Visit the Vestigial Surreality WIKI
Vestigial Surreality for e-Readers
Now Available: Omnibus - Episodes 1-28
VS Links
Sunday SciFi Fantasy Serial
by Douglas Christian LarsenVestigial Surreality for e-Readers
Now Available: Omnibus - Episodes 1-28
VS Links
World in a Locket.
Seven
stood at the arched window and looked out at night. The last thing she wanted
to see outside were pesky squirrels, or the beauty of the pines. She allowed
the outer world to reflect her interior emotions, and thunder rumbled
ominously, distant lightning flashes briefly illuminating the rolling clouds.
It had been hours since the shattering of her crystal sandbox, although here,
in her Inner Sanctum, time was difficult to gauge, and she could have been
standing here quietly for days, or only a few minutes. She felt as if her life
were over, and that nothing could ever repair or heal her loss.
 |
| Illustration by Harrison Christian Larsen ©2016 - Vestigial Surreality: NINE |
She
called up a steaming cup of coffee and stared into the reflections in the cup.
She switched it to tea. Then the mug disappeared and a glass of dark wine
replaced the mug. She sighed and the glass vanished. She felt listless and
hopeless, and nothing helped, nothing soothed.
Seven
called up a window and checked briefly over her curriculum, but didn’t care, and
closed the window.
She
closed her eyes and then opened them in darkness. She was reclining and could
feel electrical tingles all across her face and down along her body. She lay in
the pool of darkness and allowed her equilibrium to establish itself and felt
her ears pop briefly, then she thought the hatch up and it silently raised to
the dim lighting of the chamber room, which seemed far too bright. She sat up
and swung her legs over the side of the chamber bed. She glanced over the row
of chambers and saw all progressing normally. She had briefly hoped that
possibly Number Six might be up and about, but his chamber was closed and the
stat monitors at the end of the of the rows flickered as usual.
She
went to the bathroom and did not need to turn on the light. Her eyes were still
accustomed to the dark and she could see herself plainly in the reflection of
the mirror, her eyes looking too large, even huge, and then she lifted her hand
before her face, palm down, and studied her hand in profile, searching for
trembles. Her hand was steady, in fact too steady. She was optimized beyond
full health, and even in the darkness, her hand seemed to glow with vitality.
She
departed the bathroom and paused for a moment as the door to the chamber room
hissed to the side, and she padded on her socked feet into the dark corridor
that brought her to the common area. As usual, the small kitchen area was
deserted, and the lights came on at her presence. It looked like no one had
been here in quite some time, all the Voyagers were in deep submerge.
Briefly,
she considered brewing a pot of coffee, but why bother, the coffee was much
better inside the program, and the thought of drinking a severe, biting brew
brought no comfort. What she needed was to get out, to move about in the real
world, she needed fresh air, sunshine, not this stale, lifeless environment.
She
went back to the chamber room and searched about in her closet. Briefly, she
thought about thinking a change of clothes,
all the while knowing she would have to go through the physical actions of disrobing
and all the mundane aspects of pulling on fresh clothes, but right now, in the
present, RL seemed very unreal, the magic of her Inner Sanctum was the norm,
not out here, but she went through the actions, stripping off her sweats,
kicking out of her socks. She considered taking a quick shower, but why bother,
her body was cleaner now than it had ever been before in RL. It was as if a
thousand mice had licked her clean. That thought made her want to take a
shower, but her skin felt clean, fresh, and tingly.
She
pulled on a blouse, and then a baggy sweater. Funny, but the sweater had not
been this loose on her first day, when she unpacked her suitcases and hung her
clothes in this closet. She snatched a pair of her favorite faded jeans, and
even as she pulled them up over her hips it was obvious how much weight she was
down. Not even remotely heavy when she joined the program, but by how loosely
her jeans fitted she judged she had dropped at least twenty pounds. That must
put her at about a hundred pounds. But she didn’t feel emaciated, only boiled
down to the gristle, she was all sinew and muscle, and it felt good. She didn’t
feel cold, not at all like Number Six. But she didn’t like the feel of the
baggy jeans, which had been her tightest pair.
She
put on fresh socks and then pulled her knee-high boots on and zipped them up.
She pulled her small purse over her arm and seized a hoodie from the closet,
setting the hangar rocking crazily, noisily, and then she hurried from the
room, turning the opposite direction in the corridor that she usually took, and
headed for the exit.
At
the heavy blast door she placed her palm on the square screen and leaned her
forehead against the pad, allowing a brief scan of her eyes. The door clicked
and pulled back away from her. Seven barely allowed it to open before she was
stepping through and hurrying down the steps that lead to the elevator.
It
almost felt that she was fleeing someone as she dashed into the elevator. It
felt like someone was back there, just now, at the blast door, looking through
the thick round portal in the door. As the elevator door closed, she glanced up
the steps to the portal, but could discern no shape in the glass.
Oh
yes, she was feeling paranoid. It seemed eyes and cameras were everywhere. She
jabbed at the Ground button and the numbers above the elevator door started
flashing upward from LL32, she impatiently alternated her glance between the
rising numbers and the dark control panel. The elevator paused and she saw that
she was only up to LL13 and wondered with some fear at the panicked thought of
exactly whom was about to join her in the elevator. She pressed herself against
the rear wall of the small cube, swallowing hard. She wished she had quaffed
some water before leaving the chamber room.
Suddenly
she thought of the angry eyes of the businessman. Seven is watching. He had written that, as if she were the invader, in her own crystal sandbox. With grim
certainty she knew that man, the businessman, the guy in the suit with the
umbrella and briefcase, he would be standing there when the elevator door
opened. And he would bring a reckoning upon her.
The
elevator door swished open. Seven glanced out at a long dark corridor, only green
exit lighting providing any illumination down the quiet hallway. She had
absolutely no idea what went on in this building, way down here below the
surface. They could be turning humans into animals or animals into humans for
all she knew or cared.
Seven
punched the G button again. Come on, come on. Let’s go, let’s get this show on
the road, but the door remained open, inordinately long, if no one were getting
in, the door should have closed by now. She heard footsteps in the corridor,
but the elevator door swished shut. She sighed, exhaling loudly. Perhaps it
would have been the appropriate etiquette to put her hand out and stop the door
from shutting, but if there were a way to do it, she would have grabbed the door
and pulled it closed that much faster. Again, the lift ascended. She found that
she was shrunk in the furthest corner of the cube, and she forced herself to
stand up and away from the wall. She composed herself as the numbers at the top
of the door arrived at single digits, and she felt the lift decelerate.
When
the door slid back, Seven paused for just an instant, looking to ensure that no
one was about to enter the lift. Then she strode forth, resolute and confident,
practically jogging. Her heart thudded loudly in her breast. As she approached
the receptionist desk she saw the quiet woman behind the desk glance at her,
but they made no eye contact. The receptionist lifted a phone to her ear and
began nodding, talking softly, tilting her face away from Seven, and Seven
picked up her pace as she passed the desk, feeling foolishly that they were
going to stop her.
We are so sorry, but you
cannot leave, for you see, we know that you were watching, we know that you
observed things better unseen.
Seven
pushed through two sets of glass doors and then found herself outside, in the
real world.
Newbury
squinted her eyes in the bright light of full day. The light felt like hot
pincers squishing her eyes back into her head.
An
electric tram stood at the curb and a few people were stepping up through the
doorway, but Newbury wanted to walk, stretch these too-toned legs and exercise
all of her muscles. What had Six said, that they could run marathons if they
desired?
She
switched her purse strap from around her shoulder to over her head, and turned
left on the sidewalk, heading up the busy street, to what location she had not
the faintest idea. Coffee crossed her mind, but even at the best café in the
world the beverage would not come close to what she was accustomed to in her
Inner Sanctum, but the thought of a café was good because there would be
people, real people, people with all their stupidity and self-importance, all their
selfishness, each individual set out on its own mission, to conquer the world,
or to stagger along in zombie sameness, to steal from others, to mind the baby,
catch that taxi, yes she needed people, yes, she required their meaningless
presences, she needed to get lost, she needed to bury herself in the nameless
crowd.
Newbury,
strolling with her hoodie over her arm, forced herself to study the people on
the street. She would not allow herself to think of that other place. She
needed a break, a short breather.
Two
mothers chatted at the corner, each standing with hip jutting, resting grocery
bags on the edges of their belts, two little girls assuming similar postures
near their mothers, the large pair and the small pair smiling into each other’s
face, and one mother was laughing and saying something along the lines of: “But
that’s just not real, you must know that, can’t you tell the difference?” And
one of the little girls, in identical tones to her mother, was saying: “That’s
just it, isn’t it? Dada is Dada!”
Newbury
chuckled and didn’t pause at the corner, but crossed against the light. Dada is dada, that was hilarious. When
the little girl was older she would say, men
are men, or boys will be boys.
Dada is dada. That was good. A vehicle swooshed behind her, missing her
backside by inches.
She
neared an outside café and considered going inside to get a little something,
then maybe sit out here with all the other people. At one table, four women sat
chatting, looking incredibly similar to the two mothers at the corner; possibly
those two had just left this group, this little book club, but none of these
women had little girls with them. Next to their table, two men sat leaning
toward each other, one with an open briefcase on his knees. The one with the
briefcase was saying: “…in the numbers, okay, it’s all about the ones and
zeroes, you haven’t realized yet but there is no difference, it’s all just
numbers, get that through your head. Data is data.”
Newbury
lowered her head and hurried past the groups of people. She did not enter the café.
Instead she stopped and pulled the hoodie off her arm and down over her head.
It felt way too huge on her, like she was stylishly wearing her boyfriend’s
clothing. Only after she started walking again did she realize she had pulled
the hoodie on over her purse. Well, that was okay, probably less chance she’d
get mugged like this, carrying her purse like a concealed sidearm. But now, her
hands were trembling, her whole body shook.
Vividly,
she thought of Jack going on about coincidence, what it meant. And even Stacey,
with his ideas about coincidence, and here, out here in the real world, a
little girl had said, “Dada is dada,” something a little strange and humorous,
and not fifty steps across the street and a business guy says, “Data is data.”
Dada is dada. Data is
data.
Mere
coincidence? Come on, that was impossible. It couldn’t happen. Both phrases
were unusual, but said together, this close together, what in the world?
It
happened. That was the reality. But what did it mean? That was the crazy thing,
it was a message that didn’t mean anything. What could something be trying to
tell her? Dada is dada? Data is data?
She
leaned against a storefront and looked up into the sky. Oh, but that would be
too much. If she suddenly saw Saturn, any sign at all of the ringed planet, she
would kill herself today, she would do it, because she couldn’t take it.
The
sky was the sky. The sun was the sun. Nothing more, nothing less. No heavenly
portents were present, no signs flashed in the sky. She looked up and down the
street, half expecting to see a row of trotting businessmen, umbrellas at the
ready, or perhaps the gymnastic team from hell, their sharp pointy black things
swinging at their sides.
But
all of that, all the mess, that was inside, okay, that was inside, it was inside where things were as perfect as you could
imagine them. That is, until things got very weird. This here, on the street, was not there,
in that other world.
They
were testing her. It had to be something along those lines. They wanted to see
how far they could bend her, that was it. And of course she remembered Jack and
Stacey having a similar discussion, except hers was all in her own head. She
closed her eyes, feeling somewhat queasy, because how much of this was inside
her own head? I mean think about it, who cared if some kind of supervisors had
invaded her crystal sandbox?
But
it had gone far beyond that. Those six guys, they had dragged her toward a
circle that formed in a brick wall, a fiery circle, full of light. That had to
be the most terrifying thing she had ever experienced in her life. They were
going to kidnap her, and despite her most desperate struggles, she could do nothing
to impede their actions.
The
homeless man! He had tried to warn her. But no, that was no warning. He in fact
told her not to be afraid, he was
giving her worthless reassurances, don’t be afraid, and then those bizarre…guys, what the hell was that supposed be about? They had bug eyes, no lips,
flat snubs of noses, and feathers,
come on feathers?
They
wanted to intimidate her. They were trying to terrify her.
Okay,
I surrender, I am intimidated. I am terrified. You guys win. Now what?
Thank
God for Stacey, she had to admit it, he had come plowing into the bunch of them
without a thought for himself. He had been so heroic! She remembered snatches
of him throwing punches, ducking and weaving and punching.
She
hated that. No, she hated Stacey Colton. She had always hated him. He was the
black sheep, he was the loser, the bad guy in the story. And yet she remembered
him putting himself in front of her and Jack, he was the wall, the protector,
the barrier, even when the Martians produced weapons, Stacey was there, he was
moving forward, doing his stupid, pathetic boxer shuffle, moving his feet like
he was square dancing, dosey doe, turn your partner round and round, stupid,
brave, heroic Stacey, what had he said?
“This is gonna hurt.”
Come
on, he knew he had no chance, and yet he was trying to buy them time with his
own body. She had to admit it, he was quite a lot of man. How could she hate a
man like that? What was she thinking, she had never known a man like that, not
truly. In any world. Any of her boyfriends would have grabbed her by the
shoulders and shoved her at them, at those Martians.
And
dear sweet Jack, he was there, right there, in it with her, he certainly wasn’t
going anywhere, she recalled his arm about her, and the fact that he was
trembling as much as she, and yet he had not run away. Yes, Jack was everything
she knew him to be, as brave and loyal as she could have ever hoped or dreamed.
He was just a boy, but really, what a man!
She
had sat there with them, in the back of the truck, with the two unknown weirdos
up front (she had not a single clue as to who or what they were or why they
were there, other than what they had said, of course). She was there, in the
confusion with her two guys, Jack and Stacey, and she had been so rude to them!
She cringed at the thought of telling them to shut up, well, not so much
Stacey, but she should have never said anything like that to her Jack.
She
should have stayed with them. Newbury should have stayed with Jack and Stacey,
even with the world ending. If she had known, oh if she had known, she would have stayed with them. She could
have held Jack’s hand, and go ahead you guys, you do it, just bring on the
apocalypse.
But
what about that businessman? Mr. Odd Jobb. He was the one that pulled her into
her own crystal sandbox, yes, he was the guy. Then he had fled! True, he had
come back, like the very cavalry, with office workers, for goodness sake! All
the cavalry armed with umbrellas. He had shouted for them to stay put. She
wished she had obeyed. She wished she had remained.
She
sighed and opened her eyes, staring at the sky. None of it was real. Jack was
not real. Stacey was not real. The two oddities in the truck were not real. Mr.
Odd Jobb and Old Ben, they couldn’t be real. She wanted to scream, out here in
the real world, she wanted to scream and rant and hurl accusations at her
tormentors, the tormentors from the other world, that fake world of ones and
zeroes, yes, yes, the data is data, I know, Mr. Odd Jobb and Jack, they were
ones and zeroes, they were data. And what really could be the difference in the
ones and zeroes comprising Stacey, and those that constructed Jack?
The
duped cube. She remembered now. Doubling her data. She put the duped cube in
the little embroidered box in her desk. It was there now. Jack and Stacey were
there now, in her desk. The world may have ended, but there was still hope.
Newbury
turned and ran along the sidewalk. She had to protect them. She had to get back
there and hide that cube. How she could hide the cube in that place, she did
not know, but the idea filled her with hope, she remembered Jack’s delighted
eyes when he said she was exactly as he pictured her, and she couldn’t know
what he meant, not exactly, but they were linked, he cared for her as much as
she cared for him, and heroic Stacey, that poor slob of an out-of-shape guy, a
guy willing to put his body between her and those horrific creatures, she owed
him too, in fact, in a way, she cared for him, too, poor Stacey, poor tragic
Stacey.
She
dashed by the café and did not even look at the people there, though she did
hear a man call out: “Now those are some nice numbers, there!” Yes, a typical
man, even though she had to admit she did feel kind of flattered, as she was
not the kind of girl that men cat-called or dog-howled, she could generally
walk past a construction site and draw no attention. Yes, her body certainly
was optimized these days, apparent even in these baggy jeans and oversized
hoodie. Even now, with everything she had been through, she felt a few bubbles
of pleasure in the vicinity of her heart.
Newbury
had to dance and hop from foot to foot at the corner as traffic blurred past.
When the light changed she immediately leaped off the curb. The foursome of
females was gone. She dashed up the steps into her building, not even glancing
at the receptionist…
…and
Seven beat at the elevator button until the door swooshed open, and then she was
inside stabbing at the pad, placing her palm over the little window and typing
in LL32, and the lift descended. She leaned against the wall and felt her heart
pounding, more from her resolution than her frenzied dash on the street. Number
Six was right; she could have run all day without breaking a sweat. But the
inner turmoil, that was different, it popped beads of sweat out on her temples
and beneath her arms.
She
tensed as the lift dropped near LL13, but there was no slowing this time, and
in moments she was at her floor in the deep, deep sub-basement, and within seconds
she was through the security and stripping her clothes next to her chamber. She
didn’t bother with hangars and folding but left her clothes in a heap in her
small cubicle. She lay down in the sponge and closed her eyes.
Seven
stepped down from the door at her back and crossed to her desk and snatched
open the drawer. The embroidered box was there. Apprehensively, she slowly
opened the box. Yes, yes, the cube was there, where it should be. She lifted it
out of the box and held it up to her eyes. She could just discern the miniature
details therein. Frozen. You’re safe, Stacey. She corrected herself. You’re
safe, Jack.
Seven
shrank the box until it was the size of a vitamin capsule. She produced a
locket on a sturdy chain. The locket was indistinct, just a lump of metal. She
formed it into a slim, stylized Valentine heart and then flipped it open. She
placed the crystal capsule inside the heart, drew up red velvet about the
crystal capsule, and closed the locket. She sighed and dropped the chain over
her head, tucking the locket inside her black sweatshirt. She patted the locket
between her breasts.
Then
she looked to the side and screamed.
Someone
was in here, inside her Inner Sanctum, seated upon her couch.
“I’m
terribly sorry,” the old man said, smiling at her, “I did not mean to frighten
you.” He lifted two placating hands, palms up in the universal gesture of don’t be afraid.
“What!”
she cried, it was like finding a stranger inside your body with you. “What the?
What?”
“I
know, I know, most inappropriate of me,” the old man said, shaking his head. “But
we need to have a little talk, you and I. Please?” He patted the couch beside
him.
© Copyright 2016 Douglas Christian Larsen. Vestigial Surreality. All Rights Reserved by the Author, Douglas Christian Larsen. No part of this serial fiction may be reproduced (except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews) or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the publisher, Wolftales UNlimited, but please feel free to share the story with anyone, only not for sale or resale. This work is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental (wink, wink).
Douglas Christian Larsen FREE Short Fiction
Read FREE Sample Chapters of the Douglas Christian Larsen Novel:
Read FREE Sample Chapters of the Rodolphus Novels:
DCLWolf Links:
https://www.pinterest.com/dclwolf/
related terms, ideas, works:
ancestor simulation, digital ark, salvation of humanity,
vestigial surreality, manda project, rocket to saturn,
the singularity, the butterfly effect, simulated reality, matrix,
virtual reality, otherland, the matrix, 1q84, haruki murakami,
hard-boiled wonderland and the end of the world, dreaming,
the dream place, waking from a dream, ready player one,
hologram, holodeck, saturn, saturnalia, cycles of time,
simulacron-3, daniel f. galouye, counterfeit world,
tad williams, science fantasy, science fiction,
Victor Frankenstein, Nikola Tesla, genius
do we live in a computer simulation?
Victor Frankenstein, Nikola Tesla, genius
do we live in a computer simulation?
mystery, thriller, horror, techno thriller,
signs and wonders, vestigial surreality,
william gibson, neal stephenson, serial,
cyberpunk, dystopian future, apocalypse,
scifi, mmorpg, online video game world,
end times, apocalypse, armageddon,
digital universe, hologram universe,
sunday sci-fi fantasy serial fiction,
virtual reality, augmented reality
the unknown writer blog
the unknown writer blog
are we living in a simulation?
puppets, puppetry, punch
Elon Musk, Tesla, VR
No comments:
Post a Comment