Zoey knew she was in a hospital room even before she opened her eyes. She automatically shut out the electronic periphery, trying to maintain the silence in her mind. Far off, she could feel something stabbing at her mind. It was the same dull pain that had caused her to collapse in the first place.
She opened her eyes to find that she wasn’t wrong in her assumption. Her parents were sitting in chairs by her bed, worried looks on their faces.
“Hey, pum’kin,” said her father.
“I’m sorry,” was all Zoey could think to say.
“It’s okay,” said her mother. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” replied Zoey, though her head still ached. “I don’t know what came over me. Some kind of bug.”
“The doctor examined you and couldn’t find anything wrong with you. They could do more tests if you wanted,” said Alice. “These things happen sometimes with interplanetary travel.”
“No, no tests,” snapped Zoey as fear crept into her voice, a fear of what they would find if they looked closely enough. “I said I was fine. Please, I just want to go home.”
“We just wanted to make you okay. You collapsed right in front of everyone,” said Alice. “And you were vomiting.”
Harold took Alice’s hand. “Honey, let’s just give her a moment to reorient herself.” After her parents left, Zoey covered her face in frustration. She hadn’t meant to snap at them, and they had no idea what was happening to her. In fact, she didn’t know what was happening to her.
The pain in her forehead was returning, but it wasn’t coming from within. Again, there was that sense of something in the distance, piercing her mind. She screwed her eyes shut, hoping it would go away.
It didn’t.
Zoey saw some clean clothes and her small mp3 player on a chair near her. Her mother must have thought Zoey would be in the hospital longer than a day.
She started to reach for the player. She paused, then simply turned on the player, and then left it on the chair. She lay back in the uncomfortable bed and closed her eyes. Going through a couple of breathing exercises, she calmed her mind and emptied it of irrelevant matters. Slowly, she started letting in the data surrounding her.
Her focus was on her mp3 player. Its small CPU was devoted to playing the mp3 files saved in its memory. Set at random, the song Zoey heard in her mind was an up-tempo song with a soft female voice and a heavy techno influence.
While letting the music continue, her mind searched throughout the hospital’s internal mainframe until she came across their phone lines. The term “phone lines” was, of course, archaic, since all of the hospital’s calls were handled by wireless networks. She found a way to dial out and searched out the connection to the police station. In the corner of her mind, the techno song was still playing; its singer crooning on about love and dancing.
Suddenly, there was a voice. “Jacksonville Police Station.”
“Can I speak to Detective Fairborn?” asked Zoey by transmitting her thoughts through the phone connection.
“One moment.” Zoey toned out the police’s on-hold musak in preference to the song playing on her mp3 player.
“This is Fairborn,” came a crisp voice.
“This is Zoey Walker, Detective.”
“Yes?” came the impatient reply.
“I was wondering if you made any progress on this missing persons case? The one that killed my friend?”
“As you well know, Ms Walker, I am unable to discuss current investigations with the public, especially one who is potentially a suspect.”
Zoey realized that without Sara and her credentials she couldn’t blame Fairborn’s reluctance to divulge information. “I know, it’s just…”
“I also don’t tolerate amateur detectives. If you get in my way, I will arrest you.”
“Thanks,” Zoey thought back and disconnected the line. The techno song was over by now. The silence was soon replaced by the slow stirring of an orchestra. Zoey extracted herself from the hospital’s phone system and again felt something piercing her mind.
In her mind’s eye, she saw, far away, a burning light not unlike an eye. Its gaze drilled into her mind, causing her unbearable headaches. She reached out to it and felt herself stretching out, for untold miles, away from the comfort of her body. The orchestra in the back of her head erupted with string ostinatos and brass flares as she took off across the digital map in her mind.
There, at her destination, she discovered the “evil eye” was nothing more than a simple transmitter on top of the tall building. The “image” of the building in her mind was created from a choppy montage of images taken from satellites and stored in numerous Internet-based map sites. The music had quieted, except for the rising tension of the ominous string section.
Why was the transmission hurting her? Was she receiving some sort of feedback from it? She tried to access the building’s system, but she found nothing within. Either the building was a derelict with no electricity, or it was using a closed system that was heavily encrypted.
Going from the antenna to its source, Zoey followed the trail down below the building, but her mind could not penetrate whatever was underneath it. She then listened to the transmission itself, but could not decipher its code. Instead, she blocked it from her mind, so that it would not harm her again. Slowly, her mind’s pain seemed to fade, but Zoey was not done.
Reaching high into “the sky”, she felt herself lift again. Distantly, the orchestra was reaching a crescendo as she saw the Earth through the eyes of a satellite. Using the satellite, she focused on the building she was just examining. She took the coordinates that the satellite gave her and burned them into her memory.
She was already starting to feel disoriented, being so far from her body for too long a time. She plunged “downwards” retracing her steps. The orchestra was becoming quiet again as she felt the familiar presence of the hospital she had just left. She was soon reunited with her body and the darkness within her mind. She struggled upwards towards “the surface” until her eyes opened.
There was a stillness in her room, and her parents had not come back yet. Zoey wasn’t sure how long she had been under and absently reached for the mp3 player.
It was still playing, but instead of displaying the name of the song, it listed a series of numbers. Numbers that Zoey recognized instantly as coordinates.
Click here to read Chapter 6
Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Obsolescence
Not far from where I am sitting, there is a paper bag filled with floppy disks, leftovers from my father's past. These are true 8" long floppy disks here, not the 3-1/2" ones. What is it about floppy disks or cassette tapes or VHS tapes that are so interesting to me?
Don't get me wrong. The future's here and now and downloadable to your nearest computer. Everything will be digital, from novels to homework and everything in-between. I am happy that this means we'll be cutting down less trees and manufacturing less plastics, but something feels missing.
It's okay to pick on five year olds, because they don't know any better, but there seems to be a divide between them and us (or me.) Growing up, I was aware of what came before, but nowadays kids are only interested in things beginning in "i," and there is no willingness to learn about the past. Maybe I'm different, because I was born in a time of media flux: records to cassettes to compact discs to digital files.
In any rate, what I'm groping for is ignorance. There seems like there's too much willful ignorance about the past, about technology. It's a dangerous thing, ignorance. But I don't envy them. They'll never experience that feeling I had as a child: feeding in the floppy disk, closing the drive's slot, and booting up the computer.
It was like magic.
Don't get me wrong. The future's here and now and downloadable to your nearest computer. Everything will be digital, from novels to homework and everything in-between. I am happy that this means we'll be cutting down less trees and manufacturing less plastics, but something feels missing.
It's okay to pick on five year olds, because they don't know any better, but there seems to be a divide between them and us (or me.) Growing up, I was aware of what came before, but nowadays kids are only interested in things beginning in "i," and there is no willingness to learn about the past. Maybe I'm different, because I was born in a time of media flux: records to cassettes to compact discs to digital files.
In any rate, what I'm groping for is ignorance. There seems like there's too much willful ignorance about the past, about technology. It's a dangerous thing, ignorance. But I don't envy them. They'll never experience that feeling I had as a child: feeding in the floppy disk, closing the drive's slot, and booting up the computer.
It was like magic.
Sunday, January 09, 2011
Only Human Chapter 4: Evangeline
Zoey Walker stood rigidly among her fellow mourners, strangers all. Her mother and father were there, beside her. Their support, unspoken but immense, had given Zoey the strength to put on a simple black dress and step out of the door.
The minister’s voice did not reach Zoey’s ears. Her mind was miles away, but not in the strange digital mindscape that only she could access. The cemetery was devoid of technology, filled only with death. In the prior evening, Zoey had surfed the news for the related disappearances the inspector had mentioned.
Four individuals had gone missing over the span of the last month. All of them were professors or doctors in varying degrees: biology, prosthetics, engineering, and programming. There were no correlation between the four individuals and no relation to Sean. She had asked herself over and over: Why him?
Waves of frustration and confusion smothered her thoughts. There had to be something she could do. It was so easy for Sara to step in, take charge. But Zoey was not Sara, and she didn’t know what to do. On her desk, back at home, was her easy way out: a transmitter to the stars. One call to Sara, and she would clear up everything for Zoey.
Zoey didn’t want Sara to do anything. How could she ask for Sara’s help after Zoey so blatantly turned her back on her? She was on her own. Whether she liked it or not.
After they lowered the casket into the cold ground, Zoey found herself drifting back to the church. Her parents were talking to Sean’s parents, but Zoey couldn’t stand the thought of talking to anyone else. A more modern affair, the church looked more like an arena than a place of worship. Through the glass double doors she went, only to be met with the quiet humming of the building’s heating system.
The room was a large semi-circle, slanting downhill with the altar at the bottom. The altar was surrounded by rows and rows of ascending pews. Zoey sat nowhere in particular and rested her head on the back of the pew in front of her. She closed her eyes and tried to silence her mind, an exercise Sara taught her long ago.
Her mind quietly mapped out the church’s electrical skeleton, but Zoey dug deeper until she could block out her mind’s unnatural talent. Until the stillness of her mind matched the stillness of the room. There, she found a serenity that she was sorely missing in the strenuous last few days. All of her anxiety and tension was gone along with the rest of the world. She was not so lucky in keeping it though.
The creaking of a door echoed throughout the vast room. A humble man in black stepped out and placed something on the altar. He looked up and noticed Zoey sitting in the pews. He walked up the ramp towards her. He had white hair and blue eyes. The wrinkles of time could not hide his honest face. His voice was quiet but commanding.
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth Walker? I haven’t seen you since you were so tall.” He held a hand perpendicular to his waist.
“Father Peter? Is that you?”
“I’m touched that you remember me.”
“Mother always spoke kindly about you.”
Father Peter sat down next to her. Silence had swallowed their conversation, until the priest said, “I heard about Sean. I’m very sorry.”
“Why do people die?”
“Why do people live?” returned the priest. “None of us knows the answer to either of these questions, except God perhaps.”
“Perhaps?”
“Yes, well, there’s a great amount of uncertainty in our existence. I just rely on faith to see me through.”
“But why faith?” asked Zoey. “If there was a God, why not just tell us our purpose so we can fulfill it easily. Why do we have to stumble around in the dark? Why do we have to question the things that happen to us?”
Father Peter shrugged. “Another excellent question.”
“I guess if we knew why they had happened, we could accept it easier. Unless there is no reason.”
“And what would randomness accomplish?” asked the priest.
“How else can you explain the suffering and the tragedies?”
“How can you say that after everything you’ve seen?” Zoey turned and looked at the priest; her heart skipping a beat. “You’ve seen the sun rise. Trees changing colors every season. The strange complexities of life. How can you believe in randomness?” His blue eyes sparkled in ambient light. “The Earth and everything on it is an impossible work of art.”
“I don’t know what to believe,” Zoey admitted. “If God was responsible for all the beauty in the world. Then why is there so much hatred and death? Why are there people randomly kidnapping and killing people?”
The priest sat back in the pew. “Poor choices, I guess. Free will. We aren’t given a purpose, because we have to choose our purpose.”
“That sucks.”
Father Peter smiled. “I think you’re getting the idea of it now.” Zoey rubbed her forehead; it felt like a headache was coming.
“Why the ordeals? The suffering? I’ve seen what people are capable of,” she said.
“And I know what people are capable of too. I’ve listened to the members of my parish. Some wake every morning to quietly, courageously get out of bed only to face a grueling job or an abusive spouse. Being a hero doesn’t mean you’re Saint George slaying a dragon. You just have to persevere to be better.”
“And what happens when you run out of strength? Do you just let the world walk all over you?”
“I don’t know. We just keep going and do the best we can. We’re only human, after all.”
“If only it was that easy. Nothing’s changed since I’ve left. Talking heads, signifying nothing. No one knows anything, not about the important things.” The pain in her forehead was not going away, and sweat started dripping down her neck.
“And there’s an answer you’re looking for, isn’t there?” came Father Peter’s quiet voice.
“What?” asked Zoey furtively.
“It’s in your eyes,” continued the priest. “There’s something there, burning intensely. What are you looking for?”
Zoey stood up. “It was nice talking with you, Father.” She pressed her temple as the throbbing increased. Nausea clouded her thoughts, as she suddenly felt hot, and the sweating continued unabated. She was vaguely aware of her stomach feeling heavy and uneasy.
“There’s no need to get agitated. You can talk to me.”
“Thanks again,” said Zoey as she walked up the ramp. She opened the door as a cool breeze flowed through her.
The pain in her head continued to get worse as the increasing nausea made her lose her balance. She did not even remember throwing up in the green grass. The intense disorientation quickly brought her to her knees.
Zoey vaguely heard the voice of her mother before she passed out.
Click here to read Chapter 5
Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.
The minister’s voice did not reach Zoey’s ears. Her mind was miles away, but not in the strange digital mindscape that only she could access. The cemetery was devoid of technology, filled only with death. In the prior evening, Zoey had surfed the news for the related disappearances the inspector had mentioned.
Four individuals had gone missing over the span of the last month. All of them were professors or doctors in varying degrees: biology, prosthetics, engineering, and programming. There were no correlation between the four individuals and no relation to Sean. She had asked herself over and over: Why him?
Waves of frustration and confusion smothered her thoughts. There had to be something she could do. It was so easy for Sara to step in, take charge. But Zoey was not Sara, and she didn’t know what to do. On her desk, back at home, was her easy way out: a transmitter to the stars. One call to Sara, and she would clear up everything for Zoey.
Zoey didn’t want Sara to do anything. How could she ask for Sara’s help after Zoey so blatantly turned her back on her? She was on her own. Whether she liked it or not.
After they lowered the casket into the cold ground, Zoey found herself drifting back to the church. Her parents were talking to Sean’s parents, but Zoey couldn’t stand the thought of talking to anyone else. A more modern affair, the church looked more like an arena than a place of worship. Through the glass double doors she went, only to be met with the quiet humming of the building’s heating system.
The room was a large semi-circle, slanting downhill with the altar at the bottom. The altar was surrounded by rows and rows of ascending pews. Zoey sat nowhere in particular and rested her head on the back of the pew in front of her. She closed her eyes and tried to silence her mind, an exercise Sara taught her long ago.
Her mind quietly mapped out the church’s electrical skeleton, but Zoey dug deeper until she could block out her mind’s unnatural talent. Until the stillness of her mind matched the stillness of the room. There, she found a serenity that she was sorely missing in the strenuous last few days. All of her anxiety and tension was gone along with the rest of the world. She was not so lucky in keeping it though.
The creaking of a door echoed throughout the vast room. A humble man in black stepped out and placed something on the altar. He looked up and noticed Zoey sitting in the pews. He walked up the ramp towards her. He had white hair and blue eyes. The wrinkles of time could not hide his honest face. His voice was quiet but commanding.
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth Walker? I haven’t seen you since you were so tall.” He held a hand perpendicular to his waist.
“Father Peter? Is that you?”
“I’m touched that you remember me.”
“Mother always spoke kindly about you.”
Father Peter sat down next to her. Silence had swallowed their conversation, until the priest said, “I heard about Sean. I’m very sorry.”
“Why do people die?”
“Why do people live?” returned the priest. “None of us knows the answer to either of these questions, except God perhaps.”
“Perhaps?”
“Yes, well, there’s a great amount of uncertainty in our existence. I just rely on faith to see me through.”
“But why faith?” asked Zoey. “If there was a God, why not just tell us our purpose so we can fulfill it easily. Why do we have to stumble around in the dark? Why do we have to question the things that happen to us?”
Father Peter shrugged. “Another excellent question.”
“I guess if we knew why they had happened, we could accept it easier. Unless there is no reason.”
“And what would randomness accomplish?” asked the priest.
“How else can you explain the suffering and the tragedies?”
“How can you say that after everything you’ve seen?” Zoey turned and looked at the priest; her heart skipping a beat. “You’ve seen the sun rise. Trees changing colors every season. The strange complexities of life. How can you believe in randomness?” His blue eyes sparkled in ambient light. “The Earth and everything on it is an impossible work of art.”
“I don’t know what to believe,” Zoey admitted. “If God was responsible for all the beauty in the world. Then why is there so much hatred and death? Why are there people randomly kidnapping and killing people?”
The priest sat back in the pew. “Poor choices, I guess. Free will. We aren’t given a purpose, because we have to choose our purpose.”
“That sucks.”
Father Peter smiled. “I think you’re getting the idea of it now.” Zoey rubbed her forehead; it felt like a headache was coming.
“Why the ordeals? The suffering? I’ve seen what people are capable of,” she said.
“And I know what people are capable of too. I’ve listened to the members of my parish. Some wake every morning to quietly, courageously get out of bed only to face a grueling job or an abusive spouse. Being a hero doesn’t mean you’re Saint George slaying a dragon. You just have to persevere to be better.”
“And what happens when you run out of strength? Do you just let the world walk all over you?”
“I don’t know. We just keep going and do the best we can. We’re only human, after all.”
“If only it was that easy. Nothing’s changed since I’ve left. Talking heads, signifying nothing. No one knows anything, not about the important things.” The pain in her forehead was not going away, and sweat started dripping down her neck.
“And there’s an answer you’re looking for, isn’t there?” came Father Peter’s quiet voice.
“What?” asked Zoey furtively.
“It’s in your eyes,” continued the priest. “There’s something there, burning intensely. What are you looking for?”
Zoey stood up. “It was nice talking with you, Father.” She pressed her temple as the throbbing increased. Nausea clouded her thoughts, as she suddenly felt hot, and the sweating continued unabated. She was vaguely aware of her stomach feeling heavy and uneasy.
“There’s no need to get agitated. You can talk to me.”
“Thanks again,” said Zoey as she walked up the ramp. She opened the door as a cool breeze flowed through her.
The pain in her head continued to get worse as the increasing nausea made her lose her balance. She did not even remember throwing up in the green grass. The intense disorientation quickly brought her to her knees.
Zoey vaguely heard the voice of her mother before she passed out.
Click here to read Chapter 5
Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Comments on Only Human Chapters 1-3
The only lasting comment I want known to the world is that I am very proud of the first page (5 paragraphs) as the opener of this story. Nothing that comes after that matters to me. Okay, it matters a little. It's a bit of an off-kilter sequel to "Forbidden Temple." Each story, I've found, following the introduction of the Brilliant 5, has less and less to do with them. The next story, I promise, will have more Rick Daring and the others. But for now, "Only Human" has its focus of the wonderfully unique character of Elizabeth "Zoey" Walker.
Edgar Rice Burroughs did this in his series as well. Introducing, and then deviating to, supporting characters such as Tarzan's son from the fourth volume, aptly titled "Son of Tarzan." Of course, I am not purposely emulating Burrough, but are writing the stories that need to be written.
One aspect of this story that I wanted to point out is that it takes place in the future. Zoey lives some odd centuries in the future from our "present day", and I know I haven't done much to emphasize this. Ten years ago, I could easily go on paragraph after paragraph on what the microwave of the future would be like. But I found this distracting when writing this story. The story is about Zoey, and everything else is background noise.
This is a very personal story, and, as such, is much different than what I've written before. It's more down to Earth and a straight drama. This means much slower paced opening chapters, but I hope that you commit to the story, because I believe you'll be rewarded in the end.
In either case, I enjoyed writing the story and spending some time with Zoey. Hopefully, someday, others will say the same.
Edgar Rice Burroughs did this in his series as well. Introducing, and then deviating to, supporting characters such as Tarzan's son from the fourth volume, aptly titled "Son of Tarzan." Of course, I am not purposely emulating Burrough, but are writing the stories that need to be written.
One aspect of this story that I wanted to point out is that it takes place in the future. Zoey lives some odd centuries in the future from our "present day", and I know I haven't done much to emphasize this. Ten years ago, I could easily go on paragraph after paragraph on what the microwave of the future would be like. But I found this distracting when writing this story. The story is about Zoey, and everything else is background noise.
This is a very personal story, and, as such, is much different than what I've written before. It's more down to Earth and a straight drama. This means much slower paced opening chapters, but I hope that you commit to the story, because I believe you'll be rewarded in the end.
In either case, I enjoyed writing the story and spending some time with Zoey. Hopefully, someday, others will say the same.
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