arm and drops of blood smear across your chest as you shake.  Your vision has dark splotches over it, but the room slowly starts to come into focus.

               The walls are grey with textured surfaces and the floor has a rubberized mat over it.  Computer monitors built into the walls are flickering, indicating that they have power, but nothing is being displayed.  Your open rectangular pod is the center of a row of three.  You can tell the other two are occupied, but the people in them are not moving.  The opposite wall next to the only door is lined with cabinets.

               Giving yourself only a few moments to slow your breathing and try to calm your heartbeat you climb out of the pod.  An intense sense of modesty fills you knowing that you are standing there in the middle of the room naked.  You cling to the small comfort that the others are still in their pods and there are no visible cameras watching you.  It still gives you a sense of urgency as you approach the cabinets.  Each step is difficult with your muscles aching.  Your legs shake under you and your body feels weak. 

               Vertigo and nausea overcome you just steps away from the cabinets.  Your arms wrap around your stomach as you bend over and vomit onto the floor.  Pain wracks your body with every sore muscle protesting.  There is no food in your stomach to come out so you heave until stomach acid works its way up your throat burning as it goes.  Once again you are gasping for breath, but this time tears have filled your eyes.  You just want to curl up in a corner, but you know that you can’t do that.  You have to push forward. 

               Opening the cabinet, you find a selection of grey jumpsuits with white trim.  They are organized by size, and it only takes you a moment to find one that will fit you.  A sense of relief fills you when you zip the jumpsuit the front and are covered.  A tingling sensation runs across your skin everywhere the cloth is touching it.  Your fingers instinctively move to the zipper ready to rip it off but the sensation fades before you act.  On one of the wall mounted screens, you now see your own vitals being displayed.  Your mind tries to recall what normal is, but it is still so hard to think straight.

               Having addressed modesty concerns you decide checking on the other two pods should be your next priority.  Perhaps one of them will know where you are and what is going on.  On still shaky legs you make your way to the first pod.  You reach out and grip the rim to help stabilize yourself.  It takes a moment to compose yourself before examining the pod’s inhabitant. 

               Laying in front of you is a middle-aged naked man.  A scar runs across his upper chest with a perpendicular one going down to his groin.  His left arm is missing above the elbow with a tube sitting loose in the pod below it.  Another tube is running into his right forearm.  You feel an aching where your own tubes had been ripped out now that you are consciously thinking about them.  The man’s face has an expression of sheer terror on it that you suspect will haunt your nightmares for the foreseeable future.  He is not breathing.  The final detail you notice is that the top of his skull has been removed, and the brain cavity is empty.  Once again you vomit on the rubberized floor.

               The other chamber holds a naked woman you estimate to be in her twenties.  Her body is intact and does not have any noticeable incision scars.  For a moment you hope that she is still alive, but she does not appear to be breathing either.  You notice that the lid of her pod has a screen on it with a flashing red light.  Leaning closer you can make out words.  “System Failure.  Specimen Lost.”  Glancing over your shoulder you make note that the other pods have a similar display, but they are blank. 

               You look closely at the girl’s face and feel her dead eyes bore into you.  It feels like she is judging you for surviving while she did not.  Not knowing who she is or even who you are doesn’t prevent the irrational sense of guilt that fills you.  “I’m sorry.”  Your voice is raspy and even these two words hurt to say. 

               There may be supplies or answers in this room, but you cannot bear to stay in it any longer.  It is a tomb now and the dead judge you for not being one of them.  You do not belong here and are not welcome.  Staying longer will just bring more horror and nausea.  The pain in your stomach muscles is already almost more than you can stand.  Across the room the door stands as a beacon of hope.

               Step after exhaustive step you move towards the door.  It does not have a handle, but there is a control pad mounted on the wall to the right.  With a hiss the door slides to the side at your approach.  Beyond is a hallway with doors lining both sides.  Behind each door could be salvation or more nightmares.  You cannot bring yourself to find out which so instead you continue to walk forward wondering why you have not seen anyone else living. 

               Ahead the hall comes to an end.  There are halls going to the left and right but it is the large window in front of you that has your complete attention.  You lean against the wall for support, but your shaky legs finally give out under you.  With your arms wrapped around your knees you just sit there against the wall rocking back and forth.  Outside the window the Earth moves farther away from you.  Even from space you can see the fires burning on the dying planet.                         

Fiction Fragment Friday

This week’s “story” is a bit short because it makes sense for the format. I decided to write a flash fiction in the format of an Airbnb listing for a haunted house. I didn’t want it to come out and say that it was haunted though I wanted to build the story around the format of a listing with subtle and obvious clues.

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Entire House in Eureka Missouri

Hosted by Victoria

Overview:

Come stay in an adorable 3-bedroom House nestled among the rolling hills of Eureka Missouri.  A quiet home surrounded by 4 acres of woodland will ensure you the utmost privacy.  Two bathrooms, a living room, and a finished game room in the basement round out this prime location to get away from everything.  You will love the original hardwood floors and brick fireplace. 

You will have full access to the home and no direct interaction with the owner.  Should any issues arise, please contact us immediately.  We will arrange for cleaners, a handyman, or religious services to come on site. 

Our guests have all had a very memorable experience. 

Amenities:

• Plenty of onsite parking
• Keyless entry with doors that sometimes open for you
• A 1919 phonograph player
• Antique Piano
• Fully stocked kitchen (includes standard appliances and ceremonial cutlery)
• Antique rocking chair

House Rules:

• Do not ever go into the attic.  It is unsafe.  
• Follow all checkout cleaning directions, as we do not go onsite for any reason.
• Do not use or move the rocking chair, it is fragile.
• While the paintings may appear to have eyes that are following you, do not attempt to cover them.  They are original to the house and extremely valuable.  

Other Things to Note:

• The house is old, and creaks are perfectly normal.  Some guests have described the sounds as resembling crying or wailing at night.  This is simply wind through the hills.      
• Some guests have reported waking to breakfast already being made in the kitchen.  Please rest easily knowing that we will not be entering the house while you are there or otherwise.  These instances are likely sleep cooking or romantic gestures by guests that did not want to claim credit. 
• Writing on mirrors with what we assure you is just red lipstick despite the metallic scent can easily be cleaned off with the wipes provided in the cabinet under the sink.  There will always be a case of them ready for use. 
• Being surrounded by so much nature some visitors find they wake up at night struggling to breathe and feeling a heavy weight on their chest.  Allergy or sinus medication should clear that right up. 
• There are extra blankets in the hallway closet.  Being an older house there are drafts so you may find that a warm room can very quickly become chilly.  It is just a great excuse to snuggle up with your loved ones. 
• You may hear the piano playing softly overnight.  Please enjoy the sleep ambience.

Cancellation Policy

        No cancellations accepted after check-in.  Early departures will not be granted partial refunds.

Fiction Fragment Friday

This is where I usually tell you what inspired the story you are about to read. I honestly have no idea where this one came from. The idea just materialized in my head and demanded to be written.

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                     50,000 Volts of electricity coursed through Stephen’s body the moment he touched the doorbell.  Two tiny metal prongs hidden inside the button pierced his skin completing the circuit.  His body stiffened before dropping to the ground along with the ByteBites Food Temperature Preservation Container he had been holding in his left hand.  He hated calling an insulated bag by such a ridiculously grandiose name, but it was strict company policy.  Even gig jobs like food delivery had requirements you needed to follow or lose access to the app.    

               From inside the house came the sound of paws running down the stairs accompanied by wild barking and snarling.  The front door of the house shook with the impact of something large slamming against it.  Still struggling to regain control of his motor functions, Stephen crab-walked backwards on the porch feeling his heart pounding against his chest.      

               “Back, Back, GET BACK!”

In the moment the yelling man opened the front door Stephen could see the dog fighting to slip out onto the porch.  It was a single dog, but the dog had three heads each with a different colored collar and nametag.  The man barely managed to get the door closed behind him and it continued to rattle as the dog made impact. With wild white hair, goggles, and a long white lab coat the man towered over the prone Stephen.

               “I have your food order?” Stephen said with his voice cracking and the statement sounded more like a question.  His mouth was dry, and muscles were still too weak to support him.  He barely had the strength to hold the food back up towards the man.

               “Did you even bother to read my instructions?”  He grabbed the bag from Stephen’s hand and started digging through it.  “If you crushed my nachos when fell I’m going to reverse charges on my tip.

               Stephen pulled his phone out of his pants pocket and opened the ByteBites app.  He was thankful that the shock and subsequent fall didn’t damage it.  There in the delivery notes was a message that he indeed had not read.  Leave food on bench by door.  Do not knock or ring the doorbell.  It upsets my dog.  “S-Sorry sir.  I m-missed the instructions.”  It was hard to focus and put the words together with his head in a fog.  He also noticed on the app that the man had only put in a two-dollar tip to begin with.

               “That’s the problem with you kids these days.  Can’t even bother to read simple instructions and if you do ya still screw them up.”  He pulled his food from the ByteBites Food Temperature Preservation Container and tossed the bag onto Stephen’s chest.  “Worthless the lot of you,” he said as he opened the door to go back inside. 

This was what the three-headed dog had been waiting for.  It lunged through the crack in the door and pounced on Stephen.  With his vision filled by the furry beast he braced himself for the pain of being violently ripped apart.  Instead, he found himself coughing and choking as two of the three heads relentlessly licked his face trying to get into his nose, ears, and mouth.  The other head pointedly did not lick him but kept stealing glances to see if Stephen was looking at him.  Unfortunately, the head was disappointed because the other two were not allowing the human to see anything. 

“Snuggles, Bitey, Steve, get back.  Come on, inside.”  The older man stood on the porch pointing towards the open front door and stomping his feet to get their attention.  “You are the worst guard dog ever.”  The dog lowered its heads and whined.  “No, those sad puppy dog eyes do not work on me.  Inside.”  He punctuated the word with another stomp on the porch. 

Stephen gasped in relief as the heavy dog climbed off him and entered the house.  His ribs hurt from the impact and his heartrate still had not returned to normal. 

“Where’s my drink?”

“Oh, sorry sir.  I forgot it in my car.  I’ll get it now.”  Stephen managed to rise on shaky legs and stumble towards his car.

“You didn’t read the instructions, did you?”  Blocking his way at the yard’s front gate was another ByteBites driver.  Instead of the typical Food Temperature Preservation Container she had a large back of dogfood under his right arm and a small paper bag under her left.             

            “Hey Doctor Splicer.  Hope you don’t mind I picked up a couple treats for the babies at the pet store.  My treat, not extra cost.” 

               The man’s face lit up seeing the new driver.  “Jennifer how many times do I have to tell you?  Call me Gene.”  He turned to look at Stephen.  “You could learn something from her young man.  She knows how to follow instructions and would never forget my drink in her car.” 

               She looked down at Stephen shaking her head at him.  “You forgot his drink too?” 

               “And he crushed my nachos,” he said holding his food up for her to see. 

               “You aren’t going to turn him into some kind of mindless slime creature, are you?”

               “No, no, no.  Well not now that you’re here and have seen him.”  He turned back to Stephen.  “Thank her now, you miserable waste of flesh.”  The words were sharp and had a command to them. 

               Stephen found himself babbling before he even knew what he was doing.  “T-Thank you miss.  I’m very grateful.” 

               Stephen reached his car and collapsed against it.  He tried to calm his breathing.  His hands shook as he retrieved the drink from his cup holder.  The ice rattled in the cup.  With great trepidation he returned to the front door where Dr Splicer and Jennifer were laughing. 

The dog was back on the porch sitting back with its front two paws lifted.  “Stay, stay, stay,” Jennifer repeated as she put a treat on each head’s nose.  “Get it” All three heads in unison tossed their heads up flipping the treats and catching them in snapping jaws.  “Good boys.”

“Here’s your drink sir.”  Stephen was proud his voice didn’t crack this time.  All three dog heads turned towards him making him fight the urge to run for the gate.  The cup was still shaking as he held it out.  The dog moved to put itself between Stephen and Jennifer, growling at him. 

“Oh, her you protect.”  Dr Splicer shook his head again.  “Worst guard dog ever.”  He took his drink and then addressed Stephen.  “Learn from this.  Do better.”

Without another word Stephen ran for the gate.  Moments later the sound of squealing tires could be heard as the young man left the house as fast as his car would take him.     

Fiction Fragment Friday

This weeks story hopefully hits hard. I was struggling for inspiration and took a concept prompt and completely turned it on it’s head. It is interesting how far from an initial prompt some of these stories go. This story I feel is one of my stronger concepts and I can only imagine what will become of it after another edit pass or two. There is no way it will not be on Bite Size Tales someday.

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                “Elana, I am detecting a distress protocol signal.”   My ship’s AI announced shortly after we jumped into the system.  A system that all records said was supposed to be uninhabited and only explored by an early probe a century ago. 

                “How is that possible?”  I brought up the details of the signal on my console. 

                “Unknown.  The transponder code included in the signal identified the source as Escape Pod 12 from Station Eden-4.  I do not have any such station in my databases.”

                “Do we have room to bring the escape pod onboard?”

                “Yes, the dimensions are within safety margins to bring into our cargo bay.”

                I hit the broadcast button to respond.  “Escape Pod 12. This is Elana McDaniels aboard the survey vessel Serif.  I’m going to bring you onboard.”  I waited a few moments, but there was no acknowledgement of my message, and the pod was now within range.  “Ok, bring it aboard.” 

                My AI opened the external cargo ramp and engaged the gravitic guide beam to direct the escape pod onboard.  Once the magnetic clamps held it to the bulkhead, the ramp closed, and the cargo bay pressurized.  I set the ship to do a deep scan of the system before changing into an environment suit.  I didn’t know who or what was inside the escape pod, but there was a risk of contamination. 

                The pod was a small one-person unit with just enough space for a seat and a computer console.  I had seen the type before.  Just enough to get clear of a ship experiencing catastrophic failure, but you better hope someone comes along to pick you up quickly.  They couldn’t keep anyone alive for over thirty-six hours.  As I keyed the commands to open the pod, I found myself doubting that I had arrived in time to save this unlucky soul.

                As I expected, the person inside the pod was dead.  She was not wearing an environmental suit or even a helmet.  This told the story of a rush to get into the escape pod and eject.  The readings from my medical scanner were extremely confused.  It indicated that she had died weeks before my arrival while also showing my own health readings superimposed.  It was like the system couldn’t tell the two of us apart.  This matched my confusion, as the emaciated face in front of me was indeed my own.  The scanner finally calibrated to show separate results, but noted that DNA signatures were identical except for minor variations that cosmic radiation from space travel could account for. 

                “Elana, you have never mentioned a sibling and your service records do not reference you having a twin.”

                “That’s because I’m an only child.”

                “I do not have the frame of reference to understand the readings I’m receiving.”  My AI had a very limited vocal range, but it was maxing out its ability to sound confused. 

                “Yeah, I don’t think I do either.  Have the system scans completed?”

                “They have.  The readings from the third planet do not match what we have on file from the probe.  The differences are greater than could be accounted for by one hundred years of natural processes.  There also appears to be a space station in a failing orbit with a transponder indicating that it is Eden-4.”

                “Well, I think that is where we are going to get some answers.”  I closed the pod door, not wanting to see any more of my own dead face.  “Set course for that station.”  I felt the inertial dampeners adjust to the ship’s acceleration in the pit of my stomach.  Newer ships transition so smoothly you can’t even tell that you are moving.  The Serif is not a new ship, but personally I prefer being able to feel my ship.  I think you lose something when you become so disconnected you can’t feel problems or misalignments.  They can say that makes me old-fashioned all they want, but I just like things my way.   

                Back at my command chair, I started evaluating the data coming in.  The station wasn’t in a naturally decaying orbit.  Thrusters had pushed it into the optimal orbit for it to break up and mostly disintegrate in the atmosphere.  The calculations gave Eden-4 less than a month before complete destruction.  I couldn’t be sure about the state of systems onboard, but all analysis pointed to nobody alive and life support being offline. 

                “Elana the station is not responding to my efforts to interface.  I’m afraid I cannot get any additional information without a hard connection to the central computer system.”

                “So, I need to go over to the station that my dead doppelgänger called home.  Great, that’s not creepy at all.”  I felt myself shutter at the thought.  All signs pointed to the station being a tomb.  I was already on the verge of panic, having found what seemed to be my dead body in an escape pod and wasn’t sure just how much more I could take without breaking down. 

                “I am sorry.  Additionally, the station is not responding to docking requests, so you are going to have to enter through an emergency hatch.  I do not recommend putting yourself at that great of risk.”

                “Thanks for your concern, but by the time we got to a populated system and convinced someone to come back with us, the station would be gone.  This is the only chance to get answers.”  I set the ship to match speed and orbit with the station and headed to my air lock.  The soft environmental suit was not enough for a spacewalk and didn’t come with any sort of maneuvering propulsion.  I hated the bulkier units because of how badly they constrict my motion, but it was a necessity. 

                I stood in the airlock, staring out the window at Eden-4’s emergency hatch.  “What am I doing?”  I asked myself as I hit the button to open the outer hatch.  I crouched against the inner door and pushed off hard to propel myself from the ship.  If you have never gone on a spacewalk before, the experience can only be described as terrifying.  Space is huge and you suddenly find yourself out in it with no solid ground under you.  It feels like being in a giant directionless void, and if you make the slightest mistake, you could drift away forever.  Logically, I can tell myself that the maneuvering thrusters give me control and that my ship’s AI could come to rescue me.  Logic can never overpower the sheer natural reaction your body has at being made to feel so small and insignificant.  Anyone that tells you they don’t have to fight the panic is lying or insane.  Either way, don’t trust them.   

                I fought to keep my mind under control until the moment I contacted the escape hatch rail and wrapped my gloved hands around it.  Being able to grip onto something solid is a relief that words can never fully express.  It gives you context again to what had just moments ago been an endless void.  Only giving myself a moment to catch my breath, I manually triggered the emergency hatch and climbed aboard.  After compressing the airlock, I opened the inner door and got my first look at the station known as Eden-4.   

                The station hall had a utility look to it with very little effort given to appearance.  The only lighting was dim red tinted emergency lights.  Artificial gravity was offline, but there was very little floating.  They secured all visible tools and other objects to the walls or counters by Velcro as if they expected gravity failures.  That was common practice on most space stations I had been on.  Using handles built into the walls, I pulled myself along towards the central computer system. 

                Equipment might not have been floating around, but one thing there was no shortage of floating was dead bodies.  My suit’s external environmental analyzers were showing an extremely toxic air mixture.  It would be enough to kill me in minutes without my helmet.  The first body I found I recognized and felt sick to my stomach.  Calvin Chambers had gone through the academy training to be an exploration pilot with me.  Dating was strictly prohibited, but that didn’t stop us from having a pretty wild fling before graduation.  It was a great way to relieve stress.  Last I heard, he had gotten married and settled down on some planet in the core systems.  They were expecting a kid.  I resisted the urge to vomit, knowing from experience how bad that can be in a helmet.

                Before I reached the central computer, I found four more of my graduating class.  One of them I knew for a fact had died a few years prior.  I attended the funeral.  My brain screamed that it couldn’t take much more without breaking.  “Serif are you getting this?” I said triggering the communication systems built into my suit. 

                “Yes, Elana, I am receiving your video and sensor data clearly.  I am not sure what to make of it other than concern for your well-being. Please be careful over there.”

                I stopped in front of the console and plugged a small communication device from my pocket into it.  “I will.  Plugging you into the central computer now.”

                “Oh my.  This is not good.”

                “What’s not good?  Talk to me Serif.”

                “Well, it seems that this station was here to terraform the planet.  When it reached a threshold for habitability, the system automatically launched a communication probe to report the results.  The same probe returned a month later and triggered a dormant kill program.  Poison gas flooded the station, and it began the process of a controlled deorbit.”   

                “Someone killed them?”

                “Not just someone.  The Interplanetary Commission on Expansion.  Someone in our own organization is responsible for this massacre.  I’m still downloading the logs and personal journals from the crew.  Elana, I cannot explain it, but you are listed on the roster.  According to these files, you have been stations here for the past fifteen years.  Since just after graduation.  I’m still fighting with the encryption on the station manager’s logs.  Perhaps he can provide some context.”

                With my mission on the station complete, I wanted off it and back in the safety of my ship.  I made my way to the emergency hatch in a rush, trying not to look too long at any of the floating bodies.  At the hatch I could see that Serif was still in position with the airlock open and waiting.  I launched myself out of the dead station and this time used my maneuvering thrusters to hasten the process. 

                Once onboard my ship, I ripped my helmet off and immediately vomited in the nearest waste disposal.  My knees shook under me, and I felt tears fighting with anger.

                “Elana, are you ok?”

                “ No, I’m most definitely not ok.  I’m going to have nightmares from what I just saw for months.  What the hell?”

                My ship’s AI stayed quiet for a long time while I recovered.  Finally, in a soft tone, it spoke up again.  “I have cracked the encryption on the station manager’s personal files.  I have answers for you if you are ready. You will not like them.”

                “Please, whatever they are, it has to be better than not knowing.”

                “Do you remember the health screening they did just before you graduated from the academy?  The physical and mental health scans?”

                “Of course.  Blood tests and a two-hour brain scan.”  Memories of the helmet and feeling like static electricity shooting through my brain came to me.  It was the weirdest sensation I had experienced in my life.

                “The Eden program uses lab grown clones of recent graduates and uploads memories based on those brain scans.  The people who died on that station did not know they were clones.  They believed they were the originals and knew nothing about the program.  Only the station manager knew.”

                “Why?  Why would they do that?  There are plenty of people who would love to work a terraforming project.”

                “Perhaps, but would they be comfortable if they found out the planet had life already that the terraforming would eliminate?  Would they stay quiet about what they had seen?  Would you?”

                I tried and failed to speak twice before words finally came.  “They knowingly destroyed a living ecosystem?”

                “Most of the crew did not know until it was too late.  They could not keep the secret forever.  Not without eliminating everyone who knew that they could not trust.  That is why they create clones.  An entire space station crew that will never be missed.  Your clone was close to an escape pod when the gas started and overrode the lock to manually eject. She figured it out and had all the proof in the computer systems of the escape pod.  She knew she wouldn’t survive but wanted to make sure that someone out there knew what had happened.”    

                The next month passed in a blur—part staying busy, part drowning in a fog I couldn’t shake. Serif and I compiled the logs, encrypted them, and launched communication probes to multiple systems.

Planetary scans confirmed what the station had died to make real: a world raw, but livable. I kept thinking about all the other planets I’d surveyed.  How many of them had been the resting place for previous clone crews? 

I had been six months ahead of schedule on my workload.  If I had gotten here on time, the station would already have been gone.  My clone’s pod would have still been there broadcasting, though.  She was a hero in my eyes and deserved better.  I buried her on the world that she had unwittingly helped kill.  I don’t know if that is what she would have wanted, but it was the best I could do for her. 

I didn’t know if it was safe to go home after sending the probes. The assassination attempt a week later answered that for me.

I thought the nightmares would be about the dead. The floating bodies. My own face staring back at me, hollowed out. But those aren’t the dreams that keep me up.

It’s this:

She didn’t know she was a clone.
How do I know I’m not one too?

Fiction Fragment Friday

As I have mentioned before my dreams are strange, extremely vivid, and often a source of inspiration. With this story I hoped to capture just a bit of that insane energy that comes from my sleeping mind. There are aspects of actual dreams I had last night worked into this story. Personality however is all from my waking mind trying to channel that sensation of surreality.

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               A very refreshing nap in my recliner was interrupted by an obnoxious knocking sound coming from my kitchen.  Glancing around I found my pets were all still fast asleep around the living room meaning none of them could be causing the sounds.  With a groan I pulled myself to my feet and tossed my nice comfy throw blanket to the side.  I could hear my knee popping as I stood but found there was surprisingly less pain than usual from it.  Happy I had something positive to focus on, I made my way into the kitchen.  The knocking sound was clearly coming from the refrigerator. 

               I opened the refrigerator door and had to step back as a young blonde woman crawled out from the second shelf.  She looked to be in her mid-twenties and extremely flexible.  Glancing back the items on the second shelf had been pushed to the side but were all still there and no matter how flexible there was not room for a grown woman to fit on the shelf.  “Oh, banana pudding,” she said as she reached back into the shelf, she had crawled from to pull out a pudding cup.  “Hey, can I get a spoon for this?”  When I did not immediately reply she started riffling through my cabinet drawers until she found the utensils.  “Never mind I’ve got it.”  This strange woman then leaned against my counter, peeled off the foil top, and started eating my last pudding.

               “What?”  I admit it was not my most brilliant response to an out of the ordinary situation. 

               She tossed the empty pudding cup across the kitchen and it landed perfectly in the trashcan.  Her voice was a bit muffled because the spoon was still hanging out of it when she started talking again.  “Such a broad question.  Could mean so many things.  Can’t talk yet though, they might be listening.”  She started searching my kitchen for something not bothering to put anything back in its place after.  “Aha.  Knew it.” 

               She pulled a tiny skull shaped item made out of some sort of gel like material.  Setting it on the counter she started bashing the skull with a large, pointed rock.  I didn’t see where she got the rock, but I knew I didn’t have any in my kitchen.  Her hands were empty one moment and holding a rock in the next.  As the gel shredded under the assault I saw a tiny circuit board underneath it.  She pulled out two microSD cards from the board and held them out to me.  “Here hold these.  I figured you might want to see what they recorded.”  Once I had taken them, she bashed the circuits making sure to hit every microchip on it.  “Gotta make sure we destroy the memory chips.  There all better now we can talk.  So, what were you saying?”

               “Who are you?”  I asked.  It was a better question, but didn’t quite encapsulate my confusion. 

               “I’m Michelle, but no, that wasn’t what you asked.  What was it?  What could you have possibly asked?  Oh yeah you asked what?  Hmm.  Sorry need more details.  What what are you wanting to know?”

               My head was spinning trying to sort everything out so I blurted more questions out before thinking about them.  “Who are you, what is going on, and where did that come from?”  I wasn’t sure if I was asking about the rock, the listening device, or both.   

               “We already covered who and I still need to know what what.  You added where now you just need when and why to have the complete set.”

               “Complete set?”

               “Who, what, where, when, and why.  The five Ws.  Then you can be a reporter.  You’d be a really bad reporter.  Oh sorry didn’t mean to insult you.  I’m sure there are a lot of things you would be good at.  Just not that.”

               “AHHH!!!”  I screamed.  Again, not the most intelligent response I have ever given to a strange situation.  Everything was happening so fast I couldn’t focus my thoughts. 

               “Well, that was rude.  You made me like you only to go and do a thing like that?  I really am a horrible judge of character.” 

               I tried to compose myself.  “How did you get into my kitchen?”

               “Through your refrigerator.  You were there.  I knocked and you opened the door.”  She grabbed box of chocolate chip cookies from my counter and started eating one.  “Hey, you got any milk?”  She walked over to my refrigerator, opened the door and pulled out a nearly empty gallon of milk.  After making a show of checking the expiration data and shrugging her shoulders she grabbed a coffee mug from the cabinet and filled it up.  Again, she leaned on the counter this time dipping a chocolate chip cookie in her mug of milk.  “That’s more like it.” 

               “I’ve gone insane.  I’ve had a nervous breakdown and lost my mind.” 

               “Oh, insane isn’t so bad.  It’s kinda fun actually.  Embrace the crazy.  That’s what I always say.”  She dumped the leftover milk down the sink and set the mug down.

               “Are you just going to leave that there?  It needs to be rinsed out and put in the dishwasher.”  With everything that was happening I don’t know why that was my last straw, but it was.  There is a way things are supposed to be done and she wasn’t doing it.

               “Oh my now who’s the rude one.  Me I reckon.  Sorry bout that.”  She rinsed out the mug and put it in the dishwasher like I had asked.  “There, all better?”

               “Thank you.  Now why are you in my kitchen?”

               “Well because that’s where your refrigerator is.  Also, where that listening device was.  Wouldn’t do me much good to crawl out of your living room closet if I just had to come in here after now would it?”  She patted me on the cheek with her right hand twice.

               “Do you climb through refrigerators often or is this a one-time thing?  Can anyone else come through my refrigerator?”

               “Nah just me.  There are regulations against things like that.  Don’t see me caring though.  Never met a regulation I didn’t want to break.”  Just then there was what sounded like a microwave ding coming out of my refrigerator.  “Oh that’s my pizza rolls.  Hey it’s been fun but I gotta go.  Can’t let um go cold you know?” 

               “That would be disappointing,” I said at this point just going with it.  “Will I ever see you again?”  I asked not really sure which answer to hope for.

               She opened the refrigerator door and started climbing back in.  Only her head was still visible, nestled between the margarine tub and a case of sodas.  “Never know.  It’s a strange world after all.”  Her head disappeared to the back, but her arm came out and grabbed the door, pulling it shut. 

               “Stranger today than yesterday.”  I reached for the door to the refrigerator, but stopped with my hand inches from the handle.  “Nah,” I said and headed back into the living room.  My pets were awake now and had knocked over the living room trashcan.  They were frolicking in the fast-food wrappers just as happy as could be.  “Finally something normal.” 

Fiction Fragment Friday

This weeks story is for all the wrestling fans out there. It is not my typical story in that it lacks any form of science fiction to it. I have tried to make it as approachable as I can for people who do not know anything about the wrestling industry.

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                “One more time.  One more time.  One more time.”  The chants filled the arena the moments after Axel Krane hit the power bomb against the turnbuckle on his opponent.  Nico Storm lay there flat on the mat, completely at Axel’s mercy.   

                “One more time?  What the hell is going on out there?  Don’t they know he’s the heel?”  A man in an immaculate business suit was swinging his arms around wildly in frustration.  The tiny room behind the curtains at the top of the ramp had little space for the number of employees in it.  Screens, sound equipment, and headsets filled the tables lining the walls.  This made it extremely difficult for the producers and engineers to avoid the angry executive. 

                “I don’t think they care, sir.”  Myren’s voice was weak with a hint of shakiness to it.  Never a man for confrontation, being around an angry senior executive was one of his worst nightmares.  It didn’t help that Gavin Creed was known for firing people on the spot who annoyed him.

                “They don’t care?  THEY DON’T CARE!!  They’ll care about what I tell them they’re supposed to care about.  I’ve spent a lot of money and six months building up Storm.  Rags to riches story.  Fought his way back from homelessness, only to rise to the top and get his title shot.  He’s one of them.”   

                “Ye..Yes sir, but see, they know that’s not true.  Storm is your nephew and has a social media presence.  People follow him and see the kind of cars he drives.”

                “I made him shut that down when I came up with this gimmick.  Plus, we changed his name.”  Creed had a clear look of confusion on his face.  He could not understand why the crowd was cheering for his heel to hurt his face. 

                “Well, sir, there are podcasts and YouTube channels that tell people all about what goes on behind the scenes now.  The fans are more informed than they used to be.”  Myren cowered back from his boss, afraid that anything he might say would be enough to cost him his job.  Everyone backstage knew that Gavin Creed was out of touch and anytime he got involved in creative directly it did not bode well for ratings. 

                “Ok fine, they know his gimmicks all bunk.  That doesn’t explain this though.”  He pointed to the screen where Axel hit the move on Storm for the third time.  The crowd was on their feet cheering.  “They know Storm is supposed to be the hero.  You don’t see them going to a movie and cheering on the bad guy.” 

                Myren took a moment to compose himself.  With Creed grasping to understand, he had a unique opportunity to influence future storylines.  “I don’t know why they don’t seem to like Storm, but Krane is extremely talented in the ring.  We don’t let him talk much, but when he does, he is great on the mics too.  The modern fan  thinks they understand how all this works.  They feel smart and appreciate skill.”

                “Explain Riot then.”

                “Fair point sir.  Ricky Riot is still really new and not that great in the ring.  What he does do well though is make very funny songs about his opponents.  We hardly ever put him in actual matches, so they don’t realize he can’t make it through a match without a botch.  In his defense though he is putting in a lot of work at development and they seem to be noticing it.”    

                “So what am I supposed to do about this?  Storm is supposed to win the title next weekend and keep it for a year.”

                This was the chance to pitch his story, but doing so walked a very fine line of insulting a family member.  “Well, sir, have you thought about turning Storm heel before or when you give him the belt?  Anyone who listens to him speak for more than a minute knows he is kind of egotistical.  Lean into that.  They want to see him get hurt make them really hate him.”

                “Are you trying to say that my nephew is unlikeable?”   

                “Well sir, I mean.”  He paused to compose himself again.  No guts, no glory, he thought.  “You know what sir.  Yes, I am.  He is the most hated wrestler in the locker room and we get more complaints about him from fan events than anyone else.”

                Creed looked at him with an expressionless face, making Myren fear he was about to be unemployed.  Then, to everyone in the room’s surprise, Gavin Creed started laughing.  It was a deep laugh and he had to catch his breath afterwards.  “You got an enormous pair on you, don’t you kid?  Don’t you think I know better than anyone that my nephew is a putz.  Let’s just say that my sister knows things I would rather the press not.

                Axel Krane came through the curtains and into the backstage area followed by chants of his name coming from the crowd.  “Man, do you hear them out there?  It’s insane.”  He had come in full of energy, but his face dropped when he saw Creed standing there. 

                “Oh, I heard.  The question is what are we going to do about it?”

                “You know me boss.  Whatever’s best for the business.”  Axel did have a reputation of being willing to go out of his way for anyone or anything, if it was best for the company.

                “That, my boy, is the right answer.”   He turned to Myren.  “I’m putting you in charge of tweaking Axel’s character.  I want a plan in my inbox by noon tomorrow.  He’s already over, so don’t screw that up.  He’s going to get screwed out of the title on the next two Pay-Per-Views before taking it from Storm.”

                That was when Nico Storm came through the curtain, limping in pain.  “Did you hear those idiots? Demanding I go through that damn turnbuckle bomb four times.  My back is gonna hurt for a week. Ungrateful jerks.”    

                “Nico, Nico, Nico.  Come with me to my office.  I’ve got some plans to tell you about your character.  We’re going to make you the most hated heel this business has ever seen.”

Fiction Fragment Friday

This week is a story told in the form of journal entries. You should know by now I like having fun with different methods of telling a story. How much world building and foreshadowing can I add into a journal entry? Challenges like that are fun for me.

The topic of the story was inspired by a writing prompt, but so loosely it would barely be recognizable.

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Journal Entry Number One

                I feel the need to label the entries in this new journal, but I don’t know the date to include in the label.  I feel like once I start a trend though I need to stick with it, so instead of dates I’m just going to number these.  As long as there is some kind of label, they can stay organized.  Organization is important.  I don’t know why, but I feel deeply that it is. 

                My doctor says that keeping this journal will help me get my memories back.  I hope he is right because I feel so lost right now.  It doesn’t help that my room is sterile and lacks all color.  The nurses that bring me my meals and medications won’t talk to me about anything.  They barely acknowledge me at all, giving only yes and no answers.   My doctor is the only one since I woke up without any memories to treat me like a person. 

                I’m so sick of this place.  If they didn’t keep my door locked, I would leave.  I just don’t know where I would go.

Journal Entry Number Two

                Maybe this journal is working.  I remembered a lot today.  My name is Evan Brooks, and I grew up in Murphysboro, Illinois.  I know I don’t live there anymore, but college and life after is still out of my reach.  Doctor Chambers seemed to be so excited by my breakthrough.  He must really care about me.  These nurses could certainly learn from his bedside manner.  As much as I hate not having any privacy, I hope someone is watching the video feed from the camera in the corner and it leads to disciplinary action against these nurses.

Journal Entry Number Three

                Ok I’m done.  If one more nurse comes in and sticks me with a needle or demands, I swallow a giant pill, I’m going to scream.  I’m a Ph.D. and I deserve some answers.  Nothing else is going into or coming out of my body until I get them.  No more treating me like a child, incapable of making informed decisions.  As my memories come back, I’ll know more about how to treat myself than they could ever hope to.  As it is, things are not adding up. 

Journal Entry Number Four

                They were drugging me to keep me docile.  I recognized the pills finally.  Since I’ve been palming and flushing them down the toilet, I’ve been a lot more aware of my surroundings.  The nurses are studying me, not treating me.   I don’t know what tests I’m being put through, but that’s why they won’t talk to me.  I’m not a patient; I’m a test subject.   A specimen to poke and prod instead of another human being.

                I’ve realized that my doctor must be part of this.  He might very well be in charge of this whatever it is. I’ve trusted him and shared way too much.  That’s why today I’ve started lying to him about what I remember.  A plan is starting to form, but I need a bit more time to work out the details.

Journal Entry Number Five

                I’m out.  When the nurse came to give me my shot, I hid behind the door, slipped out, and locked her in.  The building was not a hospital like I thought. They were keeping me in a very high-tech medical laboratory.  I must have caught them off guard because I managed to get out into the city before they could stop me. 

                I’m not proud of this, but I stole some clothes from a Goodwill donation dumpster.  If anyone is in need, it certainly is me.  What I really need is somewhere to go.  I remembered where I live, but I’m afraid they will be watching it when they realize I’ve escaped.  I could go to the police, but I don’t know what to tell them yet.  What was the experiment?  Did I agree to be part of it?

                Also, why did I bring this journal with me?  I tell myself it was because I didn’t want them to know what I wrote in it, but that doesn’t feel right.    

Journal Entry Number Six

                There is someone living in my house that looks like me.  I watched him leave in a hurry this morning, kissing my wife goodbye on his way out.  My kids left for school soon after.  Everyone is exactly like I remember them except myself.  In a gas station bathroom, I finally saw my first mirror since waking up.  Finally saw my face, and it was much younger than I remember.  I look like I’m in my twenties instead of my forties.  Who am I?

Journal Entry Number Seven

                I think I might be a clone. 

Journal Entry Number Eight      

                This morning, I snuck into my garage and hid in the back seat of my car.  My doppelgänger got in and started the drive to work.  Of course, work was the laboratory I had been a prisoner in.  That isn’t where we went, though.  I popped up and held a knife to his throat, demanding answers.  At my direction, we pulled into a parking lot and got out. 

                He was scared and I was waving a knife, so it didn’t take long for him to start telling me everything.  I am a clone of him, but only aged to his prime.  His brain had been mapped and imprinted on my own.  The only memories actually mine were those after waking up in the lab. 

                I was so angry and confused about who I really was.  Before I knew it, I was lashing out and punching my older self.  I guess he was more my DNA donor than an older self.  My body in its prime vs a middle-aged man with arthritic knees was not a fair fight.  I punched him in the stomach repeatedly until his blood coated the ground beneath him. 

                So much blood.  It was not my fist that I had hit him with after all.  There, gripped in my hand, was the knife now covered in blood.  My first instinct was to try to stop the bleeding, but there were too many cuts.  The gasping breaths stopped coming.  He was dead.  I killed him.  Is that who I am?  A murderer?   I took his wallet. So, am I a thief as well? 

Journal Entry Number Nine

                My wife deserves answers, even if she won’t ever believe them.  This will be my last journal entry because I’m going to leave this journal with the body.  I started writing to jog my memories.  Now that I have them, I realize they are not even my own.  Please, whoever reads this, make sure she gets a copy.  Tell her I’m so sorry.    

Fiction Fragment Friday

This week’s story is told from the perspective of the character I’m playing in my weekly roleplaying game. Of course as usual my characters are bigger and more important in the world when I write about them then they ever could be in a game. While the character’s thoughts and motivations are the same as I want them to be in the game his place in the world will never be the same. I’m not sure that I would want them to be.

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                Even in the middle of the park, you can’t escape the city.  The sounds of people arguing, horns honking, and a train in the distance combine to drown out nature.  The exhaust is not as bad but still assaults the nose.  Thankfully, the smell of hot dog carts give me a moment of relief.  The park is the one place in the city where I can fully sync with the energy fields of nature.  Where I can communicate instead of just using it.  Unfortunately, that means my senses are operating at a level to make the city oppressive. 

                Usually, I can tap into the traits of one animal at a time, but not in the park.  There, sitting by the lake, I have the ears of a bat, the sight of an owl, and the smell of a bloodhound.  The one place I can commune with nature, and it enhances my senses so much I can’t enjoy it.  I try to escape the city only to have its worst traits amplified.      

                As I open my eyes, I am met with the sight of animals.  Squirrels, birds, insects, and rodents surround me in all directions.  These are the moments I live for.  When I am one of them.  I open my bag and pull out a loaf of bread.  They can’t rely on me to feed them every day, but I am one of them and I will not abandon them today. 

                “What in the world is going on here?”  I don’t know the woman who yelled in surprise, but she managed to ruin my  entire afternoon.  The animals surrounding me run in fear.  They know that not all humans are safe to be around.  Without knowing who will be kind and who will be cruel, it is safer to just avoid them all.   I can feel their fear and it saddens me.  We have taken so much from nature already and there is nothing they can do about it.  

                “You scared them away,” I say to the newcomer.  I don’t turn around to face her. 

                “You did that, didn’t you? You were controlling all the animals in the park.”  Her voice is accusatory, with a twinge of anger in it. 

                “It’s not about control.”  I hold up the loaf of bread over my head.  “I feed them, and they trust me.  Doesn’t need to be more to it than that.”  I try to keep my voice steady and confident. 

                “I know what I saw.  That was more than just food.  There was an owl standing next to a mouse.  Admit it, you’re one of those freaks.” 

                I fight back my initial response.  My friends keep telling me I have anger issues.  That isn’t the entire story, though.  When I channel animals, I don’t just get their senses; I get a part of their spirit.  Animals rely on instinct more than we do.  Our complicated jumble of thoughts get in the way of our instincts.  So, when I channel animals, I am a more extreme version of myself.  My thoughts get pushed to the back and my instincts drive me forward.  In this moment, my instincts want me to grow cat claws out of my fingers and rip her throat out.  That isn’t who I am, though. 

                “You’re right. I do have powers.  I don’t control anything, though, and I don’t hurt anyone.  There’s a lot of darkness in the world, and yes, some of it comes from people with powers.  It isn’t the powers that cause it, though it’s the hatred in their hearts.  Ask yourself, out of the two of us, do you really think it was the guy feeding bread to park animals that has hatred in his heart?” 

                I finally turn to face her and get my first look.  She is radiant, with long green hair draped over a flowing white dress.  It feels like her deep blue eyes can see right through me.  What draws my attention, though, is her bare feet with flowers growing on the ground all around them.  She takes a step towards me, and I watch more flowers grow before my eyes.  “There you are.  The fire I knew you had in you.”  She touches my shoulder, and warmth fills my whole body.  At that moment, the city outside the park vanishes from my senses.  We are alone with nature and my connection feels stronger than it ever has before. 

                “Who are you?” I say, but my voice cracks a bit as I do.  I can feel tears forming and I don’t know if they are from joy, awe, or fear. 

                She laughs, and the sound is like music.  “Oh my child, you know who I am.  You are my chosen warrior.” 

                “Mother nature?” I ask in disbelief. 

                “If that is how you wish to think of me, it is not as a whole inaccurate.  I am the spirit of all things that live on this planet, be they plant, animal, ameba, or one of the many forms of life you humans have yet to discover.” 

                “Gaia,” I say in wonder.

                “One of the many names I have answered to over the years.  I am not here to talk about me, though.  I am here to grant you a gift.  You have significant challenges ahead, but here you may find sanctuary.  In this park, you may hide from the outside world for a time and heal when you need to.  Here from time to time if you ask questions of me, I just may answer.”

                “Thank you,” I say barely able to look at her.  “Why me though?”          

                “Perhaps it is because I need my champion to be strong.  Perhaps it is because you possess a strength you have yet to realize.  Or perhaps it is because of a promise I once made to your father.  Regardless of my motivation, this place is now yours.  Treat it well and it will do the same for you.”   

                One moment she is speaking and the next she is gone.  She does not leave or fade away.  Instead, she is simply gone, but deep inside, I still feel her presence.  The park is quiet, yet I know where every animal is.  I don’t feel them, I just know.  When I walk from the park, the sounds of the world return.  Looking over my shoulder, I see people in the park, though it was empty for me just moments ago.  The world feels more solid like I have returned to it from somewhere less physical.