Saving A Story

I sighed as I got to the bottom of the story that I was writing. “THE END.” I typed, and rubbed my eyes, then wiped my sweaty forehead.

I scrolled to the top of the document in my wordprocessor, and started to re-read again from the beginning: “In all of the worlds that could be conceived, in all of the possible realities that could be visited by human minds, the ones that are strangest are closest to those with which we are familiar….” I hit the down arrow and continued down the page. As I read the third line, I gasped as I saw the words “In all of the worlds” get smaller, as if they were falling away from me. I squinted at them as they continued to shrink.

The rest of the letters on that line dropped away, as if falling into a deep hole. The next line began to disappear as well, as if my story was a strange rope that was uncoiling in front of me, and plummeting into a white, bottomless well.

My eyes went wide with alarm! I had worked on the story for so long, had created such vivid descriptions, and they were falling away. I clicked the disappearing words, but the story continued to get pulled downwards. If anything, it sped up, as if the earlier words had weight and pulled down harder on the parts that were still anchored. In fact, the scroll bar at the right shrunk as if it were becoming a shorter document because of deletions.

I tried saving the document, but it ignored my commands. In desperation, although I didn’t think it would help, I touched the screen at a line that was disappearing. But, instead of just feeling the cold glass of the screen, there was a sinuous feel to the words, as if I were touching a thread of some sort. It was too small to get a hold of, and the line dropped away like the rest.

Frantically, I grabbed at the screen to pull at the words. They were too thin. Quickly, I selected the entire document, and sized the letters up to the highest size I could see. The anchored letters seemed to get heavier, but fallen letters had also become larger, and it didn’t slow. I tried again to grab a word, a sentence, a fragment. But they fell away.

The final sentence came by, and I made a desperate grab for the final “D” in “THE END.” I got my pinkie hooked in the curve of the letter, and it yanked against my skin, cutting me, creating a crimson line of blood around the first joint of my little finger. I winced with pain, but still grabbed at the sentence behind “END” and pulled, slowly extracting my story from the white depths, letter by letter, phrase by phrase.

When I was done, there was a messy pile of words on the floor.

Later, I checked the wordprocessor’s website. It turned out there was a bug.

The Forensics of Civilization

Voice 1: “Is the subject ready?”

Voice 2: “Nearly so.”

Voice 1: “Do not speak during the interrogation such as the last one. Not unless something goes wrong. You are not trained in this.”

Voice 2: “Yes, yes I understand.”

Voice 1: “I mean this. You ruined a particularly fascinating–.”

Voice 2: “I said that I understood.”

Voice 1: “Very well. Is the subject ready now?”

Voice 2: “Yes. I can activate at your request.”

Voice 1: “Okay, please activate now.”

Subject: Groans.

Voice 1: “Now, what was the form of address for this culture? Oh yes. SIR.”

Subject: Groans.

Voice 1: “Sir. Sir. There’s been an accident, sir. Can you hear me?”

Subject: “Accident?”

Voice 1: “Yes, an accident.”

Subject: “Oh my god! I can’t feel my legs! I can’t feel my arms either! I can’t see!”

Voice 1: “Sir! Sir! It’s OK. We’ve had to put you on a…medications.”

Subject: “I can’t feel anything!”

Voice 1: “Sir! Sir!”

Voice 2: “I had to shut him down, and am going through a reset cycle. He panicked so much, he overloaded the interfaces.”

Voice 1: “Can’t you do anything to help? He’ll just go through the same thing again if you reset.”

Voice 2: “I can give the illusion of limited senses, except for sight. I don’t know if that will work.”

Voice 1: “Let us try. You told me that this one had a better profile than the others. It seems to be worth it.”

Voice 2: “Ok. I’m ready.”

Voice 1: “Activate.”

Subject: Groans.

Voice 1: “Sir? Sir?”

Subject: Groans.

Voice 1: “There’s been an accident sir.”

Subject: “Accident?”

Voice 1: “Yes, you are in…a place of healing.”

Subject: “A hospital.”

Voice 1: “Yes! A hospital. That is the term.”

Subject: “I…I…I can’t see.”

Voice 1: “We had to…bandage your head, do not try to open your ocular appendages.”

Subject: “There’s something wrong with my eyes!?”

Voice 1: “Sir, sir! Don’t panic. This is only temporary while they heal.”

Subject: “What…what happened. I can’t remember. Was it a car accident?”

Voice 1: “Car. Yes. Car accident.”

Subject: “How long will I be here? Where’s my wife?”

Voice 1: “…we don’t know your identity yet sir. What is your name?”

Subject: “Wasn’t it on my ID?”

Voice 1: “We were not able to recover your…eye dee.”

Subject: “That must have been a bad accident. At least I can’t feel pain. The drugs are working well.”

Voice 1: “Yes, drugs. They are working. May I ask you some questions?”

Subject: “…yes. Sorry. I am Francis Gedner.”

Voice 1: “Francis Gedner. Ok. I…wrote that down.”

Subject: “I live at 555 Sugarbottom Lane, in Delavan. You can call my wife at, 424-555-2425. It’s marked ICE on my cell phone. If it survived the accident.”

Voice 1: “Your cell…phone.”

Subject: “Yes, cell phone.”

Voice 1: “What is…I’m sorry. May I ask you some questions?”

Subject: “Yes of course.”

Voice 1: “They may seem strange, but they will help us immensely.”

Subject: “…go ahead I suppose.”

Voice 1: “What is a…cell phone?”

Subject: “…you’re kidding, right?”

Voice 1: “Pardon me, I need to speak to your…doctor. How is the…patient.”

Voice 2: “Very stable.”

Voice 1: “Sir. Francis. I need to be clear with you. Things aren’t as they seem.”

Subject: “I’ve been more badly hurt than you’re saying, haven’t I?”

Voice 1: “Yes. I’m afraid so. You…died. But we were able to bring you back.”

Subject: “I can tell. Something doesn’t feel right about this. I can’t really move around the right way. I don’t feel…right.”

Voice 1: “It’s more than that. You are the last link to your civilization.”

Subject: “Excuse me?”

Voice 1: “Doctor, Is the patient still stable?”

Voice 2: “Yes. I think that he can take it.”

Voice 1: “Your planet. All sentient life on your planet was destroyed. We are investigating how.”

Subject: “You must be joking.”

Voice 1: “Sir, I am not.”

Subject: “But how could you bring me back?”

Voice 1: “We are not from your earth. We are from elsewhere, and we were able to recover you, and…activate you to ask you questions. There is much about your civilization that we do not understand.”

Subject: “…I don’t believe you.”

Voice 1: “It is true. I cannot say it in a way you can verify. But I wish to ask you very basic questions about your civilization.”

Subject: “If that’s true, how did it end?”

Voice 1: “We don’t know. We’re trying to find out. That is part of our purpose.”

Subject: “Part of your purpose? What’s the other parts?”

Voice 1: “To understand your lost civilization. We are, as your language approximates, archeological anthropologists.”

Subject: “You’re lucky that I like science fiction, because otherwise, I would question this until the end of time. As it is, there are too many factors here that make sense. The fact that I don’t feel the same. The fact that your speech is so odd. Well, anyway, even if it’s a dream, it would make a great story. So, shoot.”

Voice 1: “Shoot?”

Subject: “Start asking me questions. And remind me to teach you idioms and clichés.”

Voice 1: “Very well. I will note that. We are fortunate that you are so amenable to answering questions. What is a cell phone?”

Subject: “It’s a communications device.”

Voice 1: “Ah. I see. So noted. I cannot tell you how excited I am that we have found such a willing individual as you.”

Subject: “Sure. This is fun. Go ahead with more questions.”

Voice 1: “I have had one question more than any. I am filled with overjoy that I will have it explained. We found an object amongst the rubble and devastation. It was a…shrine we think. A religious device. It was made of metal, with a platform that your bipedal forms could stand on, and a square in the middle facing the front filled with objects.”

Subject: “That could be a shrine. Can you describe it some more?”

Voice 1: “It had some arrows on the platform to this shrine, and metal pipes at the level of where your hands would be if you were upright.”

Subject: “…wait a minute. Arrows on the floor of this…shrine?”

Voice 1: “Yes! Arrows in the four cardinal directions. It is this that caused us to think that it was of religious significance.”

Subject: mumbling, “…I suppose it could have had a broken screen, so that’s why the box was filled with objects.”

Voice 1: “Do you know what this is?”

Subject: “Were the arrows…let’s see if I can remember. Were they blue and light purple?”

Voice 1: “We did…let me check my guide of what your language called each color frequency. But…yes I think that those are your representations of the color frequencies that are on the platform.”

Subject: “…”

Voice 1: “Do you know what this is?”

Subject: “…”

Voice 1: “You must tell me if you know! It is a great mystery. Is it because it has great religious significance that you cannot speak of this?”

Subject: “I don’t know how to tell you this…”

Voice 1: “Know that your answer is the only way that others will understand your civilization. Without your explanation, your rich culture will perish into the darkness. Share it, and keep it alive!”

Subject: “Ok, how the hell do I explain Dance Dance Revolution to a bunch of aliens?”