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PROSE SAMPLE: newer novel science fiction

I WANT MY WINGS BACK

Chapter 1: If This Were A LARP, Here’s The Lay Of The Land

 

Hello.

 

My goal as with any storyteller, is to become an entertaining voice inside your head that temporarily replaces your VOJ - the voice inside your head that is constantly judging you or pondering great questions such as do I want ice cream on that piece of pie or not. Your voice of judgement, by the way, is something unique to life in solid space. It is nonexistent in the place where I hang out. Well, used to hang out.  But more on that later.

 

Ever get into a LARP? That’s a live action role playing game. Or if you’re old school, ever play a board game? In either you start with an understanding of the world of the game.  As I define “where I used to hang out” I need you to do something for me.  I need you to distract your VOJ.  It’s not that difficult.  Simply ask yourself out loud, “how do I know I have a spleen?”  Go ahead.  Close your eyes and say out loud … “How do I know I have a spleen?” then read on.

 

At this point your mind is most likely busy with its ‘what the hell does that matter?’ and other judgements, so I’ll quickly warn you that it’s going to have major judgements about what is next.

 

You need to pretend that this memoir is fiction.

 

Yes, I said “pretend this memoir is fiction.” Hopefully your VOJ is on that like a puppy on a new rawhide chew toy.

 

K?

 

I am not going to tell you the name of where I come from because you couldn’t pronounce it, and besides, no one speaks out loud here so pronunciation is not a concern. I can, however, simply define the “where” of “where I hang out.” It is right next to you. That emptiness right next to you or above your head? Don’t believe it for a minute that there is nothing in that space. There is. Trust me. Only a few can see it, and fewer make the effort to get there from where you are. For all you know I could be sitting right next to you watching you reading these words right now.  I could be sitting straddling the top of your right ear.

 

Now – out loud quickly: “how do I know I have an ear?” Say it.

 

Now get ready with a new chew toy for your puppy of a VOJ because I have something really tasty for it to chew. The boundary between your world and empty space is thinner than a baby’s breath.

 

Wow … something really shiny! How thick is a baby’s breath? Who the hell has ever measured a baby’s breath? A baby’s breath is just air and aid has no thickness to measure does it? See what I mean?

 

Just between you and me, a lot of beings here in empty space will be really pissed to know I told you that.  The elders are very old school and insist that empty space retains its integrity and remains void of “ssb’s” (solid space beings) except for cats. Yeah, chew on that one.  They love cats over here which is hard for me to grasp because when they are in empty space they are regular motor-mouths. In a place where communication is telepathy it doesn’t help to have cats thought cluttering the airwaves as you might call them. If you get over here be sure you avoid cat experiences.

 

The elders will be even more annoyed when I tell you that there are rips or tears in the boundary between empty and solid space which allow any solid space beings to pass through the baby’s breath of a wall and experience empty space.

 

One more thing.  There’s another expression I should define: “Many experiences ago.” In empty space there is no time. There is all time.  So time doesn’t exist as you know it. What you call time we measure in what rather than when.

 

In solid space – where you sit or stand reading this memoir –there’s an expression “there just not enough hours in the day.”  Here there are no hours nor need to measure them.  Time is only linear in solid space because of general agreement.

Way back when, many experiences ago when I was in solid space but after I had discovered the small rips & tears in the boundary, I developed abilities.  It was a time you might refer to as the 1930’s common era. A person I loved dearly asked me how I could possibly predict things, know things about people and objects – extra sensory abilities.  I explained that it’s all there in the ether, or atmosphere or light or whatever.  You just need to listen.  She was really skeptical.

        “How could something be there but not be obvious?”

        I pondered that sitting there with her on the coast of New Jersey, the setting sun behind us turning the clouds over the Atlantic Ocean to pink and orange and watching the breeze fluff her red hair as she gathered it into a pony tail. Her tanned face held its serious expression as she added, “if there’s information in the air how come y’all can hear it and the rest of us can’t?”

        I was hoping to come up with a simple explanation because I wanted to get back to our plans for the night and because I was only on a three day pass off the ship in Norfolk.

        “It’s empty air.  S’not like some encyclopedia full of explanations that you can flip through and know that my cousin Dorothy gave me this scarf for my birthday three years ago.”

        Then it occurred to me.  All across America, families could flip a switch and get something out of thin air.

        “Sunday nights. 7:30,”I explained. “Jack Benny is on the radio. Radio gets turned off at eight because it’s bedtime.  8:00 Fred Allen is on.  Just because our radio is turned off doesn’t mean there’s no Fred Allen broadcasting from Rockefeller Center.”

        “So you compare yourself to a radio? You have vacuum tubes in your head?

        “Without advertisements.”

 

        But that was before I was exiled from empty space and had to earn my way back in.

 

 

 

 

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