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Suzanne

 I wrote this story one dark and stormy night during my cruise.

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So you want me to tell you about Suzanne? Well, in that case, I'll start by saying that there isn't really that much to say. Sure, I liked her. I'd say I liked her a lot. But everyone knew that anyway. What everyone didn't know were the details of the case. Y'know, the little things. Which is what I guess I'm going to tell you about.

The first thing I should start with is that we fought. Yeah, we fought a lot. Now, because I know very little when it comes to women, I don't know if she was fighting with me or against me, if you know what I mean? Like, with some girls, and definitely some guys (and I know this from fifteen years of observation) arguing is synonymous with flirting. I don't know how it was with her, but her, but for me, I didn't give a shit about what we were arguing over. I just enjoyed the conversation, and, of course, the time I had with her. I think the worst part of our arguments was this friend of hers who was always there with her, and insisted on having her part in our discussions. Of course I had no idea if she just wanted to have her say or if she was cockblocking, so I couldn't really do anything about it.

The nature of our arguments? Whatever. As I see it, Suzanne was a wannabe activist. Like, she'd always talk about how she wanted to be, I don't know, Buddhist or Anarchist or something, or how she'd become President and make a everyone plant a farm in their front yards. Wait, that last one was a bad example. Anyway, my point is, she could talk but I got the feeling that she wouldn't act. I guess her "radical" opinions is what sparked the majority of our arguments.

But of course, I gave no shit. It was all about her. Being with her was good, no matter what confrontations came along with that.

Yeah, Suzanne was something, all right. Sure, she wasn't the long legged Bombshell Russian model that my mom wanted me to marry, but honestly, forget my mom. If I had to describe her in one word, it'd be "petite". I like girls like that. Obviously, my mom's not happy with that, but again, forget her. Suzanne was petite and unbelievably cute. She had looks and spirit. I liked that. I liked her.

It's like a curse, y'know? It's like I'm the only one affected by it. Every girl I've tried to get close to, it's ended badly. Not badly like, "I-was-shanked-by-her-ex-boyfriend" badly, but like, "Shit happens" badly. Long story short, it never happened. I realized I needed to get it done when I realized that, most nights, in that time after you've gone to bed but before you've fallen asleep, I was thinking about her. This one day, I had a perfect opportunity to ask her out. But, shit happened. She was surrounded by her friends and didn't want to leave them. It's either that or, I dunno, I wasn't forward enough about my intentions. I'm not exactly Johnny mountainofselfesteem anyway. In any case, I sure as fuck wasn't going do that under those circumstances. So I put it off. Next thing you know, bam, day's over, year's over, and now she's gone to Sweden.

Now what? Well, I'm over her. Like I said, shit happens. Problem is, I don't trust myself anymore. Shit's happened twice already. I don't want it to happen again. And, knowing me, Suzanne won't be the second and last. If I let it, it WILL happen again.

So, I guess I'm doomed to be a tragic bachelor for life. That's okay. I'll travel the world. I'll take care of my parents. I'll visit my brother's wedding. I'll cure diseases. If there's one thing I'll be sorry for on my death bed, it's that I won't have done it with you, Suzanne.

Lost at sea

Well, not quite. First, I'm leaving to Boston, Massachusetts, a 10 hour drive (which will likely suck). There, we're staying with family friends for a night before proceeding onto the cruise ship. The company is Norwegian, aptly named the "Norwegian Cruise Line". The ship, called the "Norwegian Spirit" (I guess they want to make sure we don't forget that it's from Norway), looks really, really sick. From there, it's one and a half days on the high seas to Bermuda, and, barring a mysterious sinking, we'll be there for three days.

Ah, Bermuda.

 Britain's oldest colony (first settled in the 1600s), it's one of the few carribean nations not to have declared independance from the UK. As of now, it's a British overseas territory, still governed by the British parliament. However, that doesn't mean that it's not totally cool, since British colonies are usually fancy.

The only unexciting prospect of this is that we're going with our family friends, and THEIR family friends, and THEIR family friends. Every meal time we're going to be eating with 10 other people.Ugh.

Also, did I mention it's a 10 hour drive to Boston? UGH.

I wrote a story, me

It's called "Sight". I wrote it a while back but haven't gotten around to posting it. Thanks for proofreading, Fiona!

Christopher felt his way along the wall, carefully measuring his steps. Travelling five paces at a time, he tapped the wall every so often to tell Braden and Marshall it was safe to move up. In the pitch-black darkness, it was easy to get lost or trapped, and after all the three of them had been through, it seemed unfair to fail now. They had been travelling through the factory for what seemed like a day. Of course, they had no way to tell, but they were going on rough estimates. When the companies left, they didn’t leave maps of the area, which made it difficult to navigate. The constant cold did not aid in their search, either.

The three of them trudged on, Christopher ahead and the others close behind. The area was littered with broken glass and debris, and the going was slow. They had moved through the factory in concentric circles, starting by travelling around the perimeter and moving in closer and closer to the center. They had to stop to rest once already. The place was giant. While Christopher and Braden were natives to the town, Marshall was visiting relatives. They had come across him hiding in a warehouse, along with a few other residents. He never did get to see his relatives, either due to the darkness or... other reasons.

In any case, the three of them were safer in here than outside. In the polar night, and this far north, and in the current situation, anywhere inside was safer. Christopher continued forward, and when the floor appeared to drop, he stopped.

“Hold up.” He said, his voice raspy from the cold. Breathing heavily, he felt his way down the stairs.

“What’s going on?” Asked Marshall, shaking. “What’s happening?” Braden remained silent.

“Stairs.” Christopher rasped. He felt around his jacket for his scarf, and wrapped it around himself once more. He hadn’t seen anything in the past six days. He had become quite adept at feeling. Reaching the bottom of the staircase, he paced forward with his hands outstretched.

“Christopher?” Yelped Marshall. “Where are you going?” His voice grew thinner and thinner as Christopher proceeded.

After having walked down the corridor for a fair distance, Christopher stopped. Reaching down into his pocket, he pulled out a flashlight. Unsure of how much longer it would work, he aimed it straight ahead – And saw a door not ten steps ahead. It flickered off a second later. Those were their last batteries. The flashlight was useless.

“Come on down.” He yelled, moving back towards the stairs. “Watch your step.”

He waited, listening to the sound of creaking metal as the two negotiated their way down the steps. After the sound stopped, he waited a while longer.

“Hey.” Came Braden’s voice, surprising Christopher by it’s proximity. “Are we moving out?”

Christopher jumped. Braden must have been standing a foot in front of him. He took a few steps back.

“Yeah” He said. “Let’s go ; the path is clear up ahead.”

Arriving at the door, Christopher felt the engraved letters on the sign. He turned to his comrades and whispered;

“Generator room.”

Although he did not see it, he could imagine Braden and Marshall recoiling in surprise. However, the surprise was quickly replaced by fear as a loud clanging noise emanated throughout the facility. Reflexes took over and prompted the three to look around, trying to find the source of the noise, a futile exercise in the darkness. The noise was quickly followed by the sound of thudding footsteps somewhere in the factory.

“Oh god.” Marshall trembled. “Oh God, please, not now. Please.”

“Marshall?” Braden asked turning in the direction of Marshall’s voice. He put his hand on Marshalls’ jacket.

“He’s shaking, Christopher.” The footsteps grew louder.

                Frantically, Christopher tried the doorknob. It opened, revealing another room of pitch-darkness.

                “Marshall!” Rasped Christopher, “Marshall, get up!”

                “Please, not now...” Marshall whined, over the sound of the footsteps. “Please God, please.”

                Christopher heard the sound of Braden tugging on Marshall, who then collapsed on the floor. All that he could hear then was the sound of his and Braden’s breath and Marshall’s pleading. As well as the footsteps. Christopher looked in Braden’s general direction.

                “We have to go, Braden.” He heard shuffling, and could imagine Braden looking over at where Marshall’s trembling figure would be, hunched over on the ground.

                “Alright.” Braden mumbled. “Let’s go.”

                The two of them entered the next room and closed the door behind them. Back in the hallway, Marshall continued to plead.

                “No... no.... Why now? Why now!?”

                The footsteps stopped. Something made a loud screeching noise, like a heavy bolted door opening.  The footsteps continued. Christopher ran towards the center of the room where he ran into a railing, knocking the air out him.

                “Here!” He yelled back to Braden, who cautiously stood in place. “Here’s the generator!”

                Braden ran over to Christopher, taking measured steps. He came to the railing.

                “Where?”

                “This is the safety rail, the one that goes around the core! Like in the schematics we saw, do you remember?”

                Braden stayed silent in thought. “Yeah.” He said, “I remember.”

                Christopher, shutting out Marshall’s cries, which had elevated to yells now, felt his way across the railing.

                “The switch... it should be somewhere here... give me a moment, stay where you are.”

                Braden did as he was told, looking back over in the direction he came. The footsteps, ever continuing, were now directly overhead. He shivered in fear. Whoever was up there did not mean them well.

                “PLEASE!” Screamed Marshall, banging on the door. “Please, let me in! Please!”

                He began to cry.

                “Are you planning on coming in?” Braden asked.

                “Yes! Yes, just let me in!” Marshall yelled, as the sound of thudding feet was again interrupted with that of a door opening.

                “Let him in, Braden.” Came Christopher’s voice, from the other side of the room. “Hurry!”

                As Braden hurried back over to the door, a violent shaking overtook the generator room. Braden stumbled, falling onto the cold metal that surrounded the core.

                “Help me!” Marshall shrieked from outside, slamming something against the door. “Let me inside!”

                Another crash followed as Braden was getting to his feet. Before he knew it, a searing pain overtook his right foot. Braden cried out, dropping to the ground, as the fallen metal plating that had slashed his foot slid away with another crash. Outside, Marshall was thrown to the floor, and his shouts for help degenerated into meaningless babble. Lying on the ground, Braden could hear four sets of breath – his own, that of Christopher searching for the all important switch, that of Marshall babbling in the hall, and that of the fourth entity, the one that had followed them since the beginning, breathing deep and raspy breaths somewhere above them.

                “Christopher!” He moaned, crawling over broken glass and debris back over to the railing.

                “Christopher! Where’s the switch!”

                “I’m looking, damn it!” Christopher yelled from the other side of the room. Get over here!”

                A loud groaning then came from above them, as whoever was up there began to move objects around. Marshall renewed his banging on the door. Biting his tongue, Braden painfully made his way to his feet, and limped towards the railing.

                “Here!” Whispered Christopher, his voice hoarse. The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped considerably in the past five minutes. “I found it! I found the switch!”

                “Do it!” Braden said. “Do it, Christopher!”

                Suddenly, a deathly cold came into the generator room. The grate of one of the ceiling vents had been ripped open, letting in the blizzard air. Snow dropped on Christopher’s face as he attempted to flip the switch.

                “I think it’s jammed, Braden!”

                Another vent ripped away as the sound of wind grew louder in the room. The fourth entity began to shuffle around upstairs, the floor creaking and groaning as he moved. Marshall began to scream, bloodcurdlingly loud, as if he were being ripped apart.

                Struggling, Braden limped over, one hand on the railing until he bumped into Christopher.

                “Grab it!” Christopher yelled, taking Marshall’s hand and putting it on the switch. “Push it upwards!”

                The two pushed the switch over the howling wind as Marshall, perhaps driven insane by the fourth entity’s presence, continued his screaming while pounding on the door.

                “HELP ME!” He yelled, “Get him away! Get him away from me!”

                The fourth entity’s footsteps were no longer coming from above them, but rather from behind them – Christopher could once again hear the sound of groaning stairs as the fourth entity moved down them. Marshall did not let up in his screaming. Christopher and Braden did not let up in their pushing.

                “NO!” Came Marshall’s voice, on the door side of the door. “Stay away from me!”

                He began to slam his head against the door.

                “Let me in! Let me in! Let me in!”

                The footsteps were right outside no.

                “STAY AWAY FROM ME!”

                Christopher and Braden flipped the switch.

                At that instant, there was a bright light. The bright light came from the core. The light was so bright, that was all Christopher saw. The brightest light he had ever seen in his entire life. Then, there was the terrible mechanical sound as the core, and the generator, sprung to life, chugging and whirring and screaming as its antiquated parts moved up, down, and around each other in their desperate drive to produce electricity. But all this, Christopher heard. All he saw was the light.

                He stumbled backwards as a result of the brightness. As his head hit the cold metal floor, he, for a brief moment, saw the fourth entity. The figure, clad entirely in a hooded parka, had no face, only a cold blackness that extended seemingly forever. Somehow, surrounded by the light, the fourth entity made itself seen to Christopher, moving towards him in that white plane. Christopher was immobilized, trapped on the floor. He could not see Braden. He could not see the core. He only saw the fourth entity, drawing closer and closer to him. He could have been, like Marshall, driven to madness by his presence as his footsteps grew louder and louder. As he drew closer and closer, he outstretched his gloved hand towards Christopher. Finally, he saw him. The fourth entity. Not an arm’s length away from Christopher, who lay there on the floor, he stood in the bright light, clad in his winter parka, with no face, with a black hole where his face should have been peeking out of that hood. Christopher stared into the fourth entity’s face. As he stared, it seemed to grow a mouth out of the black hole. The mouth opened. It took a breath.

                And then it was gone. The light burst forward from the core and the fourth entity was gone, vanquished perhaps by the sudden onslaught of white. Christopher lay where he was. He did not know how long he lay there, but he did know that when he got up, the light did no go.

                “Christopher.” Braden whispered, somewhere beside him. “Christopher, are you okay?”

                “I....” Christopher struggled to his feet. “Braden, I... I can’t see.”

                “The core, Christopher. It’s the core. The power’s on, can’t you see? We’re not used to the light, we haven’t seen it for so long! The power’s on, Christopher! We’ve done it!”

                Christopher smiled, dimly.

                “What about Marshall?” He asked, only to have his question answered as he heard the door bound open, and more footsteps walk in.

                “Hey, are you guys okay in here?” Came Marshall’s voice as he made his way into the room.

                “I think you guys did it!” He exclaimed. “In the hall, I could see the lights! They were on! But... why is it so dim in here?”

                “...Dim?” Christopher asked.

                “Yeah.” Marshall shrugged. “The core, it’s so dim, it’s barely glowing. I kind of expected it to be brighter.”

                Concerned, Christopher reached out towards Braden, who was still laying on the ground.

                “...Braden?” He asked. “How’re you doing?”

                “It’s bright down here, Chris.” Braden replied. “I can’t see anything.”

                Christopher turned towards where Marshall’s voice had come from.

                “Marshall?” He said, “I think you’d better lead us out of here. I’m pretty sure the townspeople will want to see us.”

Today I was hit by a car

But no worries, I landed flat on my backpack, my physics binder and textbook cushioning the fall. My bike rolled off somewhere to the side, and upon inspection had only a misplaced chain that had fallen off the gear, which I promptly pulled back on after having a quick talk with the driver. It was mostly him apologizing and me telling him to pay more attention at suburban intersections.

Needless to say, I'm not saying a word about this to anyone, except, you know, the entire internet.

The Egg

In case anyone missed my facebook post:



THE EGG
By Andy Weir
You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. You wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.

MY SUMMER

1) Summer School
2) Missing cottaging to go to Summer School
3) Doing nothing most of August
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Hey, but at least I'll get my 20 CAS hours this summer - I'm going to be biking to summer school every day, a half hour there and back. that's 1 hr a day x 5 days a week x 4 weeks = 20 hours. That's 1/6 of my CAS (well, just the A part but whatever) hours already!