Author: I. Graham Smith

Book Update – Forsaking Home

~ I. Graham Smith ~ Leave a comment

Update: Amazon released a Print-On-Demand hardcover, so I’ve added that version of my book. It looks pretty good! The hardcover version of Forsaking Home is available now (315 pages).

Previous Update: The paperback version of Forsaking Home is available. It is right at 443 pages. – Cheers!

Original post:

Over the past few years I have been working on a novel in my tiny amount of spare time. Now I am glad to say that I have finally pushed enough of the words into a pile to feel like this novel (part one of the story) is complete.

The experience of writing this many words (roughly 113,000) has been one of hope wrapped in moments of complete frustration combined with a healthy drive to learn, express myself, and finish what I started. The process has been rewarding on its own in many ways, and I am proud to finally be able to publish it.

Forsaking Home (synopsis):

Edin is a young man who yearns to break free of Earth’s overbearing societal regulation. In the year 2110 he struggles to convince his pregnant wife to spend their life-savings on tickets to join Earth’s first off-planet colony. After she tells him off, he shoots himself in the foot with his impulsiveness and discovers that injustice runs deeper than he imagined.

An assassin, who spent much of her young life alone on the streets of Brazil, accepts a contract from an unknown and powerful entity. She fights her conscience while navigating a treacherous path toward the completion of her contract. Her decisions will forever alter the fate of Earth’s first colony and maybe even offer her a path to redemption.

When events fall into place, the colony’s launch party is tragically interrupted by the politically motivated assassination, and Edin must choose between pursuing his freedom or becoming resigned to what life on Earth has to offer.

Here is a little excerpt that I think sets the tone for the book.

“So, you’re saying that too much safety is bad for us?” It seemed counterintuitive.

“Pretty much. Not that I wish calamity on people, though. It’s all about balance. Reward demands risk. We sent men to the Moon and Mars by risking lives and money. If we had risked more, we might have done it quicker or gone further. If we had risked less, we might not have gone at all.” Grandpa looked up at the sky as if he expected to see the Fenwater Orbital Station (The FOS, as it was commonly called) streaking beyond the few small puff-clouds that dotted the blue.

Edin shrugged, “So I guess what you’re saying is that too much safety is bad, but too much risk is bad too. Like riding in a car; if we don’t go, we won’t get anywhere, but if we do, we might get into an accident.”

“Exactly,” said Grandpa. “But you’re not actually free if you can’t make that choice for yourself.”

Edin walked in silence across the dusty ground for a few seconds before hesitantly speaking up. “Then what would you say if I told you that I want to join the Proxima Project?”

Grandpa stopped walking and looked at Edin in a searching way. “Are you serious?”

Edin paused. “I really am, Grandpa, but I haven’t told Amanda yet.”

“This isn’t because of the way we talk of freedom is it?” Grandpa asked. “Have you thought it out, or is this just some knee-jerk reaction? I’m not saying that freedom isn’t valuable, but there is a lot of finesse between theory and actuality.”

“Look at it this way, Grandpa. I’ve always wanted to own a piece land like you do. I’ve wanted to shoot your guns, have a kid who will grow up to be a real man, and do what I want to do in general. Do I really have a chance at owning a place like this? Even playing with this potato cannon would get us a fine if we got caught.”

Grandpa shrugged and rolled his eyes.

“You know I’m right. We can’t have any fun or do anything interesting without breaking a law. Remember when we used to have fireworks when I was a kid? They banned every one of them for safety reasons, even the sparklers! Then those crusted bastards lumped all fireworks in with explosives, and toys are equated to weapons. Either the world is too wimpy or…” Edin trailed off. “I don’t see what else it could be.” He looked around at the woods that were his childhood playground. “And then I think about little Henry. It’ll be twice as bad when he grows up. Have you seen the schools? I want more for him than I have; more freedom, more opportunity, and more education.”

Grandpa looked up at the sky again for a moment. “Don’t you think there are less drastic ways to change your future? There is a lot of good to work with here on Earth.”

“Grandpa, there isn’t a place on Earth that isn’t owned and heavily regulated. If I join the project, I get to be a true pioneer, and I get as much of my own land as I want. I could raise my son how I want. I could work hard and take whatever risks I want in order to succeed.” Edin raised his hand. “However hard I work here I know my options are limited.” He made a fist as he lowered his arm. “It is less risky here, but I won’t be anything more than I am now, except older and maybe with a little more in the bank. Anyway, I thought you said risks are necessary?”

“And you haven’t mentioned it to Amanda?” Grandpa said ignoring the question. “This is a real, life changing choice, Edin. She needs to be an integral part of your decision.”

“Not yet. I was hoping you’d help me figure out how to ask her. Amanda’s lack of blood relatives should make it easier for her to choose. You know I’ve saved a lot of money for the house, and I want to use that for the price of membership. It would buy us complete room and board on one of the ships.” Edin glanced at his watch. “That reminds me, I need to get back to town for our date tonight, and I am going to ask her what she thinks about the idea.”

They walked silently into the yard while Grandpa processed this news. Finally, he spoke.

“Whatever you do, you have to have Amanda with you. A man doesn’t abandon his family, and he doesn’t drag them along against their will. Follow your heart, but make sure she is with you in the decision. That’s my advice.”

About writing: I started unskilled, with only desire and an imagination. This process has been like learning a language. Aside from talent, if any, skill does not already exist it takes patience and practice to learn. In my experience core ideas are easy, but fleshing out the details is takes a lot of time and effort. Extra time is not something I have in abundance, but I think that I have learned some efficiencies that I can use to reduce the time I need to write book #2.

Often life gets in the way, but I once saw Diana Gabaldon speak, and she said one thing that stuck with me. I don’t have an exact quote, but she made the statement that a writer needs to write every day, even if it’s just a few minutes. It’s true. I have walked away for months at a time and only come back when I was disgusted by my own lack of progress, but when I write every day it keeps my mind on topic and the words flowing. Thanks Diana.

Forsaking Home is not perfect, especially in my eyes, but I hope that readers find it enjoyable and that these themes come through. There is no reward without risk (which should be tempered by balance), redemption is possible, and the course of human progress has been and will be charted by a few, bold pioneers who risk everything to achieve more.

I would be thrilled if you would read Forsaking Home. It can be found on Amazon (ebook: Forsaking Home on Amazon).

Thank you for reading!

Self-Destruct (Caveman Chronicles)

~ I. Graham Smith ~ Leave a comment

The Index -|-

Zara munched on a small, thin wafter that one of the Ganix women had brought her. It was crispy and contained small chunks of a nut that the Ganix used in many of their foods. The flavor was earthy and slightly sweet. Zara had no idea how they were made, but it was one of the best food items that was available to her. The Ganix often ate bowls of stew that were made from tubers and river otter. It offered warmth in cold weather, but Zara found it to be quite bland.

She looked at the small stack of crisps next to her on the stone table and then at the red tiered object on the wall.

I wonder what the poda, goo-like substance, tastes like and what it’s made of? It might not even be good for me to eat. Kiipo and its kind are different than us cavemen. Their bodies turn into dust when they die. Ours rot and are consumed by nature.

She glanced at Kiipo who was sleeping. She stood quietly and went to the red device. With her Qon sense, she reached into the device near where the poda tube had appeared. She could sense the tube under the surface and traced it further into the depths. It was akin to feeling the contours of a complex object in a completely dark room. There was a line of pale green that traced along the tube, and soon she found a small reservoir. The reservoir was triangle in shape, but the corners were rounded and several dozen colored lines of the invisible force led to one of the corners.

I cannot get the poda out of the reservoir without breaking the device or without using Kiipo’s amulet.

She made up her mind to wait until the next time Kiipo needed sustenance and then snag some of the poda for analysis. Looking back at Kiipo, she pondered the conversation with her Da.

I know he doesn’t trust the Xi. How could he? They killed Mama and they captured both Mama and Da and did terrible things to them. Why though? The Xi appear to be very advanced. They could fly in their lutu from one celestial orb to another at great distances, at least according to Kiipo’s stories. Stories I must believe having seen all that I have seen. With that kind of technology, why do they need to capture simple cavemen? Why experiment on them? Clearly this behavior indicates that they see us as being less than them. So much less that they have no concern for our lives or our families.

Kiipo’s leg twitched, and Zara rechecked the bindings. The red and orange-tinged threads of the invisible force strengthened the ropes, and a grid of pale blue lines wrapped its entire body like a blanket. Her blue blanket was designed to prevent Kiipo from using the invisible forces, and it did work. When they had first captured Kiipo, it had resisted the blanket and pushed hard against the bindings but had failed to break through.

It does appear to be telling us the truth, and this one at least seems innocent.

Kiipo blinked and its eyes shifted toward Zara.

“Good morning, Kiipo.”

“Good morning, Zara,” Kiipo said.

Zara saw a flexing at its bindings. Kiipo tested the bonds each time it awoke.

“Why did you attack us, Kiipo? We did nothing to you.”

Kiipo answered after a short pause. “I have told you.”

“Yes, I know. You told me yesterday and the day before. But why? We have done nothing to the Xi. We did not even know of the Xi.”

“You killed Uuiit. Is that not enough?” Kiip’s neck slits fluttered momentarily before resuming their normal pace.

“Uuiit attacked us first. We defended ourselves. Now you have come to Phaedro and killed Thoka, my Mama.”

Kiipo tilted its head slightly. “The Jariit, we received instructions to come and destroy the people at this place. We were only told that you had killed Uuiit and must be destroyed.” Kiipo paused again. “If not for this reason, I would not be here, bound and helpless.” Its face remained utterly passive and emotionless.

“How many Jariit are there?”

Kiipo paused and then answered. “Truly, I do not know, but there are many. Perhaps a million or more.”

Zara thought for a moment about the ramifications of the number and then asked a question to provide some clarity. “How many Xi are there?”

“Many, many. I do not know, but when I was in training the estimate was at least one hundred and forty-three billion. I suppose it is a larger number now.” Its fingers twitched.

Zara thought about the math. 1 million was only a tiny fraction of 143 billion. Surely they would need more Jariit. “Kiipo, are there other kinds of Jariit? Those who pilot the lutu for other reasons or in other areas?”

Kiipo lifted its chin slightly. “Jariit only pilot the lutu for Xi Ank. There are other Xi who pilot other craft, including lutu, for other reasons. Some operate only inside the atmosphere of a planet.

Zara nodded. “So, the Jariit must be very special. An elite group perhaps.? Is it difficult to become Jariit? Many years of training?

Kiipo lifted its chin and its neck slits fluttered. “Jariit are the best pilots.”

Even with its emotionless face, Zara could see that it was proud.

“How do you control the lutu?”

Kiipo tilted its head before he answered. “I will the lutu to move and it moves.”

“Same with the weapons you fired at us?”

“Yes.”

Zara considered for a moment the problem with taking over their weapons before she nodded at Kiipo. “Can you show me?”

“Why do you want to know? Why would I not simply fly away?”

Zara grinned at Kiipo. “I don’t trust you, and you will not fly away. Even though I like you, I would make your body into dust.”

Kiipo was motionless and Zara sensed the invisible bonds being prodded and flexed. After a moment, the flexing stopped.

Zara stood and went to the cave entrance and summoned the Ganix warriors that were there. When they followed her inside, she eased the bonds on Kiipo’s legs and spoke. “Show me how you control the lutu.”

The Ganix lifted Kiipo and half carried, half dragged it through the cave into the daylight. They stopped where the lutu rested, and Kiipo blinked its eyes as it looked around. The lutu itself split and again revealed the compartment where the Jariit would sit.

Zara examined her bonds on the craft itself before she spoke. “Can you operate the lutu without entering??

“In some ways, yes,” said Kiipo. “I can summon the lutu as well as perform diagnostics, and enable self-defense mode.”

“What is this ‘self-defense’ mode?”

“I can command the lutu to stand watch and forcibly destroy any entity that attempts to enter or harm the lutu.”

Zara nodded and made a mental note to sooth Kiipo into believing that they would not harm it. After all, she thought, if it has nothing to live for, the lutu may kill everyone around.

“Okay, well, fire the weapons. I want to see what it can do.”

Kiipo glanced at the Ganix. “You broke the lutu when you forced it to land. I cannot operate it in this damaged state.”

Zara smiled coldly. “I did damage the lutu, but it has opened itself to you. It is not completely damaged. Show me.”

Kiipo shrugged and slid into the lutu’s recliner. When he did, Zara noticed a wide-array of invisible forces coming alive inside. The compact clusters were connected via fat, multicolored lines. The interior began to glow and a detailed hologram appeared in front of Kiipo.

“Try to fly,” said Zara.

The fat lines oozed power toward the tail-end of the craft, but none of it flowed past one of the larger clusters behind Kiipo’s seat. The lutu did not move.

“It is damaged,” said Kiipo. Its long finger aimed generally toward a flashing portion of the hologram.

“Now try to use the weapons,” said Zara.

Kiipo did not answer, but the same fat lines of power grew and nothing happened. “It is the same,” it said. “The ghsikn is damaged.”

“Get out,” said Zara. When Kiipo was standing on the ground again with the Ganix holding its shoulders, Zara slipped into the seat. Immediately, the hologram pulsed and she felt a flash of understanding. The blinking portion was indeed a warning, and yet somehow, she could feel the lutu around her. It was subtle, but she felt the systems and sensors. Without moving, she focused on the flashing icon which expanded. Lines of power slid away from it and connected with infinite other systems. She blinked, adjusted her focus and stretched her mind.

The lutu responded with a shudder and a quiet cough.

Zara looked at Kiipo who for the first time had a strange look on its face. The lutu tightened around her and shuddered once more, this time the cough was louder. The reclining seat under her became very hot and burned her legs and back. Then it became extremely cold. A purple icon began to flash on the upper right corner of the hologram. It was circular with slowly, reducing triangle. Zara could see fat pipelines of power feeding into a swelling cluster in front of her feet.

“Kiipo, stop this destruction. Now!” Zara yelled.

The Ganix warriors roughly picked Kiipo’s body up and laid it face down and then placed their knees on its back.

The lutu continued to count down.

Zara panicked momentarily before she regained her calm. The cluster would fill to overflowing and then burst. In her mind, she felt the intention inside the lutu. It was committed.

Zara reached out with a needle of Qon and severed the fat line leading into the cluster. The golden thread sliced cleanly, and the hologram began to blink in many places before the entire lutu became silent and produced no further power, light, or response. She stepped out and walked around the lutu once before standing near Kiipo.

“You attempted to destroy the lutu as well as me and you and the warriors?”  Zara voice was small but her anger shone through in the tone.

Kiipo did not answer. It merely closed its eyes and appeared to wait for the consequences of its actions.

Zara stormed toward the cave with a scowl, and the Ganix followed her dragging Kiipo between them.

Lying liars gonna lie

~ I. Graham Smith ~ Leave a comment

“They’re lying to you. You know that, right?”

I took my eyes off of the squirrel digging for acorns in the yard. The winter had been warm so far, and it was humongously fat.

“Who is?”

“Everyone.” Gina’s face was serious as she stared at me as if trying to bore a hole through my skull.

Call me loco, but my cerebrum twitches when someone uses absolute terms. In order for me to be lied to by everyone, I would have to have a conversation with everyone. Maybe I’m too literal. Or… maybe Gina did not understand the value of accuracy in language.

I remained quiet and tried to form a coherent response before speaking. A few qualifying statements seemed in order.

“So…. you’re lying to me.” I kept my facial expression calm and non-accusatory.

Gina chuckled, her face brightening in her usual way. Her jet-black eyebrows arched with significant amusement. With a slight flip and a brush of her fingers, her bangs were swept aside. She was quite beautiful and full of life in that moment.

“Look, Nayo, we all hide from ourselves a bit in order to preserve the solidity of what we perceive to be our foundational elements. Nobody wants to be challenged on their own core beliefs. So, yeah. I get it. It is human nature to hide from some truth because there is a lot of work in digging. You can’t easily validate everything you come across.”

“You think I’m hiding from myself?” My mind was inundated with a swarm of ideas and concepts that I believed in. There were so many covering a large area of emotional, religious, societal, and political life. Was it possible that I was taking things for granted? Sure. But…

“I’ve been told that an open mind is good, but also that I shouldn’t just believe everyone because it means being easily swayed. If I believed everyone, I would just change my mind too often. Some things are easy to believe but are still wrong.”

Gina shook her head and her pony tail shook gently. “It’s not about having an open mind, it’s about questioning. You should accept what you can prove. Yes, many people will lie to you. Some unknowingly. You can’t just believe everything you hear.” She laughed at the idea and grinned at me. “The more common a belief, the more it should be questioned. My dad used to say: ‘If your friends jumped off a cliff, would you do it as well?’ You have to ferret out your own answers, but it is worth considering other points of view before accepting or discarding. At least filter ideas through your own morals and beliefs.”

“Hmm.” I was unconvinced. “Sounds exhausting.”

“Yep. I like to keep things in four categories. That which I do not believe because I have looked at the information with my own eyes. That which I think is false but have not had time to fully test. That which I think is true but have not tested. And lastly, that which I know is true because I have tested it. I don’t have time to check everything, so that’s a small bunch.”

I thought about the lies I was told as a kid. Santa Claus, Elf on the shelf, speeding is wrong, people are naturally good… [Sigh. Good time for a bit of humor?]

“So you’re saying that Santa Claus isn’t real?” I slapped on an exaggerated grin.

Gina guffawed loudly. “I can’t prove he’s not real.”

“What?” That was not the answer I expected.

“Everyone has an agenda! Sometimes it lines up with the truth. Sometimes the truth is the agenda. With Santa Claus, I am not sure what your parents thought, but there are a lot of options. Maybe they just told you because that’s how they were taught. We look on the past with some nostalgia and like to imagine that our children will experience the same. Maybe they wanted to teach you about giving or about receiving unconditional gifts from a third party, like Jesus but in a cuddly, secular form. Maybe they have some other reason.”

“Hmm,” I said again. Something as simple as Santa Claus brought up some deeper questions.

“Why wouldn’t my parents want to say that gifts are from themselves?” I looked back at the yard, and the squirrel was still shuffling around in the leaves.

“I know, right?” Gina waved her hand. “The parents do the work to make the money, they buy the gifts and wrap them. They deserve the credit, but instead, they actually lie to their kids. The retailers have an agenda because it separates the gift from the concept of the parent and the parent’s income. The idea that poor parents can’t afford the same kinds of gifts for their children is distanced when Santa Claus gives the gifts. The kids, unaware of cost, think there is no effect when they want something expensive, and kids that young aren’t taught the concept of frugality. Some parents set aside wise frugality to purchase things they can’t afford ‘because Christmas.'”

“But, it’s an innocent lie. children don’t need to know the details of the parent’s budget.”

Gina shook her head. “‘An innocent lie.’ There is no such thing! Eventually they learn that their parents lied, and it introduces doubt about the people who most love and care for them. It teaches the kids that lying is okay sometime. Small corruptions breed big corruptions.”

“Well, aren’t you just cynical today.”

“I’m cynical every day, but that’s not the point. Putting blind trust in people is short-sighted. It’s flat out dumb if the person or entity is powerful.”

“Why?”

“A single person can only do so much damage with a lie. Powerful entities can lie, buy lies, get their friends to lie for them, and coerce you to accept their lie as truth. Powerful entities can turn a lie into profit or control. Your average one-off person can’t do that because their scope is limited.”

“So, the more powerful someone is, the less I should trust them?”

Gina looked thoughtful. “Yes. That’s actually a good way to sum it up. After all, there are no benevolent leaders. They will all put their own wants ahead of yours, and they’ll tell you that they’re doing it for you all the while.”

“It all really seems like a lot of work.” I shrugged.

“Taking part in your own life is worth it though. Not that I’m saying you don’t. It’s just… people who are apathetic or distracted by things they can’t control end up going through life without questioning. The path of least resistance will allow the liars to shape your world.”

“And then what? I buy kale instead of iceberg lettuce?” I tried imagining the extent of the damage caused by moving to kale. It was so bitter, and no way would the kids eats it. I sighed again.

“No,” said Gina. “Maybe you vote differently, maybe you ignore an issue that pops up at work or school. Maybe you treat a friend differently because they hold an opinion you disagree with.”

My hand raised and fingers brushed through my hair. I turned and then paused and smiled at her. “I won’t treat you differently, Gina.”

“You say that now… and maybe you won’t because you’re enlightened. Others will though. I’ve seen it.”

“Really?” I could not imagine how that would happen.

“Sure. for instance, one acquaintance of mine I knew through a local bowling club stopped talking to me altogether, but only after he publicly bad-mouthed me on social media.”

I shrugged. “Well, what did you do?”

I liked one of the posts from that pizza joint down on 12th street.”

“Oh, come on,” I said, “how is that possible? What did the post say?”

Gina looked at me with a quizzical look. “What does it matter?”

I shrugged again. “Maybe it said they love putting dog turds into the pizza dough?”

Gina laughed loudly. “Okay. Let’s say the pizza joint had posted that, and I liked the post. So what? What does it matter? Their words that may or may not even be true, and more importantly, I might “like” the post for any random reason. This guy who has spoken to me many times, knows my personality, and knows that I’m not a nutter… he ceases to be my friend and talks really negatively about me. He never asked me why I liked it.”

“It’s free speech, right?” I chuckled.

“Don’t actions matter?” Gina looked kind of serious now.

“Uh, well, yes.”

“More than words?”

“Absolutely! but if you’re saying crazy stuff, you have to expect to get some blowback.”

“That’s a cop-out, and you know it.”

I shrugged. “Think so?”

Gina still looked serious. “You assume the person getting the attitude must have said something weird or controversial. What exactly does a “like” on social media even mean? Is it a word?” She shook her head. “In fact, it’s only statement is the context of the original social media post. The post of the pizza place.”

“Aaaaand there we are,” I smiled. “What did their post say? Context matters.”

“You’re right, of course. I don’t even remember what their post said, but it wasn’t controversial. What’s more important is why I “liked” it. Since nobody else could know what’s in my mind, trying to judge me based on it without asking for clarification is like trying to prosecute me for a thought-crime.”

“How so?”

“Okay. Ultimately your projection on me of what you think that I think and then judging me for that projection. That’s a thought-crime. It’s not like I actually thought what you may judge me for. In fact, you, as the judge thought it and then assumed that’s what I meant and then judged me on your thought.” Gina held out her hands. “The thought-crime is being so incredibly whiny and judgmental! You know me, I prefer for people to speak their minds. A lot of the things I “like” are not agreements with the statement. Most are agreements with the concept of supporting the differences among us. If you say something weird, but I agree that you should be able to say it, I might “like” it.”

“I can understand that.”

“I think the bigger issue is this chump who used to be my friend. What kind of self-centered, overly-sensitive, blowhard goes through the “likes” of others and chooses to get offended and blow up relationships? I mean… it’s just asinine. Anyway. to bring it back around to the topic at hand… this ex-friend is lying just like everyone else. Everything is masked in layers of their own agenda and baggage, and there is no honesty about what the real issue is. It’s a constant and unrelenting projection of their bent mind onto the backs of other people.”

“And it pisses you off,” I said.

Gina looked at me and her face switched from serious to the Gina I knew best. “Yes. Nuance is expected, but self-honesty and communication would cut through the mess and make the world a better place.” Gina looked out the window at the squirrel.

“Lying liars gonna lie?” I asked with a grin. “What can we do about it?”

“Live honestly and don’t blindly trust anything. It’s all about what you can control.”

I nodded. “Which means I can’t trust anything you just said.”

Gina looked at me with a faint smile. “No. It means that you may be able to trust, but you will have to run it through some filters and make a choice. Lazy or stupid people don’t use filters. They just trust blindly or go to the other extreme and don’t trust anyone at all. Which one would you rather be?”

“I’m offended.” I said.

“I knew you would be.” Gina smiled at me and gave me a side-hug. “I gotta go take Mom to the bank. Thanks for the chat.”

Escape and Symmetry: A Captive Tale

~ I. Graham Smith ~ Leave a comment

The skrriiiitch of sharp fingernail echoed on the metal wall behind me. I grimaced and swiped a hand across my crusty, gray overalls before pulling hair down to muffle the penetrating noise. I bent closer to the object in front of me and whispered silently.

“With perfection comes escape.”

Mentally, I traced the thin, curved line until it made a hard left at the dimple. Though I tried to suppress it, a momentary grin broke out on my face. The angle right there was sublime despite the difficulty that the dimple had created. I brushed my hair out of the way with a quick back-hand and picked up the fork. With utmost care, I extended my fingers with the sharp tine downward.

Skrriiiitch!

My hand twitched involuntarily and barely brushed the object with the tine. With a quiet sob, I swiped my hair downward again to muffle the noise. At the swipe, the fork nicked my forehead and a sharp pain bloomed. With hair over my ears, I ignored the pain and bent closer to examine the object.

Above the upper-right side of the curved line, a finger’s-breadth away, the surface was faintly marked. Another sob welled up from my innards and threatened to overcome my senses. I forced it down with great effort.

[is it ruined?]

My eyes frantically scanned the area. The curved line was unbroken. I sighed and licked my finger.

[salty. sour.]

My neck twitched as I gently rubbed the accidental mark with the tip of my wet finger. When I lifted my finger the mark was not gone, but it was dulled, and I sighed again.

Then I saw it. A boundary line jutted outward, away from the curved line and intersected with the dull mark. It was beautiful. My thoughts became captivated by the unexpected symmetry. To clear my vision, my hand swiped hair out of my eyes.

[the pattern shines with an light all its own! why didn’t i see this before? it just needs a…]

I reached out carefully with the fork to trace a ray of the pattern’s internal light. As I adjusted my grip, something sticky locked my finger’s movement, and my fork nudged the object again.

“GuhRAM!” I barked explosively as my head flailed involuntarily downward just once before I regained control of myself. Quickly, I scanned the room behind me to see if anyone had noticed. The dark monitor shifted its lens in my direction and paused. I shrunk down, kept my face toward the object in my hand and acted nonchalant.

[nothing wrong here. where is bad-cop?]

My head swiveled ever-so-slowly in the other direction. At the window I saw the backside of the light monitor’s frail structure and jerked my head away.

Skrriii-iiitch!

[focus]

I shifted the fork to face the object at an easier angle.

[three more lines, maybe 4. it’s time]

I opened my eyes wide to block out the periphery. All it would take is focus. [focus] My hand edged closer, and when the tine touched, it left a thin, crimson mark. I blinked at the unexpected color. The red shone with a deceptive light. It was muddy and beneath it the dimpled surface bled through orangely.

“No!” I said quietly, but still too loud. With my finger I tried to brush the red away, but in its place was a larger and thicker red mark. There was a footstep behind me. Cradling the object carefully in my left palm, I turned my head. The dark monitor was there with that implacable expression of boredom. It nodded over my head, and I turned the other way. The light monitor approached with lazy, swaying hips in its normal manner.

[i’ve done it now. play cool.]

I smiled toothily and then dialed it back a notch when I realized that it was maybe a bit too much.

“Uh, how are you today?” I asked. My left hand slowly circled behind me to keep the object out of its sight. The light monitor’s lens was dull and its voicebox crackled.

“What did you do, Lindy?”

[how did it know my name?]

I stammered, “nothing?”

Skrriii-iiitch!

I looked to my left and hoped Arthur would distract the monitors. He lifted his massive fingernail from the table in front of him and gazed at it intently.

[is he sharpening that for an escape weapon?] The thought ricocheted around my noggin for a moment, and I decided it was utter foolishness.

That was when I felt the object disappear from my hand.

“Nooo! Give it back!” I wailed. There could be no coming back from a loss of the object or from the wailing for that matter. My head swiveled rapidly toward the dark monitor who now held hostage my perfect escape plan.

[how had it become the bad cop?]

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” said the dark monitor. Its lens shifted toward the receptacle in its hand.

“I’m clean enough!” I blurted. “These are not the droids you’re looking for!”

The dark monitor chuckled dryly and nodded at the light monitor. “We need to rotate the movies more often.” It held out the receptacle.

I gritted my teeth and my eyes slid over the beautiful shape of the object in the other hand. I could see the curved line beckoning me. My Shangri-La, even through the red marks.

[no! i am so close!]

I could see that the red mark had shifted and become attached to the dark monitor’s hand. Without thinking, I chuckled, and when I saw the depth of its infection, I laughed even harder. In a moment I was guffawing chaotically with my head thrown back.

[you can’t fight the infection!]

My head flung itself forward as if it had been tapped by a wallaby holding a lucky rabbit’s foot. I wasn’t laughing now. Then I felt the light monitor’s clamper force my head back. With its other clamper, it pried my chattering teeth open and the dark monitor emptied its receptacle into my mouth.

My eyes bulged with disbelief. How did the monitors switch roles so quickly?

Darkness crept in from the edges, and I sighed, then slumped.

[try agam-moro]

It was dark and I felt a gentle swaying. Then it was dark. And silent.