My cousin Carrie and I went to a Wynand's writer's club thing just now and did a real-life bkfiction (although we only had 15 minutes as opposed to the usual 30), I might transcribe mine eventually, though it wasn't that good. 15 minutes is not enough to create a plot and characters and setting and all that, but that's the point I think. We walked a long way, something like 40 blocks, instead of taking the subway (which we couldn't find an entrance to). I met kevincarter and billy (does he have a LJ?), Wynand's friends, they're all great writers. Wynand told a hilarious story about... I can't even describe it without ruining it, he should post it in LJ.
What was most memorable about that day (so far), besides Wynand's story, was Wynand talking about Miracle Jones's (who was there for a bit but had to go) various medical conditions, including infected tonsils and kidney stones. I worry that such great people will all be and are being constantly day by day destroyed simply through ridiculous diseases, all of them. That we allow disease and old age to kill people every year without a worldwide Manhattan Project (we could use some of the nearly 1 trillion a year spent on our foreign entanglements perhaps) to cure all disease (and it's within reach of such a project, if it only had the funding) is a shame, especially when you consider all the people involved in such trivial-by-comparison enterprises like dental aesthetics or game development or whatever. I know not everyone wants to live forever and even people who are diseased or dying often don't take healthful measures which could minimize it but people should have the option, nobody should have to be killed or in suffering just because of their genetics or because some virus found them.
What was most memorable about that day (so far), besides Wynand's story, was Wynand talking about Miracle Jones's (who was there for a bit but had to go) various medical conditions, including infected tonsils and kidney stones. I worry that such great people will all be and are being constantly day by day destroyed simply through ridiculous diseases, all of them. That we allow disease and old age to kill people every year without a worldwide Manhattan Project (we could use some of the nearly 1 trillion a year spent on our foreign entanglements perhaps) to cure all disease (and it's within reach of such a project, if it only had the funding) is a shame, especially when you consider all the people involved in such trivial-by-comparison enterprises like dental aesthetics or game development or whatever. I know not everyone wants to live forever and even people who are diseased or dying often don't take healthful measures which could minimize it but people should have the option, nobody should have to be killed or in suffering just because of their genetics or because some virus found them.
Here: http://rinku.livejournal.com/tag/bkfict
I've tagged all my Blitzkrieg fiction -- all the stories that I wrote in a half hour or less. It turned out that there were *way* more of them than I thought there were: 31. I figured I had written about ten, not about thirty, so I still can't believe I've written that many short stories. I still like most of them very much, and wish I wrote these more than I do. If any of you read all of them, tell me which is your favorite. Here's a list of their titles:
Someone Should Step on Them, See How They'd Like It!*
The Accountant of Taste
The Bright Shining Path to Greatness, Part One
How to Cheer God Up
Practical Aesthetics
A Culture's To Do List
Personal Utopia
Forever Escape
Forgive and Revenge
(An Untitled Tilde and the Unworld Story)
Contrasting Lines
Volatility Lesson
The Time is at Paw
The Boy and the Something
Newsletter: Trust in the You of Now
Demands, While Thinking of a Radio
Animals Strike Curious Poses
Death of the Patriarchy
Freakin' in a Jacuzzi
The Maze
The Seagull and the Snake
Gifted Children
Chrono Cult
Riceballs of Destiny
Eat Your Jesus, or, Theophagy
Last Chance Before the Wastes
Man Taking Names
Direct Hit!
NEON GOD'S LIPSTICK SUICIDE: A COLLOQUY
Clockwork Shaman
Gentlemen in Attics
I'm not really sure which I like best. Personal Utopia has had the most "success" -- it's been made into a student play in Canada, which I have a recording of on DVD (one day I may upload it to YouTube). But a lot of them are really great and I can't choose between them, it's like choosing between children sort of.
*Currently friends-only due to philosophical volatility and being too speech-like, and to round out the total publically available list of stories to the nice number of 30.
I've tagged all my Blitzkrieg fiction -- all the stories that I wrote in a half hour or less. It turned out that there were *way* more of them than I thought there were: 31. I figured I had written about ten, not about thirty, so I still can't believe I've written that many short stories. I still like most of them very much, and wish I wrote these more than I do. If any of you read all of them, tell me which is your favorite. Here's a list of their titles:
Someone Should Step on Them, See How They'd Like It!*
The Accountant of Taste
The Bright Shining Path to Greatness, Part One
How to Cheer God Up
Practical Aesthetics
A Culture's To Do List
Personal Utopia
Forever Escape
Forgive and Revenge
(An Untitled Tilde and the Unworld Story)
Contrasting Lines
Volatility Lesson
The Time is at Paw
The Boy and the Something
Newsletter: Trust in the You of Now
Demands, While Thinking of a Radio
Animals Strike Curious Poses
Death of the Patriarchy
Freakin' in a Jacuzzi
The Maze
The Seagull and the Snake
Gifted Children
Chrono Cult
Riceballs of Destiny
Eat Your Jesus, or, Theophagy
Last Chance Before the Wastes
Man Taking Names
Direct Hit!
NEON GOD'S LIPSTICK SUICIDE: A COLLOQUY
Clockwork Shaman
Gentlemen in Attics
I'm not really sure which I like best. Personal Utopia has had the most "success" -- it's been made into a student play in Canada, which I have a recording of on DVD (one day I may upload it to YouTube). But a lot of them are really great and I can't choose between them, it's like choosing between children sort of.
*Currently friends-only due to philosophical volatility and being too speech-like, and to round out the total publically available list of stories to the nice number of 30.
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
specplosive informs me my bkplay Personal Utopia will be performed as a play in Quebec (student play) between the 16th to 18th of this month. If you remember, it was the one with the purring blocks. Hopefully he'll record it and put it on DVD, so I can see it (he mentioned that as a possibility).Standing on the top of stonehenge with a briefcase and an artist's palette appeared a figure all who met him called a god, but who only claimed to be an accountant of taste. It was long-known that that wherever a difference of aesthetic opinion existed among children or animals, there was his country.
In this case in particular a squirrel and a leprichaun were arguing over the value of stonehenge. The squirrel argued that it was quite useless as it grew no acorns and had no holes to hide in when it was necessary to run from owls, and what's more it was very difficult to climb. The leprichaun was arguing that it was quite a good place to hide a pot of gold because no human would ever dare dig holes under stonehenge, and what's more it looked good on the horizon.
The accountant was drawn by these words, for such an argument had never happened before, not under any of the seasons that raced over stonehenge since it was built. "Quit that, you two! I am the accountant of taste, and I will judge the worth of this work for the both of you." The two agreed to this plan, nodding their heads repeatedly.
The accountant flew around a bit, kicked each stone once, and looked at it from all possible angles (above, below, and sideways). He returned to the ground and yelled, the sound circulating from out of his head like a bazooka. "This work isn't even leprechaun or squirrel in origin, it's human, and therefore both of your tastes are wrong. When squirrels make a work like this, or when leprechauns make a work like this, then your words might have relevance, but as it is I cannot count either of your tastes except as a 0.
"I have recorded here that the druid who architectured this device gave it an aesthetic value of 1, the highest value ever recorded, and although I'd like to factor your numbers with his this is not allowed for those who did not craft the original."
With that he took out his magic pad which looked like a spreadsheet and marked a new "0" twice, added up the column of numbers (1 and an almost infinite number of 0's), their sum being exactly the same result as it used to be. His feet became drills and he vanished into the ground, taking the leprechaun's gold as he tunneled by.
[http://heroists.studioeres.com/the-acc
In this case in particular a squirrel and a leprichaun were arguing over the value of stonehenge. The squirrel argued that it was quite useless as it grew no acorns and had no holes to hide in when it was necessary to run from owls, and what's more it was very difficult to climb. The leprichaun was arguing that it was quite a good place to hide a pot of gold because no human would ever dare dig holes under stonehenge, and what's more it looked good on the horizon.
The accountant was drawn by these words, for such an argument had never happened before, not under any of the seasons that raced over stonehenge since it was built. "Quit that, you two! I am the accountant of taste, and I will judge the worth of this work for the both of you." The two agreed to this plan, nodding their heads repeatedly.
The accountant flew around a bit, kicked each stone once, and looked at it from all possible angles (above, below, and sideways). He returned to the ground and yelled, the sound circulating from out of his head like a bazooka. "This work isn't even leprechaun or squirrel in origin, it's human, and therefore both of your tastes are wrong. When squirrels make a work like this, or when leprechauns make a work like this, then your words might have relevance, but as it is I cannot count either of your tastes except as a 0.
"I have recorded here that the druid who architectured this device gave it an aesthetic value of 1, the highest value ever recorded, and although I'd like to factor your numbers with his this is not allowed for those who did not craft the original."
With that he took out his magic pad which looked like a spreadsheet and marked a new "0" twice, added up the column of numbers (1 and an almost infinite number of 0's), their sum being exactly the same result as it used to be. His feet became drills and he vanished into the ground, taking the leprechaun's gold as he tunneled by.
[http://heroists.studioeres.com/the-acc
One morning Gergor Masma woke up to find pillars of bright blue light coming out of his body shooting in all directions.
There were different intensities in each direction, and he noticed that they were strands. One thin one pointed to his alarm clock, another thicker and brighter one pointed to his shoes. They formed a type of spiderweb pattern all throughout his room.
He took this in stride and got up. When he put on his shoes the light pointing to his shoes disappeared, and instead it pointed him to his front door. Another pointed to his phone, this one the brightest. He took the phone in hand and wondered who to call. As he wondered that a line of light pointed to a number. He pressed it. It pointed to the next one. He recognized who he was calling and called it, and as he did so the light went to the next number. Thinner, dimmer lights went to other numbers, and one still pointed to the front door, and one pointed back to his bed, but he ignored those.
His nephew answered the phone.
"Hey pal, Its Gergor."
"Yeah?"
"It's working."
"Hm, good. But go back to bed, it's 6am!"
"The light isn't pointing that way."
He hung up. The light connecting him to the phone disappeared.
He stood there a long while watching the different lines of light, some changed in intensity through time. The brightest, which was it? The one going out the door? No, the one going to the bathroom. He did realize he had to go to the bathroom, so went.
The line going to the bathroom shortly disappeared, and now the light going to his front door seemed the brightest. There was also one going to the TV, another back to the phone, another back to his bed, another to his computer, but he knew that the brighest one was probably the best one to follow, so he went out the door.
The guiding lights (as he now called them) led him through the hallways of his apartment building's fifth floor, apparently heading toward the elevator. A few lines pointed back to his apartment but they were dimmer. He noticed a very dim, thin line leading out a window -- what, did that one want me to jump to his death? Haha, you have to be brighter than that to get me to do something so stupid!
While he was standing in the elevator a funny thing happened -- there were no lines pointing anywhere! It's gone! But when the elevator landed Masma's lights returned, a bright one pointing out of the elevator, a bunch of dim one pointing to each of the elevator buttons.
He noticed that although they were bright they didn't emit any light on anything around them, they didn't cause the elevator walls to glow, and they didn't appear in any mirror. He took this as a sign that no one else could see the lights, which was true.
He walked out of the elevator, and the lights split, bending into curved paths. Some went in the far-away direction of his car, others to various locations, such as the soda store across the street. None was the brightest! Perhaps one was, but the top few were so close together in brightness that he couldn't tell the difference. So with some hesitation he went to the soda store. He was thirsty and the light pointed to some soda, he bought it. It pointed to each of the sodas with about equal intensity, so again he hesitated, but then just picked one. No point in wasting time.
As he left the store he noticed a wild line wavering like a string in the wind being fought over by kittens, and it pointed to a lottery ticket. The way the line shook confused him, so he ignored it.
The line leading to the soda disappeared after he had drank about half of it, so he got rid of it. No point in dying from sugar. He saw a dollar on the floor because the light was pointing to it strongly, so he snatched it. The light again led back to the store, to the lottery ticket, so just to get rid of it he went back and bought the ticket. He didn't expect it'd win (and in fact it did not), but he didn't mind because the dollar wasn't his anyway.
The light heading toward his car was now brightest, and he walked there. Driving the car with lights heading in many directions was tricky, because he couldn't stop to think which is the brightest, but his decision-making speed improved with time. It was good practise -- going this way rather than that, taking the scenic route or the non-scenic, choices with only minor differences in brightness, and by the time he arrived at his hospital (where he worked as a nurse) he had significantly improved, and could make fine distinctions between the beams of light, some wavered and flashed and flickered, those were the uncertain ones, the ones which were only sometimes good to follow.
As work started he noticed lines going everywhere, many more than he could keep in mind at once, and changing quickly. Most of them were pointed at co-workers or patients, and usually the strongest was distinct enough to figure out but even the weak ones were very bright. It was a place of many things to do, and not enough time.
TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW
There were different intensities in each direction, and he noticed that they were strands. One thin one pointed to his alarm clock, another thicker and brighter one pointed to his shoes. They formed a type of spiderweb pattern all throughout his room.
He took this in stride and got up. When he put on his shoes the light pointing to his shoes disappeared, and instead it pointed him to his front door. Another pointed to his phone, this one the brightest. He took the phone in hand and wondered who to call. As he wondered that a line of light pointed to a number. He pressed it. It pointed to the next one. He recognized who he was calling and called it, and as he did so the light went to the next number. Thinner, dimmer lights went to other numbers, and one still pointed to the front door, and one pointed back to his bed, but he ignored those.
His nephew answered the phone.
"Hey pal, Its Gergor."
"Yeah?"
"It's working."
"Hm, good. But go back to bed, it's 6am!"
"The light isn't pointing that way."
He hung up. The light connecting him to the phone disappeared.
He stood there a long while watching the different lines of light, some changed in intensity through time. The brightest, which was it? The one going out the door? No, the one going to the bathroom. He did realize he had to go to the bathroom, so went.
The line going to the bathroom shortly disappeared, and now the light going to his front door seemed the brightest. There was also one going to the TV, another back to the phone, another back to his bed, another to his computer, but he knew that the brighest one was probably the best one to follow, so he went out the door.
The guiding lights (as he now called them) led him through the hallways of his apartment building's fifth floor, apparently heading toward the elevator. A few lines pointed back to his apartment but they were dimmer. He noticed a very dim, thin line leading out a window -- what, did that one want me to jump to his death? Haha, you have to be brighter than that to get me to do something so stupid!
While he was standing in the elevator a funny thing happened -- there were no lines pointing anywhere! It's gone! But when the elevator landed Masma's lights returned, a bright one pointing out of the elevator, a bunch of dim one pointing to each of the elevator buttons.
He noticed that although they were bright they didn't emit any light on anything around them, they didn't cause the elevator walls to glow, and they didn't appear in any mirror. He took this as a sign that no one else could see the lights, which was true.
He walked out of the elevator, and the lights split, bending into curved paths. Some went in the far-away direction of his car, others to various locations, such as the soda store across the street. None was the brightest! Perhaps one was, but the top few were so close together in brightness that he couldn't tell the difference. So with some hesitation he went to the soda store. He was thirsty and the light pointed to some soda, he bought it. It pointed to each of the sodas with about equal intensity, so again he hesitated, but then just picked one. No point in wasting time.
As he left the store he noticed a wild line wavering like a string in the wind being fought over by kittens, and it pointed to a lottery ticket. The way the line shook confused him, so he ignored it.
The line leading to the soda disappeared after he had drank about half of it, so he got rid of it. No point in dying from sugar. He saw a dollar on the floor because the light was pointing to it strongly, so he snatched it. The light again led back to the store, to the lottery ticket, so just to get rid of it he went back and bought the ticket. He didn't expect it'd win (and in fact it did not), but he didn't mind because the dollar wasn't his anyway.
The light heading toward his car was now brightest, and he walked there. Driving the car with lights heading in many directions was tricky, because he couldn't stop to think which is the brightest, but his decision-making speed improved with time. It was good practise -- going this way rather than that, taking the scenic route or the non-scenic, choices with only minor differences in brightness, and by the time he arrived at his hospital (where he worked as a nurse) he had significantly improved, and could make fine distinctions between the beams of light, some wavered and flashed and flickered, those were the uncertain ones, the ones which were only sometimes good to follow.
As work started he noticed lines going everywhere, many more than he could keep in mind at once, and changing quickly. Most of them were pointed at co-workers or patients, and usually the strongest was distinct enough to figure out but even the weak ones were very bright. It was a place of many things to do, and not enough time.
TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW
Often when I look down upon my Creations I wonder what they are doing. I have a special machine which allows me to see everything they are up to. It cheers me up.
I wonder "Who is eating chocolate right now?" And I have on my screens every person who is currently eating chocolate, instantly. What a great machine! Lots of them are eating it at once, all over the world, from M&M's to fancy Belgian dark chocolate! All of them eating it at once, I wonder if any of them are thinking how many people are eating it too at that exact same time. Let me check. Three people are wondering that! I'll have to keep my eye on those. I'll make their bosses give those three a raise.
Next I wonder, who is wondering if I am watching them right now? Let me check. Wow, too many, kind of scary. Hahaha, that one is typing KKK on the keyboard, and wondering if I see him do it! Har har har, I'll make lightning strike him. And his typing speed is so slow! But most people don't act interesting when they think I am watching them, so I'll go watch something else.
Let me check on everyone in the world who is currently pressing the "K" key on a computer keyboard and who also type under 20wpm. Hmm, more interesting, but what are they all typing? This one is typing up DAS KAPITAL 2, the K for the KAPITAL, har har har, thinks he's the next Marx does he? I'll make a bar of gold fall out of a CEO's plane and land on his head.
Let me check on everyone who is reading DAS KAPITAL right now. Wow, that one is reading it while jumping off a building! I'll make him land safely, just to be mean.
I wonder who else is jumping off a building right now? Hm, not as many as I thought. Let me expand the search: jumping off a building or a cliff or a bridge. Here we go, lots. Wow, look at the expressions on all of their faces! Strange, that one is jumping off to escape a gang of rabid rabbits, how weird. I'll make him survive the fall too, just to be nice.
Let me look at all the people petting rabbits right now. Hmm, mostly children. I think I'll make that rabbit attack that child! Har har har. That bite on his finger will remind him never to trust things that look cute and innocent, a lesson that may serve him well.
I'll go look at everyone who has a phobia of rabbits, like that kid will get. Hmm, a mixed lot. That one fears them but eats rabbit for dinner every day! I like her courage, I'll make that rabbit she's eating now taste a bit better.
Who is enjoying their food the most in the world right now? Oh, you again. You're too happy, no matter what I do to you! Must be the devil's work. I'll leave you alone -- for now.
I wonder who the saddest person in the world is right now? Haha, you again, the kid I made the rabbit bite! What a coincidence. I'll leave you alone too.
That's enough work for today, time for a rest.
I wonder "Who is eating chocolate right now?" And I have on my screens every person who is currently eating chocolate, instantly. What a great machine! Lots of them are eating it at once, all over the world, from M&M's to fancy Belgian dark chocolate! All of them eating it at once, I wonder if any of them are thinking how many people are eating it too at that exact same time. Let me check. Three people are wondering that! I'll have to keep my eye on those. I'll make their bosses give those three a raise.
Next I wonder, who is wondering if I am watching them right now? Let me check. Wow, too many, kind of scary. Hahaha, that one is typing KKK on the keyboard, and wondering if I see him do it! Har har har, I'll make lightning strike him. And his typing speed is so slow! But most people don't act interesting when they think I am watching them, so I'll go watch something else.
Let me check on everyone in the world who is currently pressing the "K" key on a computer keyboard and who also type under 20wpm. Hmm, more interesting, but what are they all typing? This one is typing up DAS KAPITAL 2, the K for the KAPITAL, har har har, thinks he's the next Marx does he? I'll make a bar of gold fall out of a CEO's plane and land on his head.
Let me check on everyone who is reading DAS KAPITAL right now. Wow, that one is reading it while jumping off a building! I'll make him land safely, just to be mean.
I wonder who else is jumping off a building right now? Hm, not as many as I thought. Let me expand the search: jumping off a building or a cliff or a bridge. Here we go, lots. Wow, look at the expressions on all of their faces! Strange, that one is jumping off to escape a gang of rabid rabbits, how weird. I'll make him survive the fall too, just to be nice.
Let me look at all the people petting rabbits right now. Hmm, mostly children. I think I'll make that rabbit attack that child! Har har har. That bite on his finger will remind him never to trust things that look cute and innocent, a lesson that may serve him well.
I'll go look at everyone who has a phobia of rabbits, like that kid will get. Hmm, a mixed lot. That one fears them but eats rabbit for dinner every day! I like her courage, I'll make that rabbit she's eating now taste a bit better.
Who is enjoying their food the most in the world right now? Oh, you again. You're too happy, no matter what I do to you! Must be the devil's work. I'll leave you alone -- for now.
I wonder who the saddest person in the world is right now? Haha, you again, the kid I made the rabbit bite! What a coincidence. I'll leave you alone too.
That's enough work for today, time for a rest.
One day a guy who ran a coffee shop decided to solve the problem of whether one can revolve one's life around the feeling of beauty, that only holy feeling.
He looked around his room and saw the paintings, the coffee grinds, the yellow chair, the stacks of magazines, his hands, and for each in turn he saw them as beautiful. Those paintings! Those coffee grinds! That yellow chair! The stacks of magazines! His hands! It could go on forever, and why shouldn't it? Even ugly stickers stuck on his dresser reminded him of his youth when his siblings had stuck stickers on everything, and that the sticker had survived all that time, decades, remaining attached in the same place someone had put it, that was beautiful too.
Quickly he thought -- is there a danger of egalitarianism in this? But no, he knew that some things were more beautiful than others, some gave a deeper feeling, some were less likely to be interrupted, but anything could produce it in some small amount. Even the dust under his bed -- how hard those dead skin cells had once worked to protect him! And now they lie there, forgotten, former parts of himself. He teared up in happiness a bit.
Could this go on forever? Or would it interfere with his daily work, the running of the coffee shop, the practical tasks of showering and shaving and sending in bills and writing emails? Could it be maintained throughout the day? Find out!
There was no where to hide from his sense of beauty as he walked to work. He didn't only stop to smell the roses, but he stopped for everything else. Wow look at those people, walking there! I wonder what wonders lurk inside them. Wow look at that row of stores, at that supermarket and that clothing store! And the traffic lights, he never noticed how green the green light was. It was euphoria. He got to work, surprisingly only a little late.
There were people standing in line to get in, his regular customers. He never noticed how interesting their hair styles and the way they tied their shoelaces were. He opened up the store and let them in, and they began to argue about philosophy, as was the purpose of all coffee shops. Except Starbucks (he frowned with envy). But that wasn't its purpose, it was just the coffee shop for the proletarians, who were beautiful too, after a fashion (he smiled again, after some hard work remembering exactly why they were).
So he went about his business, making coffee (What a greatness of civilization!), adding the milk (What pretty, white milk! What adorable cows had this milk come from!). The people in the shop didn't notice a difference in him, however -- physiologically there was nothing different at all, his body temperature was within the same range, he may have breathed a little more deeply, and his blood may have been a little more alkaline, but that was it. So no one took mind of the change in him, or his experiment. Should he tell them? He decided not to.
The worst things about this experiment, which almost made him want to quit the experiment, was that when he tried to explain it to others, and when they tried to duplicate it, he could never be sure that they had. It was only internal, it didn't change the way someone acted, or the way they looked, or the way they walked, or anything. How could he know for sure? There must be something, some trick to it. He vowed to find it.
Some time later, after several weeks in, he saw it in the movement of their eyes, which was also usually the most beautiful part to any person. When someone had successfully engaged in his experiment, there was something different about the way their gaze would pass over and linger. He noticed, over the years, that a lot of people would enter this state and then exit it -- possibly because they felt it had no direct benefit? But with practise he could always tell when someone was in it, or out of it.
It did have benefit, of course, but a different type of benefit, the kind that made suicide impossible and depression out of the question and boredom in others a mystery. But those didn't appear right away, and only applied to when someone was in the state, so if you left it and entered it you'd probably miss the point of it. But if you were in it permanently? It was the most practical thing ever.
He looked around his room and saw the paintings, the coffee grinds, the yellow chair, the stacks of magazines, his hands, and for each in turn he saw them as beautiful. Those paintings! Those coffee grinds! That yellow chair! The stacks of magazines! His hands! It could go on forever, and why shouldn't it? Even ugly stickers stuck on his dresser reminded him of his youth when his siblings had stuck stickers on everything, and that the sticker had survived all that time, decades, remaining attached in the same place someone had put it, that was beautiful too.
Quickly he thought -- is there a danger of egalitarianism in this? But no, he knew that some things were more beautiful than others, some gave a deeper feeling, some were less likely to be interrupted, but anything could produce it in some small amount. Even the dust under his bed -- how hard those dead skin cells had once worked to protect him! And now they lie there, forgotten, former parts of himself. He teared up in happiness a bit.
Could this go on forever? Or would it interfere with his daily work, the running of the coffee shop, the practical tasks of showering and shaving and sending in bills and writing emails? Could it be maintained throughout the day? Find out!
There was no where to hide from his sense of beauty as he walked to work. He didn't only stop to smell the roses, but he stopped for everything else. Wow look at those people, walking there! I wonder what wonders lurk inside them. Wow look at that row of stores, at that supermarket and that clothing store! And the traffic lights, he never noticed how green the green light was. It was euphoria. He got to work, surprisingly only a little late.
There were people standing in line to get in, his regular customers. He never noticed how interesting their hair styles and the way they tied their shoelaces were. He opened up the store and let them in, and they began to argue about philosophy, as was the purpose of all coffee shops. Except Starbucks (he frowned with envy). But that wasn't its purpose, it was just the coffee shop for the proletarians, who were beautiful too, after a fashion (he smiled again, after some hard work remembering exactly why they were).
So he went about his business, making coffee (What a greatness of civilization!), adding the milk (What pretty, white milk! What adorable cows had this milk come from!). The people in the shop didn't notice a difference in him, however -- physiologically there was nothing different at all, his body temperature was within the same range, he may have breathed a little more deeply, and his blood may have been a little more alkaline, but that was it. So no one took mind of the change in him, or his experiment. Should he tell them? He decided not to.
The worst things about this experiment, which almost made him want to quit the experiment, was that when he tried to explain it to others, and when they tried to duplicate it, he could never be sure that they had. It was only internal, it didn't change the way someone acted, or the way they looked, or the way they walked, or anything. How could he know for sure? There must be something, some trick to it. He vowed to find it.
Some time later, after several weeks in, he saw it in the movement of their eyes, which was also usually the most beautiful part to any person. When someone had successfully engaged in his experiment, there was something different about the way their gaze would pass over and linger. He noticed, over the years, that a lot of people would enter this state and then exit it -- possibly because they felt it had no direct benefit? But with practise he could always tell when someone was in it, or out of it.
It did have benefit, of course, but a different type of benefit, the kind that made suicide impossible and depression out of the question and boredom in others a mystery. But those didn't appear right away, and only applied to when someone was in the state, so if you left it and entered it you'd probably miss the point of it. But if you were in it permanently? It was the most practical thing ever.
The culture wrote its to-do list down, in the form of religious commandments. 1. Make more economy. 2. Abolish smoking. 3. Lose some weightiness. 4. Exercise freedom every day. 5. Learn something new every year. But the list looked weak, and it knew it wouldn't keep those new-millenium resolutions.
So it asked its friends how they did it. One said that resolutions are a bad idea, no one ever keeps them, and gave as proof that its people stilled dueled, even though it had banned it. "You can't teach an old culture new tricks!" Another friend recommended watching more television. "That is where the real power to change yourself is!" Another said, "Just repeat those commandments to yourself every day, and you can't go wrong!"
But he knew that those friends were too lonely to give good advice; so he decided to eat all the other cultures. *munch munch munch*
So it asked its friends how they did it. One said that resolutions are a bad idea, no one ever keeps them, and gave as proof that its people stilled dueled, even though it had banned it. "You can't teach an old culture new tricks!" Another friend recommended watching more television. "That is where the real power to change yourself is!" Another said, "Just repeat those commandments to yourself every day, and you can't go wrong!"
But he knew that those friends were too lonely to give good advice; so he decided to eat all the other cultures. *munch munch munch*
CHARACTERS
1: A mean guy, active passivity.
2: A boy playing with blocks on the ground, stacking them up, making a castle.
3: The lackie of 1, possibly female.
SETUP
Both 1: and 3: are standing looking at 2: who is sitting with blocks surrounding him, a great mass of them, perhaps 50 pounds of blocks. There are spotlights shining down periodically or other special visual effects, as needed.
1: Quit this building!
2: What-for?
3: Because the world is not your playground?
2: Just creating a world of late. This is my throne room, see. And here are my servants. They bring me tea.
3: But these are other people's blocks! Not yours!
2: So? These blocks are happy to be played with by me. I am not forcing them to arrange themselves in this way. They're my pets -- freely controlled. [The blocks purr.]
1: Give me those blocks! I'll force them not to be arranged as they think they want! [Takes some blocks.]
2: Ohohohoh, will they stand for that? [Grabs them back, and some of them fall down. Somewhere, an avalance consumes a group of villagers in the midst of their roast beast.]
3: Stop throwing those blocks around, there are people inside them! *Sniff sniff*
2: Ohohohoh, now you say that! If you really cared about the people inside you'd let me build my personal utopia out of them. [Throws a block at 3:, and somewhere a building blows up, the bodies catapulting out its windows yelling help, help.]
3: Look what you did!
1: Don't you want people to live their own lives? [Kicks the castle down. Somewhere, a country's economy collapses, an anarchist riot rising. Gangs wander the streets and set people on fire.]
2: Don't you? [Slams down some blocks, quickly rebuilding. The police arrive and most rioters are shot, the rest imprisoned, crying in jail at the horrible food and treatment. A mysterious stranger hands out blanks to the freezing children sleeping in the cold.]
1: Yes, but you help them discover what their own lives are, I help them do whatever it is they tell me to. See? This block here wants to fly." [He throws a block into a wall. Somewhere, a nuclear plant melts down; the workers try to escape but it is too late, the radiation puts holes in their DNA, and they all fall down.]
2: Hmph, they wouldn't have wanted it if they knew what it was going to be like.
3: Why do you want to arrange them?
2: I like them better stacked up like so, in pyramids and towers you see, not scattered around like they were before and would be without me.
3: For their own good?
2: Don't be crazy, what do blocks have to do with good or bad? Only I can be good. And the world, arranged around me, becomes good. I like them better stacked up and organized.
3: Why!
2: A Safer, cleaner, prettier, not ugly, I won't trip and fall, it's something to look at when I'm bored...
3: But isn't it is for their own good too, if they are safe from disasters?
2: Oh no they aren't safe -- scattered blocks have a lower entropy than organized. You can't fall down if you're all on the ground! But disasters are the price you have to pay for building something.
1: [Suddenly, 1: takes blocks and begins sitting on them.] Har har har, no one can save you now! [The world was covered in 40 years of darkness.]
2: Hey, stop that! I like blocks! [The boy 2: tries to push 1: off the blocks but he is too small.]
1: You called them pets! So what do you care what happens to them? You called them pets! But I... call them master!
3: Err... what are you doing, 1:?
1: Har har har, the ultimate in wish-fulfillment. I am their favorite nightmare.
[Suddelnly 3: takes 1: from the blocks and rushes him to the window, and 1: and 3: fall dead. 2: after awhile begins stacking up blocks again.]
CURTAIN
1: A mean guy, active passivity.
2: A boy playing with blocks on the ground, stacking them up, making a castle.
3: The lackie of 1, possibly female.
SETUP
Both 1: and 3: are standing looking at 2: who is sitting with blocks surrounding him, a great mass of them, perhaps 50 pounds of blocks. There are spotlights shining down periodically or other special visual effects, as needed.
1: Quit this building!
2: What-for?
3: Because the world is not your playground?
2: Just creating a world of late. This is my throne room, see. And here are my servants. They bring me tea.
3: But these are other people's blocks! Not yours!
2: So? These blocks are happy to be played with by me. I am not forcing them to arrange themselves in this way. They're my pets -- freely controlled. [The blocks purr.]
1: Give me those blocks! I'll force them not to be arranged as they think they want! [Takes some blocks.]
2: Ohohohoh, will they stand for that? [Grabs them back, and some of them fall down. Somewhere, an avalance consumes a group of villagers in the midst of their roast beast.]
3: Stop throwing those blocks around, there are people inside them! *Sniff sniff*
2: Ohohohoh, now you say that! If you really cared about the people inside you'd let me build my personal utopia out of them. [Throws a block at 3:, and somewhere a building blows up, the bodies catapulting out its windows yelling help, help.]
3: Look what you did!
1: Don't you want people to live their own lives? [Kicks the castle down. Somewhere, a country's economy collapses, an anarchist riot rising. Gangs wander the streets and set people on fire.]
2: Don't you? [Slams down some blocks, quickly rebuilding. The police arrive and most rioters are shot, the rest imprisoned, crying in jail at the horrible food and treatment. A mysterious stranger hands out blanks to the freezing children sleeping in the cold.]
1: Yes, but you help them discover what their own lives are, I help them do whatever it is they tell me to. See? This block here wants to fly." [He throws a block into a wall. Somewhere, a nuclear plant melts down; the workers try to escape but it is too late, the radiation puts holes in their DNA, and they all fall down.]
2: Hmph, they wouldn't have wanted it if they knew what it was going to be like.
3: Why do you want to arrange them?
2: I like them better stacked up like so, in pyramids and towers you see, not scattered around like they were before and would be without me.
3: For their own good?
2: Don't be crazy, what do blocks have to do with good or bad? Only I can be good. And the world, arranged around me, becomes good. I like them better stacked up and organized.
3: Why!
2: A Safer, cleaner, prettier, not ugly, I won't trip and fall, it's something to look at when I'm bored...
3: But isn't it is for their own good too, if they are safe from disasters?
2: Oh no they aren't safe -- scattered blocks have a lower entropy than organized. You can't fall down if you're all on the ground! But disasters are the price you have to pay for building something.
1: [Suddenly, 1: takes blocks and begins sitting on them.] Har har har, no one can save you now! [The world was covered in 40 years of darkness.]
2: Hey, stop that! I like blocks! [The boy 2: tries to push 1: off the blocks but he is too small.]
1: You called them pets! So what do you care what happens to them? You called them pets! But I... call them master!
3: Err... what are you doing, 1:?
1: Har har har, the ultimate in wish-fulfillment. I am their favorite nightmare.
[Suddelnly 3: takes 1: from the blocks and rushes him to the window, and 1: and 3: fall dead. 2: after awhile begins stacking up blocks again.]
CURTAIN
Try to remember back again, the voice said. To when you were first visiting C's family. What happened next?
"Well, her baby was about five months old and in a crib and had strange eyes and wanted to escape and look around and do other stuff, and I conspired to keep it safe."
Safe for him?
"Safe for us. But anyway, C wasn't there, but she had a large family that was just as I imagined them. There were three other infants there too, uglier, and they were selling things to eachother. One offered me 50$, then 100$, then 150$, then 200$, and I refused each and then took it all back, only to try again from the beginning. It was a nice house. But the windows were dangerous. They had 7 layers of shades, but no actual glass to pull down, which meant I had to constantly keep the five month old from crawling out the window and falling. It didn't help that the other two infants were doing the same thing. I took one back in only to see another one crawling out, it was funny. They were no match for me, though."
What else did you do there?
"I may have talked to the rest of C's family, I don't remember it, all I remember is seeing that first one for the first time. Oh, and when I first saw it C's mother said that it sould be crawling around free in the house, and I argued against it, saying that could wait until it was six months old and it was less vulnerable... and that we'd know when it was time to let it out because it would no longer try to get out so much. But that's all I remember."
Okay, this session is over.
Now, tell me when you tried to escape.
"That's easier to remember, but not by much. Okay the four of us, A, B, C, and D, were being held captive by some evil dystopia. The four of us had somehow been stolen into the future out of our lives, very far, and the people where were studying us for a really long time and didn't let us go." The voice laughed when I said evil dystopia and again when I said long time but I continued. "During a power outage I saw my chance, I grabbed B and C and took them by the hands and pulled them out. You know B and C, right? Yes, I was just talking about C's son. Both are females, unlike myself and D.
Why didn't you escape with D? You wanted them both for yourself?
"Quit joking. I didn't think he'd be of much help. B and C at least know what they are doing, but D is a bit useless in emergencies and tends to act crazy. Also he wants to escape the most and has gone a bit crazy of it, I think, all the more reason he wouldn't be of much help. So me and B and C ran to some elevator, and there were very few guards or scientists or anything around, they seemed to have disappeared with the power, probably all hiding under their desks. But we reached the elevator and took it to random locations, hoping to find the lucky way out. But unfortunately we found only rooms and hallways, forever.
"The power went back on and we locked ourselves in what looked like the self-destruct room. As I said we were from the past so we didn't know much about the room but B is pretty smart and she managed to figure out the controls and told the facility to explode. She said it'd be better than being captured again, which I'm not sure I fully agreed with internally but agreed externally so as to lose no shame. C certainly agreed with B, but that was probably because she'd lost more than I had in the old world, her family and children, and was more attached to it. And she believed in the afterlife, I think."
So did the room explode?
"Yeah! The biggest explosion I'd ever seen. It was amazing. We all died, even D who was still safe in his cell. Maybe it was a dream? Strange that I remember it. Hey!"
I realized that I wasn't in darkness and that the voice had a human form, one of the scientists, the lead scientist in fact. His hypnotic control of me had been broken by the discontinuity of knowing I was alive yet remembering dying so clearly.
He didn't look scared that I had broken his hypnotic control, but I think that's because he never looks scared, not because he expected it. You can't escape, he said. I looked around the room to verify that but I saw an unlocked door, and ran to it.
I ran back to our cell, which wasn't actually to bad except we spent most of the time sleeping. I knew the exact way for some reason, like a rat knows a maze when he has eaten rats who have learned it but never himself ran it. A bunch of guards and scientists met me inside it and hypnotized me. Why did I even bother to go back? I can't leave this place without B and C, that's why. The guards looked exactly like eachother, as if they were all twins.
Some time later, I don't know how long, me and the three others were lounging around. I'd forgotten how fun this is, the periods where we are allowed to just all be awake at once, and talk. Even if we are given amnesia soon after, it's kind of fun. This time was scary though, D was having one of his "We got to get out of here!" episodes and was slowly cutting C's heart open with a laser. The instrument he was using looked like a toothpick with a small laser coming out of it which reached an inch or two, and he was creating a circle on her chest which wasn't bleeding but which when completed would allow her heart to fall out. B and the rest of the scientists surrounding us (they stayed farther back to give us some privacy but stayed within shouting distance) didn't seem to care, so I feigned nonchalance and carelessly leaned onto what I knew was a button controlling a cannon, and D was vaporized.
C was alright, the circle hadn't been completed so the wound closed up. She didn't seem to be in pain.
I shouldn't have doubted B, because when D was killed and the scientists started blinking, she immediately took out a crowbar she had hidden on her person, and charged the scientists. In panic they tried to call the guards, but she was too fast and they all lay debilitated just by the strength of her skill at crowbar martial arts. I guess we try to escape again now?
So this time we ignored the elevator since we knew there was no way out of wherever we were and just decided that if we killed all the scientists, they wouldn't be able to recapture us. Or if they did, at least it'd be new scientists, and not as boring. The cannon I had leaned on was fastened to the ground, but I found a broadsword hanging on the wall. I gave i to C and considered using the toothpick laser but decided just punching would probably be more effective.
We entered a room with a few hundred scientists and started smashing them up, it was kind of fun but not as fun as the times when us four just were allowed to talk freely. The scientists had *no* combat training at all, or if they did they'd forgotten it, and plus they didn't have a very strong desire to preserve themselves and very poor reaction times, so they fell quite easily. The guards never showed up, even though they had full opportunity to call them. Perhaps they were on vacation today, and because they were all twins maybe they all picked the same week to vacation. Who knows? Anyway we killed a bunch of scientists, maybe a thousand now, but we kept finding more. I'd forgotten how good B was at fighting, she killed more than half of them.
Finally, we heard the guards' boots, and ran. No way to defeat those guys, we've tried before. So B put the crowbar under the door, which should make it very hard to open from their side, and we ran in the opposite direction their sounds were coming from. I could see the door topple easily, I don't even know if the crowbar slowed them down. We reached a dead-end room with one of those heavy doors which blocked the self-destruct room, although this was some other room of unknown use, and decided to just lock that door and wait for them to break it open. A stupid plan, but what others were there? Besides, we knew from experience that those doors could hold the guards back for at least forty-five minutes (that was how long it took B to figure out the self-destruct machine) and forty-five minutes sitting and talking followed by recapture is better than a few minutes running followed by recapture.
So we discussed possible ways out of our current situation, to kill time. I suggested we could learn hypnosis ourselves and hypnotize the guards when they broke through, and ask them how to escape. C said they probably didn't know the way out. B suggested that C and B remove their clothes to distract the guards and I'd sneak past them while they were distracted, but I said that plan wouldn't even have worked back in the 20th century, let alone whatever century we were in now. In retrospect I probably should have agreed with the idea, even though I knew B wasn't serious.
C also asked why I had killed D! What, is she stupid? C said that D was only trying to kill her because he wanted to free her and because they both believed in the afterlife. I replied "This is the afterlife" which she took as an acceptable answer to why I had killed D.
Eventually forty-five minutes passed and the door held (although we could hear gunfire on the other side), and we got bored. I asked B to teach us how to use the broadsword in case we ever tried to escape again, so she gave me and C lessons in it for a while. As I swung it I could literally feel our day of escape drawing a little closer.
After a few hours the door opened, it didn't burst open or break open, it just rose open, as if someone with the controls had arrived. The lead scientist walked in and B made ready to kill but I said to hold on because I wanted to ask him some questions. So we captured him (where were his guards?) and he answered.
The most important question was how long we'd been here, so I asked him that.
Seven billion years. And in all that time, you've tried escaping countless times, and killed many trillions of people in your escape attempts.
B and C and I were quite incredulous at that number.
Look, I'll show you.
And he took my hand and guided me back to the spot I had just escaped from. D was standing there when we got there, looking identical to before I killed him. He didn't remember trying to kill C or me killing him. I guess they have backup copies, atom for atom, so I was probably one too.
He saw my confusion and said, And every one of those copies has said "I am A"!. And he laughed and laughed.
"What do you hope to learn from us?" I asked him, and D didn't know what we were talking about but we ignored him.
You four, as you may remember vaguely, were put in a time capsule and we dug you up seven billion years ago. At that time you had been in it for seventy-seven billion years and we wanted then, and still want, to know what the world you came from was like, and also know why and how you differ from current humanity.
After we learned all we could, we thought we'd let you free and see how our world was like, but how could we ever be sure we've learned all we could? 99% of what we learned we learned in the first day of study, but we learned another 0.9% in the next year! Another .009% in the next few years, and we learn a very small amount in decreasing frequency but we still learn something occasionally. We haven't learned anything for two billion years but who knows?
We haven't learned enough, we want to know why you don't self-amnesia yourselves like we do, we want to know why you act so strangely, trying to escape -- even in your escape attempts we have long stopped learning anything but we continue to allow them once in awhile in hope. But most importantly we want to know why you four enjoy life so much, even trapped as you are.
"Why? That's simple. You are living in a world where nothing around you changes. We want to change our situation, and don't know we aren't able to, so we keep trying. If you didn't give us amnesia we'd be like you, and you'd have no reason to keep us here. But because we don't want to be kept here, we'll never get out. It's like what I did to those infants, remember?"
You've never said that before. You should not be saying that! Time for the amnesia!
The guards came in. B quickly killed the lead scientist with the broadsword but I knew that was just a token gesture, because if we had backup copies so did they, and all the other scientists we killed.
"Well, her baby was about five months old and in a crib and had strange eyes and wanted to escape and look around and do other stuff, and I conspired to keep it safe."
Safe for him?
"Safe for us. But anyway, C wasn't there, but she had a large family that was just as I imagined them. There were three other infants there too, uglier, and they were selling things to eachother. One offered me 50$, then 100$, then 150$, then 200$, and I refused each and then took it all back, only to try again from the beginning. It was a nice house. But the windows were dangerous. They had 7 layers of shades, but no actual glass to pull down, which meant I had to constantly keep the five month old from crawling out the window and falling. It didn't help that the other two infants were doing the same thing. I took one back in only to see another one crawling out, it was funny. They were no match for me, though."
What else did you do there?
"I may have talked to the rest of C's family, I don't remember it, all I remember is seeing that first one for the first time. Oh, and when I first saw it C's mother said that it sould be crawling around free in the house, and I argued against it, saying that could wait until it was six months old and it was less vulnerable... and that we'd know when it was time to let it out because it would no longer try to get out so much. But that's all I remember."
Okay, this session is over.
Now, tell me when you tried to escape.
"That's easier to remember, but not by much. Okay the four of us, A, B, C, and D, were being held captive by some evil dystopia. The four of us had somehow been stolen into the future out of our lives, very far, and the people where were studying us for a really long time and didn't let us go." The voice laughed when I said evil dystopia and again when I said long time but I continued. "During a power outage I saw my chance, I grabbed B and C and took them by the hands and pulled them out. You know B and C, right? Yes, I was just talking about C's son. Both are females, unlike myself and D.
Why didn't you escape with D? You wanted them both for yourself?
"Quit joking. I didn't think he'd be of much help. B and C at least know what they are doing, but D is a bit useless in emergencies and tends to act crazy. Also he wants to escape the most and has gone a bit crazy of it, I think, all the more reason he wouldn't be of much help. So me and B and C ran to some elevator, and there were very few guards or scientists or anything around, they seemed to have disappeared with the power, probably all hiding under their desks. But we reached the elevator and took it to random locations, hoping to find the lucky way out. But unfortunately we found only rooms and hallways, forever.
"The power went back on and we locked ourselves in what looked like the self-destruct room. As I said we were from the past so we didn't know much about the room but B is pretty smart and she managed to figure out the controls and told the facility to explode. She said it'd be better than being captured again, which I'm not sure I fully agreed with internally but agreed externally so as to lose no shame. C certainly agreed with B, but that was probably because she'd lost more than I had in the old world, her family and children, and was more attached to it. And she believed in the afterlife, I think."
So did the room explode?
"Yeah! The biggest explosion I'd ever seen. It was amazing. We all died, even D who was still safe in his cell. Maybe it was a dream? Strange that I remember it. Hey!"
I realized that I wasn't in darkness and that the voice had a human form, one of the scientists, the lead scientist in fact. His hypnotic control of me had been broken by the discontinuity of knowing I was alive yet remembering dying so clearly.
He didn't look scared that I had broken his hypnotic control, but I think that's because he never looks scared, not because he expected it. You can't escape, he said. I looked around the room to verify that but I saw an unlocked door, and ran to it.
I ran back to our cell, which wasn't actually to bad except we spent most of the time sleeping. I knew the exact way for some reason, like a rat knows a maze when he has eaten rats who have learned it but never himself ran it. A bunch of guards and scientists met me inside it and hypnotized me. Why did I even bother to go back? I can't leave this place without B and C, that's why. The guards looked exactly like eachother, as if they were all twins.
Some time later, I don't know how long, me and the three others were lounging around. I'd forgotten how fun this is, the periods where we are allowed to just all be awake at once, and talk. Even if we are given amnesia soon after, it's kind of fun. This time was scary though, D was having one of his "We got to get out of here!" episodes and was slowly cutting C's heart open with a laser. The instrument he was using looked like a toothpick with a small laser coming out of it which reached an inch or two, and he was creating a circle on her chest which wasn't bleeding but which when completed would allow her heart to fall out. B and the rest of the scientists surrounding us (they stayed farther back to give us some privacy but stayed within shouting distance) didn't seem to care, so I feigned nonchalance and carelessly leaned onto what I knew was a button controlling a cannon, and D was vaporized.
C was alright, the circle hadn't been completed so the wound closed up. She didn't seem to be in pain.
I shouldn't have doubted B, because when D was killed and the scientists started blinking, she immediately took out a crowbar she had hidden on her person, and charged the scientists. In panic they tried to call the guards, but she was too fast and they all lay debilitated just by the strength of her skill at crowbar martial arts. I guess we try to escape again now?
So this time we ignored the elevator since we knew there was no way out of wherever we were and just decided that if we killed all the scientists, they wouldn't be able to recapture us. Or if they did, at least it'd be new scientists, and not as boring. The cannon I had leaned on was fastened to the ground, but I found a broadsword hanging on the wall. I gave i to C and considered using the toothpick laser but decided just punching would probably be more effective.
We entered a room with a few hundred scientists and started smashing them up, it was kind of fun but not as fun as the times when us four just were allowed to talk freely. The scientists had *no* combat training at all, or if they did they'd forgotten it, and plus they didn't have a very strong desire to preserve themselves and very poor reaction times, so they fell quite easily. The guards never showed up, even though they had full opportunity to call them. Perhaps they were on vacation today, and because they were all twins maybe they all picked the same week to vacation. Who knows? Anyway we killed a bunch of scientists, maybe a thousand now, but we kept finding more. I'd forgotten how good B was at fighting, she killed more than half of them.
Finally, we heard the guards' boots, and ran. No way to defeat those guys, we've tried before. So B put the crowbar under the door, which should make it very hard to open from their side, and we ran in the opposite direction their sounds were coming from. I could see the door topple easily, I don't even know if the crowbar slowed them down. We reached a dead-end room with one of those heavy doors which blocked the self-destruct room, although this was some other room of unknown use, and decided to just lock that door and wait for them to break it open. A stupid plan, but what others were there? Besides, we knew from experience that those doors could hold the guards back for at least forty-five minutes (that was how long it took B to figure out the self-destruct machine) and forty-five minutes sitting and talking followed by recapture is better than a few minutes running followed by recapture.
So we discussed possible ways out of our current situation, to kill time. I suggested we could learn hypnosis ourselves and hypnotize the guards when they broke through, and ask them how to escape. C said they probably didn't know the way out. B suggested that C and B remove their clothes to distract the guards and I'd sneak past them while they were distracted, but I said that plan wouldn't even have worked back in the 20th century, let alone whatever century we were in now. In retrospect I probably should have agreed with the idea, even though I knew B wasn't serious.
C also asked why I had killed D! What, is she stupid? C said that D was only trying to kill her because he wanted to free her and because they both believed in the afterlife. I replied "This is the afterlife" which she took as an acceptable answer to why I had killed D.
Eventually forty-five minutes passed and the door held (although we could hear gunfire on the other side), and we got bored. I asked B to teach us how to use the broadsword in case we ever tried to escape again, so she gave me and C lessons in it for a while. As I swung it I could literally feel our day of escape drawing a little closer.
After a few hours the door opened, it didn't burst open or break open, it just rose open, as if someone with the controls had arrived. The lead scientist walked in and B made ready to kill but I said to hold on because I wanted to ask him some questions. So we captured him (where were his guards?) and he answered.
The most important question was how long we'd been here, so I asked him that.
Seven billion years. And in all that time, you've tried escaping countless times, and killed many trillions of people in your escape attempts.
B and C and I were quite incredulous at that number.
Look, I'll show you.
And he took my hand and guided me back to the spot I had just escaped from. D was standing there when we got there, looking identical to before I killed him. He didn't remember trying to kill C or me killing him. I guess they have backup copies, atom for atom, so I was probably one too.
He saw my confusion and said, And every one of those copies has said "I am A"!. And he laughed and laughed.
"What do you hope to learn from us?" I asked him, and D didn't know what we were talking about but we ignored him.
You four, as you may remember vaguely, were put in a time capsule and we dug you up seven billion years ago. At that time you had been in it for seventy-seven billion years and we wanted then, and still want, to know what the world you came from was like, and also know why and how you differ from current humanity.
After we learned all we could, we thought we'd let you free and see how our world was like, but how could we ever be sure we've learned all we could? 99% of what we learned we learned in the first day of study, but we learned another 0.9% in the next year! Another .009% in the next few years, and we learn a very small amount in decreasing frequency but we still learn something occasionally. We haven't learned anything for two billion years but who knows?
We haven't learned enough, we want to know why you don't self-amnesia yourselves like we do, we want to know why you act so strangely, trying to escape -- even in your escape attempts we have long stopped learning anything but we continue to allow them once in awhile in hope. But most importantly we want to know why you four enjoy life so much, even trapped as you are.
"Why? That's simple. You are living in a world where nothing around you changes. We want to change our situation, and don't know we aren't able to, so we keep trying. If you didn't give us amnesia we'd be like you, and you'd have no reason to keep us here. But because we don't want to be kept here, we'll never get out. It's like what I did to those infants, remember?"
You've never said that before. You should not be saying that! Time for the amnesia!
The guards came in. B quickly killed the lead scientist with the broadsword but I knew that was just a token gesture, because if we had backup copies so did they, and all the other scientists we killed.
At the end of long trails and trials the giant's family came upon they who had stolen their departed friend's golden goose and killed him by chopping down the vine of destiny. Jack and his mother had lived on the gold for mighty seasons, and had bought a palace far away, and become royals, and their palace was full of luxuries.
Jack and his mother stopped eating their new expensive cake. "What's that knocking on the house!"
"Argh, It's a bunch of giants!" the new queen of Jack's said. "They are knocking on our palace roof!" ("I guess he wasn't lying about that story," she figured.)
Their hands burst from the ceiling, and those giants had grisly-bear eyes and hearts golden with greed and riches but were otherwise human in soul. They had sought the murder-thief Jack to the edges of the earth and at long last they grabbed Jack's mother and Jack and the queen and pulled them to the roof. There they released Jack's mother and the queen, and made ready to crush Jack in revenge.
"Forgive Jack!" said the queen.
One of the giants, Greatbeards, with a beard longer than the ends of the earth, as old as the world, and wise beyond his years, looked her panic and spoke. "Forgive! There is nothing to forgive. Hath no man condemned him? He must die."
The queen, wise beyond her dress, as young as her crown, was not to be defeated with simple intimidation. "No, no man has condemned him."
"Neither do I condemn him." And then, to Jack, "Die and sin no more!" and again he made ready to crush.
"WAIT!" And the queen's word was in impure confusion. "Isn't it better to forgive and forget?"
"Hahaha, that is a jolly lie you human tells now to us giants, it is rotten. There is no such thing as forgive and forget among we giants. To forgive and forget is the greatest sin, one which can never be forgiven. We mercilessly hunt down anyone who forgives but doesn't revenge. And do not trick us, the same is true among humans; I have seen your courts and jails from high above, and if anyone attempts to help a criminal flee the courts or the prisons or the executioner he is judged the worst kind of criminal. I have seen this all, using my favorite telescope." And he brought the telescope out and weilded it above his head, it was as large as could be, and he began smashing it into the palace and the ground shook to high giantland. "There is only forgive and revenge!" SMASH. SMASH. SMASH.
The queen took no notice of the noise except to cry, but then continued: "Then that means that if you kill Jack, and then I will kill you -- if this rule were followed without exception there would be no one left alive."
Greatbeard laughed, "No! There are many ways of revenge, death just the best. You being unable to kill me would find some other way of revenge, such as knitting sweaters and giving them to your grandchildren with 'I hate the giants' secretly emblazoned on the inside." At this all the other giants laughed and the land shook some more, and a few happy tears like meteors fell in unison. SMASH. SMASH. SMASH. And the queen cried because she knew it was true, that sounded exactly like something she'd do!
"Who makes these rules!" Jack's mother asked. "I have heard differently. I have heard that forgiveness is a balm of love, it is what all the sorcerers recommend.
"You were not listening, as suits your ugly face. Forgiveness is love, but only when combined with revenge. After he is gone, what will there be to forgive him of? To kill him is the greatest forgiveness!" At this point Jack was becoming black in the face due to lack of oxygen, although he was not yet crushed. "I do not blame him for what he did, it is what people like him do, my understanding is as vast as the cosmos. One must forgive and revenge, not only because it is just, but because there are few greater happinesses. We giants have tracked and will now kill Jack not in honor of our friend's memory, but because it feels wonderful to do so. Our tendons will sing and our blood will dance and our hair will applaud! What is forgetfulness in comparison to that!"
The humans had no answer, but at the last moment in Jack's life he understood in a fog, and took revenge on the giant for killing him, by giving the giant a hard bite in the hand, which wasn't actually noticed but made his last moment feel great.
Jack and his mother stopped eating their new expensive cake. "What's that knocking on the house!"
"Argh, It's a bunch of giants!" the new queen of Jack's said. "They are knocking on our palace roof!" ("I guess he wasn't lying about that story," she figured.)
Their hands burst from the ceiling, and those giants had grisly-bear eyes and hearts golden with greed and riches but were otherwise human in soul. They had sought the murder-thief Jack to the edges of the earth and at long last they grabbed Jack's mother and Jack and the queen and pulled them to the roof. There they released Jack's mother and the queen, and made ready to crush Jack in revenge.
"Forgive Jack!" said the queen.
One of the giants, Greatbeards, with a beard longer than the ends of the earth, as old as the world, and wise beyond his years, looked her panic and spoke. "Forgive! There is nothing to forgive. Hath no man condemned him? He must die."
The queen, wise beyond her dress, as young as her crown, was not to be defeated with simple intimidation. "No, no man has condemned him."
"Neither do I condemn him." And then, to Jack, "Die and sin no more!" and again he made ready to crush.
"WAIT!" And the queen's word was in impure confusion. "Isn't it better to forgive and forget?"
"Hahaha, that is a jolly lie you human tells now to us giants, it is rotten. There is no such thing as forgive and forget among we giants. To forgive and forget is the greatest sin, one which can never be forgiven. We mercilessly hunt down anyone who forgives but doesn't revenge. And do not trick us, the same is true among humans; I have seen your courts and jails from high above, and if anyone attempts to help a criminal flee the courts or the prisons or the executioner he is judged the worst kind of criminal. I have seen this all, using my favorite telescope." And he brought the telescope out and weilded it above his head, it was as large as could be, and he began smashing it into the palace and the ground shook to high giantland. "There is only forgive and revenge!" SMASH. SMASH. SMASH.
The queen took no notice of the noise except to cry, but then continued: "Then that means that if you kill Jack, and then I will kill you -- if this rule were followed without exception there would be no one left alive."
Greatbeard laughed, "No! There are many ways of revenge, death just the best. You being unable to kill me would find some other way of revenge, such as knitting sweaters and giving them to your grandchildren with 'I hate the giants' secretly emblazoned on the inside." At this all the other giants laughed and the land shook some more, and a few happy tears like meteors fell in unison. SMASH. SMASH. SMASH. And the queen cried because she knew it was true, that sounded exactly like something she'd do!
"Who makes these rules!" Jack's mother asked. "I have heard differently. I have heard that forgiveness is a balm of love, it is what all the sorcerers recommend.
"You were not listening, as suits your ugly face. Forgiveness is love, but only when combined with revenge. After he is gone, what will there be to forgive him of? To kill him is the greatest forgiveness!" At this point Jack was becoming black in the face due to lack of oxygen, although he was not yet crushed. "I do not blame him for what he did, it is what people like him do, my understanding is as vast as the cosmos. One must forgive and revenge, not only because it is just, but because there are few greater happinesses. We giants have tracked and will now kill Jack not in honor of our friend's memory, but because it feels wonderful to do so. Our tendons will sing and our blood will dance and our hair will applaud! What is forgetfulness in comparison to that!"
The humans had no answer, but at the last moment in Jack's life he understood in a fog, and took revenge on the giant for killing him, by giving the giant a hard bite in the hand, which wasn't actually noticed but made his last moment feel great.
"but there was one city with no purpose except to maintain and improve the information transfer between all the other cities, and here mr. strand was mayor. the city's people developed evernew ways to transmit information faster and faster between places, and eventually information was so fast that it got to its destination before it was sent. but the problem with that is that since there are multiple futures, sometimes messages were getting through from people that would never exist, because they were changing their past with a letter to a friend.
"when this happened, some of the people of that city said 'enough is enough, that's too fast!' but mr. strand held a popular vote. but most of the voters were from the future... their votes were very fast. and they voted that mr. strand was to have access to all information, public and private, and he would decide what messages got through and which did not, by deciding which future people to accept messages from. this was necessary because you sometimes had trillions of varition messages, because as message technology got faster the multiple possible people in the future sent more and more messages. but this also allowed him to decide which future to head toward, because he'd pick which future messages would get through.
"because it was too much work for one brain alone, mr. strand asked future mr. strands to help him with this sorting process. so all the multiple mr. strands which may exist in the future are assigned a fraction of messages to look through, and they all send their choices to the present mr. strand, who approves their choices. the farther from the present a mr. strand is, the less weight he has in this decision-making process.
"the present mr. strand of course sends messages to past mr. strands, until the most earliest mr. strand is reached right at the time when messages faster than instantaneously became possible. and this feedback loop allowed mr. strand to very quickly gain control over the world. most of this world's new institutions, such as the santa giving deadly presents to bad boys and girls and you building such toys, was planned by all the mr. strands and decided on by the first one.
"and because he can see any future, your quest to stop santa from delivering presents to all the children of the world won't work. all you can do is hide from his eye, which extends to anyone who sends messages to anyone else."
"when this happened, some of the people of that city said 'enough is enough, that's too fast!' but mr. strand held a popular vote. but most of the voters were from the future... their votes were very fast. and they voted that mr. strand was to have access to all information, public and private, and he would decide what messages got through and which did not, by deciding which future people to accept messages from. this was necessary because you sometimes had trillions of varition messages, because as message technology got faster the multiple possible people in the future sent more and more messages. but this also allowed him to decide which future to head toward, because he'd pick which future messages would get through.
"because it was too much work for one brain alone, mr. strand asked future mr. strands to help him with this sorting process. so all the multiple mr. strands which may exist in the future are assigned a fraction of messages to look through, and they all send their choices to the present mr. strand, who approves their choices. the farther from the present a mr. strand is, the less weight he has in this decision-making process.
"the present mr. strand of course sends messages to past mr. strands, until the most earliest mr. strand is reached right at the time when messages faster than instantaneously became possible. and this feedback loop allowed mr. strand to very quickly gain control over the world. most of this world's new institutions, such as the santa giving deadly presents to bad boys and girls and you building such toys, was planned by all the mr. strands and decided on by the first one.
"and because he can see any future, your quest to stop santa from delivering presents to all the children of the world won't work. all you can do is hide from his eye, which extends to anyone who sends messages to anyone else."
the way the snow goes onto trees is picturesque because of the contrast between the dark and light lines: the dark lines are branches, the light lines are the snow on the branches. and there were various people gathered around the trees taking pictures of this contrast.
the snow on the branches said to the branches: "i make you worthy of pictures. the people like white lines on black lines. a tree alone is ugly, but a tree with snow is bearable."
the branches of the tree said to the snow laying atop them: "you are right. no one likes trees, we are ugly. but with you, we are picturesque. but why do humans like lines of different colors going off in many ways?"
and the tree trunk said: "shut up, you two. i am trying to pray to these humans."
and the snow on the branches said to the tree trunk: "no one takes pictures of you, that is why you are grumpy as can be."
and the branches of the tree said to the tree trunk: "snow is right. let us be happy once a year, and anyway, by preserving us in pictures sometimes you get in the pictures too. isn't that good for you?"
and the tree trunk said to them as the humans had finished their pictures and were readying their axes: "i am too old to worry about pictures."
the snow on the branches said to the branches: "i make you worthy of pictures. the people like white lines on black lines. a tree alone is ugly, but a tree with snow is bearable."
the branches of the tree said to the snow laying atop them: "you are right. no one likes trees, we are ugly. but with you, we are picturesque. but why do humans like lines of different colors going off in many ways?"
and the tree trunk said: "shut up, you two. i am trying to pray to these humans."
and the snow on the branches said to the tree trunk: "no one takes pictures of you, that is why you are grumpy as can be."
and the branches of the tree said to the tree trunk: "snow is right. let us be happy once a year, and anyway, by preserving us in pictures sometimes you get in the pictures too. isn't that good for you?"
and the tree trunk said to them as the humans had finished their pictures and were readying their axes: "i am too old to worry about pictures."
i've just realized that bkfiction isn't good for any theme that requires a lot of context. makes sense. i also realize that my writing style is getting too subtle. i don't mind that, because it isn't intended for a general audience, it's intended as practise, and not even writing practise, just concretization practise.
*
"Volatility Lesson"
There were regular students in a university chemistry lab, but the teaching assistant hadn't yet arrived. The professor was livid and over the top of his top hat and pacing while tapping his foot in impatience. "This is not what I meant by volatility!"
The students laughed in evil politeness, because they had all forgotten what volatility meant but remembered that it was some chemistry term and they assumed that they should laugh. They knew that they didn't have to do this, but saw it as oil in the vending machine that dispensed degrees.
"Right, let me run you through today's experiment, even though this is the job of the missing." And the professor spoke through his bleached beard on the day's experiment, which was something or something else. There was a lack of stability as he moved his hand across the rolling blackboard-on-wheels, his hands shook but not because of Parkinson's, and his eyeballs shook but not because he was cross-eyed; it was the instability of experienced control. After the procedure was on the board, there was the feeling that lightning targeted by Zeus might have left.
The goggles were put on, and the ice was crushed, and the test tubes were labeled in the prescribed manner, with waxy crayon which didn't work too well but it was all the university could afford. The students didn't know what they were doing, but did it anyway, thanks to the instructions. The professor despised them secretly. He saw many of them put ten times as much of some ingredient as was required and laughed inwardly, having placed a typo in a number in the instructions just for that purpose. Some of the students noticed the mistake because the color was wrong, but others did not. Zeus also sometimes shocked people for fun, when they walked over carpets, or wore wool. How else to deal with those who did the same things all the time? Those on Olympus were not creatures of habit, no sirree. Sometimes the shocks were beneficial, like lightning to Frankenstein's reconstituted person.
The teaching assistant, a graduate student of some repute, arrived an hour and ten minutes late, right in the middle of the procedure. She was talking on her cell phone and was riding a scooter into the class, which caused many students to worry that their crayon-labelled test-tubes would be scattered. Her lab coat was painted in stripes of yellow and black. "I am late!" she announced without accountment.
"At least you are wearing your lab coat. But you could belay the scooter and cell phone at the door," said the one with white-washed brows.
"Okay," said the woman, and hung up on whoever was on the phone without saying goodbye. "But what about change? These procedures," she waved an arm at the room, "are stable enough that such things as these bring variety. You of all people disdain the prescribers and script-writers and planners of old."
"Firing you would also bring variety," said the professor. But the teaching assistant didn't yet abstract that variety for the sake of variety was no variety at all, and missed the point like a bee stinging her beehive (most bees are female).
Guessing instead that she should explain why she was late, she talked. "I saw a strange person at lunch and felt the need to follow him and see why he was wearing a nametag of unknown origin. It was a new thing to see wandering this college, I had never seen it. But I became bored of following him when I realized that it was not a nametag but some sort of generic music band label. So I stole his books while he wasn't looking, and hastened away. But then I saw a remote controlled car, and a kid not far off operating it, and riding a scooter at the same time, racing the car in some sort of self-race. I had never seen this, it was a new thing to see wandering this college. So I followed the kid and the car, hiding in the bushes. His parents approached, and looked so boring that I hated them, and so to give the kid variety I ran out to him and stole his scooter and drove off with it here as fast as I could. The parents should be arriving soon if the were able to follow me, and they shall be angry. But I don't think they were able to follow me, I was too fast. And even as I was riding, I started making prank calls to people on my cell phone."
The professor was impressed. "You are learning the ways of volatility, but are not planning it thoroughly enough. These small changes -- stealing a scooter, or following someone -- they do not change anything permanently. You can't just throw a billiard ball out the window in the hopes that it will hit something and lead to some beneficial reaction which will add up to great things. Perhaps the kid will gain great strength from the theft, but also perhaps he will become afraid of doing daring things such as racing against his own remote-controlled toys, because his last attempt was met by random theft."
When the professor put it that way the woman knew she was wrong, but didn't know why. Therefore, the professor was wrong. "I will not return that scooter, I rather like it."
"You do not have to return it. But wait, it is time," and he looked at the clock on the wall. He took the teaching assistant's hand and ran out of the classroom. The scooter was forgotten. The procedure of the students went amiss, and the test tubes started exploding and covered all the students with colors. The professor and the teaching assistant were hiding in the side room, where ice was crushed, and had avoided this. The professor walked out into the classroom and told the students that the mistake was caused by a typo in the procedure which they should have noticed (and some did, but those that did not covered those who did with colors nonetheless). The teaching assistant looked at the typo in wonder, and the lesson was over.
*
"Volatility Lesson"
There were regular students in a university chemistry lab, but the teaching assistant hadn't yet arrived. The professor was livid and over the top of his top hat and pacing while tapping his foot in impatience. "This is not what I meant by volatility!"
The students laughed in evil politeness, because they had all forgotten what volatility meant but remembered that it was some chemistry term and they assumed that they should laugh. They knew that they didn't have to do this, but saw it as oil in the vending machine that dispensed degrees.
"Right, let me run you through today's experiment, even though this is the job of the missing." And the professor spoke through his bleached beard on the day's experiment, which was something or something else. There was a lack of stability as he moved his hand across the rolling blackboard-on-wheels, his hands shook but not because of Parkinson's, and his eyeballs shook but not because he was cross-eyed; it was the instability of experienced control. After the procedure was on the board, there was the feeling that lightning targeted by Zeus might have left.
The goggles were put on, and the ice was crushed, and the test tubes were labeled in the prescribed manner, with waxy crayon which didn't work too well but it was all the university could afford. The students didn't know what they were doing, but did it anyway, thanks to the instructions. The professor despised them secretly. He saw many of them put ten times as much of some ingredient as was required and laughed inwardly, having placed a typo in a number in the instructions just for that purpose. Some of the students noticed the mistake because the color was wrong, but others did not. Zeus also sometimes shocked people for fun, when they walked over carpets, or wore wool. How else to deal with those who did the same things all the time? Those on Olympus were not creatures of habit, no sirree. Sometimes the shocks were beneficial, like lightning to Frankenstein's reconstituted person.
The teaching assistant, a graduate student of some repute, arrived an hour and ten minutes late, right in the middle of the procedure. She was talking on her cell phone and was riding a scooter into the class, which caused many students to worry that their crayon-labelled test-tubes would be scattered. Her lab coat was painted in stripes of yellow and black. "I am late!" she announced without accountment.
"At least you are wearing your lab coat. But you could belay the scooter and cell phone at the door," said the one with white-washed brows.
"Okay," said the woman, and hung up on whoever was on the phone without saying goodbye. "But what about change? These procedures," she waved an arm at the room, "are stable enough that such things as these bring variety. You of all people disdain the prescribers and script-writers and planners of old."
"Firing you would also bring variety," said the professor. But the teaching assistant didn't yet abstract that variety for the sake of variety was no variety at all, and missed the point like a bee stinging her beehive (most bees are female).
Guessing instead that she should explain why she was late, she talked. "I saw a strange person at lunch and felt the need to follow him and see why he was wearing a nametag of unknown origin. It was a new thing to see wandering this college, I had never seen it. But I became bored of following him when I realized that it was not a nametag but some sort of generic music band label. So I stole his books while he wasn't looking, and hastened away. But then I saw a remote controlled car, and a kid not far off operating it, and riding a scooter at the same time, racing the car in some sort of self-race. I had never seen this, it was a new thing to see wandering this college. So I followed the kid and the car, hiding in the bushes. His parents approached, and looked so boring that I hated them, and so to give the kid variety I ran out to him and stole his scooter and drove off with it here as fast as I could. The parents should be arriving soon if the were able to follow me, and they shall be angry. But I don't think they were able to follow me, I was too fast. And even as I was riding, I started making prank calls to people on my cell phone."
The professor was impressed. "You are learning the ways of volatility, but are not planning it thoroughly enough. These small changes -- stealing a scooter, or following someone -- they do not change anything permanently. You can't just throw a billiard ball out the window in the hopes that it will hit something and lead to some beneficial reaction which will add up to great things. Perhaps the kid will gain great strength from the theft, but also perhaps he will become afraid of doing daring things such as racing against his own remote-controlled toys, because his last attempt was met by random theft."
When the professor put it that way the woman knew she was wrong, but didn't know why. Therefore, the professor was wrong. "I will not return that scooter, I rather like it."
"You do not have to return it. But wait, it is time," and he looked at the clock on the wall. He took the teaching assistant's hand and ran out of the classroom. The scooter was forgotten. The procedure of the students went amiss, and the test tubes started exploding and covered all the students with colors. The professor and the teaching assistant were hiding in the side room, where ice was crushed, and had avoided this. The professor walked out into the classroom and told the students that the mistake was caused by a typo in the procedure which they should have noticed (and some did, but those that did not covered those who did with colors nonetheless). The teaching assistant looked at the typo in wonder, and the lesson was over.
Thereupon the sand a tablet was taken by the claws of This-Is-Mine, with eyes of fox-like orange. It looked to that eye and to the other eye like a scratched-up pillar, and then the rage of reason tore out of the voice of the finder. "What does this say and how can I use it! What writing style is this!"
It was a hexagonal tablet, with words on it written long ago, by humans once thought a fairy tale: written in the days long before rabbits and the other animals could write books, and even longer before This-Is-Mine was born.
This-Is-Mine took the tablet home with him and set off for his den underground. There were competing persuers: there was a snake, but he bit it, careful to avoid the poison, and it ran away, and then there was a spider, but he glared at it, and it ran into a tree. There were armies of rabbits, but he had long since learned how to slip past them. There were dogs, but those were too loyal and thought his tablet was a bone, and after he proved it was not they let sent him off and barked away.
But the worst competitor was the weasel, for the weasel was like him in some ways, but not in all ways. So when he passed through the sneakiest weasel's forest, the weasel snuck out and pounced on him.
This-Is-Mine spoke after he was cornered. "Weasel, this is no use to you. A rock with markings on it. Haha, why do I even carry this? I should dash it to the ground if not for its prettiness."
"Yes it is of use to me. It has words of the fairy humans on it, and so its secrets must be mine." The weasel took out a gun that shot swords, and a sword that shot bullets, and a laser rifle, and a rifle in the shape of a laser beam, and other weapons commonly used to threaten, for he knew foxes cared not for prettiness.
This-Is-Mine spoke. "Fine, if you want it that much, you can have it." And This-Is-Mine walked off in pretence, but knew he would hide and lay low until the time was at paw.
The weasel looked at him in suspiciousness as he pretended to walk off. The weasel tried to lift the pillar but could not. He tried to pull the pillar with rope but could find no rope. He tried to hire underlings to move the pillar, but none would answer his want ads. Eventually he just left it on his land as decoration, and found new things to do. He was not in the mood for strange rocks with strange writings, he could always translate it later.
This-Is-Mine, who had been hiding in a bird's nest all these many nights, took the tablet again when the weasel was off hunting. He laughed at the weasel as he carried the tablet off, he had fallen for the 36 strategies ("Another fairy human work which has been of use to me.").
Eventually he arrived home and begin to translate the human language as best he could. "Why must humans have so many languages. They were the same species and had many languages. We are different species and have one language. They make no sense."
As he translated it, he grew tired. "I am tired of translating this tablet. What can be of use to me on this tablet. What that is worth all this time. Nothing. I am not in the mood to translate. Instead I shall sleep."
But as he left to sleep he reminded himself: "But wait, have not I done my best work when I am not at first in the mood to work? Perhaps this is one such time." And he saw a charred bit of ash in a frame on his wall, and looked at his fur and remembered how it was burned but how he had ran out of the fire and put it out and then burned the burners, and returned to the tablet. "Mood changes according to my will." And soon after sitting down again, all at once he could know what it meant.
"So this was wrote by an ancient human king, in stone that does not break, the longest ago," he knew to himself. "And I will write such a thing one day. This is much like 'Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair.' Greater words were never said, but greater words and works I shall say and do. The greater words will come to me after my greater works are accomplished, for such words do not come to the undeserving, they come only to the unserving. But time for that later. This is no use to me except as a reminder."
And so he set the tablet in the center of his den, like a pillar holding the roof up, although the roof did not need to be held up. He looked at it secretly, once in awhile.
It was a hexagonal tablet, with words on it written long ago, by humans once thought a fairy tale: written in the days long before rabbits and the other animals could write books, and even longer before This-Is-Mine was born.
This-Is-Mine took the tablet home with him and set off for his den underground. There were competing persuers: there was a snake, but he bit it, careful to avoid the poison, and it ran away, and then there was a spider, but he glared at it, and it ran into a tree. There were armies of rabbits, but he had long since learned how to slip past them. There were dogs, but those were too loyal and thought his tablet was a bone, and after he proved it was not they let sent him off and barked away.
But the worst competitor was the weasel, for the weasel was like him in some ways, but not in all ways. So when he passed through the sneakiest weasel's forest, the weasel snuck out and pounced on him.
This-Is-Mine spoke after he was cornered. "Weasel, this is no use to you. A rock with markings on it. Haha, why do I even carry this? I should dash it to the ground if not for its prettiness."
"Yes it is of use to me. It has words of the fairy humans on it, and so its secrets must be mine." The weasel took out a gun that shot swords, and a sword that shot bullets, and a laser rifle, and a rifle in the shape of a laser beam, and other weapons commonly used to threaten, for he knew foxes cared not for prettiness.
This-Is-Mine spoke. "Fine, if you want it that much, you can have it." And This-Is-Mine walked off in pretence, but knew he would hide and lay low until the time was at paw.
The weasel looked at him in suspiciousness as he pretended to walk off. The weasel tried to lift the pillar but could not. He tried to pull the pillar with rope but could find no rope. He tried to hire underlings to move the pillar, but none would answer his want ads. Eventually he just left it on his land as decoration, and found new things to do. He was not in the mood for strange rocks with strange writings, he could always translate it later.
This-Is-Mine, who had been hiding in a bird's nest all these many nights, took the tablet again when the weasel was off hunting. He laughed at the weasel as he carried the tablet off, he had fallen for the 36 strategies ("Another fairy human work which has been of use to me.").
Eventually he arrived home and begin to translate the human language as best he could. "Why must humans have so many languages. They were the same species and had many languages. We are different species and have one language. They make no sense."
As he translated it, he grew tired. "I am tired of translating this tablet. What can be of use to me on this tablet. What that is worth all this time. Nothing. I am not in the mood to translate. Instead I shall sleep."
But as he left to sleep he reminded himself: "But wait, have not I done my best work when I am not at first in the mood to work? Perhaps this is one such time." And he saw a charred bit of ash in a frame on his wall, and looked at his fur and remembered how it was burned but how he had ran out of the fire and put it out and then burned the burners, and returned to the tablet. "Mood changes according to my will." And soon after sitting down again, all at once he could know what it meant.
"So this was wrote by an ancient human king, in stone that does not break, the longest ago," he knew to himself. "And I will write such a thing one day. This is much like 'Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair.' Greater words were never said, but greater words and works I shall say and do. The greater words will come to me after my greater works are accomplished, for such words do not come to the undeserving, they come only to the unserving. But time for that later. This is no use to me except as a reminder."
And so he set the tablet in the center of his den, like a pillar holding the roof up, although the roof did not need to be held up. He looked at it secretly, once in awhile.
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