Last Flowers Before Cemetery (short story)

The Doctor said, "Think of time as a pinwheel...as an infinite array of timelines radiating from a common point". It's great imagery, one I've held dear for quite some time. When I'd traveled to times where time travel was still pure fantasy, I'd seen these timelines referred to as "alternate universes", but that's not strictly speaking true. All of these variants of space/time, or what the Doctor called "instances", have emerged from the same point of origin and belong to the same universe, even if we as humans can only experience our small slice of it. Moving from one instance to a neighboring one is like moving from spoke to spoke on a bicycle wheel. It's actually easy, but with the caveat that you cannot return to your original instance. Once you leave, there's no going home. However, moving backwards in time is another matter altogether.

For you see, the second law of thermodynamics states that entropy increases over time, which is a fancy way of saying from order comes disorder. As time increases and we get further and further away from the point of creation, the universe grows colder and colder. This "time machine" works because it's an energy transference device. All it does is facilitate the trading of energy between two instances of different ages. SO, to travel back in time, I've always had to acquire (ahem steal) large amounts of ununoctium, plutonium, uranium, and other high-energy materials to move lil ole me. One time, I stored 1,000 barrels of petrol in a warehouse just to trade places with some unsuspecting poor soul that lived a hundred (or so) years before.

I've made the jump a few hundred times, and I'm none too proud of the way I did it. I've lied and cheated and stole from people to get what I needed and be on my way. I've hurt at least a dozen people... mostly guards or policemen of some sort. I was once completely surrounded by military police, armed with guns (how quaint!) and crude explosive devices. In another instance, I was chased by a fleet of police droids, and in a third instance, a horde of flying drones! And in every case, the outcome was the same. I'd hide while my PNDD (Personal Nano Defense Device) swarmed invisibly to my pursuers, infiltrating their bodies and sending them all into shock while I made my cowardly escape.

And yet, these days, I find myself thinking back to my original sin: Envy. I was a young student, failing out of University (the last such institution on Earth). Most people "learned" by having knowledge encoded directly to their brains versus learning the old fashioned way - through audio lessons and visual cues (quaint!). It was seen as a high honor to be able to attend school, and I was about to lose it. My physics professor, the good Dr. Santiago, had discovered a way to displace objects by moving them through space/time. He was the one that discovered that objects moved through space/time actually traded places with another object of similar displacement. As a twenty-two year old boy, I was enamored by his discoveries, but also insanely jealous. I was losing a key opportunity, while watching the Doctor achieve the success that I had always envisioned for myself. On the day I was supposed to move back home, I visited the good Doctor with my illegal PNDD and forced him to use his own machine. I laughed in amazement when the replacement soul that appeared before me was a younger version of himself from another instance! This Dr. Santiago was a mere child, stripped of his life just so I could take a little revenge on the universe. I became panicked and stole his backup device without a second thought. I hurried to my dorm room, where I prepared for a hasty exit.

I deserve to die for what I've done.

I've spent an entire lifetime jumping, at first to run away from my crime, and then somewhere along the way, to run into the good Doctor. To apologize for what I've done. I had hoped we would both arrive at the same idea - that as the only two time travelers in existence, that the only way we'd meet again is by traveling closer and closer to the center of the pinwheel...the point of origin. The further back we traveled, the lower the # of possible instances would exist and our chances of finding one another would increase. In this way, he could exact revenge upon me (if he wished) and I could express my remorse.

But, going back hundreds of years at a time is not fast enough. I'm well over 80 years old, and without access to modern medicine, I'm afraid I've made my last jump. I lay in a hospital, writing my final thoughts into this lap-based computing device in hopes that you find this, Dr. Santiago. I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I was a tortured child, a bad student and an evil man, one that ruined hundreds of lives just so I could find you in time and apologize to you in person. You were a good person who wanted to teach the world what was possible, and teach me about the consequence of time travel. I've learned more than I can handle. I've decided to spare more lives and abandon my quest to find you. I've found peace here - it's 2016 and it's a good a place as any to watch the world grow old.

A nurse brought me flowers, a beautiful bouquet of color that popped off of every stem. There was no note attached, so I did not know who to thank, but it did come with a small pinwheel. I don't know who this could have came from - one of the nurses, perhaps? - but I'd like to think it came from you.

Safe travels.

Give a Dog a Bone! (short story)

May surveyed the endless rows of booths with a sense of boredom and dissatisfaction. Childless men and women from all over the country had converged in this giant warehouse to buy all sorts of brand new doggie treats, doggie diapers, doggie onezies, and other playthings for their beloved canines. She had never been to the Dog Enthusiast Consumer Expo (!) before, and now she knew why - no woman with any sense in her head would ever agree to come to such a freakshow of useless junk that no self-respecting dog would ever use more than once (if that). While walking alongside her husband, Mark, she idly stepped into a steaming pile of dog poop.

"Ahhh....what the fuck," muttered May under her breath while wiping her heels on a nearby booth's welcome mat. "Just my luck."

"Babe, look!" cried out Mark happily from around the corner. Still a bit steamed, May took a deep breath and went to see what Mark was up to. She found Mark furiously blowing into a whistle that was not producing any noise. "It's a doggie whistle!" he said triumphantly.

"Mark," May said calmly, "I've seen a dog whistle before. What makes this one so special?"

"It's on a key chain...so you can, you know, call for your dog on the go." answered Mark meekly.

May whipped out her free hand. "Mark, let's go," she said in the same firm voice she used to address Bobo, their pug. Now that the joy had been vacuum-sucked out of the room, Mark grudgingly grasped her free hand and joined her down yet another aisle of dog paraphenalia.

-------------------------------------------------

A few aisles later, May and Mark stopped dead in their tracks when they spotted a different kind of booth. Noticing their interest, a man stepped forward from the booth and handed Mark his business card.

"Mr. Takeshi, at your service." he said with a polite half bow.

May read the card - Ahiro Takeshi, Takeshi Industries, Purveyor of Eros for Canines.

Incredulous, May surveyed the scene: on the shelves directly behind Mr. Takeshi stood half of dozen robotic dogs. She had seen robotic dogs before, but never anything like these. All of the robotic dogs were assuming, ahem, the position, and were anatomically correct. Which, of course, is nice way of saying that these robots were ready for some doggie-style action. May was horrified.

"So, what is it exactly that you're selling here?" asked Mark, clearly amused.

"Ahh yes," responded Mr. Takeshi. He removed one of the dogs from off the shelf and placed it gingerly in Mark's hands. "Our goal is to provide for the...intimate needs of male dogs. These robot dogs offer a real, safe sexual experience for your pet! May I ask - do you have a male dog?"

May stared in disbelief as Mark nodded in assent.

"Is it neutered?"

"Errr, no," answered Mark sheepishly with a grin. "It used to be a show dog, so we wanted Bobo (our dog) to keep his parts in case, you know, we wanted to extend his pedigree."

"Ah so." responded Mr. Takeshi.

"Mark," said May sternly. "Put down that dog, err, robot!"

Fed up with May's protests, Mark handed the robot female back to Mr. Takeshi. "Show me how this works."

"Certainly!" said Mr. Takeshi. Mr. Takeshi proceeded to show Mark how the dog worked - where to put in the batteries, how to clean it, and how to turn it on. With the flick of the switch, the robot's legs started moving and yapping, just like a real dog would.

"Mark!" said May, "It's a sex toy. For dogs. Are you really considering this for Bobo?!"

Ignoring the question, Mark simply turned to Mr. Takeshi and asked, "How much?"

"Nine hundred dollars, U.S."

Mark was startled at the price tag. Finally, May said to herself, some sense from this man.

Nervous at losing a sale, Mr. Takeshi reached for a nearby plastic bag. "I almost forgot! Please take a look at the interchangeable heads!" Mark was confused as he was handed the heads of a French poodle and a cocker spaniel.

Mr. Takeshi explained, "In Japan, we noted that dogs often get bored after a while of having the same partner. We thought, why not include interchangeable heads? Each head comes programmed with its own bark and personality, so that to the male dog, it will seem like a new partner. New partner means new experiences! It sounds a bit strange, but believe me, the dogs enjoy it very much."

"Makes sense..." said Mark in a voice that was soft but not soft enough to go unnoticed by May. Something inside May exploded in anger.

"MARK! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" said May loud enough to quiet everyone within shouting distance.

"May, please," Mark implored, "you're causing a scene."

"Me? I'm causing a scene?!" May cackled, as if Mark had just made the funniest joke in the world. "I'm not the one checking out the robot vagina, ok? And...and..." May was almost in tears.

Mark drew closer to May. "Babe, what's wrong?"

"This is so wrong. You know. I was actually considering going along with you. Getting a sex robot for Bobo, fine, whatever. But interchangeable heads? You think that's cute? You wish you could do that in real life, huh, you motherfucker." A tear then escaped from May's eyes, and Mark knew that he had messed up. May started to push Mark back. "You wish you could just, SWITCH ME with someone new, don't you, you faggot. You fucking faggot...!"

Just then, a security guard arrived at the scene. "Excuse me, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave..."

"No, it's okay, I was just leaving." May interrupted. She turned to Mark, "I'll be...in the car...when you figure things out over here." May then left with the security guard without another word.

Still a bit stunned, Mark apologized profusely to Mr. Takeshi. "I'm sorry...she gets like that sometimes. She's sensitive, y'know...women."

"No need to apologize, sir." said Mr. Takeshi. Now that the sale seemed out of reach, Mr. Takeshi decided to give him one last pitch. "Okay, no interchangeable heads. How about a special deal - seven hundred U.S.?"

Mark chuckled and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Takeshi. But Bobo is just going to have to be as miserable and pathetic as the rest of us." With that, Mark gave a little bow of his own and then turned to go find his wife.

last visit to the surface (short story)

Chadwick loved reading for as long as he could remember. As a child, he had fond memories of reading stories from the digital displays, his imagination stoked by stories of Gulliver and the Lilliputians, of the castaway Robinson Crusoe and his faithful companion Friday, and of Jean Luc Picard and the starship Enterprise. He could recall reading them next to a crackling fire, alone in the deep recesses of the Cave, eagerly scrolling through the pages. Ah, those were the times!

Even after the age-old displays went dark, stories were still easy to come by. There were several hundred books to be found, with words formed with black ink printed upon bound pieces of flattened pulp. Chadwick himself owned one such book, Volume One of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, a gift from his father. Written over a thousand years ago, Chadwick nonetheless felt an instant connection to the eccentric Holmes and thought he had much in common with the Victorian. Even as an adult, he would take breaks from his shift harvesting cave moss and find a quiet place to walk alongside his hero in the dark and mysterious streets of old London.

He certainly had the time. All of the last vestiges of modernity the cave dwellers had - everything from the LCD displays, air conditioning, refrigeration, stereo equipment to solar panels - all of these had seen their final days during Chadwick's lifetime. As the surface of the Earth became increasingly hot, temperatures reached as high as 180 degrees in the summer months. The solar panels, which had faithfully provided the cave dwellers with electricity for almost a thousand years, could not withstand the heat and literally melted under the scorching desert sun. As the cave dwellers lost their access to technology, their ability to survive plummeted. Without access to lighting, workers could harvest only a fraction of the moss required to sustain a community. Without access to the electronic water purifier, many of the cave dwellers became sick drinking unsafe water from wherever they could find it. In the years that followed, Chadwick watched helplessly as the cave dwelling community became ravaged from hunger, disease, and thirst, reducing their numbers to single digits.

The remaining survivors, unable to survive near the entrances of the caves, had to move deeper into the inner chambers of the caves, in order to escape the unbearable heat. One by one, they became lost and perished until finally, Chadwick was the final cave dweller.

While knowing full well that his days were numbered, Chadwick still went about his daily routine. He would scour the corners of the cave, gathering the last of the cave moss and bottling any water he could find. During these trips to the very depths of the cave, he often wondered what laid above on the surface. He had heard from others that, not far from the cave's opening to the surface, that there was a nearby library, with thousands upon thousands of books that laid on shelves, literally waiting for someone to read them.

Most importantly, this library was likely to have a copy of the complete works of Sherlock Holmes. Chadwick had always wondered what twists and turns remained in store for Holmes, and longed for answers that a single volume could not offer.

One day, while searching for clean water along one of the cavern walls, he spied a small beam of light pouring through a pinhole-sized hole in the ceiling. Surprised at never having seen it before, he climbed up to a rocky ledge to reach it. He pressed his eye against it and peered into the light. Unfortunately, he could see nothing from this distance. Disappointed, he climbed down from the ledge and sat staring at the light for a few minutes in silence.

He realized then that he had never seen the sun first-hand. He had avoided sunlight his whole life, but knew his heart he wanted nothing more than to see the world above the walls of the cave. "I'm going to the surface," he decided to himself. With new resolve, he stopped his search for water and instead gathered the last of his supplies from throughout the cave. "I'm going to the surface, even if it kills me."

Slowly but surely, Chadwick made his ascent to the entrance of the cave. While it had been well traveled by him and his people for hundreds of years, he found himself lost on several occasions, for there was no light to guide him. Undeterred, he always managed to backtrack, feel for a familiar marker, and find the main path to the surface. After several hours of navigating through pitch black darkness, he found a crack of light, which then took him to the surface in minutes. "Ahhh," he said to himself when looking out at the surface for the first time, "it's beautiful." The brown and barren wasteland stretched for eternity in all directions. It scared and excited him to no end.

As it was evening in the middle of December, Chadwick had little difficulty adjusting to the heat on the surface. It was nearly a hundred degrees, but yet Chadwick could hardly contain his delight at how fortunate he was to have "cool" weather. Looking toward the horizon, he saw what seemed to be a "town", and made his way in that direction. He walked for hours, even after the sun had fallen, knowing full well how difficult travel would be in the day time. Eventually, he knew he had reached the outskirts of town. He could not fully see it, of course, but he could feel the rough sand give way to walkways made of asphalt and concrete. He saw the shapes of iron fences, towering buildings, and sign posts, all alien to him and yet strangely familiar. Exhausted, he entered one of the unknown buildings and curled up on the middle of the floor. "Tomorrow," he told himself before falling sleep, "I'm going to find what I'm looking for."

-----------------------------------

The morning sunshine awakened Chadwick, a light more pristine and pure than any light had seen in his life underground. He prepared for himself a final meal, hungrily eating the last of the bitter moss and greedily drinking the last of his water. After he finished, he made his way outside to look for the library before the sun became too strong for him to finish his journey.

He walked along the cobblestone streets of the town and marveled at the buildings that towered over him. Even in their state of disrepair, they still filled Chadwick with emotion and visions of what they were like in the days before the Sun forced Man to retreat below the surface.

After many hours, Chadwick finally found what he was looking for. Etched into the concrete wall were the words "Public Library", and it was enough to bring tears to Chadwick's eyes. Filled with equal parts trepidation and wonder, he opened the front door and made his way inside.

He could hardly believe what he saw - books upon books, still neatly tucked away in metal and wooden shelves. He felt like a youth again, but fought his desire to start reading the first thing he saw; after all, he was now on borrowed time.

After wandering aimlessly from aisle to aisle, it occurred to him that none of the books had titles. "This is strange," he thought to himself, "surely books with printed text should also have printed titles." He stared down rows of books, until finally he came upon a table with a large book bound in leather with the words "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - The Complete Works" branded into its surface. He was overjoyed - he grabbed the book with both hands and threw open its cover to read what was inside.

What he saw next astounded him - he saw nothing. He flipped page after page, only to find that the pages were blank. Where he had expected to find text, he instead saw smudges, smears and ink running alongside the edges of the book. "No," he said to himself in a half-panic, "where are the words?!" It then dawned on him that the sun had taken its toll on ALL the books - years of exposure to the unforgiving light and heat from the sun had melted the words right off their pages. Angry and desperate, he closed the book and wept weakly to himself before finally collasping from exhaustion.

Unable to stand, he crawled back to entrance of the library, where he found the words "Thank you for visiting the Public Library of London!" carved into the wood above the door. "London..." he said to himself, "My God!" Until that moment, he had not known that he lived just outside of London the entire time! Gathering the last of his strength, he got to his feet and sat himself down outside, on the steps to the library.

The sun was now almost directly overhead, and the heat was overwhelming. Nonetheless, he refused to move. He looked out at London and squinted his eyes, imagining what it must have looked like in the Victorian age. He saw Big Ben, the London Eye, and throngs of gentlemen and women walking its unswept streets dressed in fine suits and elegant Victorian-era gowns. He could hear the pitter-patter of horse-drawn carriages, the shouts of street vendors hawking their wares, and the sounds of children chasing each other though the alleyways. He then could see his hero, Sherlock Holmes, in the distance, beckoning him to come along and join him on a new journey. "The game is a foot, Chadwick!" he could hear Sherlock say, "let us make haste!"

Full of contentment and happiness, Chadwick burned this final image into his eyes and passed away peacefully, a man in the streets of London.

The Reunification of the Korean Pennisula (short story)

Kim stared deeply into the eyes reflecting back at him in the bathroom mirror. He glared menacingly at himself, straining not to flinch or even to blink. Remember the plan, he said to himself, and don't give the bastards an inch!

"Hae Mang, shi!" shouted the KCIA (Korean CIA) agent, interrupting Kim out of his trance-like state. The KCIA agent rapped his fist from outside the bathroom door, "Hae Mang shi! It's time for us to go."

Kim forced down the lump in his throat and straightened his tie. He grabbed his carbon fiber suitcase and joined his escort outside the bathroom door.

They headed deep underground inside a military bunker, a 50's era relic fashioned with exposed iron beams and several thousand tonnes of industrial strength concrete. The two headed in silence down a seemingly endless maze of stairs and dimly lit hallways, all of which were empty save for surveillance cameras watching their step. After several minutes, they arrived at the Meeting Room, furnished sparsely with two metal chairs, lamps, a couple ashtrays, and a single hard wired phone. The agent showed KHM to his seat, and then stood guard next to the South Korean entrance to the room. KHM waited in silence, 5,000 feet beneath the 38th parallel, for his counterpart from North Korea to appear.

A few minutes later, KHM heard a pair of footsteps making their way to the Meeting Room. Then, a small man in military uniform appeared, accompanied by a much larger North Korean soldier. The soldier showed the representative his seat across from KHM and then took his position at the North Korean entrance. The small man set down his briefcase, smiled politely and extended his hand across the table,

"Lee Wi Hum, pleased to meet you."

KHM shook his hand and smiled in return. "Thanks for joining me today."

"Ah, say nothing of it, brother," said Lee gregariously. "May I call you brother?"

KHM was taken aback at Lee's friendliness, but nodded in return at this show of goodwill. I need to loosen up, he told himself.

"So, by our count," Lee said in his best boomy radio announcer voice, "this is the 62th meeting between the two Koreas to discuss peace on the Korean pennisula, reconciliation between one people, and the political reunification of the two Koreas. Is this your understanding as well?"

"Yes, this is our understanding."

Lee slammed his hand down on the table, startling KHM. "Then, as sole representative of the true people's republic, we must insist that South Korea remove their security presence of the 38th parallel, the Demilitarized Zone, and surrender control (peacefully, of course) of all southern territories. All foreign occupiers must be expelled at once. Then (and only then), can we promise that all South Koreans will be given amnesty for their past misdeeds. What say you?"

Hot and angry, KHM spat back, "These demands are ridiculous - you and North Korea are in no position to demand anything from the South Korean government! I know what North Korea is - a rogue country that is holding a knife to the throat of innocent peoples around the world, all in exchange for a few bags of rice." Looking past Lee, KHM could see that the North Korean guard was getting agitated and was already motioning toward a gun that was surely tucked away in his back pocket. Not that it mattered to KHM at the moment. "Your visit here was ill-advised. I will report this idiocy back to the President and..."

"Hey hey, brother," Lee said in a softer, almost soothing voice, "Clearly, you've never done this before." Lee quickly removed an American cigarette from a small metal tin and offered it across the table. KHM shook his head and crossed his arms, all while staring intently into his North Korean counterpart.

"Listen to me," Lee continued, taking on a conciliatory tone. "Usually you guys send a General or something like that. I don't know who briefed you on the situation, but this is exactly what you should have expected to happen, brother."

"Of course, I did," Kim responded quickly, "but your position is not based in reality! I was not aware that they would send someone to a meeting like this to spout rhetoric..."

Lee put up his hand to cut him off again. "Maybe it's you that's not taking this seriously, brother. Do you really think this whole meeting is more than a formality? A gesture, a...sign of goodwill.I have an intimate understanding of the situation. Even if you and I, right here, right now, were to create a solution - what then? Decisions like these are in the hands of politicians and soldiers, not errand boys like you and me. Nothing we say in here will be taken seriously, and that's the truth, brother."

KHM shook his head in disbelief. What an incredible waste of time, he thought. "Wi Hum shi," KHM started, "I am no fool. I know it unlikely that we would ever reach a decision, but I can assure you that my President takes these meetings seriously. If we are to continue this meeting, I strongly advise you take a different approach here."

Lee bit his lip and then leaned back in his chair, lost in his own thoughts. He picked up the cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply before blowing lazy blue smoke rings into the still air. KHM watched as Lee played idly with the large red star stitched into the shirt pocket of his uniform. Is this a trick? KHM asked himself.

After a few more drags of the cigarette, Lee set down his cigarette and looked over at his adversary on the other side. "Kinda makes you wish MacArthur did drop the nukes, don't it?"

"Don't be silly." answered KHM.

Lee laughed gently to himself. "Listen, Kim. Let me ask you a few questions. First, who is South Korea's greatest ally?"

"The United States," answered Kim.

"And who is North Korea's greatest ally?"

"The People's Republic of China."

"Good! See, we're agreeing already, brother. Progress is being made. This is good." Lee gingerly picked up his cigarette and rewarded himself with another puff. He tilted his head toward the concrete ceiling and blew out a small mushroom cloud of smoke. "Next question - in who's best interest is it for there to be an divided Korea?"

Now it was Kim's turn to laugh. "No one's. This standstill...this armistice doesn't benefit anyone. The United States has security interests in Japan and South Korea, as well as Taiwan. The unification of Korea under a true democracy, or even the replacement of the current leadership can only help the United States. China, I imagine, has a similar interest - South Korea is a threat to communism and as a staunch ally to the United States, represents an enemy. The unification of Korea under communist rule obviously will be boon for the Chinese."

Lee crushed the cigarette into the bottom of the ashtray, then leaned forward in his chair. "Doesn't benefit anyone, eh? Nonsense. But in any case, it will be enough for me if you understand that we have nothing to worry about." Lee then stood up from the table, bowed politely and motioned for the North Korean guard to escort him out of the room.

Now totally confused, Kim snapped his fingers to get Lee's attention. "Hey, this meeting isn't over yet. What do you mean we have nothing to worry about?"

With the guard already standing next to him, Lee nonetheless turned back to face Kim. "Well, I'll say this. Regardless of an actual armed conflict (which is certainly possible), do you believe that in the next twenty, thirty years, China will rise to become a power to challenge the United States for supremacy?" When Kim didn't answer, Lee stated apologetically, "it is possible that in the event of a power struggle, either country could win or lose. And the situation will be different. Think about that."

And with that, Lee bowed his head again and left the room, but not without first saying, "See you next year brother. And next year, bring me some American pound cake, will you?"

"Pound cake?" asked Kim, now on his feet.

"Yes, that's what the President brought me last year. I loved it, and would like to have it again sometime."

"I thought that you had never worked with a politician before," called out Kim to Lee, who was almost out the door.

"I lied."

Kim could almost see the smile creeping across Lee's face as the North Koreans left the room.

The South Korean guard ran over to KHM, who seemed just as lost and confused. "Sir! Those North Koreans are just playing mind games with you. What was that all about?"

KHM, however, was deep in thought. What was Lee trying to tell him? What was all this nonsense about the U.S. and China? What did they have to do with anything?

And then it made complete sense.

KHM picked up his unopened briefcase and began to walk out the South Korean side, with the flustered sentry walking alongside him.

"Sir, please, I don't understand what happened here. I, too, must give my official report, but am unsure what I should say. Please, tell me what you're thinking!"

After they had climbed a few flight of stairs, KHM stopped the sentry in a portion of the stairwell that had no surveillance camera. He whispered into the guard's ear,

"What's important is having these meetings, North and South, brother and brother. I am confident that we will be reunited, not right away but sometime in the future. Under whose flag, that's unknown - but those are just details."

"But sir," the guard whispered back, "those are very important details."

"No, brother," answered KHM in a much louder voice before again climbing up the staircase. "The only detail you need to remember is to order a poundcake for my visit next year."

a visit to the fortuneteller

So she asked politely, “Nathan, can I take you to see the fortuneteller?”

On the other end of the phone, Nathan began to chew on his tongue before letting out, “Mom…[what are you thinking?!?]”

Nathan’s mom sensed his skepticism and sighed. Her son knew better than have them listen to a fortuneteller. But she was a woman who worried like she was paid to do it. Besought by every worry known to womankind, she wrung her hands over her son constantly. Where will he live? Whom will he meet? What will he do? These were important questions that demanded answers, and she decided that she could find them from a stranger for the low, low price of one hundred dollars.

“Nathan, I know what you think. But honestly, I worry about you. She is well-respected and helps people all the time. And, I think she can help us.”

“Mom,” he shot back, “Why don’t you just ask ME your questions? What the hell does she know? The fortuneteller is a fraud. She just tells you vague stuff that anyone could guess and in return, you pay her lots of money like she just did you some big favor.” He could almost sense a lump forming in his mom’s throat. Poor mom, he thought to himself guiltily.

“Nathan, please. It’s only an hour. Please. For me?” his mom asked sweetly.

Nathan felt his iron will wilt instantaneously. There was no way out of this one. “Alright, fine!” he said, and imagined his mom doing a triumphant fist pump over on the other end.

-----------------------------------------------------

Nathan didn’t care much for Koreatown. He mused quietly in the car while his mother drove to see the fortuneteller. His eyes glazed over the endless row of Korean restaurants, shopping plazas, and night clubs, all brightly lit with the glow from neon lights.

They reached their destination – a house in the middle of a residential street. They walked through the metal gate and rang the doorbell. A stout and portly Korean lady answered the door and asked them both to come inside. She led Nathan and his mom into a small room – a converted bedroom-turned-office. Nathan and his mom took their seats in front of the lady’s desk. A chart of the human body hung behind the fortuneteller, illustrating various pressure points throughout the body. Nathan wondered for a moment why such a chart was here before being interrupted by the lady taking her seat before them.

The next moments were a blur. Nathan’s mom gave the fortuneteller a brief synopsis of her son’s life while the fortuneteller listened intently and took notes. Nathan was surprised at how…formal the whole process seemed. It felt more like a doctor’s visit than a visit with a mystic. Finally, the fortuneteller turned to Nathan. “Hello Nathan.”

Nathan smiled and bowed his head, a kind of half-assed greeting.

“Your mom tells me that you’re feel like you have trouble focusing these days. Is this true?”

Nathan gave his mom a look before nodding at the nice lady.

“Give me your hand.”

Nathan stuck out his hand, which the fortuneteller gingerly took in her own. She then revealed a small, plastic tube in her other hand. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

What won’t hurt a bit? Nathan thought to himself as the fortuneteller, with one swift flick of the wrist, stuck a thin silver needle from its plastic case into the middle of his open palm. Nathan sat in stunned silence, staring at the needle standing up out of his hand. Jesus!

“We’ll take it out in ten minutes, is ok?” the fortuneteller asked. Without breaking his gaze, Nathan nodded again slowly.

The fortuneteller then consulted with some of her books and took some more notes. She asked his mom some questions, which she eagerly answered – When was he born? What’s the father like? What school did he go to?

Finally, the fortuneteller began to share her findings with both mother and son. First, her son would undergo a number of surgeries, one which may save his life. Pfff, Nathan thought, who's not going to have two or three surgeries anyhow? He noted that his mom, however, was taking this seriously and was taking copious notes on a pad of yellow legal paper on her son’s behalf.

Next, the fortuneteller revealed that her son’s love life would be very rich and eventful. Nathan, according to the fortuneteller, would have no problems. His mom gave him a scolding yet playful look, as if to scold him in advance for being a womanizer.

Finally, the fortuneteller told both of them that for as long as the son lived, he would never be happy living at home. He’d always be away. Nathan noticed that his mom’s brows furrowed and her lips pursed at this news. She was obviously upset. Nathan tapped his mom on the shoulder and gave her a reassuring look. Mom, this woman’s crazy. But, unexpectedly, his mom smiled and said, OK. That’s fine.

With the needle still protruding from his palm, Nathan stared in disbelief. He felt like a bad son, like someone who had disappointed his mother for things he hadn’t yet done! This whole thing - insane!

And yet, he knew there was a chance he was never coming home. The Bay was truly home now, and he knew he’d only move back as a favor to his family. The fortuneteller gave him an “out”, a way to reset his mom's expectations without having to do it himself.

Sensing his discomfort, his mom smiled again. “It’s a big world, Nathan. There’s TONS out there, and I want you to see it.” While disappointed, she was nonetheless at ease with this news. She could live knowing that her son was happy, no, happier, living away from home. Pleased to see that his mom was taking it so well, Nathan eased back in his seat. “Now,” she said, this time to the fortuneteller, “could you take out the needle? Please?”

random passage 1

Note: These are selected passages from some of my favorite books - not my own (although I wish they were). Anyhow, the newest stuff can always be found on the upper-right side of the page. I'll put old ones here as posts. Enjoy!

----------------------------------------------------------

He said, "Aren't you my mother?"

"Oh Timmie."

"Are you angry because I asked?"

"No. Of course not."
"Because I know your name is Miss Fellowes, but-but sometimes, I call you 'Mother' inside. Is that all right?"

"Yes. Yes. It's all right. And I won't leave you any more and nothing will hurt you. I'll be with you to care for you always. call me Mother, so I can hear you."

"Mother," said Timmie contentedly, leaning his cheek against hers.

She rose, and, still holding him, stepped up on the chair. The sudden beginning of a shout from outside went unheard and, with her free hand, she yanked with all her weight at the cord where it hung suspended between two eyelets.

And Stasis was punctured and the room was empty.

your paisley tie

It all seems surreal in hindsight. Being invited to an unexpected meeting, where your partner and an HR rep await, nervous and apologetic. Receiving word on how poorly the company is doing and how they have to unfortunately let you go. You grin, not to disguise your hurt, but because you don't know how else to respond.

Everyone is exceedingly polite. The partner gives you a pat on the back and offers you any assistance you might need. Everyone, that is, except the HR rep who asks for the laptop bag back. It seems like a small thing, but almost randomly, giving up your bag is the thing that hurts the most.

You take home your belongings in a small Delivery Fedex box.

Over the following weeks, you experience every emotion you are capable of. Anger at being let go, to fend for yourself. Joy at not having to turn in a stupid timesheet. Despair.

Over drinks, you're asked by a stranger what you do for a living. You stumble uncomfortably for a second before responding, "I'm, uh, in between things."

The stranger laughs and answers "Me too." You both smile. He then adds helpfully, "I don't tell people that. I say that I'm an entrepreneur." Good joke. Everyone laughs.

You consider the prospect of selling your home. It's unsettling, but it's a reality that you take seriously. You search for jobs. You reach out to friends and to recruiters. They say that it's a ultra-competitive market, but not to lose hope. More than one person tells you that losing your job could be the best thing that has ever happened to you(!). You always nod in agreement, but know that it's just a nice thing that people say.

You create a plan, and methodically follow it. It's not easy - you're all nerves and bad feelings. You develop bad habits, like waking up in the afternoon and smoking all the time. But still, you know that submitting your resume every day is progress. Being rejected and told that you're not wanted is the next step. Soon, you've applied to over twenty positions, and know that you're not a serious candidate for any of them, not when 1000+ applicants are vying for that same job. It's almost funny, in a way. But trying and trying and trying again is the only way out.

Then, you finally catch a break. Someone has looked at your resume and wants you to come in. You tell yourself not to get your hopes up, but you believe anyway that this job is yours. You feel joy, no, gratitude. You become excited at the prospect of working again and feel a bit more settled. You walk into your closet to choose an outfit. You look at your assortment of ties and don't want to wear any of them - they belong to a younger, more naive you. You...you stare into the patterns on your paisley tie and realize, for perhaps the first time, that you are starting anew.