Not sure if I will stay awake long enough to post story tonight - the charm of posting only by iPhone is beginning to wear thin. But I hate to let the day go by without posting anything, so I thought I'd explain the name. So here goes: I'm a big fan of Neon Genesis Evangelion. Ok, that didn't actually take long. But for those of you who are unfamiliar with it, perhaps a little more explanation is in order. The human instrumentality project was the big secret goal behind the creation of the Evas (um, big robots of varying degrees of psychological stability piloted by kids - didn't say anime always makes a lot of sense, but then, many things don't, and are fun nonetheless). Eventually, instrumentality caused all the world's consciousnesses to blend into one, as the barriers between people dissolved (at least until Rei Ayanami stepped in and saved the day, but that's another story for another time). So, my calling my blog "Instrumentality Project" came out of my thinking about the Internet, and blogging in particular, as a less lethal H.I.P. Like the original, it breaks down the barriers between people and gives you a glimpse into someone else's life, someone else's head, if only for a few minutes. Besides which, I enjoy paying tribute to Evangelion, on account of its general awesomeness.
And now, because I hate to leave you kids without a bedtime story:
Quintessence, Part 4
It felt like walking under a sprinkler. All around was warm and wet, and somehow tingly. It was a shock to the system, every part of her suspended, submerged...and then it was over, and she was dry, and the field looked the same. Or almost the same. There had been a group of kids playing Frisbee by the volleyball net, about five or six of them, but they had disappeared, utterly. How much time had passed?, thought Tessa. Enough time for them to pack up and leave without her noticing? If she had been daydreaming, they could have slipped away. 12:17, said her watch. It had been 12:03 the last time she looked at it. Possible yes, but was it probable? With the noise they were making, she should have noticed their departure. And it was so still, so terribly still. Expectant.
She started to walk through the cool grass, uncertain of what lay ahead. She wanted to stay where she was, savor the moment, but she was equally eager to find out – she was through the looking glass now. What lay on the other side?
For some reason she wasn't very eager to find out. It had been an adventure up to this point. But what if this was a parallel dimension filled with purple aliens with long tentacled heads, eyeballs on the end of each spindly, slimy tentacle?
Ten minutes later, the world had failed to yield any slimy-tentacled inhabitants. In fact, it looked just the same as it had when she had sat down to eat lunch.
She got up, and walked back toward the school building, noticing as she did so the complete absence of other students. Or teachers. Or anybody. There were no cars in the parking lot. After a brief struggle, curiosity won out against fear of the unknown, and Tessa continued past the front of the school, through the empty parking lot, into the streets beyond. The town was just as empty. There were no cars, no people. The air was full of stillness. She thought about saying something like, “Hello?”, but decided that if there were people here, walking around calling out for them would make her look utterly ridiculous. So she walked. And walked. Not a soul remained. Everyone had vanished. Houses were still standing. The coffee shop message board read 'Special of the Day – Turkey Club and Chips $5.95, but there was no one to buy the turkey and no one to sell it. 'Somewhere a sign ought to swing in the breeze, or an abandoned swing in a park. Put the right post-apocalyptic movie stamp on it'. The thought almost made her smile, but it was really too eerie. What if there had been a horrible apocalypse of some kind? Was she next for a mysterious plague? But she didn't think so. Piles of dead bodies were also notably absent. Tired of running scenarios
through her mind, and no closer to an answer, she decided to take advantage of the situation as it had presented itself. She walked into the Java Hut and up to the counter. “Hello?” she called, just in case. But of course, nobody answered. Satisfied, she walked around the counter. The food was still there. Shrugging, Tessa considered the innate advantages of being the only survivor in a post-apocalyptic scenario. She stepped around the counter, wondering just how hard it would be to work the cappuccino machine.
Showing posts with label Quintessence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Quintessence. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Quintessence, Part 3
Hello again, um, me. I'm not quite sure who reads my blog at this point. I haven't told my friends it exists because it's the first time in years I've felt brave enough to publish my work, and either approbation or condemnation from strangers both feel so much safer than laying my soul bare to friends. Or notebook bare, at any rate. Sometimes it feels the same. But as a consequence, I feel a little like I'm writing a story in bottles and casting it out into the ocean. Ah, well. I hope someday this washes up on friendly shores.
I thought I'd continue the big tale today. And so we have:
Quintessence, Part 3
The house was still silent as Tessa got ready for school. She wasn't surprised by that in the least. Gavin usually slept late when he'd been up the night before composing, and Tessa knew he'd still been up when she had gone to bed at 11. He was working on a new project, and he usually lost track of time when he started something new.
Tessa packed her own lunch. Of the two of them, she was usually the responsible one -or at least the domestic one, who remembered things like the need for sleep and regular mealtimes. Luckily, he was still good about buying groceries. She put a sandwich together with some lunchmeat and cheese she found in the refrigerator, then threw in a few Oreos and an apple to round it out, pleased to see that her dad had bought Honeycrisp apples again - her favorite.
Something was different today, and Tessa couldn't put her finger on it. There was a feeling in the air that followed her all the way to school and through her classes. An expectant feeling. An aura of not-quite-realness hung over the day, as though get dream had never really dissipated, and Tessa kept looking over her shoulder or out the window, expecting - well, she didn't know what she was expecting. Something out of the ordinary. It seemed like an out-of-the-ordinary day, even as the Pledge was said, and announcements were heard, and French verbs conjugated, and geometry proofs drawn on the dusty green chalkboard, and the whole world moved inexorably in its steady pace toward lunchtime.
In English class, she stared out of the classroom window, listening with one ear to the class "discussion". Mr. Brink did his best to get 28 students to tell him what was so symbolic about Banquo's ghost, while 28 students did their best to look like they were staying awake, without making eye contact so he might think they knew the answer. Tessa's attention was drawn to a little brown bird on the windowsill. A sparrow. Not unusual - sparrows were everywhere. And yet, she could swear she'd seen him somewhere before. He was so still. Didn't those birds usually hop around a lot? It was like he was watching her too.
There was something strange about him, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. It nagged at her, at the edges of her mind. Something...The bird flew away and she started to turn back to the chalkboard, before she sat up straighter with a startled intake of breath. His eyes. The bird's eyes had been blue.
The rest of the morning was almost anticlimactic after that. Tessa wandered outside with her lunch, opting to eat alone under a sparse little tree next to the football practice field. After the odd morning, she wasn't particularly up to company today. Tessa started to bite into her sandwich then stopped, sandwich halfway to her lips. Then she remembered that people in stories always stop with the sandwich halfway to their lips and took a large bite, looking around her at the park. It was different somehow. It had started to rain, a light, misty rain, more pleasant than not, a rain like dew all around.
Tessa looked around her, not at the air exactly, but at the space in between. The oddest feeling had come over her, as if she could see it - something that lay between the raindrops – a feeling that the universe was deep, the air was deep, and time was infinitely shallow, an illusion stretched over the wholeness within. Tessa thought of eastern philosophies, of how they say everything in the world is connected, all part of the same cosmic fabric. In a moment like this it was possible to feel it, the universe as a whole, and time as an illusion, shallow river that bends and twists around, a veil through which it was possible to step. Truth lay on the other side of the raindrops, ripe for the taking. The air shimmered. Tessa stepped through.
I thought I'd continue the big tale today. And so we have:
Quintessence, Part 3
The house was still silent as Tessa got ready for school. She wasn't surprised by that in the least. Gavin usually slept late when he'd been up the night before composing, and Tessa knew he'd still been up when she had gone to bed at 11. He was working on a new project, and he usually lost track of time when he started something new.
Tessa packed her own lunch. Of the two of them, she was usually the responsible one -or at least the domestic one, who remembered things like the need for sleep and regular mealtimes. Luckily, he was still good about buying groceries. She put a sandwich together with some lunchmeat and cheese she found in the refrigerator, then threw in a few Oreos and an apple to round it out, pleased to see that her dad had bought Honeycrisp apples again - her favorite.
Something was different today, and Tessa couldn't put her finger on it. There was a feeling in the air that followed her all the way to school and through her classes. An expectant feeling. An aura of not-quite-realness hung over the day, as though get dream had never really dissipated, and Tessa kept looking over her shoulder or out the window, expecting - well, she didn't know what she was expecting. Something out of the ordinary. It seemed like an out-of-the-ordinary day, even as the Pledge was said, and announcements were heard, and French verbs conjugated, and geometry proofs drawn on the dusty green chalkboard, and the whole world moved inexorably in its steady pace toward lunchtime.
In English class, she stared out of the classroom window, listening with one ear to the class "discussion". Mr. Brink did his best to get 28 students to tell him what was so symbolic about Banquo's ghost, while 28 students did their best to look like they were staying awake, without making eye contact so he might think they knew the answer. Tessa's attention was drawn to a little brown bird on the windowsill. A sparrow. Not unusual - sparrows were everywhere. And yet, she could swear she'd seen him somewhere before. He was so still. Didn't those birds usually hop around a lot? It was like he was watching her too.
There was something strange about him, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. It nagged at her, at the edges of her mind. Something...The bird flew away and she started to turn back to the chalkboard, before she sat up straighter with a startled intake of breath. His eyes. The bird's eyes had been blue.
The rest of the morning was almost anticlimactic after that. Tessa wandered outside with her lunch, opting to eat alone under a sparse little tree next to the football practice field. After the odd morning, she wasn't particularly up to company today. Tessa started to bite into her sandwich then stopped, sandwich halfway to her lips. Then she remembered that people in stories always stop with the sandwich halfway to their lips and took a large bite, looking around her at the park. It was different somehow. It had started to rain, a light, misty rain, more pleasant than not, a rain like dew all around.
Tessa looked around her, not at the air exactly, but at the space in between. The oddest feeling had come over her, as if she could see it - something that lay between the raindrops – a feeling that the universe was deep, the air was deep, and time was infinitely shallow, an illusion stretched over the wholeness within. Tessa thought of eastern philosophies, of how they say everything in the world is connected, all part of the same cosmic fabric. In a moment like this it was possible to feel it, the universe as a whole, and time as an illusion, shallow river that bends and twists around, a veil through which it was possible to step. Truth lay on the other side of the raindrops, ripe for the taking. The air shimmered. Tessa stepped through.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Quintessence, part 2
Here we are again - another weekend night, another scene. This is a long story, and a story that's been sorting itself out in my head for quite some time. One of these nights, I promise to tell a smaller story, one that's more complete in itself, but as this one keeps trying to coalesce properly lately, it's still very much ripe for the telling.
Quintessence, chapter 2:
Consider, for a moment, a boy, medium build, brown hair, torn black t-shirt. This boy is fourteen years old. He carries a gray backpack, which contains, at the moment, an assortment of schoolbooks (math and social studies) and a battered red notebook, occasionally used to take notes, never used to pass notes, for who would he give them to? More often it is used to make drawings, dragons and battles and complicated geometric shapes, a bit rough, but meticulously rendered in dark, heavy ballpoint pen. The boy's name is Nicholas, although no one uses it but his teacher. His mother, who never leaves that room at the top of the stairs calls him Nick, or actually, “NIIIIICK!” at the top of her lungs, usually when she wants him to bring her something, like another can of pop (she drinks Cherry Coke, always Cherry Coke, by the truckful, about a case a day – that's $25 a week. He once added it up, when he was bored in social
studies.). The kids at school don't call him anything, because to do that you'd have to talk to him, and then the other kids would tease you, say you're his best friend or his boyfriend or something, except for the jocks, who call him “Stewie” lately, because they say he reminds them of some stupid kid on a stupid cartoon show.
He is in the woods right now, because if he is in the woods, he will not hear his mother, and he cannot be called to get a pop, or to make some supper (usually ramen noodles and tv dinners. He doesn't want to cook, but his mom won't, and they have to eat something. It used to make her really happy when he cooked something. Five, no even three years ago she would've hugged him and said, “Nicky, you're such a big boy!” but now it's “NIIIIIICK, what's for dinner tonight?” Nothing, he'd like to say. Starve. Stop watching tv and fix yourself something, you lazy bitch. But he won't say that. Of course he won't. Because she's his mother and he loves her. Or he's supposed to. He remembers doing that once. And also there's the fact that if he said something like that, she'd probably throw something at him.
So now he's in the woods. Watching birds. He rather likes birds. This area is full of cardinals and blue jays, and closer to home, outside his window, he can almost always see crows and sparrows. Sparrows are probably his favorite, small and unassuming, but smart. He'd swear that one he sees every day at the feeder he made in the backyard would probably talk if it got a chance. Maybe they do talk. Maybe people treat birds the way they treat him, and they talk all the time, to themselves, only no one listens. He sits and watches the birds for a few minutes, hidden in the tall grass, when he notices something deeper in the woods. It sparkles, just a little. It's probably a piece of foil. People are always throwing trash in the woods. If they don't have to see it later, they don't care what happens to it. He lays back and notices a squirrel in a tree. It's one of those stupid gray squirrels. They outnumber the red squirrels, and they won't let them
eat the nuts or the food he puts out for them. He starts to throw rocks at it, and doesn't stop until one hits it square on the nose and it goes off to cower on an upper branch. Dumb animal.
He starts to lay back down, when the sparkle catches his eye again. It's not a piece of foil. It's too big to be a piece of foil. It could be a mirror maybe, old shards of mirror that someone's discarded in the woods as their own personal trash heap. But it doesn't exactly look like a mirror. It glows, almost. giving the leaves around a faintly blue tinge. Curious now, he gets up and walks into the far circle of trees to have a closer look. It's a stone, a large round one about the size of a bowling ball. Underneath it looks to be a shade of grey, but it's giving off a pale blue light. It glows in the way that the underbelly of a firefly glows, only about twenty times brighter, and as he approaches it throws blue light on his hands, lighting him up like a child in a dark room sitting in front of the tv. He reaches out to touch it. In retrospect, this may have been a mistake.
Quintessence, chapter 2:
Consider, for a moment, a boy, medium build, brown hair, torn black t-shirt. This boy is fourteen years old. He carries a gray backpack, which contains, at the moment, an assortment of schoolbooks (math and social studies) and a battered red notebook, occasionally used to take notes, never used to pass notes, for who would he give them to? More often it is used to make drawings, dragons and battles and complicated geometric shapes, a bit rough, but meticulously rendered in dark, heavy ballpoint pen. The boy's name is Nicholas, although no one uses it but his teacher. His mother, who never leaves that room at the top of the stairs calls him Nick, or actually, “NIIIIICK!” at the top of her lungs, usually when she wants him to bring her something, like another can of pop (she drinks Cherry Coke, always Cherry Coke, by the truckful, about a case a day – that's $25 a week. He once added it up, when he was bored in social
studies.). The kids at school don't call him anything, because to do that you'd have to talk to him, and then the other kids would tease you, say you're his best friend or his boyfriend or something, except for the jocks, who call him “Stewie” lately, because they say he reminds them of some stupid kid on a stupid cartoon show.
He is in the woods right now, because if he is in the woods, he will not hear his mother, and he cannot be called to get a pop, or to make some supper (usually ramen noodles and tv dinners. He doesn't want to cook, but his mom won't, and they have to eat something. It used to make her really happy when he cooked something. Five, no even three years ago she would've hugged him and said, “Nicky, you're such a big boy!” but now it's “NIIIIIICK, what's for dinner tonight?” Nothing, he'd like to say. Starve. Stop watching tv and fix yourself something, you lazy bitch. But he won't say that. Of course he won't. Because she's his mother and he loves her. Or he's supposed to. He remembers doing that once. And also there's the fact that if he said something like that, she'd probably throw something at him.
So now he's in the woods. Watching birds. He rather likes birds. This area is full of cardinals and blue jays, and closer to home, outside his window, he can almost always see crows and sparrows. Sparrows are probably his favorite, small and unassuming, but smart. He'd swear that one he sees every day at the feeder he made in the backyard would probably talk if it got a chance. Maybe they do talk. Maybe people treat birds the way they treat him, and they talk all the time, to themselves, only no one listens. He sits and watches the birds for a few minutes, hidden in the tall grass, when he notices something deeper in the woods. It sparkles, just a little. It's probably a piece of foil. People are always throwing trash in the woods. If they don't have to see it later, they don't care what happens to it. He lays back and notices a squirrel in a tree. It's one of those stupid gray squirrels. They outnumber the red squirrels, and they won't let them
eat the nuts or the food he puts out for them. He starts to throw rocks at it, and doesn't stop until one hits it square on the nose and it goes off to cower on an upper branch. Dumb animal.
He starts to lay back down, when the sparkle catches his eye again. It's not a piece of foil. It's too big to be a piece of foil. It could be a mirror maybe, old shards of mirror that someone's discarded in the woods as their own personal trash heap. But it doesn't exactly look like a mirror. It glows, almost. giving the leaves around a faintly blue tinge. Curious now, he gets up and walks into the far circle of trees to have a closer look. It's a stone, a large round one about the size of a bowling ball. Underneath it looks to be a shade of grey, but it's giving off a pale blue light. It glows in the way that the underbelly of a firefly glows, only about twenty times brighter, and as he approaches it throws blue light on his hands, lighting him up like a child in a dark room sitting in front of the tv. He reaches out to touch it. In retrospect, this may have been a mistake.
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