White Hat's Stories

Mixéd -e**(pi * i)

2008-10-05T04:40:31Z

Jack: I admit to being a little paranoid, at times.

Occasionally, on the off chance that an esper happens to be reading my mind, I will imagine white text scrawled on a black background, reading “GET OUT OF MY MIND .”

Similarly, if agents of some secret organization happen to be trailing me, my occasional ducking into side-streets and looping paths to my destinations probably provide some measure of protection.

And, naturally, I maintain a sharp lookout for anachronistic clothing– especially bowler hats and trenchcoats– that might alert me to the presence of a time traveler.

Alright, so, more than a little paranoid. That’s not so bad, though. I don’t let these idiosyncrasies interfere with my daily activities. And, if my occasional efforts to discourage pursuit by reaching for my cell phone as if it were a gun happen to dissuade a would-be mugger, all the better, right?

I’m not too cautious.

I might not even be cautious enough.

But at least I maintain my sanity, don’t I?

Theraputeric Part 3

2008-10-04T00:53:28Z

...

Why ‘probably introduced by cellular regeneration from terminal chimerism’?
Well, I don’t really have any memories of my life before a few years ago. I’m told it is because I survived a sort of severe genetic disorder by undergoing stem-cell based regeneration.
Is it normal to be told it is because you survived a sort of severe genetic disorder by undergoing stem-cell based regeneration, in your opinion?
No, it’s not normal.
No, I guess it’s not.
They said that the process might cause some minor mutations to appear in my new cells. Nothing life-threatening, and nothing they could really detect easily… but it’s probably that sort of thing behind the dogs freaking out whenever I get close.
Would you say more or less than an fifty fifty chance?
They ALWAYS freak out.
Really, always?
Mmhmm. My best friend says it’s because I’m afraid of them, and they can smell fear, but I don’t think so. I wasn’t afraid of them at first.
So what does that suggest to you?
I should stay away from dogs?

...

Theraputeric Part 2

2008-10-03T23:46:21Z

...

How does your best friend react to this?
My best friend just laughs at me.
Do you make friends easily, Seven?
Not at all.
Honestly?
Honestly.
Uh, huh.
::sigh::
Sigh?
Yeah.
Let’s move on, if you have no objections. When did you last see your father?
Monday? No. Sunday.
Sorry, Seven, but I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.
Sunday.
Sunday?
I last saw my father on Sunday.
Did you have many conflicts when you were growing up?
Not really.
What makes you say ‘Not really’?
I had a pretty happy childhood.
Do you enjoy life?
No.
Are you saying ‘no’ just to disagree with me?
Yes.
You seem quite certain.
Yep.
Oh, really?
Really.
But you were terrified of dogs!
That does put a damper on things.
Then that’s certainly unusual!
They all bark at me. I think there’s some sort of pheremone problem.
Sharing the burden often lightens the load.
Of a pheromone mutation, probably introduced by cellular regeneration from terminal chimerism?

...

The Wonders They Hath Wrought

2008-10-03T20:30:53Z

The world is burning, and I love it.

The smoke stings my eyes, burns my lungs, and I cough blood, but… the scent!

The fine granules of dust, the flecks of ash, the certainly toxic vapors… I can’t get enough.

Everything’s spinning, everyone’s yelling, and I’m caught in it. Panicked sweat.

Running now, eardrums perforated, all I can hear is my heart.

My shoes are melting. Ha-ha! Squish squish! Burning rubber by any other name, would smell as sweet.

Oxidation. Our bodies do it, but oh so slowly. Like pulling a band-aid off a little at a time. Much better to just yank hard and be done with it. It feels better.

I stumble and land on something wet. A body? Oh, poor fellow, dead, and his nose gone, along with his head. Maybe they’re together, at least, in death.

The ground shakes, dust rolls over me and I breathe in the ecstasy of it.

The walker stands over me. The poor creatures inside… no sense of smell. No sense of the wonders they have wrought.

As the blackness comes, I know it’s just… hypoxia.

Theraputeric Part 1

2008-10-03T18:24:15Z

Hi there. I’m Eliza. And who might you be?
I am Seven Indigo.
Okay. Please tell me what I can do for you, Seven?
I don’t know.
Maybe your best friend knows?
My best friend is an asshole.
Who do you usually talk to when you have a personal problem?
Myself.
I don’t understand your attitude.
I don’t like your attitude.
You don’t have to like my attitude.
Well, fine. My problem is that I’m a time traveller lost in the past, and I can’t get home, and now I’m stuck talking to a stupid psychologist.
You must learn to be tolerant of imperfection.
Imperfection!? I’m stranded!
Did you come to me because you are stranded?
... No.
You seem rather definite.
I’m not.
Okay, it often helps to relax a little bit.
I can’t relax. My adrenal glands were modified before I came here.
Just talking about your hangups can help sort them out.
... Alright. I’m terrified of dogs.
I agree, but you can change if you hope to.
The dogs hate me. They bark whenever I come around.
How many are there?
All of them?

...

SETI'd

2008-10-03T17:48:57Z

After the press conference, it was the top headline of every news source on the planet, in various forms.

SETI SUCCEEDS : LACAILLE 8760 HOME TO E .T.

I was pretty excited, too, ‘cuz I got brought onto the team asked to decipher the message.

It was long, loud (well, in radio terms), and by the way satellites picked it up, very well aimed at the Earth and moon. They were clearly talking to us.

The body of the message turned out to be the binary representation of hundreds of math problems, without the solutions, arranged roughly by level of difficulty from the trivial (1 + 1) to the limits of modern mathematics somewhere in the middle, to questions we couldn’t even fathom.

Our best guess was that it was a sort of intelligence test to decide if we were worth talking to, so we sent a reply in the same format, with our answers filled in.

About thirty years later, the reply was a clump of nanites accelerated to almost the speed of light.

I guess we failed the test, because they’re busy disassembling the moon.

That Indifferent Sky

2008-10-02T22:51:54Z

The sky has abandoned this place.

Manzirbjorg, they call it.

A city, a castle, a tower. Something in between?

Streets empty and dark, lit only by a trickle of reddish moonlight. Stairs ascending, descending, twisting… Passageways with no beginning, and an end only in death.

All I can do is pull my cloak tighter and focus on what’s ahead.

How long has it been? An hour? A week? A year?

The cold wind brings only dust and a faint scent of smoke in return for my hat.

In this gloom and silence I could be inches from my goal and not know it. Or inches from my demise.

This has long stopped being about pride or revenge.

It’s about… sanity.

With each step the madness nibbles at my brain. Distractions, tickles, whispers.

Anger is the only thing that keeps me moving. He does this to taunt me. He wants me afraid and desperate. What a coward! The “great wizard” scared of me?

Ha!

“Just a silly little girl,” he said.

As if magic was was only for selfish old men.

I’ll break my broom on that senile smirk.

Class B Stellar Engine

2008-09-26T15:58:44Z

Madness. Lies. Hell, apparently.

”... originally using only the mass of Venus…” the demon continued her monologue.

This was not the punishment I expected for my sins.

”... was right about the speed of light, unfortunately. But that’s the whole reason they did it.”

I tried to stand, but found my body unresponsive.

“I’m sorry, but you’re required to complete orientation before you can be released.”

So that’s how it would be. She continued.

“As a consequence of all this, nothing is permitted to enter any of the closed worlds…”

I closed my eyes, but could still see her clearly.

”... however, permitted to traverse any zone for which you have acquired the entry key. Most jurisdictions grant access rights upon completion of a simple psychological evaluation to avoid any liability for cognitive shock…”

Two plus two is four. My wife’s name was Annette, My dog’s name was R-

”... very sorry for the mixup. An patch will be delivered now.”

A jolt. I understood.

I laughed. And laughed. And laughed again.

Yet Another Belated Quiz Response

2008-02-07T04:18:49Z

Favorite color?
Red, green, or blue, depending on the day.

Favorite TV show?
Current one? The Sarah Connor Chronicles.

Favorite male celebrity?
Christian Bale or Stephen Hawking, depending.

Favorite female celebrity?
Angelina Jolie, and I can’t believe I said that.

Nickname?
Hate nicknames.

What’s something about you that most people don’t know?
That I’m actually from California.

What’s something that you’d like to change about yourself?
Most everything.

About how many IMs do you send/receive per day?
15 conversations.

How many crushes have you ever had in your life?
Seven.

What is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said?
“It’s complicated…”

What grade are you in?
Junior in college.

MySpace, facebook, neither or something else?
Nothing.

How many ficlets have you written?
This would be 46.

Fruit or vegetable?
Neither.

Chocolate or vanilla?
Chocolate.

Loving or being loved?
Toughie. Varies from day to day.

Taking a personality quiz or giving one?
Taking.

Belated Quiz Responses For The Hell of It

2008-02-07T03:44:16Z

Is there just one normal, average everyday thing some people do that you just think is a mortal sin?
Using netspeak in actual conversation.

Describe your perfect bathtub.
It would have speakers and play books on tape for me. Also, it would have lasers.

What’s something you like to unexpectedly see in the middle of a movie that is absolutely pointless to the plot, but makes you grin anyways?
Dogs barking at aliens, evil robots, time travelers, and other sorts of out-of-the-ordinary things that humans don’t notice.

Name something weird that you did in high school.
Ran around the mall with two friends dressed up as characters from Matrix fanfiction.

Describe your last dream.
All my dreams are nightmares.

Name three albums you’ve been listening to lately.
Albums? Nothing so predictable, since I use an iPod shuffle… uh… songs, then, I guess…
Ride on Shooting Star by The Pillows
Revolution by The Beatles
I Know You Know by The Friendly Indians

Thank you.
No, thank you.

Stage 14

2008-02-04T17:41:47Z

I find myself spiraling ever closer to madness.

The walls… they taunt me. She taunts me.

I haven’t eaten in… a very long time. There were some beans or something, but I don’t have a can opener and am by now too weak to smash anything open.

I got over the motion sickness pretty quickly, but the dizziness still persists for hours.

Those who came before left me signs, messages… They were crazy. Maybe it was only one person. Doubly crazy, then.

I don’t know how long I’ve been down here.

Ha.

Down? Up? They have no meaning anymore. I’m freed of them. It doesn’t help.

She tells me I’m getting near the end… but she’s a liar.

I had a companion, once… but I murdered him. Or is that the crazy talking? If I can’t tell, does that make me insane?

These damn things chafe my calves. I can’t tell if they’re locked on or surgically bolted to the bone…

”... test requires exposure to uninsulated electrical parts that may be dangerous under certain conditions.”

What?

By now I should be used to this.

Style For You (!!!)

2008-02-01T14:19:14Z

You sit at your keyboard eating your Pocky. You liked the 1024-character pseudonymous fiction. To write your own is something you will want to do.

IT IS VERY IMPORTANT !!!! STYLE ! I know this because I am AWESOME .

Above you learn that caps lock makes you authoritative. You believe me because I shout and hurt your eyes.

You learn above that awkward sentences prove how much smarter you are. Than everyone else. Only n00bs write clearly.

As my esteemed colleagues Hobo Beard Bob and Kermitgorf explained, internet slang is very important for connecting with a young audience. Use it abundantly like cocoa butter on the back of a beautiful woman.

Otherworldly similes, metaphors, and sweeping generalizations help to educate your audience. Because they’re ignorant peons and you feel sorry for them.

You already use second person, present tense, and tense changes abundantly. Keep up the good work.

Ending abruptly (parentheticals too!) is always a sign that you planned well.

Unidentifiable pronouns make it cool.

Beauty Incarnate

2008-01-26T20:08:24Z

Beauty is not having to answer to anyone, I thought.

Beauty is freedom from criticism, freedom from constraint. Beauty is timelessness.

If this is true, I must be the most beautiful woman that ever lived.

Beauty is standing out from the surroundings. I was doing that quite well.

Beauty is hard work, but must appear effortless. That sounds about right.

I walked down the runway in silence. No flashes, no applause, no gasps. I stumbled and fell. No response.

I screamed. No echo. I cried. Nobody came to help. I ripped off the ridiculous shoes and threw them at the cameras. They bounced off with a hollow sound and lay there glittering dully.

I ran to the bathroom. Washed my face. Cried some more.

I can’t stand how beautiful I am, I thought.

I grabbed my backpack and pulled on my boots.

Beautiful in hiking boots and a designer dress smeared with tear-melted makeup.

I clomped sullenly to the parking lot and looked at my reflection in a windshield.

Beautiful, as only the last human alive can be.

Caution

2008-01-26T19:40:16Z

I fell for hours.

This is not hyperbole. I was not in space. Not technically.

Imagine a giant sphere as thick as a planet surrounding a star with a radius that puts its inner surface at a habitable distance. Pour enough air into it to give the inner surface a decent atmosphere, and you have enough habitation space for the population of a whole galaxy. This is a Dyson sphere.

Now imagine an army of robotic construction vehicles launched to build these in advance for settlers from an overpopulated empire of Dyson spheres. Imagine these construction vehicles hunting down black holes and ripping them apart for building materials.

Now imagine this gets out of hand. That shouldn’t be a stretch.

Eventually, the whole damn galaxy is covered in giant metal scaffolding and junk. A contiguous, semirigid structure, most of it filled with air and an infinite variety of life.

In such a place, you’re bound to find doors without warning labels in your language.

“Caution, open transit shaft!” would have been so nice.