Category: Alternative Reality

Bad Neighbors

The citizens of the planet Zid had always been good friends with the citizens of the planet Erd. They both were peaceful, creative societies that had much in common. So, when the planet Erd made the unfortunate mistake of importing telma weed seeds, the citizens of Zid happily agreed to let the citizens of Erd live on Zid’s moon while Erd was properly fumigated.

At first, this went quite well. They were able to visit each other for concerts and plays and festivals.   It was all a lot of fun. However, once it became clear that the fumigation process would last nearly a year, things changed.

The farmers pointed out that they weren’t ready to support two planets.   There would have to be some rationing.   The citizens were given tickets and could only buy a certain amount of food each week. This put an end to many of the festivals and parties.

Some of the more wealthy people tried to buy extra tickets. Some of the more criminal people tried to forge more tickets. Some of the less practical people ran out of food early in the week and sat by the stores looking hungry. Every one started worrying that somewhere some one else was getting more than them.

Fresh water had to be shipped to the moon. As the farmers couldn’t do with less water if they were going to grow as much food as they could, water had to be rationed too. Parks went brown. Swimming pools emptied. People showered less and did less laundry. They felt icky and smelly and grumpy.

People argued over little things. Law enforcement was stretched thin. There was a large fire in a city park in the planet’s capital. When the fire brigade finally arrived, they didn’t have enough water available to put it out. It burned for days. The citizens of Zid demanded that their leaders fix everything right now or they’d be replaced.

As the tension increased, the leaders of Zid met with the leaders of Erd.   The Erd leaders said that their people weren’t happy with the rationing either. They pointed out that rationing hadn’t been part of their original agreement.   They implied that the people of Zid were less than honest, and that they were keeping back extra food and water for their own citizens. Talks broke down after that.

The people of Zid continued to send shipments of food and water to the people of Erd. However, the boxes often had insults written on them by unidentified vandals. In retaliation, an unidentified hacker reprogrammed Zid’s communication devices so that everyone’s voice sounded high pitched.

Someone kept messing with the artificial gravity on the moon just slightly, and no one was sure what to expect from one hour to the next.   Someone painted rude words all over Zid’s famous statue gardens. Someone disabled half of Erd’s laundry facilities. Someone sent Zid’s leaders a computer virus that turned their computers off an hour before lunchtime one day.

Erd began negotiations with another ally and moved out after one of their leaders woke up one morning shaved bald. The citizens of both planets rejoiced. The rationing ended.

Erd’s people never stayed more than a month at a time with their other allies.   They had a year of travel and parties and returned home with warm feelings toward everyone but Zid. They sent gifts and payments to everyone else when they finally returned home.

Zid’s bill was ignored, as were their angry missives. The friendship between the two planets, which had lasted for centuries, was over. Or was it? A well-meaning Kettian leader, an ally of both people, decided to step in and help.

In a meeting broadcast all over the galaxy, he tried to gently counsel both leaders to forgive and forget. When they mentioned their grievances, he tried to counsel them to see the other point of view. He was rational and reasonable and calm. The Erd and Zid leaders felt resentful.

When he told them to stop acting like children, it was the last straw. A Zid leader poured his glass of water on the Kettian leader while an Erd leader threw a pie at him. Their people cheered them on.

“We can fight if we want to,” the Zid leader said.

“It’s none of your business,” the Erd leader agreed.

They marched out of the room together. They laughed. “That was great,” the Zid leader said. “The pie was a nice touch.”

“Thanks,” the Erd leader said. They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment. “We had fun visiting you until all that rationing,” the Erd leader finally said.

“It was fun. It’s too bad our resources got stretched so thin,” the Zid leader said.

“I’ll talk to my people. Perhaps we can meet again when things have cooled down a bit?” The Erd leader said.

“I’ll talk to mine too. I think with some work, we can put this behind us,” the Zid leader said. And, with some work and some time, eventually they did.
12-25-bad-neighbors

After the Concert

Mike adjusted his collar with one hand, cradling his tuba with the other.   Dressing up for a concert in the park on a hot day like this was rather uncomfortable. At least they were allowed to wear short sleeves.

He looked around. Most of the musicians were starting to take out their instruments to tune them. It was time to block out all the distractions and focus on the music.

He pulled out his tuner and played a note. Great, he wasn’t that far off. He adjusted the valve and played again. Something was off. He played his note again. No, it wasn’t him. Suddenly, the player next to him jumped out of his seat and darted away.

Mike felt a hard pinch on his upper arm. Holding his tuba close, he jumped up and swung around. An angry swan was hissing at him and holding its wings up menacingly.   The hissing! That was the odd sound he’d heard. He backed up slowly as the swan advanced.

The swan paused. Mike’s chair was in its way. Mike darted around the chairs in front of him and ran, still clutching his tuba.   The hissing behind him finally stopped.   He stopped running and turned around.   The swan was watching him from a distance.

The ushers were slowly moving the chairs farthest from the swan over to a gazebo. It would be cramped, but there would be shade and they’d be farther from the river and possible swan nests. The swan retreated a little further and they gathered the rest of the chairs.

Mike took the long way around to the gazebo. One of Mike’s friends handed him the handkerchief he used to wipe down his trumpet. “Dude, your arm’s bleeding,” his friend said.

“Thanks!” Mike took the handkerchief and looked down. “Oh no, my shirt!” He’d managed to bleed onto his shirt. His mom wouldn’t be happy.

“Don’t give back the handkerchief,” his friend said. “I have lots.”

Mike wiped up his arm and tied the handkerchief in place. “Do swans get rabies?” he asked.

“Let me look it up.” Mike’s friend pulled out a phone and tapped at it. “Nope. It looks like only mammals can carry the disease. You’re good.”

“Great. Thanks. Well, I need to find my seat,” Mike said. Soon enough, the concert started.

Mike’s mom exclaimed over his injury. The bite had left a bruise that was starting to go all blue and purple.   The scratch was small and looked like little red dots. She insisted that he wash his arm really well and then give her the shirt to treat right away.

She got the stain out of the shirt and the handkerchief, and the bruise was gone within a week or so. The whole incident had become a funny story to tell.   Except that he’d started to crave fish and green leafy vegetables and taking long baths every night. He’d also started to adjust his clothes and hair now and then when they felt out of place.

His mom, noticing his preening, had insisted on teaching him how to coordinate outfits. Then she took him to a hair stylist. When he saw the scissors coming at him, he’d hissed at the stylist. It was completely unexpected. Luckily, the stylist laughed. Mike didn’t think it was funny, though.

That night, Mike woke up in the middle of the night feeling strange.   Moonlight was streaming brightly through the window. The moon was full. Mike felt trapped, like his pajamas weren’t fitting quite right. He shifted around. What was wrong?

He squirmed around and managed to work his way free. He tried to ignore the glimpses of feathers and wings and webbed feet. Finally, standing on his scrunched up pajamas in the middle of his bed, he had to admit it. He was a swan. A were-swan.

Mike slumped on his bed and hissed. This was awful. He didn’t want to be a were-swan. He tucked his head under his wing and tried to sleep, hoping to wake up normal.   Instead, his mind raced.

It wasn’t all bad. Tonight he was trapped in his room because he couldn’t open doors or windows. But, maybe next month he could learn to fly.   He didn’t feel any urges to bite or eat anyone like were-wolves do in the movies.

Flying sounded kind of fun. And it was just once a month. He could work around that. He preened his feathers. He looked good. Things could definitely be worse. What if he’d become a were-skunk?

12-16-were-swan

Soap Bubbles

Jordan and his dad were playing with bubbles out on the lawn. Dad had a pie plate and a bent coat hanger and was making giant bubbles.   It was amazing.

“Pop them before they hit the ground. Hurry!” Dad said.

It was hard to get to them in time before they popped themselves. “Stop making them so close to the ground,” Jordan said. He was getting a little tired of running round.   “Let me try. It’s my turn,” he said.

It was harder than it looked. He finally figured out a slow wrist turn and flick that worked. Dad stood really close and popped the bubble before Jordan had a chance to admire it. “That’s cheating, Dad,” Jordan said. “You need to stand farther away. Wait to pop them until they’re really close to the ground.”

He stood on a chair and turned and flicked the soapy hanger. The bubbles got bigger and bigger. “How are you doing that, Jordan?” Dad asked.

“I don’t know,” Jordan said. “Practice, maybe?”

“Maybe I should take a picture,” Dad said.

“Watch this one,” Jordan said. He hummed a tune and did an extra fancy move with his arm and wrist. The bubble was huge.

“Wow,” Dad said. “I can’t believe it.” The bubble started sinking and Dad reached out his finger. “May I?” he asked.

“Pop it,” Jordan said.

Dad poked the bubble. It didn’t pop. Instead, with a quiet slurp, it sucked him inside and started floating away.

“But that’s impossible,” Jordan said. He started to chase the bubble and almost reached out to touch it, then jerked his hand back. No, that was a bad idea. He ran into the house.

“Mom!” he yelled. “Dad needs help. Hurry! Bring the car keys!”

Mom raced down the stairs in her slippers and bathrobe, clutching her purse.   Her hair was wet and plastered to her head funny. “What happened?” she asked.

“Follow me,” Jordan said. He ran out the door. Mom followed.

“We need to rescue Dad,” Jordan said. He opened the car door and sat down. Mom was buckled in before he was.

“Where do we need to go?” she asked.

“That way,” Jordan said. He pointed the direction the bubble was headed when he ran inside.

Mom drove that way. Once they were headed down the street, she asked, “Jordan, what happened?”

“Turn here,” Jordan said.

Mom turned. “Jordan…” she began. She stopped talking. There, ahead of them floating ten feet in the air, was the giant bubble. Dad looked alarmed. “How did that happen?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know,” Jordan said. He waved at Dad, to maybe help him relax a bit.

“But it’s impossible,” Mom said.

They followed Dad’s bubble as it floated over the neighborhood.   Sometimes it floated across people’s backyards and they had to hurry around the corner to catch up. Twice it doubled back and Mom had to make a quick U-turn. Mom was able to follow him without hesitating. It felt like they were in a racecar.

The wind grew stronger and Dad’s bubble started to float higher. “Oh no,” Mom said. Dad had both hands braced against the sides of the bubble and his eyes looked large and bright.

Mom raced to catch up, barely stopping for the stop signs. Dad barely missed some power lines, floating over them at the last minute. Mom’s fingers were white on the steering wheel.

They turned another corner. “Mom, look,” Jordan said. Dad’s bubble was headed straight for the tallest tree in the neighborhood. It was probably four or five stories tall and dwarfed everything around it. Dad’s bubble collided with it somewhere around its middle.

The bubble popped.

Dad managed to grab a branch and wrap himself around it. The branch shook. Mom pulled the car over, parked, and jumped out. She didn’t even stop to close the door. Jordan turned off the car, pulled out the keys, and shut the doors.

Dad was facing the wrong way to climb down. He tried to sit up, and the branch made an ominous creaking sound.   “Don’t move. I’m calling the fire department,” Mom said.

Mom called, and then she stared very hard at the road like she was trying to use magic to make the fire truck come faster. Even in her bathrobe and slippers she looked a little scary.   Jordan looked up at Dad. Dad looked like he was uncomfortable and maybe felt a little sick.

“Dad, I don’t want to play with bubbles ever again,” he said, loud enough for Dad to hear.

“Never again,” Dad yelled back.

12-8-bubble-dad

Banishment

The new town council had finally managed to pass their more economical and humane laws regarding criminals. Every offense, without exception, would result in banishment. A border patrol was established to make sure the criminals stayed out.

The community response was mixed. It was a very divisive issue. Several families moved out within weeks of the new laws being issued.   “Just goes to show they had criminal tendencies,” some remarked.

“Maybe they were already planning on moving,” others said.

It didn’t take long for the first offense to be brought to court. Three children had been throwing snowballs and broken a window. “Banishment, no exceptions,” the judge said. Their families asked about the possibility of an appeal, but were told it was simply not possible. They moved out.

Burglary. Vandalism. Not scooping up after your dog. Banishment, banishment, banishment. More and more families moved out.

As families moved out, they discovered that it was difficult to sell their homes for a good price. Everyone knew they were desperate to sell, and there weren’t any families moving into town. Soon, houses were standing vacant as families gave up on even trying to sell them.

A police officer was caught on camera giving a warning instead of citing someone for speeding. He and the criminal who had been driving seven miles over the speed limit were both banished.

A strange mood descended over the town. Businesses were boarded up after their owners were banished. There was no dry cleaner or used bookstore anymore.   The grocery store was short staffed.   So was the only restaurant left in town. People watched each other from the corner of their eyes and didn’t stop to chat.

A teacher wrote a check that bounced and was banished. When the other teachers at the school protested, they were charged with loitering and banished as well. The school was closed and the children were bussed to the nearest town for school. More families moved out.

The library was only open once a week. The gas station closed. The bakery closed. The pharmacy closed. The local doctor had pages of waivers for patients to sign. It was rumored that he was making preparations to join a practice out of town.   No one went out after dark any more.

The border patrol was stretched thin. Several members were found to have entered their hours incorrectly.   They’d somehow undercounted how many hours they were on patrol.   “Banishment, no exceptions,” the judge said.

The grocery store closed after the owner neglected to stop at a stop sign and was banished. It was the last straw for many families. “We’re moving out preemptively,” one woman said. “What’s left here anyway?” Her husband added.

The answer to his question was obvious. Not much. Whole streets were dark and abandoned. The footsteps of the dwindling police force echoed through the empty streets. Crime was at an all time low, but no one seemed to be celebrating.

No one went outside if they could help it. Playgrounds were always empty. More and more people moved out without being banished.   Lawyers petitioned to repeal the law. “Our city is dying, surely you can see that,” one said.

“Our city is safer than it’s ever been,” the mayor said. “I suggest that we seize the abandoned land and sell it to a developer. That’ll bring jobs and life back to the town.”

No developers wanted the land. The dissenting lawyers were targeted by officers and banished for driving too slow or too fast or sharing baked goods without owning a food vendor license.   They protested. “Banishment, no exceptions,” the judge said.

“I don’t think that’s even a law,” one lawyer said, when he was sentenced for talking on the phone in an elevator.

“It was passed a week ago. The new laws are on display in city hall. Ignorance of the law is no excuse. Banishment,” the judge said.

The mayor forgot about the law against talking loudly in court when he came in to greet the judge one day. “Banishment, no exceptions,” the judge said.

“You’re banishing me?” The mayor asked. “There’s no one else left.”

“No exceptions,” the judge said.

He drove home that evening through silent streets. There was legally no one left in town but him. Without law enforcement or border patrol, that was sure to change. The criminals would come sneaking back. Perhaps it was time to leave. He’d done his duty and could leave with a clear conscience. Justice had been well served here.

12-1-banished

Unlucky Thursdays

Captain Kirpatrick was always unlucky on Thursdays. He insisted that it began when he was eight years old and was cursed by an evil fairy. No one else believed in evil fairies, but the fact remained that Kirpatrick really was unlucky on Thursdays.

He spent his school years being tripped over by bank robbers and accidentally targeted by assassins. He learned extensive first aid after being in a number of car, train, plane, bike, and starship crashes. He was an expert at all the different ways to call for help.

As he grew older, the danger only grew. In order to stay alive, he learned advanced strategy and fighting techniques. He uncovered smuggling plots and terrorist hideouts. He mediated hostage crises and alien invasions.

After he graduated space academy, he flew through the ranks. He was still young when the Space Coalition appointed him Captain of a large spaceship and sent him to patrol the edge of their territory.

Every Thursday they survived yet another crisis and were soon the most decorated ship in the fleet.   One Thursday, Captain Kirpatrick set a course for a nice, empty area of space, far from anything important. This was normal for Thursdays.

As usual, it didn’t work. A large horde of alien spaceships flew in, trying to instigate a stealthy attack.   They weren’t expecting Captain Kirpatrick’s ship. Captain Kirpatrick warned them off and then ordered his crew to fire on the lead ships.

His reputation preceded him. Faced with losing the advantage of surprise and the fearsome Captain Kirpatrick, the enemy retreated. However, this was not the only drama threatening the spaceship’s crew. After Kirpatrick had given the order to fire, his Chief Weapons Officer stood and attempted to shoot the Captain. The Weapons Officer was an enemy spy, of course.

Captain Kirpatrick always wore heavy personal shields on Thursdays.   So, the blast was ineffective.   Just after the enemy fleet retreated, the enemy spy was trussed up and tossed in the brig.

This last victory proved to be the tipping point. Captain Kirpatrick was called home. He began a new career as a high level diplomat. He began to suspect that the Space Coalition leaders were mainly using him as bait.

This suspicion was strengthened when he was given a new assignment one Thursday to meet with a hostile group of rebels in order to mediate a truce.   “Are you certain this is a good idea?” He asked. “It’s Thursday.”

“Precisely,” the Space Coalition President said. “Perfect timing. Do you think you’ll need back up?”

Grand Ambassador Kirpatrick sighed. “I’ll at least need witnesses.”

The Space Coalition President chuckled. “Good thinking.”

Kirpatrick managed to defuse the bomb and rescue the rebel leaders from their mutinous assistant. They were grateful, and the treaty negotiations went smoothly the following day.

“Someday this won’t work as well,” Kirpatrick warned the President. “I really am terribly unlucky on Thursdays.”

“Nonsense,” the President said. “Look how far it’s gotten you. There’s not really good luck or bad luck, you know. It all depends on how you look at things.”

“If you say so,” Grand Ambassador Kirpatrick said.

11-17-providential-thursdays

The Trendsetter

There was a time when, if you wanted to know what was popular right this second, you looked to Marley Christofferson. Marley posted constant tips about everything from fashion to breakfast cereals, and thousands listened. Some people insisted it was becoming a little ridiculous. At first, no one listened to them.

The first hint that something was wrong was the giant boot trend. Marley insisted that the popular thing to do was to shove both feet in a giant boot and hop everywhere. It caught on quickly. It was mostly harmless, except for all the uncoordinated people who kept falling over.

After that died out, Marley advised people to wear an oven mitt on one hand.   “I wasn’t so sure about that one,” one fan said. “I didn’t like taking it off to text, but I could keep my phone inside the mitt, so I didn’t have to reach all the way to my pocket to take it out. And I only had to paint the nails on one hand.   That was nice.”

It did make driving difficult, and made it harder to complete schoolwork. Many schools banned oven mitts.

Marley’s next big fad was conducting everything you say with a pencil. It led to people saying everything in a sing-song voice in an attempt to speak in the proper rhythm. Many older, less hip people found this trend especially irritating. “Marley needs to stop,” a principal commented. A few music teachers found a silver lining.   “My students have become well-acquainted with 3/4 and 4/4 time. I even heard one student speaking in 6/8 time. I was impressed,” a music teacher said.

This was followed by ending every sentence with “Yeah, yeah.” “It was even more irritating than the pencil thing,” the same principal said. This fad didn’t last long.

However, the next fad was particularly long lasting.   Beginning in November, Marley advised her followers to “Be festive and string bells on your shoelaces.” It caught on in a big way. People wore a variety of bells laced in complex ways into their shoes and jingle-jangled their way everywhere. “It made it easier to catch some petty criminals,” a police officer noted. It was months before the fad died down, and some people never stopped wearing their “bells on [their] toes”.

Next Marley advised people to peel and eat grapes slowly at lunch. Then it was putting make up only around one eye.   Marley spoke and thousands listened.   And then thousands more followed their example.

It was when Marley recommended staying home all day and reading a good book that her account was closed down. “She was just too disruptive,” officials said. “She couldn’t be allowed to continue.”

A year later, Marley finally agreed to an interview. When asked about the sources she used to decide what was trendy, Marley said, “I just shared what I liked.”

And the strange advice at the end? “I looked around and people were so serious and stressed. I was joking about the giant boot, but people actually tried it. I saw them smiling and laughing and happy. I just wanted to keep seeing people smile like that.”

Is that why so many people followed her advice? “I don’t know,” Marley said.   “I think people want to laugh and be happy. I think they also want to fit in and feel like they belong. I think fads and fashion should be able to do both.”

So what is next for Marley? “I’m at fashion design school now,” Marley said. “Wait until you see my first collection this fall.”

Will we have clown suits or mad scientist gear to look forward to? “Of course not,” Marley said. “Everything I design will be at the height of fashion right at the second I design it, of course. Just wait and see.”

11-15-marley