the imagination soars

Your eyes kind of glaze over briefly as you listen to the woman onscreen. This woman on the other side of the Skype call isn't unattractive, but still a far cry from beautiful.  Although, the accent is definitely a plus.  Just as you decide that the problem is probably those wispy bangs hanging over her forehead, you remember with a start the active webcam perched on top of your monitor. 

You blink hard, winding up to make a big show of actually paying attention, but the truth is you're just not feeling it.  The other companies that interviewed you were closer and paid better.  You responded to the German chair manufacturing giant almost on a lark.  Some feature in that magazine you read sometimes had listed them as being very forward-thinking.  Noveau.  Leading-edge.  Other made-up words.

She's slowing down now.  She might have noticed you aren't really listening, so you smile and nod sagely at the screen.  You wonder if she just lost the glasses, she would be a total fox.  Like on TV.  You're not really sure you would want to design chairs, anyway.  You're more of a desk man.  While it's true that you have a lot of big workplace furniture design ideas, they are mostly about desks.

Now she's talking about some benefits you will enjoy as an employee.  That might be cool to listen to.

"Our corporate campus is the largest in the city.  On site, we have a full gym, tennis courts, and an Olympic-sized swimming pool. We have daycare, a library, and an erotica glen.  Also available to our employees is a garage of electric commuter cars that we're very proud of!"

You're not sure, but you think something got your attention there.

"What was that last one?"  you ask.

"All employees can use one of our electric sedans to travel between the workplace and the home.  We're very committed to 'going green.'"

"No, I don't think it was that one."

"Full-sized gym?  Resource library?"

"No, it was some sort of... glen?"

"Our erotica glen?"  she laughs a bright little laugh.  "Oh, you Americans!  Things are always so uptight over there!"  Without lingering on it a moment longer, she continues listing other amenities and employee benefits.

You tune her out completely.  Guess who's moving to Germany!

more bendable

The doorway opened with a hiss as the panel scanned my OI and okayed the temporary clearance Andreas had granted me for today’s visit. As I stepped into the Artificial Environment, the first thing to strike me was the heat. Did Andreas really work in here all day? Now, I was no stranger to variations in temperature, but this was different, almost like the air was full of water. It stuck to your skin. It was nearly suffocating at first, but I got used to it after a few deep breaths.

I surveyed the vast Environment as I walked. The colors were just... too bright. I wished I could turn down the saturation and the hue. From every side, numberless bold, stark, unidentifiable objects confronted me, each boring its visage into my eyes. There was an abundance of green, but even that fails to describe the scene. It’d be closer to say there was more types of green than I would have ever imagined could exist outside of a vidscreen, all within ten meters of each other, with blue things and red things and yellow things all spaced throughout, in case you ever got close to staring it all down. I kept my eyes on the path that led me deeper inside.

The general cacophony of the area assaulted me next. It’s nearly impossible to describe, but I’ll try: imagine a large symphony. Now quintuple its size. Also, no one knows what they are playing, and no one can hear anyone else. Now take away their instruments – they can only hum, cough, sneeze, snort, and click their tongues. You with me so far? Now imagine it’s not even people anymore. They’re all – what did he call them? – “animals.”

The thought made me stop abruptly. I’d been assured there would be no danger, but all the same it was time to seek out my old colleague. I pinged him on the Local. He responded after a few seconds with a small groupshare invite. I accepted and overlaid his location. He was just 113 meters eastish, but I probably would never have seen him by just wandering through anyway, since he was off the path. Tentatively, I stepped off the walkway and struck out in his direction across the soft ground. It was a strange combination of dirt and plants, but I liked the way it felt beneath my shoes. Andreas’s voice came through on my OI.

“Les, my friend! I see you have finally decided to stop by and see my work!” As always, he sounded warm and energetic. “Keep going the way you are going, you will find me at the pond. I, ergh. Hey, stop it-”

It sounded like he was struggling with something. I looked up and could now see him in the distance, grappling with some strange animal. I quickened my stride.

“You okay over there?” I asked.

“Urg. Yes. No problem.” The animal made a strange cry, which I heard through the OI and from a little farther ahead of me. “All part of the job.”

As I approached Andreas and breached the voicecast threshold, the echo clicked off and he turned his head to just shout at me over the noisy animal. He released it and it bounded off into the pond in a wobbly kind of way, joining a handful of others like it.

“That,” he said while dusting off his hands and indicating the strange creature, “is a ‘flamingo’! It is a bird!”

I was underwhelmed. Except for its color, which was a really quite extravagant pink, I had been expecting something more. This is what Andreas had been so excited about?

“I thought birds were the ones with the big wings?”

“Not all of them, friend. And these ones have wings, they are just tucked in against the side right now.”

“Can they fly?”

“Well…” Andreas paused, considering his words. “These here, they cannot. We’re still working out the bugs. We only have still photographs of this bird in the records, and very limited biological remnants. We have had to make a lot of… educated guesses.”

“I see.” I looked more closely at the birds gathered in the pond. They stood unsteadily on long legs. One dipped its head into the water shakily and swayed with the motion, flapping its wing on one side a little to keep upright. Another drew one leg up against its body and struggled valiantly to hold its balance before flopping gently into the pond sideways. I frowned. “Don’t you think the legs are a little too… wobbly?”

“Like I said, there are some bugs.” But ever the optimist, Andreas just smiled enthusiastically. “We’re working on it!”

Exerpt from my novel wherein I am paid per word:

Jeremiah Engel Johnson Jr. dabbed at the sweat on his brow with the old, blue handkerchief using his right hand, since he was sweating a real lot. He replaced the worn-out handkerchief in his shirt pocket and resumed his work in the field, which was a farm. Farming his farm was what Jeremiah did all day long, since he was a farmer and that's what farmers do: farm their farms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his wife Mary Ellen Elizabeth Johnson, whom he had married, walking slowly closer to him carrying a large pitcher of cold water.

"What's in the pitcher?" he called out loudly. "Is it cold water?" He hoped it was, and that the water was cold.

"It's cold water, honey! You looked like you were sweating a lot! So I thought you might like some water! And it's ice cold!" She carefully poured the cold water into a tall glass and handed it lovingly to Jeremiah, who took it when she handed it to him.

"Mm," he said as he drank the cold water quickly. "That water's cold."

staying behind

I looked over the crowd of relatives I had been able to assemble on short notice. I'd succeeded in cajoling most of the family nearby to come, and even one of Grandpa's old poker buddies. Eleven people in total. If the Yahoo Answers folks were to be believed(and really, who else can you trust?), it should be enough.

I flicked through the three pages stapled together of the wikipedia article I'd hastily printed out and stood at the podium. Whichever of my family members owned a podium and brought it over(seriously!) I had no clue, but I didn't have time to get caught up on something like that. I cleared my throat and tried to take charge of this thing.

"All right folks, everyone grab a candle and light it. If we can get this done in like an hour, we'll be able to go to the diner for the early bird menu."

Aunt Janice(actually about my age but still my aunt), who had been struggling with her two children(aged two and four) since they arrived, shot me a look. "Even the kids? Seriously? Fire?" She whipped around to grab the wrist of her older son, stopping him from wailing on his younger brother for at least thirty seconds. "ERIC! DON'T HIT SHAWN! HE'S YOUR BROTHER!" Eric and Janice both gave me exasperated glares. Shawn, at least, seemed to enjoy the fugacious reprieve from violence.

I flipped nervously through my papers. The procedure they outlined was pretty vague. I decided I was allowed some discretion. "Give 'em a candle, but don't light it."

This answer seemed to satisfy them. But I had to regain momentum. "All right. Join hands. Stand around the piano."

My cousin Danny piped up. "Join hands? We're holding the candles."

I was becoming agitated. "Okay, forget the joining hands part. Come on. Circle up."

Eventually, everyone gathered around the piano. Improvising madly, I raised my candle. "Grandpa, friends and family have gathered here today to help you. You were loved in your lifetime. You accomplished a lot of great things and touched many hearts. You need to move on. Abandon this cold hard world and embrace the warm, bright afterlife you truly deserve. Go, with the blessing of all of us. You need not linger here and watch over your family. We take care of each other, in your memory, and out of love."

It was silent. We waited. Nothing happened.

I tried a different tack. "All right, Grandpa. Enough dicking around. Quit haunting the piano."

The candles went out suddenly. A chill blew into the room. The keys began to dance on their own. There was no piano roll inside, but the piano began to play. Thing is, Grandpa was never actually much of a pianist. Cheerily, the tune "Camptown Ladies" filled the room. The assembled guests looked at each other, frozen in place.

I pressed on. "Seriously, Grandpa. Cut it out. We're selling the piano to the Thompsons."

It started to play "Baby Elephant Walk." It was not a good rendition.

"Don't make this harder than it's gotta be, Grandpa. I got Father Simon down here. He'll exorcise the shit out of this piano. Priests can do that, right? If that doesn't work, I'll get one of those voodoo guys."

Father Simon looked very upset. I tried to shrug at him apologetically. The piano launched into "Chopsticks". I was undeterred.

"Yeah man, a witch doctor. So give it up."

More "Chopsticks." Louder. But I had a secret weapon. I brandished a hacksaw I'd grabbed from the garage on my way in. I brought it closer and closer to a leg of the piano, but it kept on playing. Grandpa was calling my bluff, and the Thompsons weren't going to buy a piano that was missing a leg.

I threw up my hands in defeat. "You got me, Grandpa! It's out of my hands now. Wherever you end up, don't blame me!"

The family was already halfway out the door. It really was a good early bird menu.

The whole ordeal turned out to be moot, of course. As luck would have it, as soon as I put up the "haunted piano" posting on Craigslist there was a handful of interested parties. Ended up getting a decent chunk of change for the old thing.

Anyway Grandma, this letter took way longer than I expected it to. Sorry I sold your husband's ghost to a weird couple in Michigan. See you at Thanksgiving.

With love,
your grandson

ain't no corn in The Karate Kid

Steven glared bitterly at the corn on his plate and pushed it around a little with his chopsticks.

Master Chu stroked his fine beard pointedly and shot the young boy a fierce look. You could nearly imagine it being accompanied by the noise of a whip-crack. "You must eat for strength, young man! The body cannot run on vengeance alone!"

The 12-year old rolled his eyes and slouched in his chair. He let his head roll back lazily for effect. "Vengeance? What are you talking about, dude? Also, this is supposed to be rice." He set down the chopsticks and folded his arms.

Master Chu concentrated his intense, malevolent gaze on a single point of the wooden table before snapping it sharply onto the boy(presumably the table would have burst into flames otherwise). Steven winced reflexively but continued to slouch in defiance.

"Such impudence!" The old man trembled with rage. "You should be more careful with your tongue, lest you find it plucked out by a master whose patience you have eroded!"

Steven looked incredulous, but mostly bored. "What? Dude, that is gross and creepy. Do you like, know my mom? When will she get back?"

"You do not have time for such concerns, whelp!" The old master twisted his long wispy mustache between in his fingers. "Now finish your meal, and we will begin turning your body and will into deadly weapons!"

The boy screwed up his face and sighed petulantly. "Your fake fu manchu's starting to come off."

Master Chu's rage boiled over. As he quickly smoothed his mustache back against his face, he plucked Steven out of the chair and lifted him bodily into the air by his shoulders. He carried the boy out the back door, into a meticulously landscaped backyard. The old man dropped the 12-year old roughly onto a stone bench near a small pond filled with koi. A large stone statue of Buddha overlooked the peaceful tableau.

Steven crossed his arms again. "Dude, this is lame as shit. I can hear the ice cream truck going down your street. It's playing the Mister Softee song."

Master Chu said nothing. Steven snorted and began to pipe up again, but the now-furious old man silenced him with a hateful grimace. He then turned to the statue and closed his eyes. Turning one palm to the ground and one palm to the sky, he bent his knees into a low, open stance while inhaling slowly. The birds stopped chirping and the air seemed suddenly still. Then, with a subtle twist of the ankle on his leading leg, his back foot flashed out, almost invisibly, in an upward arc. A great gout of water leapt up out of the pond, shattering the silence, and moments later the stone statue slid apart, cleanly bisected on the diagonal. As the sounds of birds and the Mister Softee truck filtered once again into the back yard, the old man nudged a displaced fish back into the pond.

Steven's eyes boggled, but he regained his unimpressed expression quickly. "Nice special effects, old dude. I especially like the water fountain."

Master Chu turned on Steven, pulling off his fake mustache as he grabbed the boy by his shirt. "Look, kid, I'm gonna level with you. Normally the Wizened Old Master shtick works pretty good, but I can see you got some sort of problem with that. But this kung fu shit isn't a trick, and I'm getting kind of close to stopping your heart with some ancient Chinese technique. So do you want to settle down learn how to break a guy's neck four times before he hits the ground or what?"

it moves

This should not be happening. This was ridiculous. This was insane. I seethed. I raged. I could feel my fingernails digging deep creases into the palms of my hand as my fists clenched and unclenched at my sides. His face warm and convivial, hands folded earnestly, my monster sat across the table from me. Not that anyone called him that anymore.

Of all the indignities, that was the worst. I had such high hopes. They would call it Schrader's Monster! And then just a Schrader until some pedant would remind them that that was just the name of professor who made him, not the monster itself, blah blah blah. But now... It was unfathomable what they called him. It was unbearable. It was intolerable. It was oppressive. They called him Darrin.

And now he sat before me and tried to smile sympathetically. It was a gruesome sight - I'd cobbled together his misshapen jaw from an unmatching top and bottom. The resulting underbite should have been a prominent characterization in legends, myths, and Sci-Fi channel movies for years to come. Instead he was kind of meekly self-conscious about it. He steepled his fingers and cleared his throat.

"Father." It was cute at first, and I had let it slide. Now it made me mad. Well, angry. You know what I mean. Anyway. He continued, "I've been meaning to have this conversation with you. I think it'd be a lot more conducive to my development as an individual if I moved out of the castle."

I was livid. I boiled. I erupted. "This is your home! This is where you were made! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a castle in New Jersey? How will I look, here in my castle, without a monster or anything!"

"Dad!" He looked hurt. It was pathetic. It was feeble. It was wretched. "I've requested many times that you not call me that anymore. It's detrimental to my construction of a healthy self-image!"

This is how he talks to me! Whatever happened to "fire bad!"? I wasn't going to stand for it. "This is not up for discussion, Darrin." I spat as much venom as I could into the name. "Here is where you shall stay, and you are not going to read any more of those absurd books! And we are going to drive this filthy hamlet into a pitchfork-and-torches hysteria whether you like it or not!"

He sighed and rose from his chair, his grotesque, hairless head nearly touching the ceiling. "Alright. I tried. If you'd noticed I'd been packing my stuff for the last two days, you would have realized that I hadn't asked to have a conversation with you today because I sought your permission." He turned and walked out, closing the heavy palisade behind him as he left.

I was crestfallen. I was dejected. I was crushed. He'd pay for this. They'd all pay!

clean, renewable power

Terry glared at me from behind thick frames, his beady eyes magnified into normal size by what must have been a near-legendary prescription. I hadn't exactly expected him to be thrilled to see me, but I'd hoped for at least a smirk. As it was, I couldn't even say for sure if the glimmer behind his steely glare was a spark of recognition, or if I was a total stranger to him now. Or worse, a non-person, exorcised from the realm of people he would ever have to consider again. After all, I was the first one to leave the fold. To pursue a life outside the laboratory. Away from the white coats, the formulas, and the long stretches of hours hunched over diagrams spanning six tables pulled together. I looked away.

The atmosphere probably wasn't going to improve, so I just waded right in.

"Hey, Terry." I mumbled. "Good job with the matter-integrator thing. I heard the UN considers you a national-level threat."

"Yeah." He frowned. "Well, they're a bunch of pussies."

"This is my fiancée, Laura." I gestured vaguely at the area beside me, which surprised me by being entirely empty.

She had apparently been hiding behind me up to this point, but seized it upon herself now to step forward and try to ease the tension a bit. Laura was better at these things than I was. She shook his hand warmly.


"So you're the mad scientist Tim used to run around with, huh? I really like your place. It's very uh, bright. Very modern."

The foyer, if you could call it that, went far beyond bright and modern. Every surface was jet-black, spotless, and polished to a shine. The lighting, all bare and fluorescent, was somewhere between dazzling and oppressive. But Terry seemed to loosen a little anyway. That was one of Laura's specialties. If she gave you a compliment, you believed it. They just sounded sincere.

He shifted a bit. "Yeah. Well, I designed this whole place myself. The whole facility. It runs on its own power, an engine that converts my own self-loathing into electricity."


"That's... wow. That's totally incredible. That's brilliant, Terry."

The hallway dimmed. Terry's expression went cold again. "There are some limitations. It's a work in progress." He spun on his heel and motioned for us to follow as he opened a door to go deeper into the complex. The lights slowly flared up even beyond their original brightness as we fell in step behind him.