A little boy stands under a field of stars.
They're all so far away, except for one. It glimmers against a faded sky, a jewel:
The little boy stares,
And reaches-
His hand stretches out, further...further; the tips of his fingers close around the edges of the light-
And then the dream ends. For I dare not look any further.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Starlight, starbright
Alone in the lab an old man worked, surrounded by instruments and stacks of paper. Only the outline of his faded lab-coat could be seen, illuminated by the light of the stars falling through a gap in the dome where a massive telescope peeked at the heavens above. Eyes wrinkled with age tiredly scanned the reports before him, endlessly checking the calculations for the slightest mistake. One hand grasped a large porcelain mug, it's surface worn and scratched from time. Just barely, one could make out letters, words, a tiny heart;
"..est...sband. Wi..t....lov..ife."
An alarm sounded, piercing the silence for a number of seconds as the old man stood up. The gap in the dome widened, the celestial glow of the night spilling in. More reports could be seen, red block letters spelling out various titles:
GENETIC RECONSTR-
CRYOGENETICS: STATIS AND REVI-
HUMAN DIGITALIZATION: A RE-
All these had been strewn all over the floor, gathering dust and footprints.
The old man hobbled over to the telescope, ignoring the shuffling of papers underneath his feet. The necessary data had already been collected. The calculations: perfect. The starlight illuminated some of the more recent reports, pieces of them also scattered on the ground. Many contained graphs and tables, collected from countless people from all over the world for this project.
Briefly a second alarm sounded, one the old man swiftly quashed. He ignored the dozens of messages asking the CEO if he could show up for one pointless meeting after the other. Meetings that became pointless fifteen years ago.
Enquires on his health, investigations into his projects...he couldn't afford such distractions now. The computers indicated the prime moment was but ten minutes away. He had to focus.
The stars above him seemed to form an endless sheet of light. Bathed in thier glow, he could only gaze in wonder, fear and hope. A foolish hope- but if it brought them together back then, perhaps it could work once more. There was an old rhyme...how did it go again?
Starlight, starbright, fir-
A third alarm. Three more minutes.
He waited.
A brief flicker of doubt. He quashed it.
Statistically, this was the best chance he had.
It was the only chance he had.
Especially when all the other routes had failed.
The final alarm. He closed his eyes.
Above, the shooting star streaked through the night sky vanishing into the horizon-
"Did it work?" asked a voice he hadn't heard in fifteen years.
Yes, he thought as he turned around to hug her,
Yes it did.
"..est...sband. Wi..t....lov..ife."
An alarm sounded, piercing the silence for a number of seconds as the old man stood up. The gap in the dome widened, the celestial glow of the night spilling in. More reports could be seen, red block letters spelling out various titles:
GENETIC RECONSTR-
CRYOGENETICS: STATIS AND REVI-
HUMAN DIGITALIZATION: A RE-
All these had been strewn all over the floor, gathering dust and footprints.
The old man hobbled over to the telescope, ignoring the shuffling of papers underneath his feet. The necessary data had already been collected. The calculations: perfect. The starlight illuminated some of the more recent reports, pieces of them also scattered on the ground. Many contained graphs and tables, collected from countless people from all over the world for this project.
Briefly a second alarm sounded, one the old man swiftly quashed. He ignored the dozens of messages asking the CEO if he could show up for one pointless meeting after the other. Meetings that became pointless fifteen years ago.
Enquires on his health, investigations into his projects...he couldn't afford such distractions now. The computers indicated the prime moment was but ten minutes away. He had to focus.
The stars above him seemed to form an endless sheet of light. Bathed in thier glow, he could only gaze in wonder, fear and hope. A foolish hope- but if it brought them together back then, perhaps it could work once more. There was an old rhyme...how did it go again?
Starlight, starbright, fir-
A third alarm. Three more minutes.
He waited.
A brief flicker of doubt. He quashed it.
Statistically, this was the best chance he had.
It was the only chance he had.
Especially when all the other routes had failed.
The final alarm. He closed his eyes.
Above, the shooting star streaked through the night sky vanishing into the horizon-
"Did it work?" asked a voice he hadn't heard in fifteen years.
Yes, he thought as he turned around to hug her,
Yes it did.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Euthanasia
Morning.
Beeps stop. Throw off the sheets. Hands over head, legs over left of the bed. Get up.
Fifteen steps to the washroom. Brush, clean, freshen up. Bit of makeup, nothing too striking, sensible highlights. The wardrobe has a choice of six different suits, and a dress. Quick decisions, quickly decide...
That one.
Her heart rate speeds up. Not good. Gotta keep vital signs undercontrol. Already toeing the line, what with the increasing bills and lousy pay. One more deficiency and that'll be it. But today she has a chance. Clinch this deal, and a promotion along the way. She'd be able to wear that dress this Sunday, entertainment night. Like everyone else, have a good time...
The walkway teams with people. Tiles glow occasionally with arrows or directions, pointing the way. Phones with built in maps, easy to follow, managing human traffic for maximum efficiency and a minimum of clogging. She steps into her own walkway of arrowed tiles. Five hundred and thirty-six steps to the workplace..
Her shoes clip off the chrome floors. The sound is echoed all around, by hundreds of other identical units. Punctuating this, a series of scutters. Tiny claws, pattering over metal sheets, hidden in the shadows between the smooth layered buildings and walls.
Her breath grows heavy. Irrational fear. They can't touch you, not yet. Just need this contract-
Stress. Fear.
Paranoia builds. The scuttering seems louder. She increases her pace for about sixty-two steps, then forces herself to slow down. No, they might intepret that as a sign of distress. True as it was, she couldn't show it.
Calm nerves. Calm breathing. The scuttering grows louder. No, softer. Softer the scuttering, louder the clip of her shoes. Focus on that, focus on the contract. Dress on Sunday. Rooms with drips and green glowing lights. Focus.
One hundred and twenty-four steps to go.
Twenty-three,
Twenty-two
Twent-
She trips.
Pain. Pain explodes around her eyes. It hurts. Twisted ankle. Teeth clenched. She cannot scream. Not even a whimper. She can't, she mustn't, she-
She does.
A slight sound is all it takes. Then they were here, here with their scuttering. Profile pictures scanning through their tiny processors, high-tech vision cams examining the injury, evaluating the pain.
Doesn't hurt. Doesn't hurt. There is no pain. Stand up. Stand up! She was too close, too close to either side. Dress on Sunday...
A red light blinks. The evaluation was done. Subject found struggling to support herself. Signs indicate mental and physical distress. No next-of-kin. No husband. Previous evaluations have indicated possibly need for Relief. Weighing current input...
Panic flood. Muscles tensed, seized. Crawling, crawl...
Crawl away!
Stress levels exceeding safety boundaries...
Too late, too late. Failure, guilty, condemned. So close, and yet...
Additional factors considered. Subject cleared for relief.
Red light...red light...green. Green. Oh God. Oh Go-
A single claw pierces her skin. And then...nothing. Whiteness. Peace.
Subject is at rest. Proceeding with cleanup. HRM (Human Relief Maintenence) report #213-413A complete.
Dress on Sunday...
Beeps stop. Throw off the sheets. Hands over head, legs over left of the bed. Get up.
Fifteen steps to the washroom. Brush, clean, freshen up. Bit of makeup, nothing too striking, sensible highlights. The wardrobe has a choice of six different suits, and a dress. Quick decisions, quickly decide...
That one.
Her heart rate speeds up. Not good. Gotta keep vital signs undercontrol. Already toeing the line, what with the increasing bills and lousy pay. One more deficiency and that'll be it. But today she has a chance. Clinch this deal, and a promotion along the way. She'd be able to wear that dress this Sunday, entertainment night. Like everyone else, have a good time...
The walkway teams with people. Tiles glow occasionally with arrows or directions, pointing the way. Phones with built in maps, easy to follow, managing human traffic for maximum efficiency and a minimum of clogging. She steps into her own walkway of arrowed tiles. Five hundred and thirty-six steps to the workplace..
Her shoes clip off the chrome floors. The sound is echoed all around, by hundreds of other identical units. Punctuating this, a series of scutters. Tiny claws, pattering over metal sheets, hidden in the shadows between the smooth layered buildings and walls.
Her breath grows heavy. Irrational fear. They can't touch you, not yet. Just need this contract-
Stress. Fear.
Paranoia builds. The scuttering seems louder. She increases her pace for about sixty-two steps, then forces herself to slow down. No, they might intepret that as a sign of distress. True as it was, she couldn't show it.
Calm nerves. Calm breathing. The scuttering grows louder. No, softer. Softer the scuttering, louder the clip of her shoes. Focus on that, focus on the contract. Dress on Sunday. Rooms with drips and green glowing lights. Focus.
One hundred and twenty-four steps to go.
Twenty-three,
Twenty-two
Twent-
She trips.
Pain. Pain explodes around her eyes. It hurts. Twisted ankle. Teeth clenched. She cannot scream. Not even a whimper. She can't, she mustn't, she-
She does.
A slight sound is all it takes. Then they were here, here with their scuttering. Profile pictures scanning through their tiny processors, high-tech vision cams examining the injury, evaluating the pain.
Doesn't hurt. Doesn't hurt. There is no pain. Stand up. Stand up! She was too close, too close to either side. Dress on Sunday...
A red light blinks. The evaluation was done. Subject found struggling to support herself. Signs indicate mental and physical distress. No next-of-kin. No husband. Previous evaluations have indicated possibly need for Relief. Weighing current input...
Panic flood. Muscles tensed, seized. Crawling, crawl...
Crawl away!
Stress levels exceeding safety boundaries...
Too late, too late. Failure, guilty, condemned. So close, and yet...
Additional factors considered. Subject cleared for relief.
Red light...red light...green. Green. Oh God. Oh Go-
A single claw pierces her skin. And then...nothing. Whiteness. Peace.
Subject is at rest. Proceeding with cleanup. HRM (Human Relief Maintenence) report #213-413A complete.
Dress on Sunday...
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Special
High on stage the newly elected president smiled at the cheering crowd with tears in his eyes. All those months of hard campaigning, of late night meetings and careful palm greasing had paid off. Not bad for a small town kid who first arrived at the Big Apple with nothing but a straw hat on his head. Not bad for an open homosexual.
As Derick West, the country's first gay president, took the mic among the flashes of dozens of cameras to begin his speech, a small part of him recalled that single quiet night when his old pa had sat next to his bed, still partly in shock at the revealation, repeating over and over that they would always love him, no matter what he did with his life. Because he was their son.
Because he was special.
Half a street and ten stories away, Gerald Nicole downed another glass of 1910, glaring through the tinted windows at the parade below as his rival achieved everything he had dreamed of. Since childhood he had aced every test, excelled through every sport, had specialized tutors and expensive courses, all to groom him for the inevitable day when he would lead his nation to glory. But now? All the fund raisers, expert panels, midnight consultations, all for naught. He had a tested IQ of 250 and an equally strong EQ. Nothing could have gone wrong.
Except now here he stood watching some under-qualified country boy bag the presidency. Gerald finished the bottle and slammed it onto the rosewood desk. It just wasnt fair. He deserved that position more than anybody. Because all the tests told him he did. Because he did not have to rely on some cheap campaigning trick to win.
Because he was special.
Patterson watched from within the throngs of the media ad the new president walked on stage. The cheers of the ignorant masses around him were sickening, but Patterson endured as he always did. In his childhood he had watched as these perfect machine-line boys and girls walked on stage to receive thier prizes. He had endured the beatings and scoldings for refusing to follow the flock. Even as an adult his employers were biased against him, his projects were shut down without reason, his voice censored over the web. He was doomed by society to remain forever mediocre for not being one of the sheep. The irony was not lost on him. For years he thought himself alone. But someone had spoke to him, found in him a kindred spirit, showed what he had to do to break the chains of his fellow man.
The president began his speech. Patterson smiled and opened his coat, revealing a single detonator. He laughed as his body blazed in simultaneous detonation, his heart without a single regret. In a single instant, the entire parade was consumed in a destructive, bright light. Patterson now knew why he had endured all that pressure, all that humiliation, all that pain. Because someone had recognized him for his worth. Because he had fulfilled a purpose far above that of his fellow sheep.
Because he was special.
As Derick West, the country's first gay president, took the mic among the flashes of dozens of cameras to begin his speech, a small part of him recalled that single quiet night when his old pa had sat next to his bed, still partly in shock at the revealation, repeating over and over that they would always love him, no matter what he did with his life. Because he was their son.
Because he was special.
Half a street and ten stories away, Gerald Nicole downed another glass of 1910, glaring through the tinted windows at the parade below as his rival achieved everything he had dreamed of. Since childhood he had aced every test, excelled through every sport, had specialized tutors and expensive courses, all to groom him for the inevitable day when he would lead his nation to glory. But now? All the fund raisers, expert panels, midnight consultations, all for naught. He had a tested IQ of 250 and an equally strong EQ. Nothing could have gone wrong.
Except now here he stood watching some under-qualified country boy bag the presidency. Gerald finished the bottle and slammed it onto the rosewood desk. It just wasnt fair. He deserved that position more than anybody. Because all the tests told him he did. Because he did not have to rely on some cheap campaigning trick to win.
Because he was special.
Patterson watched from within the throngs of the media ad the new president walked on stage. The cheers of the ignorant masses around him were sickening, but Patterson endured as he always did. In his childhood he had watched as these perfect machine-line boys and girls walked on stage to receive thier prizes. He had endured the beatings and scoldings for refusing to follow the flock. Even as an adult his employers were biased against him, his projects were shut down without reason, his voice censored over the web. He was doomed by society to remain forever mediocre for not being one of the sheep. The irony was not lost on him. For years he thought himself alone. But someone had spoke to him, found in him a kindred spirit, showed what he had to do to break the chains of his fellow man.
The president began his speech. Patterson smiled and opened his coat, revealing a single detonator. He laughed as his body blazed in simultaneous detonation, his heart without a single regret. In a single instant, the entire parade was consumed in a destructive, bright light. Patterson now knew why he had endured all that pressure, all that humiliation, all that pain. Because someone had recognized him for his worth. Because he had fulfilled a purpose far above that of his fellow sheep.
Because he was special.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Empty
Bit by bit the life seeps out
Despite the lies and marching shouts
My hand is empty, my heart in doubt
Have I laid the cards right or thrown each bout?
Despite the lies and marching shouts
My hand is empty, my heart in doubt
Have I laid the cards right or thrown each bout?
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Hello World...?
Imagine how a baby feels when its first born. When all its senses, cushioned for nine months in the warmth of the mother's womb, the only sounds the beat of her heart and the gentle mumur's drifting in from outside. No light, no taste, no smells. And then, birth;
The harsh glares of an operating room, the sterilized smells of the tools and beds, the beeps and flashes of the various machines, the taste of blood and the chill of the air...
All at once.
So it is for each stage of life, being born anew, from a different womb into a different theatre, sometimes with surgeons all a-clamor, sometimes with barely a soul around.
And with it, new rules, new feelings, new thoughts, new horomones, new processes, new information, new journeys and new mountains to climb...
I think know now why a baby cries.
------------------------------------------------------------
Blessed I am, for the friends I've made,
Blessed I am, for the parents I have
Blessed I am, for this body and mind;
Alas Lord, my soul is Weak,
Undeserving,
Naive.
And yet...
Blessed I am;
But why?
The harsh glares of an operating room, the sterilized smells of the tools and beds, the beeps and flashes of the various machines, the taste of blood and the chill of the air...
All at once.
So it is for each stage of life, being born anew, from a different womb into a different theatre, sometimes with surgeons all a-clamor, sometimes with barely a soul around.
And with it, new rules, new feelings, new thoughts, new horomones, new processes, new information, new journeys and new mountains to climb...
I think know now why a baby cries.
------------------------------------------------------------
Blessed I am, for the friends I've made,
Blessed I am, for the parents I have
Blessed I am, for this body and mind;
Alas Lord, my soul is Weak,
Undeserving,
Naive.
And yet...
Blessed I am;
But why?