Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts

Saturday, September 15, 2018

Abducted (Part 3)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here yet) — the Stickies — to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.


[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View Original to solve this problem and access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars
Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse 
Iggy -- My designated Sticky
Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"I never watched Star Trek." -William Shatner


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

No letter, part three of the short story I started a few weeks back, Gentlereaders, for your convenience, part one can be found here. Part two can be found here. 

End of part two...

Grandma said, "Also, considering that you're hip deep in atomic weapons, and many of you are engaged in the same sort of high-functioning chimpanzee pathologies that led to your first world war -- that really wasn't all that long ago, dear, and kicked off a century of gleeful bloodletting -- things might get really interesting."

"Oh" replied the abductee.


Part Three
"So, are you telling me that this is it? that we're about to destroy ourselves? that we're..."

"On the eve of destruction?" replies grandma, with a grin.

"Huh?"

"Sorry, dear, obscure cultural reference, I believe I mentioned that I'm an Ameriphile."

"Right... anyway, is this..."

"I've no idea, dear. What information we've accumulated so far from other worlds, and Tralfamadore's own history, would seem to indicate that all sorts of outcomes are possible."

"Then you don't know what's likely to happen?"

"No, dear. Perhaps a bit of context will help. Remember when I said that my world is roughly a thousand years or so beyond yours? You've no way of knowing exactly what that means, what has or hasn't taken place in the course of a thousand years on a planet that's much different than yours, and I can't tell you.

Also, there's another important factor you're not considering. The..."

"So there's a Prime Directive?"

"Sorry, Prime Directive? what is..."

"It's from Star Trek, the Prime Directive says you can't interfere with the development of an alien civilization."

"Touche, dear, you got me, and with a much less obscure reference. Yes, in fact, I am constrained by a sort of... Prime Directive. However, it's just the professional ethics of my profession, nothing so grandiose as a Prime Directive."

"Well isn't there some sort Star Trekish 'Federation of Planets' that provides guidelines for member planets? I would think that..."

"No, dear. As I started to say a minute ago, there's another important fact that you're not considering. While my people are a bit ahead of yours, nothing like the warp drive of Star Trek that makes it possible to travel around an unimaginably large universe as if you were taking a European vacation exists."

"Well, that sucks... how do you get around then?"

"I'm not permitted to say, dear, but think about this. While warp drive, if it exists, would make it possible to travel at multiples of the speed of light. We can't travel anywhere near the speed of light. If we, or your people for that matter could, it would take about 2.5 million years to travel to the galaxy next door.

Although unimaginably large, space is mostly... empty space. The imaginative reach of Earthlings, particularly Americans, tends to greatly exceed their grasp."

"Now then, I wonder if I might begin asking my questions? I'm supposed to be interviewing you after all" says grandma, with a warm smile.

"Oh, OK, sure, I'm sorry. Go right ahead."

"Thank you, dear OK, first of all..."

"I'm sorry, you've been so nice, could I possibly ask just one more question? It's quite important to me and I promise It'll be the last one."

Grandma heaves a heavy sigh and looks her subject. A barely perceptible flash of impatience face manifests on her face but her seemingly imperturbable smile returns so quickly her subject fails to notice.

"Certainly, dear, but just one more, OK?"

"I'm sorry... but in retrospect, it's probably the first question I should have asked. Given that no shortage of my, um, fellow Earthlings, claim to have been abducted and subjected to rather unpleasant, um, interviews... In fact, I don't believe I've ever heard anyone claim to have had an experience anything like the one I seem to be having. I mean... what's up with that?"

"Well, dear, I..."

"And animal mutilations... oh, and those crop circle things? And just how far away from Earth is Tralfamadore? Sorry. I guess that's more than just one more question."

Grandma's smile vanishes. She stares at her subject in silence.

[To be continued, but next week is the final installment. Poppa loves you.]

Have an OK day.
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[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it?]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer   






Saturday, September 8, 2018

Abducted (Part Two)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here yet) — the Stickies — to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.


[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View Original to solve this problem and access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars
Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse
Iggy -- My designated Sticky
Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"It is my thesis that flying saucers are real and that they are space ships from another solar system." -Hermann Oberth, OG OR (original rocket scientist)


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

No letter, part two of the story I started the week before last. Gentlereaders, for your convenience, part one can be found here.

End of part one...

"Grandma"/alien interviewer: "OK then! Shall we get started?"


Part two

Subject: "I'm sorry, before we get into it, can I ask another question?"

"Of course, dear."

"You said earlier that there was nothing special about the planet Earth, or America for that matter, but you are studying us, and you said you can't get enough of America, right?"

"Yes, dear."

"Well, why us then? Why me?"

"As I mentioned, dear, a software program chose you, an algorithm. I've interviewed all sorts of folks before we met and I'll be interviewing all sorts of folks after we go our separate ways.

As to my fascination with America, the US has the largest economy on a planet that's in the middle of an economic boom that started roughly 200 years ago and continues at an ever accelerating rate."

"So is that what makes us special? Is this a rare phenomenon in the universe? Well, of course, I've no way of knowing just how extensive your knowledge is, and how much of the universe you're familiar with..."

"What's special is the time, not the situation."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Well, all sorts of planets, and all sorts of what you call countries, have gone through what you find yourselves in the midst of. Millions of years of evolution results in self-consciousness which invariably leads to some form of what you call civilization.

If a given civilization, or more likely a given group of civilizations, manages to hang on long enough to reach a certain level of technology and prosperity without destroying itself, or each other, they reach the same stage Homo sapiens currently find themselves trying to muddle through.

We call it the... well, you could never pronounce her name, but it's a tipping point. It's the um... name of a woman whose name you needn't worry about, tipping point" says grandma, grinning. "She was a highly regarded individual in what you call the social sciences."

"I see... well, I'm sorry, but now I have two more questions, I..."

"That's alright dear, go ahead."

"Well, first of all, you said "she" and you at least appear to be a 'she,' is that um, normal? I mean, is male and female the way of the universe? I read a lot of science fiction when I was younger and..."

"I can't speak for the entire universe dear, only a region of the galaxy Earth and Tralfamadore happen to share. Tralfamadore is only, roughly, about a thousand or so Earth years, at most, ahead of you Earthlings in the, how shall I put it, the evolution game?

But to answer your question, yes, male and female seem to be fundamental principles, but it gets complicated... Are you familiar with the words yin and yang dear? I think that concept would help you to understand how things work."

"Sure, but I don't all that much about..."

"I don't mean to be rude, dear, but you could, perhaps, google it? What was your second question?"

"Well, obviously, the tipping point thing. What's that all about? Earth is at a tipping point? History is full of tipping points, what makes this one special?"

"I, or rather we, know of no planet on which the natives, so to speak, who have managed to achieve the level you have on Earth, have not experienced the tipping point that you and yours are currently facing.

That is to say, when unprecedented, and expanding, prosperity and technological development occurs in the midst of no shortage of competing political, religious, ethical, etc. ideologies -- which have access to easily accessible worldwide communications networks -- things get, um, interesting.

Also, considering that you're hip deep in atomic weapons, and many of you are engaged in the same sort of high-functioning chimpanzee pathologies that led to your first world war -- that really wasn't all that long ago, dear, and kicked off a century of gleeful bloodletting -- things might get really interesting."

"Oh."

To be continued... Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.
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[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it?]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer   





Friday, August 24, 2018

Abducted (Part One)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here yet) — the Stickies — to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.


[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View Original to solve this problem and access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars
Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse 
Iggy -- My designated Sticky
Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Sometime I wish the aliens would abduct me and crown me as their leader."
                                                                                        -George Noory

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

No letter per se this week, part one of a story.

You're sitting on your front porch on a soft summer night, alone and ruminating. You're thinking about the ironic contrast between your rotten mood and the beautiful evening. He (or she) is gone. Looks like this time for good. Your heart is aching, but there's also a sense of relief.

Or, you're happily married, have two relatively well-adjusted kids, and a decent paying job. Everyone's asleep but you. You had a shitty day at work. You fear this is your new normal. Your new boss, a Type A V.P. with an MBA, is keeping you up nights, dreading the next workday.

Or, you're a...

Blinding light -- the smell of an overloaded electrical wire -- a loud industrial, grating sound -- blackness. You awaken and find yourself comfortably ensconced in an easy chair. As you shrug off sleep you note that you feel incredibly well rested and peaceful. You notice warm, peanut butter swirled brownies and a glass of ice cold whole milk on a little table to your right. You take a bite of a brownie and wash it down with a swallow of milk. Mmmm. Repeat. 

Looking around you notice you're in a room that looks like a set designer's version of the perfect grandma's living roomIt occurs to you that you may still be asleep. You don't care though. It's a very nice dream.

A door opens and in walks a grandma straight out of central casting. She favors you with a warm smile and says, "Oh good, you're awake," and sits down in another easy chair, directly opposite you.

And then things get really weird.


She explains that, for lack of a better term, you've been abducted by aliens from a planet called Tralfamadore. You mention that this situation doesn't seem to match up with any of the abduction stories recounted by guests on that late night radio show that you sometimes listen to. The one you find to be mostly goofy, but that can serve as a sleep aid. She smiles and says, "But a lot of those folks are crazy people dear, and a lot of them are just people trying to make a buck."

Obviously, you are dreaming, but it all seems, she seems, so real. You look around and everything in the room is sharply defined and, well, real looking. You stand up and walk around, start touching things. Curtains, plants, knick-knacks, furniture -- it all feels real enough. "Grandma" just watches. You sit back down and you notice grandma has a warm, genuine smile on her face. You get the feeling she's observing you closely. You return her smile, you can't help it, you feel so warm and safe. Who wouldn't if they met this old-fashioned movie version of a grandma, in this setting?

"I'm dreaming, right? This is just a dream -- right?" you ask.

"Well, yes and no dear. You're awake, and conversing with a, uh, person, that physically and emotionally embodies, via what, well, you'd call it software, has determined will provide you with a safe and comfortable environment for an interview."

"I see...," you reply, "Sort of. And who are you exactly? And what do you mean, interview?"

"I'm what you'd describe as an academic type. My field is what you'd call anthropology. Most of my colleagues specialize in a given planet, my focus is even more narrow than that, I specialize in a particular country of a particular planet, the one you're from, the USA. As to the interview, it's exactly what you might think. I simply want to ask you some questions."

"But why me, and why the USA? Wait a minute... are we somehow special, or different, or whatever, as far as a given country on a given planet goes?

Grandma chuckles. "Oh no dear, not to most, but I can't seem to get enough of America myself."

"Yeah? why me then, I... "

"That software I mentioned dear, I honestly don't know a lot about how it does what it does, not my field you understand. I do know it usually works very well though, and one of the many things it does well is to pick my interview subjects."

"But what if I don't want to be interviewed, am I your prisoner? What if... "

"Oh, you're free to go, dear, anytime you like, now or later. Shall I take you back?"

"Anytime?"

"Of course dear. It would be unethical to hold you against your will. Shall I take you back?"

"But what if I tell everyone, what if ..."

She interrupts. "Well, that's up to you dear, you could write a book, perhaps be a guest on that radio show you mentioned. If you'd prefer, I could erase all memory of this experience. Or, I could..."

"How about if I see how it goes?, I mean, this interview thing, it might be interesting. If I decide to pull the plug at some point, I'm still free to go?

"Of course, dear. Before we get started, could I fix you something to eat? Are you hungry? Would you like something besides the brownies?"

"No, I'm good, thanks."

"OK then! Shall we get started?"

[Poppa loves you.]

Have an OK day.
Scroll down to comment or share

[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it?]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer