Lucid Waking

Archive for the ‘Science Fiction’ Category

The Wanderers (5)

        Dorian awoke to a cold hand vigorously shaking his shoulder. He couldn’t feel his one arm underneath him, but he managed to push himself up to a sitting position.
        “I am sorry to wake you, but it is very important that you not stay here. My superiors will be here any moment to check on me and my work and you cannot stay. Fortunately, the individual who is in charge of the employment office has arrived early and agreed to perform a favor for me.”
        “I’m not sure this is what he meant,” Dorian began, but did not finish as Exec began to pick him up off the floor. After a frantic flailing of limbs, Dorian found his balance and was quickly escorted out of the small office down the opposite end of the hall from where Visitor Services was located. Exec seemed to be in a hurry though he took large, calm, and collected strides while Dorian felt foolish following in a frantic and hurried trot. Eventually they reached the door labeled “Employment Opportunities” and without a moment wasted, Dorian was pushed through the door.
        “Good morning, Exec,” the secretary said once they entered. “Shall I get Mr. Leblanc for you?”
        “Yes, Sylvia. Thank you.”
        The two waited in the rather large waiting area that reminded Dorian of the doctor’s offices he had been forced to attend. The pictures on the walls looked equally fake and the image seemed complete by the inclusion of magazines next to sets of chairs. He had no more time to think about the parallels as Sylvia called from her desk that Mr. Leblanc was available and Dorian found himself quickly following Exec to the frosted window door that led to Mr. Leblanc’s office.

Author’s comments on post 363: Apparently when I said I wasn’t going to write much more of The Wanderers, I was wrong. Right now, the plan is to alternate stories every other day, but I don’t think this will last once I get back to school. But enjoy what I have for you and I hope to have more tomorrow.

The Wanderers (4)

        All at once the room was flooded in light forcing Dorian to blink several times slowly until his eyes adjusted. When he finally could look up he was greeted by an artificial face, smiling slightly until it caught his attention.
        “Please, sit down,” the robot said extending its arm as a human might to the seat in front of its desk. Dorian could tell from the billboards lining the main street that it was a 3062 model—one that seemed to be built like a car: streamlined, attractive, practical, and expensive. It was a “working” robot, so the human-likeness didn’t matter; its chrome skin reflected some of the office light.
        The office itself was nothing to brag about; it was the size of a walk-in closet with a single desk and two chairs apart from the rolling desk chair. The leather covering on the chairs was ripped and mended with duct tape that tried to blend in. The walls were painted a drab tan and the furniture was scratched up; its one usual occupant was the newest looking object in the room. The name tag on the desk read “Executive 221” and in smaller letters underneath: “Robot Ambassador to U.S. Troops.”
        “Executive 2-2-1; is that you’re name?”
        “Name? Yes, I forgot that humans exchange names as a part of their bonding process. I am usually called Exec. What is your name?”
        Dorian smiled. “Dorian.”
        “I am sorry, Dorian, that you will have to sleep on the floor.”
        “That’s perfectly fine. It’s much better than sleeping in the hallway.”
        “I do not understand.”
        “Here, I won’t get caught.”
        Dorian sat down on the ground and tried to get comfortable.
        “By the way, Exec. Do you always sleep with the light on?”
        “The light is how I ensure that no one comes into my office. If the light is on, the security guard on rounds will assume I am working and leave me alone.”
        But Dorian barely caught the end of the explanation for after a long day of running, sleep was not going to let him escape.

Author’s comments on post 361: I’m probably going to stop here for a short while. I have the rest planned, but I am losing a bit of interest. Don’t be surprised if I adopt other stories to tell. I have one that will go unplanned (which we’ll see how long that lasts) with my friend, Johnny, and some other people in that town. A post for sure tomorrow and probably the next day as well. My apologies for yesterday, I got caught up in the Oscars.

The Wanderers (2)

        Hundreds of names filled the black rectangular directory, which made scanning take more time than he had hoped. He could hear a clock somewhere beep a final warning before he found the name and ran towards the stairs. Taking two at a time, he bounded up to the sixth floor and ran to the door marked: Visitor Services. He lunged at the doorknob and tried to turn it, but the object wouldn’t budge. Frustrated, he tried turning it back and forth and put his weight against the door. Naturally, the door wouldn’t move and when he knocked a little too loudly, no one came to answer it.
        Dorian stepped back from the locked office and looked around him. Even where he stood he could hear the final alarm marking the city as completely shut down for the night. He started walking back down the hall to where the elevator waited, but thought better of it after remembering the guard in the lobby. He slumped down to the floor where and leaned back against the wall. The lights shut off and left the hall in darkness as he sat and weighed his options.
        Running away had seemed like such a good idea at the time, which, he supposed, was how most bad ideas started. Even though he was, technically, an escaped criminal who had now violated curfew laws, he felt no panic in getting caught or remorse as he shuddered at the memory of metal blue walls enclosing him and others within a monotonous routine. The sun lamps did nothing for his mood and neither did the extreme surveillance he was given for appearing “moody” and “disruptive.”
        He found out much too late, of course, that the real world was even worse: there was no sun or sky and for all that it seemed fantastic to have freedom, he didn’t have a job, food, shelter, or money and so he was bound to the life of a thief and sentenced to run for his life everywhere he went.

Author’s comments on post 358: So there were a lot of things I didn’t mention last time and now that I’m not in such a hurry, I feel like you should know. First, this story (especially now) might remind you of a certain other story that I had started. I decided to pick it up again, but this one will have completely different themes than what I had for the first version. I also would like to think it’s better written (after all, the first one was published in 2008). There’s more to my notes, but I think I will leave it right now where it’s at and let the story tell itself.

The Wanderers (1)

        The large clock on the street corner flashed and beeped a warning that curfew was quickly approaching, but not a single hotel stood out from all the other skyscrapers looming over the street. Dorian kept walking, pulling his coat closer to his exposed face to keep out the wind that was speeding between the buildings.
        The atmospheric dome was getting darker as he pressed on past closing shops and businesses. Windows snapped, doors banged, locks clicked as he made his way to the town hall in hopes that they could give him some direction.
        The town center was located exactly where the main street forked (though the street would re-encounter itself on the other side of the island and become one huge street again). Crossing it was difficult with all the retreating traffic, but he managed to run across and slip into the darkening doors of town hall.
        The interior held on to antiquated architecture despite the postmodern steel buildings around it. The security guard yawned and waved him hurriedly through the metal detectors. Breathing a quickened sigh of relief that they didn’t go off, Eli practically ran up the stairs to the main foyer where there was a large board outlining the offices in the building.

Author’s comments on post 357: This is the beginning of what I hope will be a riviting story. I don’t have the whole thing planned, but at small incremints, I think I will be ok until I have time to work it all out.

Life on Mars?

        So this was it. This was what society twenty years ago had called “The Future.” Darren sighed and waited for Marianne Leblanc, a historian who specialized in repetitive events and who had a particular curiosity with Homo sapiens landing on Mars.
        He didn’t have long to wait; the space shuttle pulled into the station precisely on time and a short, well endowed woman wearing a military uniform stepped out of the vehicle first before a long line of scientists and military personnel. She walked with a purpose and had already extended her hand towards Darren before she was even close to coming within contact distance.
        “Mary White,” she said, “I prefer to go by the simpler name.”
        “Darren Snyder,” he said.
        “Well, Darren. What have you got for me?”
        “Really nothing. HQ wanted me to see you to your hotel, but they didn’t give me any orders. You’re already aware, I presume, that nothing natural was found on Mars.”
        “Ah, but that disease—”
        “Just something they came up with to scare civilians.”
        “Sure it was,” Mary said, smiling. “Let’s pretend I play along, why would they want to spread a story like that? I should think that getting people to flock here would be their goal; you know, to stop over population.”
        “Ms. White—”
        “Mary is fine.”
        “Mary, over population is already a huge problem that won’t be solved if we open the doors to Mars now rather than later. And really, it’s not my place to tell you any rumors I might have heard. Whatever reasons HQ asked you here, they are keeping to themselves.”
        “All right, Mr. Snyder. If you insist. But I still think you’re hiding something.”
        “Think whatever you want.”
        He led her in a gentlemanly fashion to the shuttle outside serving as a taxi. After noting quickly how authentic the blue atmosphere shield looked, she slipped into the vehicle, which sped towards the central station where everything was being prepared for opening day. Little did she know the information HQ had in store for her; Darren wouldn’t be surprised if this little opening of the planet would be delayed for quite a while while they figured out what to do about the bacteria-sized Martians that were already inhabiting the planet.

Author’s Note on post 341: This trend in naming my posts after songs is not on purpose; the title comes to me after the work is finished. But they work so well. Anway, this came to me after I finished 2001: A Space Odyssey which might be why, if you’ve read the book, you might be able to see similarities. I hope to be getting better at this 10-minute story thing.

Cured

        Quarantined. No one knows how long it’s been or how long it will be. For another endless day, or at least, the time in which the sun shined after he woke up, he contemplated the passage of time. Having run out of numbered blocks on his calendar, he gave up trying to mark its passage and hold on to the last bit of society he had left.
        The thing with Armageddon was that he had expected it to be much more…dramatic, flashy, even, than it really was. Perhaps, it was as T.S. Elliot thought, man did not go out with a bang, but a whisper. Or was it a whimper? He couldn’t remember. Hundreds—thousands—of years of culture had been for naught. And it was all because a scientist wasn’t careful enough with his virus samples. It seemed ironic.
        He sat down at the piano, like he did every time after he woke up and played dead composers. The music didn’t comfort him so much as the feeling of the keys and that constant connection with something that seemed to understand, or at least respond to, his feelings.
        Suddenly, a telephone rang and he jumped, upturning the piano bench and sending it sliding a little ways across the room. He ran to the phone and snatched it from the cradle.
        “Hello?”
        “Mike, listen. I think I discovered a cure.”
        “Hillary? Wh—”
        “I can’t talk now, just head outside.”
        “They’ll kill me if—”
        “Go out the back and sit in the sun.” And she hung up.
        Though this disease was eating him from the inside out and though the sheer boredom would perhaps kill him just for a change of pace, he was afraid and doubted her advice. But finally, with a last loving look at the piano, he snuck out his own house and ran to the greenhouse at the edge of his property. It was a sunny day and she was right, basking the sun was making him feel much, much better.

Author’s Note on post 339: So I decided to try something new; every day for ten minutes I would write something. I’m not sure if everything is going to be published, but this is my goal. Ten minutes. This is the first fruit of this experiment and quite frankly, I’m not fond, but it’s the act of writing that is most important. Wish me luck!

Dilmun

        Eleven o’clock is pitch black. You’re walking a dog, but it’s too late at night. It can’t be the real reason you’re out, it really can’t. But you can’t remember why you’re there. You can’t remember anything.
        No drugs in your system, but your vision is cloudy and your head is light. The dog leads you around the block faithfully, but you aren’t sure which house is yours or where the dog came from. It pulls hard against the leash and you follow it, unsure of where you’re going.
        Dawn’s pallid head appears on the horizon and you can finally see in the growing light your destination. The dog sniffs at a piece of iron sticking out of the ground like a sign. You read the words:

CAUTION: due to the use of artificial air in our system, symptoms of lightheadedness, restlessness, blindness, deafness, memory loss or nausea may occur. Please use a gas mask when entering and exiting our facilities and leave quickly when you experience these symptoms.

Thank you for visiting Dilmun! We hope you’ll come again!

(more…)

Good Morning

        Sunlight streamed into the un-aesthetically messy room over Coke cans, dirty laundry, and wrinkled pieces homework. One toe of a large foot stuck out into the light as if checking its temperature to see if it was warm enough. A small-stature girl walked into the room boldly and headed toward the spot where the foot was hanging off the bed and out of the covers. She was still in her pajamas, but her hair had been stuffed into a towel. Wet tendrils stuck to the back of her neck as she turned her head to search for the Kleenex box. Finding it and grabbing a tissue, she brushed it gently over the protruding appendage. The foot shot back under the cover like a turtle that sensed danger and was quickly followed by a little moan from the opposite side of the bed. A dark brown head that had fallen off the pillow moved forward and under the fluffy headrest so that it bulged upward and made the boy look like a headless, armed caterpillar.
        “Wake up,” the girl said loudly, moving towards the pillow.
        A stifled grumble came in reply and the lump under the covers shrunk and rose.
        “Fine, but it’s 7 o’clock,” she said. She promptly turned and left and she was out the door and half way down the stairs to breakfast when a reply rang out of his room through the open door quite clearly:
        “You were supposed to wake me at six!”
        Several bangs and booms later along with a shower and crash of drawers, the boy was dressed and down in the kitchen to scrap up his breakfast to go. The girl leaned against the doorway, a little smug, but patient as her brother ran around dodging chairs and the table like a puppy runs after its tail.
        “By the way, a letter came from Dad,” she said. “He’s going to have to stay in Beta Space a little longer than he thought.”
        “Where’s mom?” the boy replied through a piece of toast he stuffed in his mouth as he reached for his backpack. His sister moved out of the way as he flew out of the kitchen and she followed him to the front door.
        “I don’t know if she came home.”
        At those words, a white car entered the driveway and as it gently floated down to the ground, a very tired woman got out, still wearing her scrubs. The boy smiled but ran past her; the girl stopped for a quick kiss before running after her brother.
        “Sorry,” the woman yelled after them, but she knew they wouldn’t stop as the yellow bus floated into the bus stop while they were still a quarter of a block away.

Flowers and Chrome (Part I)

        The conference room’s long mahogany table was cluttered with duffels, coats, and purses. Cases of food and water and garbage bags had been slung on top of the luggage, stopped from sliding off by the rolling chairs lining the side of the table. The walls were a pale blue; though it was meant to be a hopeful color it succeeded in adding to the monochrome monotony of office life. The ceiling had seven small lights, all set to a dimmer switch near the main door in the front of the room. An expensive projector hung from the center of the ceiling and pointed menacingly at a spot under the rolled up white screen.
        Positioned in various spots against the wall, under the table, and in the isle lay fifteen young women. The soft murmur of breathing broken only by a few delicate snores gave away their presence in the dark room. Leah slipped out of her sleeping bag without unzipping it and stood up, trying to gage the distance to the door without being able to see it. Unluckily for her, she was positioned closest to the far wall as possible and her bladder was starting to protest her indecisiveness. She cautiously put out a toe, as if testing the temperature of water, and gently stepped down onto carpeting. She repeated the process until she reached the door, proud to have not woken anyone, but all the more feeling the urgency in which she needed to reach the bathroom. She slipped out the door to the quiet office area, past several rows of cubicles, through glass double doors to the main lobby. The closer bathrooms for the employees were locked for the night, but the office staff that had allowed her and the other girls to stay had graciously left the public bathrooms in the lobby open.
        The cold tile pricked her bare feet as she carefully pattered across the open space in front of the receptionist’s desk. She didn’t like how open the room felt and how anyone who walked by the glass front of the building could see her in her pajamas. Luckily no one was out. She opened the door to the bathroom and stopped, leaving the door open so that the light flooded out to illuminate the face of the large clock behind the desk: 12:55. She turned swiftly into the brightly light public bathroom and blinked several times to adjust to the light.
        She smelled the odor of burning tobacco before she saw it and figure out who it was before her watering eyes could focus. Melanie was leaning back against the wall, her eyes half closed watching Leah adjust to the light. She remained like a statue, her hand barely clutching the cigarette leaning over a glass ashtray she probably brought herself.
        “Are you allowed to smoke in here?” Leah asked scornfully.
        Melanie moved to stand upright and shrugged. “There’s a fan right there,” she said pointing at the ceiling. “I don’t see the problem.”
        A toilet flushed and the stall door opened. Susanna stepped across the room and turned on the water neatly. “I don’t think you’ll get her to stop if she’s catching breaks while everyone else is asleep.”
        Leah entered the stall and said nothing.
        “You’re too goody-goody, Suzy, to understand.”
        “I’m not judging you,” Susanna said ripping a length of paper towel to dry her hands. “I’m just saying that Leah shouldn’t be so surprised.”
        “I’m not the only one who snuck in cigarettes anyway.”
        Leah exited the stall and moved to wash her hands. Melanie exhaled a bit of smoke upward towards the fan and then looked down at her slippers. Susanna smiled at Leah and redid the ponytail in her short blond hair.
        “It’s all right,” she said to neither girl in particular. She reached for the door and exited the bathroom with a soft creek of the hinges. Leah ripped off a piece of paper towel, dried her hands, and left in the same sudden way into the darkness.
        She stood outside the bathroom door while her eyes adjusted. As she stood, she could hear a soft whirring noise from a short ways off, which she quickly dismissed as an errant heating unit. The sound off the office doors opening echoed through the lobby and Leah barely saw the outline of her friend slipping through them. She moved to follow Susanna, but stopped as a glint of bright blue light caught the corner of her eye. She snapped her head in that direction but saw nothing. She stood in her tracks, staring at the spot, waiting for the glint of light again. Finally, she heard a click and then the whirring got louder.
        The next thing she knew, she woke up, and something very heavy rested on her chest, pinning her down. Two blue lights were looking down at her, very much like eyes. They blinked off and on. She reached out a hand to the object on her chest and touched warm, humming metal. She tried standing up, but the weight on her chest pushed hard against her.
        “Who are you?” a male computer generated voice asked her.
        “Leah Hirsch,” she said. “I’m staying with the rest of the girls in…” she paused not wanting to give any location away to an entity she didn’t know was friendly or not.
        “Why are you here?” it asked.
        “We’re traveling to collect plant specimens for a university’s greenhouse collection.”
        The lights turned and she saw the blue beams aim for the ground near her shoulder. “It is good to have a purpose. Would you agree?”
        “What do you mean?”
        “I was built as an information unit, so I know everything that there is to know. Nature always triumphs over technology. She will be there long after technology has stopped working. So why am I here if not to die?”
        “We all die,” Leah said. “And please, get off me.”
        “I can not do that,” he said.
        “Why not?”
        “If the guard robots see you here they will kill you.”
        “What? I was told we were allowed in the lobby.”
        “You are not in the lobby,” he said with a tint of guilt.
        “Then where am I?”
        “Please do not be angry. I just wanted to talk to you.”
        Leah sighed. “Isn’t there anyway we can talk where I am comfortable?”
        The machine whirred for seconds that felt like hours. Her chest was aching under his weight and her skin itched due to uncomfortable heat of working machinery. The floor under her smelled like cleaning chemicals and was stiff from being walked on. Finally the weight lifted and she was pulled up to her feet. A hand grabbed hers and led her around a labyrinth of hallways to a room. The robot shut the door with a click and turned on the lights.

Sky

        “What color do you suppose the sky is?” she asked, staring up at the metal dome arching above the buildings in the center of the city.
        Sixty years ago, he might have been able to tell her, although his perception would have been thrown off. He was only twenty-six, so he had always known the dome. He felt safe within the man-made weather globe, protected from pollution and disease. Traveling was done by tunnel systems, lined with metal to protect people from radiation and acid ground water. Everything in the dome was paradise and there was no reason to go looking outside it. All the causes of the problems outside were fixed; there were no cars, garbage, or unnecessary burning. Everything was recyclable or electronic and anything that needed to be disposed of was burned in a large furnace and the ashes sent outside. Mostly, though, no one bothered to worry about that.
        He took note of the falling light from the sun lamps on the side of her profile he could see. “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “Blue?”