That Sinking Feeling

 

“This boat is sinking,” said the Captain.

“No, there’s just extra water around,” said the man, “we’re not sinking.”

 

“This extra water is up to our knees,” said the Captain.

“Maybe your knees but not mine. I’m taller so…,” said the man.

 

“Listen, you keep ignoring the problem and you’ll drown,” said the Captain as he put on his life preserver.

“You keep saying there’s a problem, but everything is fine with me. I’m taller than you, remember,” said the man.

 

“I’m not sure what height has to do with this, the whole boat is sinking, you don’t see that as a problem in general,” asked the Captain.

“It’s not my boat,” said the man.

 

“There’s hundreds of people on board that could die if it sinks, what about them,” asked the Captain.

“That’s not really a “me” problem,” said the man.

 

“Well, just in case, please put on this life preserver,” said the Captain.

“Who are you to tell me to put on a life preserver? How dare you tell me what to do,” said the man as he tossed the life preserver aside.

 

The Captain sighed and blew his emergency whistle and ordered the life boats to be loaded.

 

“I’m not getting in those boats. They don’t look safe,” said the man.

“They’re perfectly seaworthy and safe. Now please get in,” said the Captain.

 

“Who made these boats? Where were they certified as sea worthy? Are there other options I can take,” asked the Man.

“I don’t know who made them, they’re life boats. To save lives. They’re inherently good things,” said the Captain.

 

“Well if you’re not sure about them then I’m not getting in and all those people getting in them are just sheep. Can’t think for themselves. Total sheep,” said the man, folding his arms across his chest. The water now wetting his elbows.

 

“I'm sure the boats are just fine. Now please sir, you’re actually holding up the line for those that do want to get on the boats,” said the Captain.

“Why should I move? They should find another way around me because I’m comfortable where I am,” said the man.  

 

“Listen, sir, you’re becoming a danger to the other passengers and the water is rising rapidly,” said the Captain.

“Well, you should do something about it, but only if I agree that what you do is right for me,” said the man.

 

“If you don’t move sir, I’m afraid I may have to shoot you sir,” said the Captain.

“You’re a gun guy too! That’s awesome! I love my guns. I love my guns, Jesus, American beer, trucks, not waiting in line, spitting on the sidewalk, and making sick ass messes in port-o-potties, cause, like whatever right? That’s not my job to clean it up. You should have seen what I did to the shitter on this tugboat,” said the man.

 

“That was you,” asked the Captain, “you’re disgusting. Why would you write on the walls with your own shit?”

“I didn’t wash my hands either, that’s you’re rule, not mine,” said the man.

 

The Captain pulled his side arm from his holster.

 

“Fine, I’ll move, but I’m not getting on those untested boats. Who knows what crazy shit might be in those boats? They’re probably self-driving boats with microchip computers that are designed to take us to some pirate slave island where we’ll be forced to have sex with dudes and eat aborted fetuses. You get in if you want, but I’m staying safe right here,” said the man.

 

The other passengers rushed around the man and safely boarded the life boats.   The Captain looked at the man, with water now over his folded arms nearly at his neck, and made one last appeal to the man to board.

 

“No way (gurgle). Have fun on your gay sex slave island you devils,” said the man.

 

The Captain ordered the lifeboats to be lowered into the water and they safely rowed away from the sinking ship. The Captain kept his eye on the man, who seemed to be shouting something now. The Captained strained to hear.

 

“Aren’t (gurgle, choke) you coming back for me,” screamed the man right before the sea swallowed him.

 

The life boats did actually have computer-controlled navigation that did take the survivors to a sex island (sex of all kinds was had and the meals were all inclusive and fabulous, no fetuses in sight), and all agreed that it was really the best vacation they ever had and can’t wait to go back next year.

 

 

 

 

 

Nauticus

Photo by

Darren.Moore

Department of Resurrection

 

“Department of Resurrection,” said Sherry as she answered another call. The call center was alive with phones ringing and lights blinking and various phone operators all repeating the same scripted dialogue.

“Oh, you again,” said Sherry. 

Sherry rolled her eyes as the voice on the other end of the line began to plead their case for Resurrection.  This was the seventh call from this guy and he just wouldn’t take a hint.  Sherry leaned back in her office chair, the good one, the XP-709 lumbar support Executive. She worked very hard to get it. It was amazingly comfortable. The sort of comfort and support she needed for this call.  She sighed and closed her eyes. The voice on the other end kept going. 

“Yes, I do understand that is a horrific way to die, but I’m afraid without direction from upstairs, we just can’t snap our fingers and just make it happen,” said Sherry. 

She looked at her co-worker Sandra, all the “S” named women seemed to work in the same section for some reason. She was sure it was sexist and misogynistic, but she was normally just to busy to think too long on it.  Sandra mouthed the words, “Him again?” and Sherry nodded deliberately.

            Sandra smirked and shook her own head in exaggerated agreement. 

                “Yes. Yes. I am listening to you, but I do need you to listen to me now. I’ve given you ample time to explain your position and I would hope you’ll do me the same courtesy. Thank you. Now, as I have said, we need specific direction in writing from the supervisor in order to grant your request. I understand that you feel as though you are currently in peril however, I can say with a great deal of confidence that it is entirely unlikely you’ll need the services of the Department of Resurrection. The circumstances you are describing are highly unlikely and…,” said Sherry. 

                The voice on the other end screamed loud enough that Sherry had to pull the headphone away from her ear. Sandra took notice as Sherry reacted. 

                “Sir,” said Sherry, “I am going to need you to calm down. Sir… Sir…, Sir, yes… that’s right, please lower your voice. If you want our help, yelling is certainly not the way to obtain it. I understand.” 

                Sherry covered her mouth piece and leaned towards Sandra. “He said they’re whipping him.” 

                Sandra shrugged as she was dealing with her own call for Resurrection. Sherry took a deep breath and uncovered the receiver.  “Sir, here’s the best I can do. I can re-submit your request, put a rush on it as best as I can, but it’s highly likely you won’t receive a response for at least three days. Yes sir, three days is the standard minimum,” said Sherry. 

                “Okay, then that is what I will do sir. I will re-submit your request as soon as we get off the phone. Yes sir. It’s honestly the best I can do. Okay then. Alright… thank you. Yes sir. Thank you. Good-bye,” Sherry hung up. She groaned once the line was cleared. She started typing the Resurrection request slip out and clicked the “Submit” button. Her phone rang again and she answered. 

                “Department of Resurrection…. yes, the standard is three days. Jewish king? Sorry, there’s no exception for royalty. No sir,” said Sherry as she leaned back in her chair again. Thank God for comfy chairs.  

The Void

                Jerry stepped into the empty void. Although as it was an empty void, he wasn’t exactly sure that he had stepped into it. He only knew that where he was before wasn’t where he was now. The now he was in was empty and more void-like than the clearly crowded place he’d been. So, he had to guess that he was now in the void. His sneakers squeaked as he walked forward across the floor of the void, which struck Jerry as odd that a void would have such a nicely polished white marble floor.  He wondered if there was a custodial staff that came into the void with a floor buffer and buffed the floors to such a degree that they appeared to not exist.

                His squeaking sneakers echoed through the void as he walked forward. If a void could have any direction that is. Jerry only assumed he was moving forward, but without any sign posts or road markers of any kind he couldn’t be sure if he was just marching in place or actually moving. He stopped walking and listened as the echoes of his squeaks drifted all through the void until they dissipated.  “An endless void that appears to have no end”, thought Jerry.  He remembered the stories he read as a kid about those cruel overlords of medieval myth that would hurl brave knights into bottomless pits. Even then he had his doubts about a truly bottomless pit. He couldn’t help but wonder about the construction of a bottomless pit. Did workers go into a bottomless pit never to return. They would kiss the wife and kids good-bye and go down there with their hard hats or candles on their heads, and just disappear. “Would the general contractor go down there or would he stay behind with the evil overlord so the invoice could get paid? How would they know when they were done with the bottomless pit,” wondered Jerry.

He shook his head and began his squeaking trek once more within the void.

                The void was bright but it didn’t appear to have any external light source to Jerry. He couldn’t figure out how it was so magnificently bright in the void. He remembered reading about how the human eye perceived light and color and how it’s interpreted by the brain. He thought it could be dark as pitch in the void, but his brain was just interpreting it as bright. He had way too many questions about the void. He never actually thought he’d get this far into the void since up until the moment he stepped into it; it hadn’t existed. Jerry wished his sneakers weren’t so loud. He wondered if the squeaking rubber sound bouncing through the void was ruining the actual void experience. He thought about how the sound might be causing the void to have more structure since it may be reflecting the sound and therefore giving it shape.

                Jerry stopped walking again and looked down at his sneakers as the Doppler echoes of his noisy footfalls faded. He bent over and un-tied his shoe laces. He stretched his sock feet and toes out as he removed the tight-fitting sneakers. The white marble floor was cold underfoot. It wasn’t cold enough to make Jerry shiver or react harshly. He put his sock foot onto the white marble and the sneaker vanished behind him. The void then consumed his other sneaker as he stepped out of it. They vanished without a squeak.

                Jerry started with what he perceived to be walking forward again. Each socked foot stepping silently onto the white void floor. The squeak was gone forever; replaced with a hushed sock-footed shuffle. Jerry was pleased to remove the annoying squeak from the void. It made the void seem far more void-like than it was before. He never imagined he’d be complaining about the noisiness of a void or feel happy now that the void was quieter.

                The white marble never varied in its slope, pitch, texture or smoothness. It kept expanding in front of Jerry as he walked/sock-footed shuffled. He remembered when he was a kid in his grandparent’s house and they had a lot of highly polished wood floors throughout the home. His grandmother was something of a dirt and dust eradicator. She spent the majority of her later years seemingly washing, moping, dusting and then all over again. In some constant struggle against the micro universe of dirt and dust in which she eventually lost, herself turning into the very substance she spent so much time sweeping and mopping away. The floors in the home were ice rink smooth though. Jerry could get a running start in his sock feet and practically slide from one end of the house to the other on the polished wooden floors.

                He felt like he could do that now on the void floor. He wondered if he did get a running start how far he could slide. Physics always slowed him down at his grandparent’s home. He didn’t know if those same rules applied to the void. He grew concerned as the idea of sliding endlessly through all time in his sock feet might end up being more of an embarrassment than a joy. He worried that he might see someone else in the void and he’d be unable to stop sliding in his sock feet to say hi. Jerry worried he’d just zoom on by; never knowing whom the other void dweller was.

                Jerry decided he wouldn’t do a full running start slide, but just a sort of one-foot slide so he could keep some control and stop if he had to. It would be like riding a skateboard but never bringing your left foot up onto the skateboard and just cruise along. He wanted some level of control in the void. Plus he could stop if he wanted to say hi to whomever or whatever he may come across in the void. If there was anything to come across.

                The void kept going on in all directions, as Jerry thought it probably should. It being a void it had to be both infinite and incredibly small while being expansive and all consuming all at the same time. He’d bet the other guys at the bar he could get into the void. He said that if he could, he would, and he did. Jerry wondered how he would collect on the bet now that he was in void. He wondered if since he’d conjured the void, if he could unconjured it. If he did that would it cease to exist, meaning he’d then lose the bet because he’d unconjured it out of existence? He had to prove to the other bar guys that the void did exist in order to win. Jerry wondered if his sneakers would come back into existence or if they were now lost the void.

                Jerry kept sliding on his right foot. Pushing along with his left. Passing nothing. No passing of time. Just sliding in a hush. No echoes bouncing through the emptiness. Jerry couldn’t even hear his own heartbeat in his ears, of hear himself breathing heavy. He didn’t feel tired. He didn’t feel like he was working too hard to slide himself along the white marble floor. He wasn’t sweating.

Jerry wondered about his madness. Had he gone to far. Was he in the bottomless pit, forever digging down? Jerry stopped sliding and another silence came over the void. He peered into the perception of what was ahead. He squinted his eyes to try and see if there was anything to see.

More endless white marble floors.  Jerry realized he’d never looked behind himself. Not even once the whole time he’d been in the void. He felt scared for the first time. He felt like something was behind him. A terror lurking at the rear. Was something else behind him in the void and he’d missed it. He was too worried about nothingness to be concerned with everything behind him. If there was anything behind him at all.

                Jerry shut his eyes and started to turn his head over his shoulder. He suddenly felt sweat on his forehead and a weakness in his legs. He was breathing heavy now. He was thirsty. So thirsty. He got his head positioned over his left shoulder. He was shaking.

                He opened his eyes.

The Morlocks were Right

“Maybe the Morlocks were onto something,” said Lawrence. He flipped through the TV stations. At each flip of the channel, each News program described the chaos, death and vast troubles of a crumbling world. He thought about H. G. Wells as the TV screen images changed from commentator to violence, to political unrest, to plague stories, back to a commentator.

H.G. Wells envisioned a race of underground dwellers, The Morlocks, who survived by eating the surface-dwelling Eloi in his book, The Time Machine.  The Eloi were human cattle, bred purely to sustain the Morlocks while the Morlocks ran all the underground infrastructure, machinery and crop production.

The Eloi were Human. The Morlocks were once Human. Humanity split in two through tragedy, necessity and chaos. Of course, that tragedy was nuclear war. Still, the chaos was familiar, for Lawrence anyway. He looked at the bag of Cool Ranch potato chips to his left and wondered if it would be funny if it read, “Eloi Chips – Now more Ranch!”

                Lawrence closed the bag of chips and stood up from his sofa. He stretched his arms up toward the ceiling. “I’ve been sitting too long,” he said to the empty room. His back felt cramped and sore from all the sitting he’d been doing. He wasn’t exactly a pro athlete but he wasn’t completely out of shape. Shape being a relative term as far as he believed.

                He walked from his living room to the kitchen and put the potato chips away in the cupboard and looked out his kitchen window. Trees were rustling in the summer breeze, someone in the neighborhood was mowing their lawn and the growling law mower echoed through the houses. It was such a contrast to the fires and plagues reported on the news to the near idyllic peacefulness of Lawrence’s neighborhood. A bird flew past the window, flirting for another bird it seems. Performing acrobatic stunts in great loops before landing back in the tree, next to its object of affection. Seemed so normal to Lawrence.

                “How can the world be crumbling with all this beauty around,” asked Lawrence.

                He went to his refrigerator, felt the coolness on his legs, grabbed a cold beer. He opened it and took a long refreshing sip. He tossed the bottle cap toward his garbage can.  Lawrence looked at the pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink and considered washing them. It would only take a few moments to do. Yet, he resisted. It seemed like such a mundane task at the edge of the end of the world.  

                “Would the Morlocks do the dishes, or would that be an Eloi task,” wondered Lawrence. Most of what he remembered about The Time Machine story was from the 1960 film adaptation. He’d seen it when he was a kid and remembered falling in love with Yvette Mimieux. She played the beautiful Eloi named Weena. Lawrence was hooked on blondes ever since. He had read the book at some point after seeing the movie, but the movie imagery stuck with him far more than the book did.

                “I think the Eloi were too dumb to do dishes,” said Lawrence, “they didn’t know anything about the world. The Morlocks provided them with everything. Yeah, I guess dishes were a Morlock task.”

                Lawrence put his beer on the counter next to the sink and turned the faucet on. He got the dish soap and squirted it all over the pile of dishes. Lemon scented soap filled the air and a few small bubbles floated up. Lawrence popped them.  He took another sip of his beer as the sink filled with soapy water.

“If only the world could be cleaned up as easily,” thought Lawrence.  He grabbed the sponge and began.

The Quest of Sir Harold

                Harold stood at the edge of the rickety bridge over the ravine. The Wizard had just asked him the passage riddle and Harold had no idea what it meant. This quest. This stupid quest. Another in a long line of pedantic and useless quests. “Go find the Staff of Ra,” or, “Seek the magic chalice of the undead,” or, “pick up my laundry.” All useless quests. Harold studied the jagged ravine face, the thrashing river running across the ravine basin and sighed.

                “So brave knight, have you an answer to the riddle,” asked the Wizard as he stroked his long white beard.

                “I’m thinking,” said Harold. The frustration clearly evident in his out of patience voice.

                Harold sheathed his sword and sat on a near-by rock. He took off the heavy armor helmet and brushed his fingers through his thinning hair. He wondered if there was a quest he could undertake for some potion to cure his male patterned baldness. Probably not. Or if there was, he’d probably have to fight sixty demon dwarves and a hundred amazons through some god forsaken jungle. It probably wouldn’t work anyway. The alchemist told him that there wasn’t really anything he could do about it. Just keep your helmet on, is what the alchemist told him.  

                “Do you need me to repeat the riddle,” asked the Wizard.

               

                The Wizard was impatiently tapping his curly toed shoe on the dirt path leading to the bridge.

                “Oh my gods, would you give a guy a second. Geeze. I mean, you’re a damn bridge wizard. This is your job. Do you have something more important to do,” shouted Harold.

                “As a matter of fact, my wife is having a little surgical procedure today and I’d like to be there with her so if you don’t mind, I’d like to move this along. You’re the fourth knight I’ve seen today so I’d like to hurry this along,” said the Wizard.

                Harold groaned. He stood from the rock he was sitting on and put his helmet back on his head. He stretched his back and twisted from side to side.

                “I’m sorry man. I know this is a pain. I’m not exactly enjoying this whole thing either,” said Harold.

                “Right, I know,” said the Wizard, “I get it man. You’re on a quest for some mighty magical something or other and were promised riches and women or eternal life or some other thing, right?”

                “Actually, I was commanded to find this dumb Rock of Ages. I don’t even know what it’s for and I only get to keep my job if I find it. Otherwise, it’s back to shoveling manure,” said Harold.

                “Ouch, that’s harsh,” said the Wizard.

                “Yeah, it’s ridiculous. But I’ve been doing this questing thing for like, 20 years so I guess I’m pretty good at it so…,” said Harold. “What’s wrong with your wife? If that’s not too personal.”

                “You know, you’re the first person to ask me. So thank you.  She keeps turning into a feral pig at the full moon. There’s another Wizard in Prairie Glenn South who said he could cure her. Thanks,” said the Wizard.

                “Oh, I know Prairie Glenn South. That’s a good little hamlet. Good school,” said Harold.

                “I just hope our Wizard Guild covers it. It’s not a great package but you gotta do what you gotta do am I right,” asked the Wizard as he shrugged.

                “For sure,” said Harold.    

                The wind howled over the ravine. sounding like the roar of a lion, bellowing across some distant savanna. A misty rain had started to fall. it pinged and dinged off Harold’s armor.

                “Listen man, I’m stuck on this riddle. Like, I don’t get it at all,” said Harold, “Can’t you just make an exception this time and let me cross the damn bridge?”

                “Sorry. I wouldn’t be a bridge Wizard if I just did that,” said the Wizard.

                Harold nodded. He’d expected nothing less. Everybody had their jobs and they just had to do them it seemed.

                “Right. Right. I totally get it,” said Harold.

                “I can maybe give you a clue,” said the Wizard. He winked and gestured to his left with his head.

                Harold looked over towards the Wizard’s left. There was a large mural painted on the cavern side. It was of a Wizard holding a glowing crystal ball, riding a dragon over an exploding volcano with a scantily clad princess dangling from the dragon’s talon. Harold studied the mural. He thought that it would look awesome on the side of his wagon. But he still didn’t get the clue.

                “Sorry. I’m really not getting it. And this rain is not helping at all,” said Harold.

                The Wizard shook the accumulating wetness from his flowing purple robes. He rolled his eyes and motioned again with his head towards the mural.  Harold looked again and just didn’t see it. The Princess was pretty hot though. He wondered who painted it. He wouldn’t mind getting a few more for his own personal enjoyment.

                “Yeah, still not seeing it,” said Harold.

                “I don’t think I can give any more of an obvious clue man. I mean, come one. You said you’ve been doing this for 20 years this should be easy,” said the Wizard.

                “You’re right. It can be easy,” said Harold.

                Harold unsheathed his sword and stabbed the Wizard straight through his heart. The Wizard grabbed Harold’s shoulder and looked into Harold’s face with shock. Harold pulled his sword loose and then chopped the Wizard’s head clean from his shoulders.  The Wizard’s body fell backwards into the ravine without fanfare or consequence.

                “Damn Bridge Wizards,” muttered Harold.

                Harold returned his sword to its sheath and started across the bridge. He made it to the other side and continued on his way towards the Doom Pits of Blumanthia.  He wondered to himself the whole way, if the Wizard’s wife would ever recover from her feral pig issues.