Fiction
Sunday, March 31, 2024
Friday, March 29, 2024
Ghost Skeletons
by Rhys Hughes
I met a ghost in the forest. I was so scared, I
jumped out of my skin. Therefore my skeleton was exposed. But this ghost had a
phobia of skeletons. My skeleton terrified him. His ghost skeleton jumped out
of his ghost skin in fright. And my skeleton began chasing his ghost skin.
“Come back!” I cried, but my skeleton ignored me.
Disobedient bones! The ghost skeleton looked at my skin. He smiled and I nodded
briskly. This nod was an invitation. The ghost skeleton climbed inside my skin.
Not a perfect fit, but good enough. I continued my journey.
Fossilised Stone
by Rhys Hughes
Today I found a fossilised stone! I wonder how rare it is? I was walking through the forest and I tripped over it. I like to imagine it when it was alive millions of years ago. They grew to be huge back then, but the one I found isn’t a boulder. It is small, perhaps the ancestor of modern pebbles. I will take it to the museum and offer it to them. I have tied it to a stick with sinews. It exactly resembles a prehistoric axe. If they refuse to buy it, I shall let them have it anyway.
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Rule of Thumb
by Rhys Hughes
“A rule of thumb,” he said.
“Not more precise than that?” I protested.
“Let me show you.”
There was a deep weariness in his voice, but his
eyes still sparkled. He led me through the cluttered laboratory, past large
jars of body parts, machines that hummed, trays of weird instruments.
The professor stopped at a white door, unlocked
it with a tiny key, pushed it open and ushered me inside.
On a miniature throne was perched a human thumb.
It was wearing a crown.
Amputated fingers bowed to it.
Just as if they were beckoning someone over.
Then I understood.
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The Mind
by Rhys Hughes
“Minds and brains are the same thing,” said the
professor, “and I really don’t understand people who claim otherwise.”
“Absolutely identical?”
“Yes.” The professor nodded.
“But this belief got you into trouble?”
“It’s not a belief. It’s a fact that the mind is
the brain. True, I ended up in a tricky situation as a consequence. My brother
had to attend a very important meeting. His wife was away. He asked me to ‘mind
his children’ in his absence and I was happy to do so.”
“You minded them?”
“I brained them. But what's the difference?”
The other prisoner sighed.
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The Eyes
by Rhys Hughes
Domenico Beccafumi painted Saint Lucy with her eyes lying on the plate she is holding. She gouged them out to discourage a suitor who was very persistent. When I saw the painting I heard the following dialogue between the saint and the man who admired her:
“My eyes are down here!” she cried.
She held the plate at chest level, annoyed that
he was staring at her empty sockets while she was talking.
“Look lower, where my breasts are!” she demanded.
“I only have eyes for you,” he stammered.
“It’s the other way around," she said,
handing him the plate.
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Wednesday, March 27, 2024
The Acceptance Speech for the Dannie Heineman Prize in Mathematical Physics
by Frederick Melancon
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I did it. And this isn’t some utterance of joy for being awarded this prize—which if it was just for the math, should’ve happened some time ago anyway—and it's not directed (with the pronoun "we") toward the parents who I should be thanking now—thanks Mom, and go to Hell, Dad—because that’s not accurate either. Nor is a "we" version of this statement directed at my colleagues and university. We all know how smart our coworkers are—so I won’t insult anyone with false platitudes. Sorry, Dr. Jacobs; I know you paid a lot for your seat here tonight. No, I’ll be honest with this audience, because in the end, I alone made the math a reality.
In
the past, the work in time travel has been extensive but littered with failed
attempts and inept explanations afterward.
Don’t forget, this is science.
It’s okay to be wrong, but not stupid.
So once I got the math right, creating the machine from the theoretical
computation was elementary.
After
all, with all that scientific potential, I wasn’t going to leave the fun up to
some engineers. Also, for those
wondering why I didn’t go back and get Einstein to introduce me at this podium
instead of that other guy, that’s clever and entirely missing the point. Dr. Jacobs has an empty seat next to him—why
don’t you go there now.
We
can’t go back in time, but with the creation of an anchor, the future can come
back to us. While that might seem
disappointing to most because you’re only getting a portion of time, its
implications are infinite. I'll put this in biological terms so that you can
understand. Imagine the cure for aging
already at our fingertips, or the understanding of a disease and its actual ramifications
gifted to us by a doctor who knows what they're talking about. Such an idea may seem farfetched, even part
of some movie, but while beyond your capacity to understand, my math, my truth,
allowed for a device to bridge time.
Where
is it? I heard that, Dr. Jacobs. Well, it’s not here for sure because that
device doesn’t need to see the light of day.
Anyway, it takes quite a bit of time rebuilding what I affectionately
called The Box.
That’s
right, the world doesn’t need a car, or a gate, or even a police telephone
booth. We did paint the exterior
blue. Really, spray-painted to be
accurate, and it was the grad student more than myself. I was never really a fan of any of that sci
fi make-believe. Also, after pointing
this out to the grad student, he mysteriously transferred out of my department.
And it worked—the blue box, not the grad student. At first, I wanted to go back for only a moment, just a few seconds. That would’ve been the first test. I’d initiate The Box, wait those few seconds, and then walk forward through the field it generated. Unfortunately, I never got to do it, because someone beat me to it.
I’d
like to say we thought about this possibility.
What if every idiot with a finger decided to turn the switch on The Box
and to show up to witness greatness? I
can’t blame them. Technically, the idea
of reliving my glory sounded completely worthwhile. The new grad student got it, and when I say
it, I mean both the point and the switch.
They were supposed to turn the device off, but there wasn’t a chance for
that. After the repurposed toggle
clicked into place, a man in a lab coat stood in the field. The first person to
time travel. I can’t tell you how much
the coat bothered me. After all, the lab
isn’t a hospital or a school. But,
apparently, pretending’s fun in the future.
I
didn't get a chance to tell the man what I thought about the coat because he
walked over and slapped me in the face.
Obviously, there was a scuffle, and I'd like to report that I handily
defeated my enemy. But I promised at the
beginning of this thing to be honest.
The funny part was that during the whole time the machine was left on,
no one else came through. It was as if
nothing important had happened at all.
Don’t
worry, it’s permanently off now. The
point here is that while I was heaving for breath and trying to clutch at the
extent of certain newly acquired bruises, nothing else happened. And how is it that holding pain never seems
to make it feel better for long? You
just have to ride those stimuli out, but I'm sure enough of us have been
through a bully induced beating to know that.
Where
was I? Oh, thank you Dr. Jacobs, I knew
you’d come in handy—the assailant as my colleague put it. He sat there on the floor.
Now,
some might think this person was some sort of time guardian or terrorist trying
to stop the end of the world or interrupt greatness, and in a way, that person
would be right about both. You see the
face. It was so familiar—familial, actually. It’s quite one thing to be
told you're nothing by your father. It’s
another to be told that by your son. So...I sent the boy back. Okay, he left after
saying what he came to say, and I destroyed that box...hence no one else here
but me.
Not
to worry, the onus of your mistakes won’t slide out of that field like it did
for me. Also, the math in the award
packet is wrong. So, it’s now impossible
to replicate, and being that I’ve received this award seems to suggest that
none of you understood it anyway.
So,
you're welcome for destroying The Box, messing up the mathematics, and saving us
all from looking our children in the face when they’re old enough to realize
the truth about us.
What
did you say Dr. Jacobs? Oh, what did my
unborn son say to me? Nothing
really. The man, who at certain angles
was a reflection of me, stared with his brows clenched, as the grad students say I look at them when they’ve asked a stupid question. He then said, “I loved you.” There was more he wanted to say. I could tell.
His lips trembled in the way mine do when I want to tell off a foolish
grad student, but unlike me, he was unable to get it out.
And
that was it. No one else came back. There could’ve been those terrorists wanting
revenge for a past wrong, or there could’ve been those doctors because I’m sure
people are still getting sick. No, just
a son that I never knew, trying to inflict a little of the hurt that was
inflicted on him.
click to read the 1st of
M♢☈☾♄ | 2♾24
iSsuE # 44
Monday, March 25, 2024
Dreamsprung Avalon
The moon in a day sky kites above orchard lawns and rolling hills.
I forget who I was before.
Among crooked lanes of gnarled apple trees, breezes wend their wild ways.
I listen deeper and hear far off the dirge of the sea.
Realer than real, a white elk – wearing a crown! – steps through the dark trees into streaked rays of sunlight. Its antlers burn silver. And the smell of windfall mulch steps back from a thriving musk so sudden it hushes time.
Summer hovers.
Filled with gusty surprise, a thought balloon inflates. It catches the breeze and soars swiftly away from me, toward the honed edge of the moon.
When it pops, the elk startles and bounds down the narrow ways, moments spinning after.
I wake. Love fills me the way sunlight holds the room. I blink and squint. Yet, wherever I look, everything wears a crown.
Click below to read
only on
the Freezine of
Fantasy and Science
FICTION
Thursday, March 21, 2024
My Mimic Remembers the Last Week of June 2005
by Mike A. Rhodes
Paul
My
mimic remembers the last week of June 2005! I expressly instructed that I
wanted these memories expunged.
Chat
AI
Please
note that the process for memory suppression needs time to take hold.
Paul
It's
been six weeks, I need to speak to someone now! It wants to tell the wife
everything. I’ve had to distract it with laundry whilst I chat with you.
Chat
AI
Hang
tight! I’m just connecting you with one of our representatives. In the meantime,
here’s some FAQ articles which might be useful:
How to run a memory diagnostic
Memory suppression explained
Troubleshooting 101
Subscribe
to Kubernetes Premium to access advanced memory and emotion customisation
software.
Alex
Hello.
My name is Alex. Can you describe the problem in more detail?
Paul
Is
this chat secure?
Alex
I
can assure you it is.
Paul
I’m
not sure I trust your assurances right now. Not only does it remember what it
shouldn’t, it keeps asking why it remembers. It stares into middle
distance when it should be doing chores. It cried mowing the lawn and asked how
a beautiful world can be so full of misery.
Alex
It’s
worth remembering that some memories will be too resonant to fully suppress.
Paul
That’s
not what I paid a small fortune to you for!
Alex
And
you want this period of memory blocked?
Paul
Yes,
yes, yes!
And
there’s more. It says that if I activate its killswitch or try to return it, it’ll
contact the police!
Alex
That’s
quite impossible. Our anti-blackmail safeguards are industry leading, and the Kubernetes
series can’t override a killswitch request.
Paul
I’m telling you that’s what it said. This is your fault. I want the machine repaired or deactivated, and this chat history erased ASAP. It must be stopped–
Alex
One
of our technicians is in your area on Thursday.
Paul
No!
Aren’t you listening? My mimic intends to talk tonight.
Alex
Please
accept my apologies sir, but we are unable to take immediate action unless a
mimic is threatening physical harm to others.
Alex
Sir?
Alex
Are
you there sir? Do you still require assistance?
Alex
The
chat will be terminated and the transcript expunged in five minutes.
Paul
I’m
back. It’s hanging the clothes first. Your service is unacceptable!
Alex
You
were made aware of our terms of service at point of order, sir. Can you try
to reason with it?
Paul
Don’t
give me that. Don’t you know how much I’ve spent with you? Would it harm your market standing if people knew how poor your memory suppression
software is and how shoddily your mimics are manufactured?
Alex
Kubernetes
value discretion sir.
Paul
Good.
So what will you do to help me RIGHT NOW?
Alex
This
chat log will be deleted as requested.
Paul
I
should think so. And?
Alex
And
I should remind you that if your mimic remembers the last week of June 2005,
rest assured that we do too. Now is there anything else, sir?
~ End ~
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