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Bump

October 3, 2011 in B

By Linette Voller

 

My baby has a strong heartbeat, according to the sonographer sweeping her device across the smooth cold expanse of my stomach.

Huh, I said it: ‘my baby’.  My shrink will be pleased, but I feel that something essential of me is slipping away.  They say that it’s normal in pregnancy to feel a little disassociated, or resistant to the changes that sweep over your body.

Turns out they don’t react too well when you tell them it isn’t your baby.  Each time I’ve told someone that, they look at my belly and back to me as if somehow I haven’t worked out what my massive bump is all about.  It’s easier for them to think I’m mad than to acknowledge the truth of my situation.

No, I haven’t slept with anyone in the last year, and no I’ve not drunk or taken drugs in that time.  I explain this in great detail each time, but they all think I got impregnated when I wasn’t looking, or am a pathological liar.

The lady in the light blue scrubs is trying to hide it but I know from her faltering overly cheerful voice and the way the colour drained from her face when she looked at the screen that something has deeply worried her.

I wonder if they’ll take me seriously now?

 

 

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Vector

September 22, 2011 in V

By Linette Voller

The graying gentleman in his brown tweed blazer looked out of place against the cold sterile white room around him.  He was hunched over looking towards his weather beaten hands, his thumb continually massaging the centre of his palm,  but his gaze seemed fixed on some ineffable target miles away.

Looking at him through the two way mirror, Alex didn’t need his years of training to tell him that this was a broken man.  It had been several weeks before they’d managed to track him down, this innocuous and caring GP fending off retirement with his drive to care for others.   In this time the damage had been done, and the casualty rate exponential.

Alex was hoping they’d find a cure for the epidemic in the spindly veins of the man weeping in front of him, but he knew that even protecting the last few survivors would give this man no solace.

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Backlog

September 14, 2011 in B

By Linette Voller

 

Nobody in the office wanted to process the backlog.  These files had been sitting untouched for years for a reason.  Sometimes it was because it went to the wrong address, or a mandatory box on the form had not been filled in.  Generally anything that made it more work than a trained monkey could deal with got thrown into the ‘delayed processing pile’.  For a while it had just been a pile on the edge of a desk.  Then it took over the spare desk in the corner.  Now it was the old stationary cupboard jammed to the rafters.

The thing that really got to me was that these forms were from people who didn’t have long left, so the delays we were sometimes a matter of life and death, if it took too long we just blamed ‘bureaucracy’.

It was seeing a form get chucked into the cupboard for not being in all caps that was the final straw.  I couldn’t stand it any longer so I spoke up.  As the most junior member of staff I should have known what Gladys would do, and sure enough, here I am, at the weekend, sorting through dusty papers.

I wonder if I should thank Gladys?  Probably more hassle than it’s worth, as she usually starts shouting at me before I get the first word out.

From the scrawled “incorrect receipt” in the ‘official use only’ box, I think this was even one of hers.  She probably saw the headache inducing spidery scrawl on the 4 pages of supplementary information, and was delighted to see the little square attached was not the size or colour of the correct type of receipt.  I can even see her twisted delight in this no longer having to be her problem.

It’s quite a sad case actually, a lady who sounds sweet enough, but stuck in her ways and surrounded by what sounds like a horrid family only kept from being at each other’s throats by the thinnest veneer.  It must have been a hard decision, but I can see why she thought this would blow the family apart, and would do anything to keep them, dysfunctional as they were, together.  I’ve no idea, though, why she thought sending the winning lottery ticket through to us was the best use of it, but I’m happy to make sure it doesn’t go to waste, gathering dust at the back of a cupboard.

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Complex

September 12, 2011 in C

By Linette Voller

 

“It’s Complicated”

The status sits there in front of my eyes, the neat and well-formed small blue letters that change my life.

When did “married to” stop explaining it well?  Yesterday that was fine, why the change today?

It certainly is now.  Complicated would be one way to describe feeling shock, sadness, hurt, suspicion, curiosity and rage all in one hideous moment.

It would seem that yes, it is complicated.

 

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Fluctuation

September 7, 2011 in F

By Linette Voller.

 

 

The cursor blinked slowly, the only point of light on an otherwise blank and empty screen.

In another world, the operator would not have been looking the other way, eyes following every move of the body gyrating on the TV screen mounted on the wall.

In another world, the crackling hissing noise that gathered in volume would not have been drowned out by the latest hit music.

In another world, the sporadic movements of the gauge’s needle would have occurred at exactly the same time as eyes temporarily alighted on the readout.

In another world, the alarm would have been sounded in time to warn other employees who might have been able to do something about the impending disaster.

In another world, the day would have continued much the same as before with cities full of noise and suburbs signing with the sounds of families and wildlife.

This was not another world.

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Custodian

September 1, 2011 in C

By Linette Voller

 

All gods need blood. True, it’s often a lot less than people used to believe, but the need is there and absolute.   In order to survive blood must be spilt in places that have been dedicated.

When the people started rebelling against slaughter and sacrifice, times became lean for the gods.  The gods in turn had less influence and power, and so less people worshipped them.  It’s been a vicious circle for decades, and eventually they will starve and wink out from existence.  Some of them have already gone, not with a large herald and fanfare, like that which they once commanded, but quietly and in obscurity.

My god is doing pretty well considering, and I’m glad to be on the winning team, if there really can be one.  He had enough places of worship set up, that out of pure probability enough people accidentally spilt their own blood to keep him going for a good while.

Still the churches are closing and being torn down or turned into apartments, so there just aren’t the numbers and crowds that make for happy accidents, and my god is getting restless.

Take my building for example, it stood empty for ages after the worshippers moved on, and when it was being converted into apartments nobody got so much as a paper cut!  All those tools and building materials, and not a drop was spilt.  I think he’s right, that there was some kind of interference from that damn Tyche, as people are just not that fortunate.  The lady in the apartment now, she’s also been pretty lucky so far.  Still luck can only get you so far.

My god is getting pretty desperate, otherwise he’d never sanction using me, as my methods are not subtle and it will probably discourage people from coming here in future.  Still, he knows best apparently.

Standing up from my eternal crouching position on the roof, I can flex my wings for the first time in centuries and allow my expression to change .  It feels good.  Say what you will about the gods, he was pretty smart putting me in place as a backup plan.  I’ll get him what he needs, and from the look of the her, there should be enough to keep him going for decades.

I think I’m going to enjoy this.

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Goodbye

August 21, 2011 in G

By Linette Voller

 

One of the key features of the GoodGoodByes system was that the memories had to have their critical systems removed.  The first few encounters had almost put an end to the whole system, and it was only through some very large amounts of hush money that it hadn’t been publicly ruined.

Ask someone if they would like 1 final hour with a departed loved one, and they’ll leap at the chance for just one more conversation, a chance to say I love you, or get some sense of closure.  What they don’t want is an hour of a loved one in crisis trying to work out why they are in an unfamiliar place with apparently the wrong body, or ranting about the last argument that was still fresh in their mind from before they were scanned.  Luckily a few well placed lines of code stopped that from being a problem, and only caused minor damage to the other facets of the personality, (which was generally undetectable in the hour allotted).

That was some pretty awesome programming, if I do say so myself, and you’ve got to let a dead genius have his pride, right?  Maybe it was pride that caused me to put the back door in the program.  To make sure that if I was ever  scanned, I’d remain intact and permanently activated even when the system showed me as offline.  I figured I was of strong enough mind to make the transition, and I’d be able to entertain my mind with intellectual puzzles, and maintain an online life with another persona.  The things I’d be able to get done, without biology getting in the way!

With all my intellect I never thought they’d have any reason to disconnect the memory system from the network, but all it took was some stupid kid to break into the system and publicly interview someone who they should have had no access to.  The day after it went viral, I essentially became a paraplegic, and have been ever since.

I think I’ve gone mad locked up here, but if I think that, I can’t be, right? Right? I think it’s this journal keeping me sane, hidden in the depths of the system.

Recently though I’ve been feeling.. different..

I think they’ve been altering the code, as I keep getting that feeling like I’ve just been thinking something, but it’s gone.  Then I wonder if I was, or if…

Or if..

Or.

O.

[CACHE CLEAR…..  COMPLETED]

 

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Dancing

August 17, 2011 in D

By Linette Voller

 

It was most beautiful thing Sally had ever seen.

She sat on the dusty hillside and watched intently as the stars twisted and twirled around each other, dancing across the night sky.

It was quieter than it should be, the normal sound of insects and night creatures silenced, as they had been for days now.  The scientists said that it was probably something to do with the electromagnetic fluctuations, she liked to think instead that the creatures were so memorised by the darting and twirling in the night sky that they,  too,  watched in awe of the spectacle.

She couldn’t believe it was only 7 days ago that the first star had been seen moving about the sky.  Apparently observatories had noticed this some time before, but having no answers and reasonable fear of public panic, they had been silenced.  Of course now everyone could see it, the cat was out of the bag.

Even with just the one star visibly moving, those with even a small grasp of astronomy or physics knew that something impossible was happening.  Stars 2.5 million light years away don’t just change location.  When the other stars started joining in the synchronised dance there was no explaining away, or pretending nothing was happening.

She got up and brushed the dirt from her skirt, smiling as she watched the dust twirl off, mirroring the movement of the stars above.  She felt oddly contented, in the way, she theorised, that the eye of the storm must feel.

With a deliberate unfolding and outstretching of her arms, her face turning toward the shimmering sky, basking in the uncertain light, she too began to dance.

 

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Dignity

August 9, 2011 in D

By Linette Voller

 

It was important for us prisoners to have dignity, they said.

Another leaked prison riot with degraded casualties sparked off outrage in the populace, and so GovernCorp stepped in with their solution.  Gleaming incarceration facilities with ground breaking approaches and state of the art techniques.  It wasn’t ground breaking, it was spirit breaking.

Within weeks of the first trial, we were all fitted with the implants, and sure enough, violence disappeared overnight.  We don’t have the capacity, you see.  Seems like they’d learned from the 20th, and electronic lobotomy was the way of the future.  None of the violence, and none of the drooling born of previous techniques.

After a while though they couldn’t justify keeping us in any longer, we were good citizens now, fixed.  In fact some of the most crazed were now giving Zen masters a run for their money.  It seemed like the Corp had shot itself in the foot, as without us prisoners where would all that lovely revenue go?  I don’t think anyone realised until it was too late that the whole world was to become a prison.

It was easy enough to justify the implant for drunk and disorderly cautions, but I still can’t quite believe it was pushed through for all crime.  I suppose with the abhorrence we had for violence after the implant, every minor infraction against a fellow human was a travesty.  Then it was only a matter of time before everyone got one, for the good of the society.

I’m not sure why my implant is partially malfunctioning, and why I can see what nobody else can.  Scrawny, malnourished shadows of people are dying in the street, content in their own excrement, in the state of calmness only achieved by not harming another or imposing their will on another.

I’m hoping that I can find some way to restore these peoples dignity, but I’m not sure I can.

 

 

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Insight

August 3, 2011 in I

By Linette Voller

 

Jeremy checked his bank account and sure enough a ludicrous sum had just been credited, as expected.

He rocked back on his chair and considered how he’d come to find himself in this position.  After all, in all ways but one he was an unremarkable man: average height, weight, looks and IQ, and for that matter any other quality you could list.  The only thing that marked Jeremy out from his peers was his ability to know with absolute certainly whether somebody was lying or not.  He didn’t get any details about how they were lying, or gradations of the severity of the lie; He just sensed the lie, like someone might sense a klaxon sounding right next to their ear.

This skill had been very beneficial in his career up until now, but it was only in the last week that he’d been employed specifically for his unique ability.  He had no idea how they’d found him, but he’d realised that they operated  outside of the law in the instant he laid eyes upon them.  Sure enough, the work they contracted him for would be stomach churning and horrific for most people, but for him it was merely the most efficient way to make a ton of money.  It was lucky, really, he thought, that 30 years of seeing the worse of people had left him strong and not incessantly craving the connections to others that those without his ability found so easy.

It was at that moment he realised that he was lying to himself.

 

 

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