Out of Time
Weekly Writing Challenge: Through the Door – The door to your house/flat/apartment/abode has come unstuck in time. The next time you walk through it, you find yourself in the same place, but a different time entirely. Where are you, and what happens next?
I trudged on leaden feet up to the door to my flat. Helluva day. Hell of a day. I fumbled the key into the lock, turned it and opened the door. I was looking forward to relaxing on the sofa.
Falling into the dark as the air was pulled explosively from my lungs was not on the evening’s to-do list.
It happened so suddenly I didn’t have time to feel fear. I just sat there for a moment, not breathing, and just as fear finally made an appearance something hard shot out of the dark, grabbed my arm and pulled me sideways. Just as blackness overtook me I heard a swishing sound and bright light flooded in.
Aaargh! Who’s pounding on my head? I cautiously opened my eyes. Staring down at me were two people. No, two trees – am I in a forest? No, two tree people. Holy smokes! Tree people! I blinked and looked again. Still tree people. Skin rough like bark, a dark cherry red. Kind of pretty, actually. Wide staring eyes and, oh boy, what a lot of teeth. Teeth, big, sharp teeth, teeth like razors, teeth made for ripping, tearing…
“Strewth, mate, are you OK?” asked the taller of the two. “What’re you doing in the hold? There’s no air in there, mate!”
A tree with an Australian accent! I had met a red tree with an Australian accent! My life was now complete. I closed my eyes again and waited for the Reaper.
“I think he’s passed out again, mate,” said the other.
Hmm, strange dream. I opened my eyes and took another look. They were still there.
“Um, where am I?” I asked, rather hesitantly. “This isn’t my flat.”
“You, mate, are on our ship. Our interplanetary transport.”
“What? Why is there a spaceship where my flat should be?”
“There’s a spaceship where your planet should be, mate,” the shorter one said.
I was feeling a little out of my depth at this point.
“So,” I said, thinking it best to humour them, “what happened to my planet?”
“Gone,” said the taller tree-person-thing. “Someone thought it a good idea to harness the boundless energy of the Earth’s core. As soon as they broke through, the immense pressure caused a fountain of magma to shoot out of the crust. A bit like a rocket engine. Propelled your planet into the sun.”
“BANG!” added the shorter one helpfully, miming a huge explosion with his gnarled red hands.
“You’ve fallen though an inter-temporal spacial flux. You’ve shot two thousand years into your future! You’re in the same place, geographically speaking, or cosmologically speaking if you prefer, but no longer in the same time!” concluded the taller one. He sounded entirely too happy about the whole situation.
“OK,” I said. “let’s see if I’ve got this right. I’m lost in the future, on a space ship run by talking trees, my home is long destroyed and I’ll never see it again?” This was so surreal it was beginning to sound a bit funny. I feared I was going into shock.
“You’re not lost in the future, you’re lost in the present.” explained the taller one patiently.
“OK, my future, Mr Pedantic!” I yelled, my voice starting to sound a little shrill.
“And we can get you home!” he finished triumphantly.
“Really?”
“Probably.”
“Then let’s do it!” I exclaimed. “If nothing else, I need to get back and warn everyone about the impending doom!”
“Sorry mate, you won’t remember any of this,” said the shorter one. He sounded a little sad.
“Oh, I think I will.”
“This is your future, mate,” he explained. “You can’t remember something that won’t, um, will not yet, um be about to happen in the future, um.”
I stared at him. “Whatever. Just get me home.”
“Nothing simpler. Stand there. Good. Ready?”
The shorter one gave me the thumbs up and flashed me a grin, which I’m sure was supposed to be reassuring and probably would have been if it hadn’t been accompanied by more teeth than anyone should be allowed to possess.
The taller tree pressed some buttons. There was a clunk, a flash of light, a feeling of disorientation and…
…I fumbled my key in the lock, trudged into my flat and collapsed on the couch, switching on the TV as I did so. Great. The news. Some scientists reckon they can solve all the world’s problems by tapping the energy of the Earth’s core. Sounds kind of dangerous.
Still, I guess they know what they’re doing.
A Last Goodbye
Maxwell turned up the collar of his winter coat as he made his way down the damp street. Raindrops shimmered in the glare of the street lamps as they fell to the pavement. A tall man in his late twenties, Maxwell always took care of his appearance while stopping short of vanity. He turned down a side street, a short cut to his parents’ house. He had an hour, the man in the sharp suit had said. An hour to say goodbye.
This route took him past his office building. He could see it on the other side of the street, an investment banking firm. He was working there in Accounts when he had first noticed the discrepancy. A small error (or so he thought) which had led him to one of the biggest embezzlement scams in recent history.
He couldn’t keep quiet, could he? He had to call the authorities. He’d have to go into protective custody, they said. He wouldn’t be able to tell anyone where he was. Chances were he’d never again have any contact with his friends, his family. These were nasty people, he’d been told. People with “connections”.
The doors opened and he felt a pang of regret as he saw his office mates come out. A flash of gold caught his eye. Maria. Maria with the golden hair, the big blue eyes, the heart of an angel. He’d spent the last eight months plucking up the courage to ask her out. Ever since she’d stumbled over to him at the Christmas party and kissed him under the mistletoe. He watched as Simon put his arm around her. Simon the snake! They were laughing. Too late now. He walked on towards his home.
He could see his parents through the kitchen window. They were preparing dinner. His Dad had his arm around his Mum. Twenty-eight years of marriage and still so close. He watched as his Mum chopped vegetables while his Dad walked to the table and began setting out plates and cutlery. Three places – Mum, Dad, and… him. But he couldn’t even go in to say goodbye. A tear in his eye, he turned and walked back the way he had come.
Forty minutes had passed by the time he returned to the alley, nestled between Sonny’s Bar and Mario’s Pizza. “The best pizza in town!” Mario proclaimed to anyone who would listen. Maybe not the best, in Maxwell’s opinion, but admittedly, pretty good.
The alley was awash with activity. He could see the man in the sharp suit, waiting for him. He picked his way past the police and the crime scene techs and lingered a moment to look down at the body. It was strange, surreal, to see himself lying on the street, the small hole just above the bridge of his nose, his eyes staring sightless at the stormy sky, congealed blood forming a halo about his head.
The man in the sharp suit took his hand and he looked around, bidding a last goodbye as they slowly faded away to nothing.
A Different Person
Daily Prompt: It’s a Text, Text, Text, Text World – How do you communicate differently online than in person, if at all? How do you communicate emotion and intent in a purely written medium?
First off, let’s rephrase the first question.
“Do you communicate at all in person?”
No. No I don’t.
Well, OK, obviously that’s not strictly true. I couldn’t function in today’s rough-and-tumble world without saying a word. I communicate fine at work, but I’ve known many of those people for years. I’ve worked there for nine and a half years and I’ve never had a day off sick – that’s entirely irrelevant, but I’m very proud of the fact :-).
Put me in a social situation and… nothing. If I know the people, I generally try to ignore them, close my body language and let other people talk. Then I get upset when they ignore me back. Go figure. I’m my own worst enemy.
I sneak unseen into a room of “new” people.
If it’s a group of “new” people, I ninja my way in at the back of the room and “people watch” – I won’t say anything, other than answer questions, until I’ve “sized them up” a bit.
And small talk – what’s up with that?
“Goodness, it’s raining again.” Yes, I can see that.
“How about the game last night! Eh?” What? What game? Are they talking about football? I just don’t know.
“How are you today?” You don’t really want to know, do you? Maybe I’ll take you by surprise and bang on about all my troubles.
Text-wise, I write texts in complete sentences (usually) with proper punctuation intact. “Text-speak”? Have you ever tried actually texting “c u l8r” on a phone with auto-correct and suggestion lists? Can’t be done.
Online (e.g. in a blog) I find it easier to “speak”. I can express myself more readily. I can think before typing. I have time to find the words. I can proof-read to ensure I haven’t said anything nasty. I don’t have to actually interact with people in real-time. (Don’t get me started on using the phone :-(.)
As for communicating emotion, there’s probably more emotion in my posts than there is in real life. And that’s not a lot. Hey, I’m a bloke. I’m emotionally crippled by design. I’ll just hold it all in, thanks.
Photo credit – Katsushika Hokusai, derivative work: AMorozov, Wikimedia Commons licence
A Fluffy House
Daily Prompt: Mad Libs – Turn to your co-workers, kids, Facebook friends, family — anyone who’s accessible — and ask them to suggest an article, an adjective, and a noun. There’s your post title! Now write.
I wasn’t at work yesterday so I sent my friend three separate texts and he sent back “fluffy”, “a” and “house”. Hmm.
The Parable of A Fluffy House
Samuel took one last look in the mirror. Hair – check. Tie – correctly fastened. Shirt – immaculately pressed. Everything in order.
Samuel was a vain man. Arrogant and conceited, he was always perfectly dressed, spending upwards of an hour checking his appearance before leaving the house. A man of indeterminate age, opinions ranged from mid-thirties to early fifties.
An architect by trade, he had created a house designed to set him apart from the rest. Boasting twelve bedrooms, three bathrooms and a kitchen a chef would be proud of, it nestled against a hillside two miles outside of town.
All of this was nothing compared to the house’s crowning glory. Samuel smiled as he stroked the outside of the house. Soft, fluffy.
He had looked at other houses. The houses belonging to lesser people – people who were not him. They looked so bland. Concrete, brick, wood. This would not do. Samuel had covered the outside of his house, his masterpiece, with the softest and most luxuriant of fabrics.
People came from miles around to see his house. His house! They would take pictures (for a reasonable price, of course). They would spend time touching the fabric, running their fingers through the soft, deep fibres covering the walls (discounts available for parties over five persons).
Samuel was the envy of all. He basked in the adoration of the admiring crowds. He had reached his pinnacle!
Then the rains came. At first only a few solitary drops, then a heavy deluge. It rained day after day. The fabric covering Samuel’s house grew wetter and wetter, heavier and heavier.
The walls creaked. The timbers shook.
Three days after the rains began, Samuel’s house, his creation, the ultimate extension of his towering ego, slowly, almost gently, collapsed in upon itself under its own weight, until it was nothing more than a mound of wood and extremely expensive, extremely wet fabric.
People still came from miles around, not to admire but to laugh at Samuel’s house. At his foolishness.
And the moral of this story?
“Practicality before pride”
or
“The carpets go on the inside, dumb ass!”
I Found My Childhood Friend!
A little while ago I wrote all about my childhood friend, in a response to a Daily Prompt. The problem was, I couldn’t find the little fella!
I asked my parents about him when I went round for lunch today. They said I must have him as they don’t (uh-oh). I did get some more history, though. He was bought by my Gran for my Mum when she went into hospital to have her appendix out. I guess having your appendix out when my Mum was young must have been extremely scary, all leeches and sacrifices and stuff (sorry Mum :-)).
No, it was only 56 years ago. He was bought in Oban, on the west coast of Scotland (“in a little shop on the sea front”, my Mum tells me).
And here he is!
Cuddly Bear – my childhood friend
I popped a pen into the picture to give an idea of scale. As you can see, he’s been through a lot but now he has taken his rightful place on the bookcase with the rest of the gang. He’s meeting some of them for the first time!
I do hope they all get along.
Still Dark
Daily Prompt: Your Time to Shine – Early bird, or night owl?
As I start writing this, it’s… let me see… 7.28 am. On a Sunday. I’ll add that I’ve already been awake for 2 hours.
Can you guess whether I’m an “Early bird” or a “Night owl”? Currently it’s dark when I get up in the morning.
This is pretty much a combination of two things. I start work quite early so my alarm goes off at 05:50. Since this happens five times a week, the two days over the weekend aren’t enough to change this habit, alarm or no alarm. I also live alone, so there’s no real reason to stay in bed, if you know what I mean ;-).
In fact, on a weekend I often get up even earlier, keen to start my day off! Since I’m quite awake in the mornings this makes sense. I can get a lot done (i.e. watch a lot of TV, ahem). Later, I can have a nap. I’m in my forties. I’m allowed to randomly take naps. I’m practising for my retirement.
I generally wake up every 2-3 hours overnight anyway. Apparently, this is the way people used to sleep before there was a standard working day necessitating the standard 8 hour block of sleep. If I could get away with it I’d just nap when I felt like it over the entire day, but I don’t think my boss would like that.
So I rise early and go to bed (what other people would consider) early – lights out rarely later than 22:00. And that works for me.
Drali Two Point Oh
Daily Prompt: Clone Wars – If you could clone yourself, how would you split up your responsibilities?
Faster. Stronger. Better.
Day minus 1: The lab is prepared. The growth solutions are ready. My DNA has been extracted, sequenced and enhanced. Tomorrow we begin the cloning process. Our goal? To produce Draliman 2.0. Faster. Stronger. Better.
Day 1: My DNA has been added to the solution. The solution has been solutificated and the electrodes have been electroned. Let life be created. Ha ha, ha ha ha, ha HA HA HA!
Day 5: My creation is maturing nicely. Although still only partially formed, I look forward to the day when he emerges. He will have the intelligence to complete my daily workload and the stamina to see it through. His enhanced memory will replace my calendar and my sat-nav. He will have the confidence and self-assurance to go where no Draliman has gone before!
Day 9: My excitement grows. My clone has almost reached full maturity! I will soon be able to enjoy the better things in life, while Draliman 2.0 goes about the more mundane tasks.
Day 10: My clone is ready. May my new life begin! I release him from the solution and wrap him in a towel. Wait – he is about to speak! His first words…
“Wha… wha… what’s on the telly? X-Factor! Awesome!”
Disappointment fills my bones. Another failure. But I shall not be downhearted. I shall place him with the others and start again!
“Home of the failed clones” by DraliDoodles(TM)
(5 days pass)
Day minus 1: The lab is prepared. The growth solutions are ready…
Begone Foul Song
Daily Prompt: Earworm – What song is stuck in your head (or on permanent rotation in your CD or MP3 player) these days? Why does it speak to you?
I speak here of a song so foul, so insidious, that all who hear it are lost forever!
With that rather melodramatic start, I actually don’t have time to speak for long as I only get 45 minutes for lunch, but I couldn’t let this one pass me by.
I am, of course, referring to that “song” in the film Gremlins. It goes a little like this:
“na na na NA na na, na na na NA na na, na na na naaa na na na na na naaaa”.
Okay, it doesn’t go a lot like that. There aren’t any words so it’s hard to write down. I’d upload a video except I don’t have video-uploading capabilities, and there’s probably all sorts of copyright issues anyway. For those of you who have seen Gremlins, I think it forms part of the starting/closing titles, and is also “sung” by the Gremlins themselves during the film. The film was on over Christmas (as it often is) – I recorded it and watched it some time in January.
This song is so insidious, it has latched into my brain and won’t let go. This song ain’t for shifting. In fact, I believe it has actually burned new neural pathways into my grey matter – only an F-MRI scan will tell us for sure (maybe – neurologists please correct me on this – can we pull music directly from a person’s brain or is that still under development?).
I hear it in the shower, I hear it in bed, I hear it in the car. I have to turn up my stereo to drown in out.
“And next up on X Factor auditions, it’s draliman with his rendition of ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’!”
“Thanks.” (Clears throat.) “na na na NA na na no wait, can I start again, thanks.” (Clears throat.) “Somewheeeere over the raiiiinbow, na na na NA na na oh bugger, forget it.”
I’d actually almost gotten rid of it, and then this Daily Prompt came along and it all came flooding back. Thanks for that, Daily Prompt 🙂
Small Change
Things change. People, places, things. That’s life. No change means stagnation.
Stagnation? Bring it on. I hate change. Change is for other people. I’ll happily stagnate, thank you very much.
Small Change. Lunch is on me!
Last week brought me change in abundance. Nothing major, just small changes, but lots all at once.
These are all things which wouldn’t even be an issue for 99.9% of the population. They’d look at me as if I were mad.
I was already in a bad head space. A website we’ve been working on for months was about to go live and I was in a right state.
In my mind, I make a small error in the code. Everything goes wrong. The world ends.
(Please note – I don’t program nuclear missile systems. Therefore the world is not actually in any danger.)
Here’s the “small change” part. Along with this going on:
- The road near my house is under repair. Bits keep getting closed. I need this road to get to work, otherwise I’d need to change my route.
- The supermarket where I do my weekly shop has been refitted. The parking system has changed and everything inside has moved around.
- The petrol station where I fill up my car every fortnight has closed for a refit for up to 28 weeks. I will need to get my petrol elsewhere.
- And the icing on the cake – the barber I have been visiting since I was but a little lad is closing! Nooooooo.
Too much change in such a short time. So what happened?
- The website’s fine.
- The road works have yet to deny me access to work.
- I found everything in the supermarket without any trouble.
- I bought petrol at the garage around the corner.
- My hairdresser is moving 5 doors down and has given me her card so I can book my next appointment.
So, no need to panic, then. I knew there never really was, but my stupid brain keeps going off on one. It’s not under my control in these situations. It won’t listen to reason.
Does anyone have the number of a really good psychiatrist?
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