Vicente L Ruiz Writes

As he stares at the horizon, waiting, he remembers the way things used to be. The ashen desert where he is standing now was sand back then. Yes, there was a temple here, with tall columns as wide as five men side-to-side, and at least ten times as tall. He searches his memory and brings it back from its heyday, the priests scurrying to their duties, some civilians visiting and paying their respects. He nods. Time moves forward, and other people move in. They look widely different, their clothes and technology a stark contrast from the temple builders. Time shifts yet again, and the desert comes and claims its tithe.

He sighs.

It is always the same. It has always been, and it will always be. And not for long now. He, of all people, should know.

When she comes, she does so with a casual stroll. She has worn the same form for a long time: a young brunette woman dressed in black. He finds it funny that she wears his sigil. Who would have thought?

“Hello,” she says.

“My lady,” he answers, and nods.

“You were always so formal,” she smiles.

“One is as one is, my Lady. One cannot change.”

“Oh, anyone can change,” she says, and starts circling him, examining him.

“Anyone, perhaps, but not me.”

“Really?” She points at him. “You are wearing a full human form now.”

“Indeed. Humans earned my respect… at the end.”

“Ah. A pity. I liked the jackal. In fact, if I just squint, I think I still can see…”

“I am always here, my Lady. If you prefer…”

“Ah, no, just whatever you like. I was… teasing you. For a bit.”

“Before the real end?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Do we have time for a walk?” he asks.

“Time. It was always an interesting concept, wasn’t it? Even more so, right now.” But she starts strolling again. “This is a nice temple you got here.”

He doesn’t look surprised. She knows what he has lived, what he has just seen.

“It was magnificent, my Lady.”

“The only one ever fully, solely dedicated to you.”

“Certainly.”

“That’s why you chose this place for this. Even if nothing’s left.”

“Well, one has to make use of what one has.”

“Do you plan to fight me?”

He stops and stares at her, puzzled. And then, he laughs.

She smirks.

“Are… are you serious, my Lady?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Wait. Do you mean… someone has fought you? Actually fought you?”

“Oh yes. You see, it was expected from some, of course. After all, it was part of their… nature, shall we say? But there have been a couple of instances… Well, they actually made me angry.”

“I would never fight you. Not ever. Not before, and certainly not now. Why would I? That would be pointless.”

“Why the walk, then?”

“I always enjoyed your company, my Lady. I wish we had more time.”

He smiles as he says it. She smiles back.

“You could have said it before, you know. We could have… explored that.”

“Yes, my Lady, I know. But how could I? No matter my position, I am but your humble servant, as we all are… were. My feelings are mine, and mine they have remained. But now… I can speak my heart.”

She actually looks down, at the ashes, and picks at a lump in the dirt.

“I think… Deep inside, I’ve always known it. The way you always gazed at me, no matter what I wore.”

“Well, it is too late now, my Lady.”

“It certainly is. Come here for your hug.”

He turns, and she is no longer a small, fragile human, but a force that embraces him, a strength that encompasses universes and blows up galaxies.

And at the same time, a mouth whose lips kiss his for a moment that lasts for all eternity, just before everything blinks out.

****

Regarding today’s story, I’ll just utter one name: Neil Gaiman.

Today’s been one year and one day since the lockdown started here. Just you know.

“Today,” and she pauses for a second, “we’re going to wrap up your class on flash fiction with an exercise. After all, you’re here for that, aren’t you? Practise!” She says it with a smile, and with a click, the slide changes.

“We will use an image prompt. This image, to be precise. And, in case anyone’s worrying,” she smiles again at the bearded guy in the corner, who promptly blushes,”the image is not mine, but it’s free to use. I’ll give you all the links at the end of the session.”

She expertly hits the image with her laser pointer over her shoulder, then stares at them and asks, “What have we got here?”

“A building,” the really young girl in the first row ventures.

“Anything else?”

“A photograph of a building!” someone in the crowd shouts. There’s laughter.

She laughs, then raises her hand. “That was a joke, I suppose, but… a valid one. Why?”

“It looks like a polaroid,” the girl says again.

“Yes?”

“Polaroids… are not normal photographs. I mean, nowadays everyone carries a smartphone around and can snap a photo, but back then, these were… special. A polaroid, of all photos, said ‘I was here’. Like one graffiti, only in images.”

Silence.

“Very, very good. And so true. I do remember that about polaroids, you know? I do have an age.”

More laughter.

“What else, may I ask? Something like… where is this?”

“New York?” another girl, raising her hand in the middle rows.

“Why New York?”

“It sort of looks like that building there? The Flatiron? Only, this is not so flat. The other buildings surrounding it are also really tall. So, skyscrapers… New York.”

“Could be somewhere else?”

“Vancouver!” says a young man from the back, who apparently has just been named speaker of his group of friends.

“Why Vancouver?”

“Because it is not New York. Everything happens in New York!”

“Interesting. Could it be somewhere else, not in America?”

“Shanghai,” the girl from the first row utters. “During World War II, right before the Japanese invaded. Shanghai looked truly Western. It was a land of opportunities, then the war came. The other buildings are perhaps a bit too tall, but…”

“What made you think of Shanghai?”

“It’s black and white. and the architectural style reminds me of the… thirties perhaps? It made me think of classical movies, the golden age. And I remembered a couple of movies with the action being located there, in that era. It seems more intriguing to me.”

“Hm. What if we try to make it more intriguing?”

There were some murmurs.

“Look at the photograph. Look at it. What do you see? What do you not see?”

“People! There are no people!” says Flatiron Girl.

“Why?”

“The angle, obviously. They’ve left street level out.”

“How can we work that to our advantage?”

“We already have,” Front Row says, “in a sense? We can place it anywhere, because we see no people, no signs. Nothing can point clearly to one place or another. Unless one knows a lot about architecture, I guess.”

“Indeed. Anything else?”

“Is that a flag?” Speaker Guy from the back says. “Down there, close to the building on the right?”

“Could be.”

“We could enhance the image, see what it is. I know a guy who does that kind of thing with old images like this one.”

“Yes you could. But let’s use our eyes, and our imagination. What did you just say?”

“That I know a guy…”

“That it was an old image,” Front Row interrupted. “And yet…”

“Yes?” she smiles, her eyebrow raised.

“Well, I guess this is just manipulated or something, okay, but let’s say for a moment that this… this is really an old image. An old photograph. From the thirties. But it’s a polaroid, which was invented… I don’t know, but I guess later? So, the whole image means…”

“Time travel!” Speaker Guy exclaims.

Front Row looks mortified, but she smiles again and points at her.

“Time travel, indeed, as our friend here would undoubtedly have concluded. From here, you can go anywhere. Where was this photo found? Who found it? A descendant of the time travellers? Or… and ascendant? Time travellers from a different team?”

She paces up and down.

“Obviously, and I hope you’ve noticed, we have just had a brainstorming session. One directed by me, yes, but after all, I only have myself to poke when I sit down to write.”

She stops and stares at her audience.

“I’m going to give you homework. Did you expect otherwise?” Laughter. “You’re going to write a story using this picture as a prompt. Say… about 750 words, and that’s not a hard limit, but don’t go much beyond that. You can use the ideas we just brainstormed, or you can come up with new ones. And remember: have fun!”

****

And that is how you cheat at your self-imposed writing exercises!

Thank you for coming to my TEDTalk. Drink water and remember: practise your writing and have fun!

Nobody in Spangenburg had been specially worried when the previous week’s weather report had come in. This was Switzerland, after all, and having the roads blocked for a few days was no big deal. If worse came to worst, they knew federal authorities would have supplies flown in by helicopter. Spangenburgers simply topped their stocks of food and made plans for the week.

And so, after they were snowed in on Friday night, they settled into a special routine. Some things were common: every morning a member of each household would walk out and make sure the new snow, if there had been any, would represent no problem on roofs or paths. Dogs were let out, water pipes checked.

Aside from that, Spangenburgers took those days off very differently.

One family, the Grütters, had recently discovered role-playing games. It was Grandma Hilda, surprisingly, who volunteered to run a campaign for those days. Each day the five of them woke up, had breakfast, and donned their dice, paper, pencils and imagination, and faced fantastic perils.

Bernhardin Schmid, 31, single, cat mum of three, had come home last Friday with the trunk of her car full of books. If anyone walked by her house, they’d have heard some mellow smooth jazz, and they might even catch a glimpse of her on her couch, surrounded by her cats, a fire crackling in her chimney, her attention on one of her books. Still, she wished for a story where a woman like her found a portal to a parallel universe, but her books rarely gave her that.

She might have liked what Thomas Würsten was doing a few houses beyond. Thomas had chosen to stop procrastinating and finally give his novel a push. To his surprise, he was managing to. He wrote page after page on his computer, a classical radio station in the background. Draft after draft, he somehow kept coming back to stories about mysterious cat-loving women who could leap through different universes.

Andrea Schlumpf and Hiltwin Thalmann had planned everything carefully. Food was ready, drinks were ready, and their satellite dish was ready. They finally had found time to binge some of the TV series everyone talked about. They had made a list, and they had searched the internet, carefully trying to avoid spoilers and almost managing to, so they could put them all in watching order. And they had ended up throwing in a couple more new shows that knew nothing about.

Jost Häberli didn’t feel well. Why he was still here, he wasn’t sure. The job. It paid the bills. But what use, paying the bills, if he didn’t enjoy life? His therapist had warned him beforehand, but he had decided what to do while the town was blocked: nothing. He just stayed in bed, listening to the wind and the snow and the occasional bird. A neighbour might yell and a dog might bark back. Why was he here? Why was he alive still?

Alexis Schadegg and Max Rösli barely left their bed as well. But they were having fun. And sex. Lots of it. Whenever they left their bedroom, they did so wrapped in a blanket only, and went for sandwiches and pre-cooked food, so they could go back to the bed as soon as possible. And the shower. They liked the shower.

What would they think about their neighbours, Martina Hagenbuch and Francesco Kobel? In a sense, they had chosen the same path. But Martina and Francesco barely left their sex dungeon. They stopped regularly for food and rest. And they reminisced about the Känzigs, who had come to visit last Christmas, and what a wonderful time all four had had. And how exciting and rewarding. They definitely had to do it again.

Alessandro Soldermann, however, was worried. He felt like starting smoking again, but fortunately, he had no cigarettes in the house, and of course, he couldn’t buy any now. So he turned to alcohol. It was his damned boss’ fault. He had planned to leave a bit early on Friday, using the snowstorm as an excuse, but of course, she had come up with some stupid last-minute job. As a result, Alessandro had been late. Late. How long had it been since he had last been late? When he was a newbie. But now, now, he was trapped in his house, and he couldn’t get rid of what he had in his basement.

Spangenburg’s busybody was Amélie von Bergen. All towns have one, or at least one neighbour who rises to the post. Or that’s how Amélie had always seen her place in life, in any case. She had been oh so happy on Friday evening when she had seen Soldermann arrive so late. The guy had always acted suspiciously: she knew he hid something. Snow had already been falling heavily when he had parked his Volvo, and under her intent gaze, had unloaded the trunk. Her heart had jumped when she saw what it was he has carried into his house. So much so, that she had tripped and fell backwards. She had heard a crack. It was Sunday now, and all Amélie knew was that she couldn’t feel anything from her neck downwards. No pain, no hunger. Just the cold wooden floor, and her tears down her cheeks. Perhaps when the police found her, they might investigate Soldermann?

****

Wow. I only came up with the idea for this story on Friday (believe me, you don’t want to know the other options), and life is just so busy these weeks for me I’ve had to wait until today, Sunday, to write it. Hope everyone likes it!

(Everyone? Is anyone out there?)

So, I’m late, and the new prompt is going to be late, too. Who’s checking anyway?

“Another firewall? Ah, lady, I thought I’d find something more difficult…”

Eyes move. Implants send signals through the grid. Ports open. Others close.

“Hm, this is actually pretty clever. Maybe I’ll end up having some fun out of this?”

The wall crumbles. Literally. It disappears. He moves on. He almost sings.

“What now, what now?”

His connection is severed.

“What the…? Bring backup link online ASAP. Reassessing target.”

To his credit, he’s fast. He’s good, too, of course: nobody gets to his position otherwise.

“Who do you think I am, eh? Someone you could dupe? Whatever you’ve thought of, I’ve met and beat before, bitch.”

A gate rises. Heavy, reinforced. Pulsating power lines converge on it. He curses.

“Damn. You shouldn’t be able to do this. But since you have…”

There’s a flash and a crack. A network of crisscrossing filaments expands and reaches the gate.

“Now I just have to wait…”

The gate rumbles. It doesn’t unlock or open; it just allows passage.

“And that was quick. I must be close now…”

Enough.

Space moves. Spinning. Dazzling.

“No! I say… no!”

Stop.

“What the…?”

Recognition.

“This… This is private! My own gridspace! No! It cannot be! It’s a sim! You’ve stolen my own data and created a sim!”

Data analysis. This is no sim. Of course it’s not.

“No! No!”

It’s time. Let’s finish this.

“My gridspace… You’ve thrown me back to…”

“Yes.”

“You bitch. How have you entered here?”

“Through your door. You’re good. Really, really good. But not the best.”

A head-on attack. There will be consequences for his real body, but he doesn’t matter. He’s furious. A shield will suffice. He’s pushed back.

“Is that a tear? On your face? The big boy is weeping?”

The tease is not necessary, but it’s fun.

“You… What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing. Do you think you’d have something left to offer, once you’ve been broken in?”

“What do you mean…?”

He’s checking. Good. He’ll find what’s missing. Or rather, what little is left.

“A trap, little boy. A dedicated, elaborated, long-winding trap. Created expressly for you, as soon as you started flaunting your expertise.”

“No, it cannot be…”

“Oh yes. As it’s been before. Many times. You thought you were the first one to defy us?”

“What? Us?”

He sees us two now.

“Twins?”

He checks. With what he has left: we have made sure he can see enough.

“Identical DNA? Clones? But even so, links are individually attuned to…”

We speak together. It’s fun.

“Now you know. Like those before you. The ones you never knew about. Because we erase them.”

“What do you mean? From the grid? But the real counterpart…”

“Bye, little boy.”

“Master?”

“Yes, my Apprentice?”

“I’ve been thinking, Master.”

“That’s good.”

“When I first came here, I did it searching for God.”

“Yes.”

“I was told that this place, these mountains, and you, Master, were sacred. That I would be closer to God.”

“That they say, yes.”

“All of this… This landscape that surrounds us, is indeed beautiful.”

“I agree.”

“But I don’t know if I feel closer to God, Master.”

“Why, my Apprentice?”

“Well, these mountains belong to the world. Some people immediately imply that the world was made by God.”

“But we know that’s not true, my Apprentice. Science says so.”

“Yes, ours is but one planet around our Sun. Also, now we know that there are many more planets out there.”

“That was easy to surmise.”

“Yes, Master. But let’s remember that it’s not been that long since galaxies were recognized as such, and the true scale of the Universe started to reveal itself to us.”

“Indeed. The Milky Ways holds thousands of millions of stars, and the universe has thousands of millions of galaxies.”

“I’ve always found it staggering, Master. And yet…”

“And yet?”

“Science claims no God created the Universe. That it comes from the Big Bang.”

“A misnomer.”

“Yes, Master. I’ve learned that there was, or so science believes, a convoluted process of creation. What we usually call The Big Bang was just a part of it. And it still holds mysteries.”

“Yes.”

“The unbalance between matter and antimatter. What’s dark matter made of. What is the dark energy that makes the universe expand.”

“Those are some of the most common problems, yes.”

“And I wonder, Master.”

“Yes?”

“Are we bound to know? What if humankind can never discover the true nature of the universe? What if there are closed doors behind closed doors? New mysteries after we break the existing ones?”

“Interesting, my Apprentice.”

“Scientists tell us that it makes no sense to ask what happened before the Big Bang, because time was created right then. But still one has to wonder: whence it came from? Perhaps that was God?”

“What do you think, Apprentice?”

“I don’t know! Some religions claim the universe is cyclic. That it dies and renews. The Big Bang could have been the start of one of those cycles. But in order to do that, our universe should stop expanding and start contracting at some point in the future. And it doesn’t seem that will happen.”

“Currently scientists don’t see how it could happen, no.”

“But even so, if it was true… The universe has always existed? Always expanding, then contracting, and repeating the cycle all over again, forever?”

“What is really in your mind, Apprentice?”

“I… I’m frightened.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know what makes me more uncomfortable: the idea that the universe has existed forever and always will, with no beginning and no end, or the idea that it did have a beginning, and it will have an end.”

“Well put, Apprentice, well put.”

“And if there’s a God, or Goddess, or a Pantheon… What kind of beings could, or would, create such a universe? One that starts and ends, or one that always existed?”

“Have you considered, my Apprentice, that if there’s such a God, shouldn’t there be a God that has created God as well?”

“What?”

“Think about it as well. I’m happy, My Apprentice, for you are well into the path of enlightenment. But be aware that the path is a long one.”