Ceramic DM - Spring 2005 (Late Bloomer) - We have a winner.
Berandor
lunatic
It's just that I had been glad I had missed these pics so far, but now got tackled with one. These pics always give you two more characters to integrate, and a specific action, and it's gotta be important...BardStephenFox said:I kind of wondered what the sign said, but I hadn't taken the time to look it up.
Martial arts pictures tend to be good at implied action. The writer is obviously free to integrate the picture in any form that she wishes, but I didn't want too many static pictures.
(And I *think* there are three pics from the same set in this contest, aren't there?)Doesn't matter anyhow, I got the pic nailed down, starting to write as soon as I finish dinner.
RangerWickett
Legend
I've seen the pictures. They're challenging, and I'm terribly interested to see what we would have gotten if your computer hadn't died.
Berandor
lunatic
First draft is done, and it's... weird.
Not as weird as the Harry Potter idea, though (and yes, I really did consider that one).
Interesting tidbit: I write while listening to music. The song I was listeing to when I finished the story was "The devil came down to Georgia". From what I read, it's featured in RW's last story (which i still haven't had the time to read).
Not as weird as the Harry Potter idea, though (and yes, I really did consider that one).
Interesting tidbit: I write while listening to music. The song I was listeing to when I finished the story was "The devil came down to Georgia". From what I read, it's featured in RW's last story (which i still haven't had the time to read
).
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Berandor
lunatic
Three hours to go, but it's already 12:30 a.m., so here goes!
Ceramic DM Spring 2005 Tournament (Will you bloom already?)
Finals: RangerWickett vs. Berandor
One hour later, three days ago
Michael Carpenter hadn’t dreamt since his wife had told him she wanted a divorce, and when she filed for sole guardianship of their daughter, he stopped sleeping altogether.
-
That’s a pretty good beginning to a story, isn’t it? I know you’ve come here for a good yarn, and I will try to oblige. I have to get a few things off my chest, though.
First off, this will be a sad story, at least up to a point. If that’s not to your liking, then you might not want to stay. You might regret leaving, too, but then don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Then, you’re probably asking yourself who Michael Carpenter is. Let me explain:
Michael Carpenter had been a writer once. In fact, Stella claimed that had been the reason why she married him, to offset her dry and matter-of-fact life as an attorney. Shortly after they’d married, Stella became pregnant. The usual nine months later, she gave birth to a beautiful, blond, now-nearly-six-feet-tall-but-then-much-smaller girl, Samantha. Stella went back to work as soon as she was able to. Michael was at home writing anyway, so he took care of Samantha. He would sit beside her bed and tell her stories, made up on the spot. Watching his daughter inspired him, made his imagination soar. He spent hours just looking at her face, and even more time exploring the world with her.
Michael and Samantha became an item much more than him and Stella had ever been, and Stella felt the pricks of jealousy, wishing she could spent as much time with Samantha as Michael did, but wishing even more Michael would spend as much time with her. To make matters worse, Michael dedicated his first novel to Samantha, not to her. The novel refused to sell. Secretly, Stella was happy. That’s when her and Michael started arguing, and they didn’t stop for years.
When Samantha was seven, Stella filed for divorce.
»Why?« Michael asked, and Stella answered just as she had so long ago, when he’d asked her why she’d fallen in love with him: Because he was a writer, and an unsuccessful one at that. It had been a hurtful thing to say, and not at all true (though not at all untrue either).
There had always been two things keeping Michael from being more successful. One, he was the stereotypical nice guy. There was nothing he couldn’t understand, no opinion he couldn’t accept, nothing he couldn’t empathize with. And to be honest, that probably played a large part in Stella leaving him for a hockey goalie. But it also played a part in his writing. As Michael had no spine whatsoever (at least metaphorically), he could not bring himself to tell his imagination to concentrate on one specific project. He had started nineteen novels in the past five years, but finished none.
Two, Michael was unable to keep a deadline, any kind of deadline. He had even missed the date of his birth, his mother spending 27 hours in the delivery room. Whatever he promised Stella to get done on a specific day, he would not get done at all.
Stella might have been required to support Michael financially, but Michael had had to file the papers by a specific date, and naturally he missed this deadline, and he didn’t want to ask Stella personally, didn’t want to appear needy.
And so, Michael had been forced to get a job, his first real job in nine years. And on the day the divorce was finalized, Michael swore that he would do everything to insure Samantha had a good life, and that she would look up to him not as a foolish dreamer, but a successful businessman just like her mother. He stopped writing. During the week, he would work long hours, getting home and falling instantly asleep, so that he could spend the weekend with Samantha. He stopped telling her stories, too. He stopped dreaming.
-
You can imagine how Michael felt when Stella filed for sole guardianship on the grounds that Michael neglected his duties as a parent. And worst of all, it was true. The past months had been very stressful at work and Michael had had no time for Samantha during the days she was with him. And that’s where we begin our story.
-
Michael Carpenter hadn’t dreamt since his wife had told him she wanted a divorce, and when she filed for sole guardianship of their daughter, he stopped sleeping altogether.
»Why?«
»When did you last have time for her?« Stella looked at him with the weary eyes she adopted when dealing with her husband. »When did you do something with her? Visit the zoo, or go swimming? When did you last tell her a story?«
»You know I don’t do that anymore,« Michael said. »I’m a businessman now.«
»But your daughter needs a father.«
There was nothing Michael could say. His mouth opened ready for a scathing response, but only silence emerged. His wife nodded grimly and told him that as soon as possible, she would take Samantha to a country far away, home of the hockey goalie, where people ate fries with vinegar and drank warm beer.
The next months passed in a haze. Michael took pains to make time for his daughter, but his workload increased proportionally to his attempts at working more quickly. And then, suddenly, it was two days before Samantha would leave for good.
-
Saturday
»Hey, dad.«
»Hi, Sam.« Michael bowed low to peck her on her cheek. Samantha grimaced.
»I told you to stop doing that. I’m twelve years old!«
»Sorry.« Michael turned to his ex-wife.
»Are you all right?« Stella asked. »You look like you haven’t slept in ages.«
»Tell me about it,« Michael said. He knew he looked terrible: sunken, red eyes almost hidden beneath dark shadows. »I’ve started to carry sleeping pills with me, so I can get a handful of sleep wherever I get the chance, but it doesn’t help.« He showed he the plastic tube of pills.
»I’m sorry. Maybe you should simply work less? Anyway, I’ll fetch Samantha tomorrow at six. Please make sure she’s ready.« Michael nodded, and together with Samantha he waved Stella goodbye as she drove off.
»So, what are we going to do?« Samantha asked. »You said you wanted to go somewhere special.«
»Did I?« Michael said with mock confusion. »Wait. I think I remember.« His face became serious. »I thought we might go to the Renfair.«
Samantha squealed. »Dad, that is so cool! When are we going?«
»As soon as I finish the report I have to write,« Michael said, and watched his daughter’s face fall.
»I’ll be in my room,« she said glumly.
-
»We’ll go tomorrow,« Michael said as they sat down for dinner. »I promise.«
Samantha said nothing. She ate her spaghetti, avoiding Michael’s gaze.
»Really,« he said. »We’ll get up at nine – eight if you want -, and go right after breakfast.«
No response. After sitting and eating in silence for a minute, Michael tried again.
»I noticed you still have the old backpack I gave you for your tenth birthday.« He pointed his fork at the backpack. It was a bulky thing made of black plastic. »Don’t you think you need a new one?«
»I like it,« Samantha said. »It reminds me of a giant beetle.«
Michael looked more closely, but he was unable to see it, the effect of not dreaming anymore. »Really?« he wondered. »How?«
Samantha started to explain, pointing out where the beetle’s horn was, and how the straps were its legs, but soon gave up, seeing the confusion in her father’s eyes.
»So do you want to watch a movie tonight?«
»Not really.«
»What do you want to do?«
»Read.«
»Read? What?«
»A book?« Samantha said, rolling her eyes. »Your book,« she continued, almost whispering.
Michael grimaced. »Sam, we’ve been over this. It’s a bad book, and I was a bad writer. I’m much happier now.« He yawned. »Listen, I’m sorry, but I’m terribly tired. I’m going to bed. I want to be fit for the Renfair.«
Samantha watched her father gather the dishes and put them into the dishwasher. He yawned again, and went up the stairs to his bedroom to toss around and lie awake all night. When he was gone, she pulled a book out of her backpack. The pages were wrinkled and yellowed, and some had come loose. Slowly, reverently, Samantha opened the book and read the dedication on the first page: “For Sam, my joy, my love, my life. My muse.”
»I love you, dad,« she said. A single tear ran down her face.
-
Sunday
The car stopped at office building where Michael worked. The smile Samantha had worn since Michael woke her this morning faded away.
»What are we doing here?«
»I’m just going to copy my report and drop it off, Sam. It’ll take no more than ten minutes. Come, you can wait in my office.«
»Can’t I wait in the car?«
»Don’t be silly. Come now.«
Michael took her up to his office. It was bigger than others, but not the biggest one, so Michael was always reminded of what he had achieved and that he hadn’t achieved everything yet. He logged into the network and sat Samantha down at the computer.
»You can play Hearts while I’m off in the copy room.«
-
It took him a few minutes to copy the report. It was a very important report dealing with the ideal distance of smoking zones to the workplace in order to minimize smoking breaks while still ensuring satisfied employees. Michael’s boss, Candice, had to have the report on her desk on Monday, and she always wanted a print version in addition to the electronic copy.
Finally, the copy machine died down and went back to its state of perpetual preparation. Michael gathered the copy and left the room, nearly colliding with Candice.
»Michael! Good to see you!«
»Candice! I didn’t know you’d be here.« As far as he knew, Candice was married with two children. »It’s Sunday, after all.«
»Paul took the kids to some costume event. I think it’s silly, so I came here instead.«
Candice was a very young woman, younger than Michael even. She had a thing for extravagant hairstyles, and today she wore an exceptionally hideous design. Michael couldn’t help but stare, even though his dream- and sleep-deprived mind could make no sense of her appearance. There were flat blades, spiking out horizontally, and a long woven tail of hair stretching out at the back of her head.
»New hairstyle?« Michael asked.
»It’s a helicopter,« Candice said proudly. »Watch.« She took out a remote control connected and pushed a button. The “rotor” started spinning.
»Very… ah… it must have been very expensive.«
Candice rolled her eyes. »You have no idea. Is that the report?«
Michael followed her gaze to the sheets of paper he was holding. »Huh? Oh, yeah, it is.«
»Great! Why don’t you come to my office so we can discuss it?«
Michael hesitated. Candice looked at him suspiciously.
»Do you have something better to do?« she asked. Her voice had a touch of ice.
»No, of course not,« Michael hastened to say. »Lead the way.« And he followed the spinning blades of helicopter hair, wishing he could fly away, but having no idea how.
-
»Did everything go all right?« Stella asked when she fetched Samantha that evening.
»Yeah, well, I had planned to go to the Renfair with her, but I got held up.«
»Your work.« It wasn’t a question, but her tone mellowed as she continued, »Listen, Michael, we’re leaving tomorrow afternoon. Check-in is at gate nine. Just be there at half past five and you can say goodbye.«
Michael turned to Samantha already sitting in the back of the car. She hadn’t said a word to him after he had left her sitting in his office for several hours.
»I’ll be there, Sam. I promise. Nothing could make me miss this. You know that, don’t you?«
She said nothing.
»Well,« Stella said, »we’d better get going.«
Michael stared after them for a long time, feeling incredibly hollow inside.
-
Monday
When Michael got to work an e-mail was already waiting for him. Candice wanted him to compare productivity with mandated hourly bathroom breaks and with employees deciding to take a break themselves. It was a very important project, so Michael started working on it immediately. Soon, he had forgotten about the events of the weekend as he pursued the deadline. He had become very good at keeping deadlines in the past years. It was one of the few things he was proud of.
Michael stayed in his office through lunch, continuing to work. When he focused on a project like this, he didn’t feel how tired he was, he didn’t feel hunger or thirst. It was like a higher state of being, he often thought, even though it was really more like the degenerate existence of a robot. He worked until Murray entered his office. Michael liked Murray. They would sometimes stand beside the coffee machine and talk about baseball, or basketball – never hockey, though.
»Didn’t you want to get off early today?« Murray asked.
»Why? What time is it?« Michael looked at his watch. »Oh sh*t! My daughter’s leaving in an hour! I have to get going!« He raced out of his office, down the stairs, and out of the building, onto the big plaza in front of it.
»Michael!« Candice shouted from across the plaza. »I need to talk to you!«
Michael swallowed a curse and forced himself to approach her. »What is it?«
»You’re leaving early today?« Candice said with furrowed brow. »That doesn’t seem like you.«
»I’ve got an appointment,« he said. »You wanted to talk to me?«
»Oh, right. Did you get my message?« Michael nodded. »Good. Do you have some results for me?«
»Candice, I really need to get going,« Michael said.
»Oh, come on. Let’s go to the cafeteria, and you give me a quick rundown. What’s five minutes between friends?«
-
Thirty minutes later, Michael dashed out of the cafeteria and to his car. He sped towards the freeway, cursing Candice and her hair all the way. Suddenly, there was a loud bang as the front tire burst. The car lurched sideways. Michael pulled at the wheel, but to no avail. The car crashed into a parked truck, shaking Michael in his seat. Blinking through the pain, he stumbled away from the car. A few people were gathering around the crash site, staring at Michael.
»I need to get to my daughter,« Michael explained to no-one in particular. He started running. The airport wasn’t far away, perhaps fifteen minutes on foot, but it was late, so late. Michael ran. Sweat poured down his brow, his heart beat painfully in his chest, but the image of Samantha waiting for him at the airport kept him going. His lungs were on fire. His running slowed to a hustle. He still saw Samantha in his mind, but it didn’t help anymore.
He passed an advertisement for railway transfer to the airport, and marveled at the man with the long legs depicted on the billboard. He could use those legs right now. He banished the thought as quickly as it had come. That was silly thinking, and he was no silly thinker anymore.
Michael’s steps became ever slower, his breath ever more ragged, his hustle a walk, until he had to stop. He fell on his knees, coughing, heart pounding in his chest, and motes of light dancing before his eyes.
»So this is what a heart attack feels like,« Michael said to himself, and indeed, that was what a heart attack felt like. His left arm went numb.
Someone would find him, but strangely, the thought didn’t fill him with hope. What did he have to stay alive for? Stella had left him years ago, and he had never had another relationship afterwards. He didn’t have any dreams anymore. And now Samantha had left, as well.
Michael heard a plane flying overhead, and he knew Samantha was on it. He was too late. Tears ran down his face, and still his chest hurt. He had lost everything.
He stood up, and stumbled off the road, into the woods behind the billboard. He only managed a few steps before he fell again. Rolling onto his back, he propped himself up on a small hill, looking at the autumn woods. It was a beautiful day. A soft wind tossed fallen leaves on his body, on his head, covering his vision, but he didn’t wipe them away. He thought about lying there and being totally covered up by leaves, and then by snow, until they would find his body next spring. He liked the idea.
Michael pulled the sleeping pills from his pocket. His chest still hurt, and he might die anyway, but it was best to make sure. He swallowed all of the pills. Then he turned his attention back to his surroundings, allowing his imagination to fill his final breaths. The forest had been painted in watercolors, yellow, red, and orange, and sunlight filtered through the leaves like the gentle fingers of an angel. He listened to the wind sing in the trees and whisper in the bushes, and he smelled the fresh earth beneath him.
And with a final, heaving sigh, Michael Carpenter fell asleep, never to wake up.
-
I told you it was a sad story, up to a point. Well, as you may have guessed, the point is right here. While this is what would have normally happened, this isn’t what actually happened. Some might say it’s because God is someone who can empathize with fathers who lose their children, but in truth, it’s because of the DDDA. The Divorced Dreamer-Dad Association was formed in 1978 when Joshua Rimauld (a Frenchman, but don’t tell anybody) managed to harness the power of imagination and survived an otherwise lethal parachuting accident. In 1998, the DDDA, working in secret, built their greatest invention: a time machine, enabling them to send a small pod a few days back in time. Just like in that TV series, only that the DDDA can only go back three days, and they don’t send people back. Not at all. What they send back is more or less an impulse intended to supercharge one’s imagination, and they sent it back to give Michael Carpenter a second chance.
Michael died in the woods, but then, one hour later, it was three days ago…
-
Friday
Michael left the office late. He had hoped to finish his report today, but it had proven too complex. He would have to apply some finishing touches tomorrow. He hoped Sam wouldn’t mind.
He was walking past a smaller side building when he heard a faint sound, not unlike a siren. He looked around, and then up, as he noticed the sound coming from somewhere above him, but he saw nothing. Suddenly, there was a bright flash. Michael reflexively closed his eyes. He opened them again, and then had to blink to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.
Right in front of him stood a giant ball. No, not a ball, but a structure composed wholly of polished hexagons, an almost round isokaeder. There was another flash in the air, not as bright as the last one, but enough to illuminate the yard as if it was day.
Slowly, Michael approached the structure. He looked around, but nobody else seemed to have taken notice, probably because most employees had already left. Michael was the only one around. His mind raced. Was this the result of an experiment? If so, was it a failed one, or had it worked? Was it dangerous?
Michael stood right next to the isokaeder now. It was taller than him, and as wide as it was high. Along the hexagons, he could make out slightly glowing seams. The structure didn’t give off any heat. Hesitatingly, Michael reached out his hand and touched it. Instantly, the seams’ glow intensified, and the structure vibrated, pulsated. And then it exploded.
-
Michael shook off the daze and opened his eyes. He found himself lying on the ground thirty feet away from the structure. The structure had blown apart, looking like a broken egg with other pieces of shell lying all about. He wondered what might have hatched from that egg. He pulled out his cell phone to call security, but a sharp pain in his head made him drop the phone. As he picked it up, he remembered that Human Resources had said something of installing a piece of art in the yard. This was probably what they had talked about, and Michael, surprised at seeing it, had imagined things. He laughed at himself and his overactive imagination, and then he went home, still shaking his head, but already forgetting the incident.
-
Saturday
»Hey, dad.«
»Hi, Sam.« Michael gave her a peck on the cheek.
»Dad! I’m too old for that!« Samantha complained.
»Just be lucky we’re not Swedish,« he said. »In Sweden, you get as many pecks as you're years old.«
»So I’d get twelve kisses?« She seemed repulsed by the idea.
»Just wait till you’re sixty!« he joked, and they both laughed. Michael turned to his ex-wife.
»Are you all right?« Stella asked. »You look as if you haven’t slept for ages.«
Michael looked up and down the street suspiciously. »I’m not really allowed to tell you,« he said in a whisper loud enough so Samantha could hear as well, »but I’ve stayed awake each night for a secret project I’m working on in my basement.«
»A secret project?« Stella asked incredulously.
»Exactly. I can’t tell you what it is, obviously, it being secret and all, but it has to do with genetics, and constructing an evil clone of Sam that will go with you while the real Sam stays with me.«
»Do we have to go through this again?«
»No, of course not,« Michael protested. »I’m fine. I was just joking.«
»Yeah, but… it doesn’t matter. I’ll fetch Sam tomorrow at six. Make sure she’s ready.«
»Yes, Ma’am.« He saluted. Stella got into the car and drove off.
»What happened to you?« Samantha asked him when she had gone. »You seem… different.«
Michael shrugged. »I don’t know what you mean. Anyway, are you ready to go to the Renfair?«
Samantha let out a little shriek. »The Renfair? That’s so cool! How did you know that?«
»Well, to be honest, your mother told me.«
Samantha didn’t seem to mind. As they went into the house, she asked, »Are you really fine with us leaving?«
»Of course I am,« he said. »After all, your mother gets the evil clone, doesn’t she?«
-
»Look, I told you it’s an important report. We’ll go tomorrow, all right?«
Samantha didn’t answer. She ate her spaghetti silently. Michael swore inwardly, mostly at himself, for being unable to set that stupid report aside for the weekend. Who needed to know the distance between workplace and smoking zone, anyway? Who cared?
»Look, I promise you. We’ll get up early, and go to the fair right after breakfast. What do you say?« Again, no answer. Michael tried to change the subject.
»I see you still have the old backpack I gave you. Doesn’t it creep you out?«
Samantha looked up. »Why should it?«
»I don’t know,« Michael said. »It kind of looks like a beetle, doesn’t it?«
She almost coughed on her spaghetti. »Really? You think so, too? I thought I was the only one!«
»No way!« Michael said. »Look, the straps are its legs, and there is its horn, and…« A yawn escaped his lips like Harry Houdini from a county prison. »Sorry, Sam. I feel like a flat tire. I need to get some sleep for once. Can I leave you alone?«
»Sure, dad. I’m just going to read a little bit.«
»Hey, that’s nice,« he said while filling the dishwasher. »Better than watching TV, anyhow. A book I know?«
»Yours.«
Michael looked up from the dishwasher. »Wow. I’m flattered. But I’d rather you read some good books.«
»I like it,« Samantha said earnestly.
»Yeah, well, then you’re the only one.« Another yawn. »Anyway, Sam, don’t stay up too late.«
When Michael had gone upstairs, Samantha pulled her overread copy of his book out and opened it at the dedication.
»I love you, dad,« she said, smiling.
-
Sunday
When the car stopped at the office, Samantha’s smile vanished from her face as quick as a mungo dropped into its hole at the sight of a snake.
»What are we doing here?« she asked.
»I just have to drop off my report. Come on, it’ll only take ten minutes tops.«
They went up to Michael’s office. He took Samantha with him to the copy room so she could copy herself making funny faces. When the machine worked on his report, he pointed to its big belly.
»It’s sad, really.«
»What?«
»The copy folk have to work on Sundays, too.«
»The who?«
»The copy folk. Don’t say you’ve never heard of them before. They’re small people living in copy machines. Every once in a while, you have to feed them, or they eat the paper instead of copying it.«
»Yeah, right.«
Michael gave her a look of exaggerated exasperation. »My own daughter doesn’t believe me. Did you hear that, guys?« he asked in the direction of the copy machine. Right then, the machine spewed out the report’s final page and went into stand-by. »You see? You’ve offended them.«
Samantha rolled her eyes at him.
As they left the room, Michael nearly collided with Candice and her newest try for most disturbing hairstyle in the history of mankind.
»Hi, Candice! Do you know my daughter Sam?«
»Samantha,« she corrected him.
»No, I haven’t had the pleasure. Nice to meet you, Samantha.« Candice smiled at her, but she seemed unsure whether she should be annoyed at meeting a child at work. »Is that the report?« she asked Michael.
»Yeah. I just, ah, flew in to drop it off in your office. Is that a new hairstyle?«
»Yes, indeed. It’s a helicopter.«
»You don’t say,« Michael said, causing Samantha to giggle.
»Watch!« Candice said, oblivious. She pushed her remote and turned on the rotor.
»Nice!« Michael said, trying not to laugh, while Samantha had long stopped trying. »Must be very useful at parties.«
»Parties?«
»Yeah, you know? For mixing drinks?«
»Oh,« Candice said, her face freezing faster than spittle at the North Pole. »Yes. Do you want to come into my office and talk about the report now?«
»I can’t, sorry. I promised Sam to take her on a little trip to the Middle Ages.« He handed her the papers. »Why don’t you read it on your own first, and I’ll answer any questions you have tomorrow?« He took the still-giggling Samantha’s hand and led her to the stairs.
-
»Did everything go all right?« Stella asked when she fetched Samantha.
»It was great!« Samantha said. »We went to the Renfair, and dad totally sang songs with a bard!«
»You can sing?« Stella asked incredulously.
»No, he can’t.« Samantha giggled. »That’s why it was so funny!«
Stella looked at Michael as if she hadn’t seen him for years. »You did that?« Michael blushed.
»You should have been there, mom!«
»Maybe I should have. Now, get in the car.« Stella regarded Michael silently for a moment, shaking her head. »You’re still able to surprise me. Anyway, don’t forget, gate nine at half past five if you want to say goodbye.«
»I’ll be there.« Michael said, and then to Samantha, »You’ll come and visit me in the holidays, right?«
»Why?« she answered. »I’m only the evil clone, am I not?«
»Yeah, you are,« Michael said. »You can stay where you are, then.«
He stared after them for a long time, and despite missing his daughter tremendously, he felt better than he had felt for a very long time.
-
Monday
At work, Michael was met with a message to meet up with Candice ASAP. He went right to her office.
»Michael, there you are,« she greeted him.
»What’s up? I practically flew here.« He cursed himself for alluding to her hair, suppressing a grin.
»It’s about the report. It’s not up to your usual standards. We’ll have to talk about that.«
And that’s what they did, up until lunch. When Candice finally let Michael go, she had ordered him to compose a comparative report between employer-mandated and employee-chosen break periods.
»And remember: I need the report tonight.«
Michael nodded and, ignoring his growing hunger, locked himself into his office. Before he started working, he called one of his colleagues.
»Hey, Murray, it’s me. Could you do me a favor and call me up at four? I need to leave early today.«
»No problem, man. I missed you during coffee break.«
»The helicopter lady had me in her clutches.« Murray bellowed a laugh and hung up, not before promising once more to call.
Michael went right to the report, occasionally shaking his head at the silliness of it all. As time sped past, Michael found he couldn’t really focus on working. His mind drifted off, remembering the past day and how happy he and Samantha had been, and how many days he’d spent working instead of doing something fun with her. He started imagining what he’d do when she came over for New Year’s Eve.
The telephone forced him out of his reverie. It was Murray.
»Sorry man, I’m a little late, but I hope you’re still one time.«
Michael looked at his watch. »sh*t!« He raced out of the office building, but as he did so, he saw Candice coming right at him.
»Michael! I need to talk to you.«
Michael shook his head in desperation. Not now. But how could he avoid her? She was his superior. No, she wasn’t. She was his opponent. She was… yes!
In his mind, Michael saw the plaza deserted. Only he and Candice were standing across from each other, dressed in fighting suits. It was a battle against time, a match against Candice and the seconds running out. Michael bowed to Candice, and she did the same. The fight began.
»I need to talk to you about the comparison,« Candice said. Michael saw her avatar throw a deadly punch right at his solar plexus.
»I haven’t finished it.« He blocked, but the force of the blow threw him backwards, into a defensive position. Candice pushed on.
»You haven’t? But it seems like you’re leaving.« A high kick, followed by a leg sweep. She wanted to get him off his feet.
He tried some evasive maneuvers, staggering backwards in the process. »I can’t talk to you right now, Candice. I’ve got an appointment.«
»If you can’t talk to me about work you’re not doing, then I hope your appointment is with a job counselor.« A deadly move. Candice stood on her head and activated the helicopter. She began to turn, slowly at first, then ever faster. Her legs swished past Michael’s head. Candice began to advance, forcing him to backpedal or be hit.
»You know what? I quit!« Michael took a quick step, and then he threw himself forward, jumping over Candice’s rotating legs, coming up running.
Candice watched Michael run past her, blinking in astonishment. In the back of her mind, a tiny voice confessed to envying his choice, but she quickly silenced it and went back to work.
-
Michael jumped into his car and sped out of the compound. As he turned towards the freeway, a tire exploded with a bang and threw the car against a parking truck. To Michael, the explosion was reminiscent of the bubble holding his hopes bursting apart. He had to get to the airport in time! He stumbled out of the car and past the gathering of curious bystanders. It was only a short run to the airport. He could still do it.
Michael ran. Sweat broke out on his forehead, drenching his clothes. As his chest started to hurt, he forced himself into a steady hustle. Still, he made good way along the streets. He passed an advertisement for railway transfer, and looking at the long-legged man made him laugh so hard he had to stop running for a moment.
Panting, he wiped the sweat from his brow. »I don’t suppose you could carry me to the airport?« he asked the man on the billboard.
»Are you kidding?« the man said. He turned his head left and right, and when nobody was looking, he stepped out of the billboard. »Do you have any idea how my legs hurt at night? I’m not going to carry anybody.«
»But I need to get to the airport in time to say goodbye to my daughter,« Michael pleaded. The man pondered this.
»I’ll tell you what,« he finally said. »I’m going to run alongside you, so you know to keep a constant pace. Just try to stay on my heels, and we’ll get there in no time. What do you say?«
»If that’s your best offer, I’ll take it.«
The man walked in the long, awkward strides of a two-legged spider. Michael hustled alongside him. Or, at least he imagined he did, because obviously billboards don’t come to life outside of a Steve Martin movie. But imagining having the man beside him helped Michael overcome his chest pain, his burning lungs and most of all the lazy part of him that didn’t want to exercise, no matter why or how.
Finally, he saw the airport in front of him.
»I have to leave now,« the long-legged man said. »If the train company gets wind of me taking off, I’ll lose my job.« He patted Michael on the back. »Good luck!« Then he turned, and walked back the way they’d come.
»Thanks!« Michael called after him, and then renewed his pace. He entered the airport running, sweating, looking for Samantha. Suddenly, he stopped, and cursed. He had forgotten the gate number. Desperation flooded over him, trying to drown him as the dam of his hopes fell apart.
»No,« he said, and took a deep breath. »I will find her.« And he set off at a brisk pace.
-
And that’s my story. Michael went on to write several very successful books, and soon he moved to the country across the ocean where Samantha lived, and they saw each other regularly. He even found another wife, but that’s neither here nor there.
As to why he didn’t suffer from a heart attack like he did the first time around, the answer to that question should be obvious. Whereas originally, his heart had been reduced to a mere organ, the second time around it was filled with hope and love and imagination, a powerful cardiological protection, as any doctor worth his salary knows (though granted, not many doctors are worth their salary).
Many of you will probably claim this is a silly story, and anyway, there’s nothing like the DDDA, and the comment about God was disrespectful. Well, maybe you’re right. If you’re so intent on keeping things real, then you should stop reading before the pod gets sent back in time. It’s your choice: Do you want Michael comitting suicide on a warm autumn day? Or do you want someone to save him, even if you have to accept a little time travel along the way? I know what I want.
As to whether Michael found Samantha at the airport and said goodbye to her? Well, of course he did.
After all, she was the only girl around with a beetle on her back.
Ceramic DM Spring 2005 Tournament (Will you bloom already?)
Finals: RangerWickett vs. Berandor
One hour later, three days ago
Michael Carpenter hadn’t dreamt since his wife had told him she wanted a divorce, and when she filed for sole guardianship of their daughter, he stopped sleeping altogether.
-
That’s a pretty good beginning to a story, isn’t it? I know you’ve come here for a good yarn, and I will try to oblige. I have to get a few things off my chest, though.
First off, this will be a sad story, at least up to a point. If that’s not to your liking, then you might not want to stay. You might regret leaving, too, but then don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Then, you’re probably asking yourself who Michael Carpenter is. Let me explain:
Michael Carpenter had been a writer once. In fact, Stella claimed that had been the reason why she married him, to offset her dry and matter-of-fact life as an attorney. Shortly after they’d married, Stella became pregnant. The usual nine months later, she gave birth to a beautiful, blond, now-nearly-six-feet-tall-but-then-much-smaller girl, Samantha. Stella went back to work as soon as she was able to. Michael was at home writing anyway, so he took care of Samantha. He would sit beside her bed and tell her stories, made up on the spot. Watching his daughter inspired him, made his imagination soar. He spent hours just looking at her face, and even more time exploring the world with her.
Michael and Samantha became an item much more than him and Stella had ever been, and Stella felt the pricks of jealousy, wishing she could spent as much time with Samantha as Michael did, but wishing even more Michael would spend as much time with her. To make matters worse, Michael dedicated his first novel to Samantha, not to her. The novel refused to sell. Secretly, Stella was happy. That’s when her and Michael started arguing, and they didn’t stop for years.
When Samantha was seven, Stella filed for divorce.
»Why?« Michael asked, and Stella answered just as she had so long ago, when he’d asked her why she’d fallen in love with him: Because he was a writer, and an unsuccessful one at that. It had been a hurtful thing to say, and not at all true (though not at all untrue either).
There had always been two things keeping Michael from being more successful. One, he was the stereotypical nice guy. There was nothing he couldn’t understand, no opinion he couldn’t accept, nothing he couldn’t empathize with. And to be honest, that probably played a large part in Stella leaving him for a hockey goalie. But it also played a part in his writing. As Michael had no spine whatsoever (at least metaphorically), he could not bring himself to tell his imagination to concentrate on one specific project. He had started nineteen novels in the past five years, but finished none.
Two, Michael was unable to keep a deadline, any kind of deadline. He had even missed the date of his birth, his mother spending 27 hours in the delivery room. Whatever he promised Stella to get done on a specific day, he would not get done at all.
Stella might have been required to support Michael financially, but Michael had had to file the papers by a specific date, and naturally he missed this deadline, and he didn’t want to ask Stella personally, didn’t want to appear needy.
And so, Michael had been forced to get a job, his first real job in nine years. And on the day the divorce was finalized, Michael swore that he would do everything to insure Samantha had a good life, and that she would look up to him not as a foolish dreamer, but a successful businessman just like her mother. He stopped writing. During the week, he would work long hours, getting home and falling instantly asleep, so that he could spend the weekend with Samantha. He stopped telling her stories, too. He stopped dreaming.
-
You can imagine how Michael felt when Stella filed for sole guardianship on the grounds that Michael neglected his duties as a parent. And worst of all, it was true. The past months had been very stressful at work and Michael had had no time for Samantha during the days she was with him. And that’s where we begin our story.
-
Michael Carpenter hadn’t dreamt since his wife had told him she wanted a divorce, and when she filed for sole guardianship of their daughter, he stopped sleeping altogether.
»Why?«
»When did you last have time for her?« Stella looked at him with the weary eyes she adopted when dealing with her husband. »When did you do something with her? Visit the zoo, or go swimming? When did you last tell her a story?«
»You know I don’t do that anymore,« Michael said. »I’m a businessman now.«
»But your daughter needs a father.«
There was nothing Michael could say. His mouth opened ready for a scathing response, but only silence emerged. His wife nodded grimly and told him that as soon as possible, she would take Samantha to a country far away, home of the hockey goalie, where people ate fries with vinegar and drank warm beer.
The next months passed in a haze. Michael took pains to make time for his daughter, but his workload increased proportionally to his attempts at working more quickly. And then, suddenly, it was two days before Samantha would leave for good.
-
Saturday
»Hey, dad.«
»Hi, Sam.« Michael bowed low to peck her on her cheek. Samantha grimaced.
»I told you to stop doing that. I’m twelve years old!«
»Sorry.« Michael turned to his ex-wife.
»Are you all right?« Stella asked. »You look like you haven’t slept in ages.«
»Tell me about it,« Michael said. He knew he looked terrible: sunken, red eyes almost hidden beneath dark shadows. »I’ve started to carry sleeping pills with me, so I can get a handful of sleep wherever I get the chance, but it doesn’t help.« He showed he the plastic tube of pills.
»I’m sorry. Maybe you should simply work less? Anyway, I’ll fetch Samantha tomorrow at six. Please make sure she’s ready.« Michael nodded, and together with Samantha he waved Stella goodbye as she drove off.
»So, what are we going to do?« Samantha asked. »You said you wanted to go somewhere special.«
»Did I?« Michael said with mock confusion. »Wait. I think I remember.« His face became serious. »I thought we might go to the Renfair.«
Samantha squealed. »Dad, that is so cool! When are we going?«
»As soon as I finish the report I have to write,« Michael said, and watched his daughter’s face fall.
»I’ll be in my room,« she said glumly.
-
»We’ll go tomorrow,« Michael said as they sat down for dinner. »I promise.«
Samantha said nothing. She ate her spaghetti, avoiding Michael’s gaze.
»Really,« he said. »We’ll get up at nine – eight if you want -, and go right after breakfast.«
No response. After sitting and eating in silence for a minute, Michael tried again.
»I noticed you still have the old backpack I gave you for your tenth birthday.« He pointed his fork at the backpack. It was a bulky thing made of black plastic. »Don’t you think you need a new one?«
»I like it,« Samantha said. »It reminds me of a giant beetle.«
Michael looked more closely, but he was unable to see it, the effect of not dreaming anymore. »Really?« he wondered. »How?«
Samantha started to explain, pointing out where the beetle’s horn was, and how the straps were its legs, but soon gave up, seeing the confusion in her father’s eyes.
»So do you want to watch a movie tonight?«
»Not really.«
»What do you want to do?«
»Read.«
»Read? What?«
»A book?« Samantha said, rolling her eyes. »Your book,« she continued, almost whispering.
Michael grimaced. »Sam, we’ve been over this. It’s a bad book, and I was a bad writer. I’m much happier now.« He yawned. »Listen, I’m sorry, but I’m terribly tired. I’m going to bed. I want to be fit for the Renfair.«
Samantha watched her father gather the dishes and put them into the dishwasher. He yawned again, and went up the stairs to his bedroom to toss around and lie awake all night. When he was gone, she pulled a book out of her backpack. The pages were wrinkled and yellowed, and some had come loose. Slowly, reverently, Samantha opened the book and read the dedication on the first page: “For Sam, my joy, my love, my life. My muse.”
»I love you, dad,« she said. A single tear ran down her face.
-
Sunday
The car stopped at office building where Michael worked. The smile Samantha had worn since Michael woke her this morning faded away.
»What are we doing here?«
»I’m just going to copy my report and drop it off, Sam. It’ll take no more than ten minutes. Come, you can wait in my office.«
»Can’t I wait in the car?«
»Don’t be silly. Come now.«
Michael took her up to his office. It was bigger than others, but not the biggest one, so Michael was always reminded of what he had achieved and that he hadn’t achieved everything yet. He logged into the network and sat Samantha down at the computer.
»You can play Hearts while I’m off in the copy room.«
-
It took him a few minutes to copy the report. It was a very important report dealing with the ideal distance of smoking zones to the workplace in order to minimize smoking breaks while still ensuring satisfied employees. Michael’s boss, Candice, had to have the report on her desk on Monday, and she always wanted a print version in addition to the electronic copy.
Finally, the copy machine died down and went back to its state of perpetual preparation. Michael gathered the copy and left the room, nearly colliding with Candice.
»Michael! Good to see you!«
»Candice! I didn’t know you’d be here.« As far as he knew, Candice was married with two children. »It’s Sunday, after all.«
»Paul took the kids to some costume event. I think it’s silly, so I came here instead.«
Candice was a very young woman, younger than Michael even. She had a thing for extravagant hairstyles, and today she wore an exceptionally hideous design. Michael couldn’t help but stare, even though his dream- and sleep-deprived mind could make no sense of her appearance. There were flat blades, spiking out horizontally, and a long woven tail of hair stretching out at the back of her head.
»New hairstyle?« Michael asked.
»It’s a helicopter,« Candice said proudly. »Watch.« She took out a remote control connected and pushed a button. The “rotor” started spinning.
»Very… ah… it must have been very expensive.«
Candice rolled her eyes. »You have no idea. Is that the report?«
Michael followed her gaze to the sheets of paper he was holding. »Huh? Oh, yeah, it is.«
»Great! Why don’t you come to my office so we can discuss it?«
Michael hesitated. Candice looked at him suspiciously.
»Do you have something better to do?« she asked. Her voice had a touch of ice.
»No, of course not,« Michael hastened to say. »Lead the way.« And he followed the spinning blades of helicopter hair, wishing he could fly away, but having no idea how.
-
»Did everything go all right?« Stella asked when she fetched Samantha that evening.
»Yeah, well, I had planned to go to the Renfair with her, but I got held up.«
»Your work.« It wasn’t a question, but her tone mellowed as she continued, »Listen, Michael, we’re leaving tomorrow afternoon. Check-in is at gate nine. Just be there at half past five and you can say goodbye.«
Michael turned to Samantha already sitting in the back of the car. She hadn’t said a word to him after he had left her sitting in his office for several hours.
»I’ll be there, Sam. I promise. Nothing could make me miss this. You know that, don’t you?«
She said nothing.
»Well,« Stella said, »we’d better get going.«
Michael stared after them for a long time, feeling incredibly hollow inside.
-
Monday
When Michael got to work an e-mail was already waiting for him. Candice wanted him to compare productivity with mandated hourly bathroom breaks and with employees deciding to take a break themselves. It was a very important project, so Michael started working on it immediately. Soon, he had forgotten about the events of the weekend as he pursued the deadline. He had become very good at keeping deadlines in the past years. It was one of the few things he was proud of.
Michael stayed in his office through lunch, continuing to work. When he focused on a project like this, he didn’t feel how tired he was, he didn’t feel hunger or thirst. It was like a higher state of being, he often thought, even though it was really more like the degenerate existence of a robot. He worked until Murray entered his office. Michael liked Murray. They would sometimes stand beside the coffee machine and talk about baseball, or basketball – never hockey, though.
»Didn’t you want to get off early today?« Murray asked.
»Why? What time is it?« Michael looked at his watch. »Oh sh*t! My daughter’s leaving in an hour! I have to get going!« He raced out of his office, down the stairs, and out of the building, onto the big plaza in front of it.
»Michael!« Candice shouted from across the plaza. »I need to talk to you!«
Michael swallowed a curse and forced himself to approach her. »What is it?«
»You’re leaving early today?« Candice said with furrowed brow. »That doesn’t seem like you.«
»I’ve got an appointment,« he said. »You wanted to talk to me?«
»Oh, right. Did you get my message?« Michael nodded. »Good. Do you have some results for me?«
»Candice, I really need to get going,« Michael said.
»Oh, come on. Let’s go to the cafeteria, and you give me a quick rundown. What’s five minutes between friends?«
-
Thirty minutes later, Michael dashed out of the cafeteria and to his car. He sped towards the freeway, cursing Candice and her hair all the way. Suddenly, there was a loud bang as the front tire burst. The car lurched sideways. Michael pulled at the wheel, but to no avail. The car crashed into a parked truck, shaking Michael in his seat. Blinking through the pain, he stumbled away from the car. A few people were gathering around the crash site, staring at Michael.
»I need to get to my daughter,« Michael explained to no-one in particular. He started running. The airport wasn’t far away, perhaps fifteen minutes on foot, but it was late, so late. Michael ran. Sweat poured down his brow, his heart beat painfully in his chest, but the image of Samantha waiting for him at the airport kept him going. His lungs were on fire. His running slowed to a hustle. He still saw Samantha in his mind, but it didn’t help anymore.
He passed an advertisement for railway transfer to the airport, and marveled at the man with the long legs depicted on the billboard. He could use those legs right now. He banished the thought as quickly as it had come. That was silly thinking, and he was no silly thinker anymore.
Michael’s steps became ever slower, his breath ever more ragged, his hustle a walk, until he had to stop. He fell on his knees, coughing, heart pounding in his chest, and motes of light dancing before his eyes.
»So this is what a heart attack feels like,« Michael said to himself, and indeed, that was what a heart attack felt like. His left arm went numb.
Someone would find him, but strangely, the thought didn’t fill him with hope. What did he have to stay alive for? Stella had left him years ago, and he had never had another relationship afterwards. He didn’t have any dreams anymore. And now Samantha had left, as well.
Michael heard a plane flying overhead, and he knew Samantha was on it. He was too late. Tears ran down his face, and still his chest hurt. He had lost everything.
He stood up, and stumbled off the road, into the woods behind the billboard. He only managed a few steps before he fell again. Rolling onto his back, he propped himself up on a small hill, looking at the autumn woods. It was a beautiful day. A soft wind tossed fallen leaves on his body, on his head, covering his vision, but he didn’t wipe them away. He thought about lying there and being totally covered up by leaves, and then by snow, until they would find his body next spring. He liked the idea.
Michael pulled the sleeping pills from his pocket. His chest still hurt, and he might die anyway, but it was best to make sure. He swallowed all of the pills. Then he turned his attention back to his surroundings, allowing his imagination to fill his final breaths. The forest had been painted in watercolors, yellow, red, and orange, and sunlight filtered through the leaves like the gentle fingers of an angel. He listened to the wind sing in the trees and whisper in the bushes, and he smelled the fresh earth beneath him.
And with a final, heaving sigh, Michael Carpenter fell asleep, never to wake up.
-
I told you it was a sad story, up to a point. Well, as you may have guessed, the point is right here. While this is what would have normally happened, this isn’t what actually happened. Some might say it’s because God is someone who can empathize with fathers who lose their children, but in truth, it’s because of the DDDA. The Divorced Dreamer-Dad Association was formed in 1978 when Joshua Rimauld (a Frenchman, but don’t tell anybody) managed to harness the power of imagination and survived an otherwise lethal parachuting accident. In 1998, the DDDA, working in secret, built their greatest invention: a time machine, enabling them to send a small pod a few days back in time. Just like in that TV series, only that the DDDA can only go back three days, and they don’t send people back. Not at all. What they send back is more or less an impulse intended to supercharge one’s imagination, and they sent it back to give Michael Carpenter a second chance.
Michael died in the woods, but then, one hour later, it was three days ago…
-
Friday
Michael left the office late. He had hoped to finish his report today, but it had proven too complex. He would have to apply some finishing touches tomorrow. He hoped Sam wouldn’t mind.
He was walking past a smaller side building when he heard a faint sound, not unlike a siren. He looked around, and then up, as he noticed the sound coming from somewhere above him, but he saw nothing. Suddenly, there was a bright flash. Michael reflexively closed his eyes. He opened them again, and then had to blink to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.
Right in front of him stood a giant ball. No, not a ball, but a structure composed wholly of polished hexagons, an almost round isokaeder. There was another flash in the air, not as bright as the last one, but enough to illuminate the yard as if it was day.
Slowly, Michael approached the structure. He looked around, but nobody else seemed to have taken notice, probably because most employees had already left. Michael was the only one around. His mind raced. Was this the result of an experiment? If so, was it a failed one, or had it worked? Was it dangerous?
Michael stood right next to the isokaeder now. It was taller than him, and as wide as it was high. Along the hexagons, he could make out slightly glowing seams. The structure didn’t give off any heat. Hesitatingly, Michael reached out his hand and touched it. Instantly, the seams’ glow intensified, and the structure vibrated, pulsated. And then it exploded.
-
Michael shook off the daze and opened his eyes. He found himself lying on the ground thirty feet away from the structure. The structure had blown apart, looking like a broken egg with other pieces of shell lying all about. He wondered what might have hatched from that egg. He pulled out his cell phone to call security, but a sharp pain in his head made him drop the phone. As he picked it up, he remembered that Human Resources had said something of installing a piece of art in the yard. This was probably what they had talked about, and Michael, surprised at seeing it, had imagined things. He laughed at himself and his overactive imagination, and then he went home, still shaking his head, but already forgetting the incident.
-
Saturday
»Hey, dad.«
»Hi, Sam.« Michael gave her a peck on the cheek.
»Dad! I’m too old for that!« Samantha complained.
»Just be lucky we’re not Swedish,« he said. »In Sweden, you get as many pecks as you're years old.«
»So I’d get twelve kisses?« She seemed repulsed by the idea.
»Just wait till you’re sixty!« he joked, and they both laughed. Michael turned to his ex-wife.
»Are you all right?« Stella asked. »You look as if you haven’t slept for ages.«
Michael looked up and down the street suspiciously. »I’m not really allowed to tell you,« he said in a whisper loud enough so Samantha could hear as well, »but I’ve stayed awake each night for a secret project I’m working on in my basement.«
»A secret project?« Stella asked incredulously.
»Exactly. I can’t tell you what it is, obviously, it being secret and all, but it has to do with genetics, and constructing an evil clone of Sam that will go with you while the real Sam stays with me.«
»Do we have to go through this again?«
»No, of course not,« Michael protested. »I’m fine. I was just joking.«
»Yeah, but… it doesn’t matter. I’ll fetch Sam tomorrow at six. Make sure she’s ready.«
»Yes, Ma’am.« He saluted. Stella got into the car and drove off.
»What happened to you?« Samantha asked him when she had gone. »You seem… different.«
Michael shrugged. »I don’t know what you mean. Anyway, are you ready to go to the Renfair?«
Samantha let out a little shriek. »The Renfair? That’s so cool! How did you know that?«
»Well, to be honest, your mother told me.«
Samantha didn’t seem to mind. As they went into the house, she asked, »Are you really fine with us leaving?«
»Of course I am,« he said. »After all, your mother gets the evil clone, doesn’t she?«
-
»Look, I told you it’s an important report. We’ll go tomorrow, all right?«
Samantha didn’t answer. She ate her spaghetti silently. Michael swore inwardly, mostly at himself, for being unable to set that stupid report aside for the weekend. Who needed to know the distance between workplace and smoking zone, anyway? Who cared?
»Look, I promise you. We’ll get up early, and go to the fair right after breakfast. What do you say?« Again, no answer. Michael tried to change the subject.
»I see you still have the old backpack I gave you. Doesn’t it creep you out?«
Samantha looked up. »Why should it?«
»I don’t know,« Michael said. »It kind of looks like a beetle, doesn’t it?«
She almost coughed on her spaghetti. »Really? You think so, too? I thought I was the only one!«
»No way!« Michael said. »Look, the straps are its legs, and there is its horn, and…« A yawn escaped his lips like Harry Houdini from a county prison. »Sorry, Sam. I feel like a flat tire. I need to get some sleep for once. Can I leave you alone?«
»Sure, dad. I’m just going to read a little bit.«
»Hey, that’s nice,« he said while filling the dishwasher. »Better than watching TV, anyhow. A book I know?«
»Yours.«
Michael looked up from the dishwasher. »Wow. I’m flattered. But I’d rather you read some good books.«
»I like it,« Samantha said earnestly.
»Yeah, well, then you’re the only one.« Another yawn. »Anyway, Sam, don’t stay up too late.«
When Michael had gone upstairs, Samantha pulled her overread copy of his book out and opened it at the dedication.
»I love you, dad,« she said, smiling.
-
Sunday
When the car stopped at the office, Samantha’s smile vanished from her face as quick as a mungo dropped into its hole at the sight of a snake.
»What are we doing here?« she asked.
»I just have to drop off my report. Come on, it’ll only take ten minutes tops.«
They went up to Michael’s office. He took Samantha with him to the copy room so she could copy herself making funny faces. When the machine worked on his report, he pointed to its big belly.
»It’s sad, really.«
»What?«
»The copy folk have to work on Sundays, too.«
»The who?«
»The copy folk. Don’t say you’ve never heard of them before. They’re small people living in copy machines. Every once in a while, you have to feed them, or they eat the paper instead of copying it.«
»Yeah, right.«
Michael gave her a look of exaggerated exasperation. »My own daughter doesn’t believe me. Did you hear that, guys?« he asked in the direction of the copy machine. Right then, the machine spewed out the report’s final page and went into stand-by. »You see? You’ve offended them.«
Samantha rolled her eyes at him.
As they left the room, Michael nearly collided with Candice and her newest try for most disturbing hairstyle in the history of mankind.
»Hi, Candice! Do you know my daughter Sam?«
»Samantha,« she corrected him.
»No, I haven’t had the pleasure. Nice to meet you, Samantha.« Candice smiled at her, but she seemed unsure whether she should be annoyed at meeting a child at work. »Is that the report?« she asked Michael.
»Yeah. I just, ah, flew in to drop it off in your office. Is that a new hairstyle?«
»Yes, indeed. It’s a helicopter.«
»You don’t say,« Michael said, causing Samantha to giggle.
»Watch!« Candice said, oblivious. She pushed her remote and turned on the rotor.
»Nice!« Michael said, trying not to laugh, while Samantha had long stopped trying. »Must be very useful at parties.«
»Parties?«
»Yeah, you know? For mixing drinks?«
»Oh,« Candice said, her face freezing faster than spittle at the North Pole. »Yes. Do you want to come into my office and talk about the report now?«
»I can’t, sorry. I promised Sam to take her on a little trip to the Middle Ages.« He handed her the papers. »Why don’t you read it on your own first, and I’ll answer any questions you have tomorrow?« He took the still-giggling Samantha’s hand and led her to the stairs.
-
»Did everything go all right?« Stella asked when she fetched Samantha.
»It was great!« Samantha said. »We went to the Renfair, and dad totally sang songs with a bard!«
»You can sing?« Stella asked incredulously.
»No, he can’t.« Samantha giggled. »That’s why it was so funny!«
Stella looked at Michael as if she hadn’t seen him for years. »You did that?« Michael blushed.
»You should have been there, mom!«
»Maybe I should have. Now, get in the car.« Stella regarded Michael silently for a moment, shaking her head. »You’re still able to surprise me. Anyway, don’t forget, gate nine at half past five if you want to say goodbye.«
»I’ll be there.« Michael said, and then to Samantha, »You’ll come and visit me in the holidays, right?«
»Why?« she answered. »I’m only the evil clone, am I not?«
»Yeah, you are,« Michael said. »You can stay where you are, then.«
He stared after them for a long time, and despite missing his daughter tremendously, he felt better than he had felt for a very long time.
-
Monday
At work, Michael was met with a message to meet up with Candice ASAP. He went right to her office.
»Michael, there you are,« she greeted him.
»What’s up? I practically flew here.« He cursed himself for alluding to her hair, suppressing a grin.
»It’s about the report. It’s not up to your usual standards. We’ll have to talk about that.«
And that’s what they did, up until lunch. When Candice finally let Michael go, she had ordered him to compose a comparative report between employer-mandated and employee-chosen break periods.
»And remember: I need the report tonight.«
Michael nodded and, ignoring his growing hunger, locked himself into his office. Before he started working, he called one of his colleagues.
»Hey, Murray, it’s me. Could you do me a favor and call me up at four? I need to leave early today.«
»No problem, man. I missed you during coffee break.«
»The helicopter lady had me in her clutches.« Murray bellowed a laugh and hung up, not before promising once more to call.
Michael went right to the report, occasionally shaking his head at the silliness of it all. As time sped past, Michael found he couldn’t really focus on working. His mind drifted off, remembering the past day and how happy he and Samantha had been, and how many days he’d spent working instead of doing something fun with her. He started imagining what he’d do when she came over for New Year’s Eve.
The telephone forced him out of his reverie. It was Murray.
»Sorry man, I’m a little late, but I hope you’re still one time.«
Michael looked at his watch. »sh*t!« He raced out of the office building, but as he did so, he saw Candice coming right at him.
»Michael! I need to talk to you.«
Michael shook his head in desperation. Not now. But how could he avoid her? She was his superior. No, she wasn’t. She was his opponent. She was… yes!
In his mind, Michael saw the plaza deserted. Only he and Candice were standing across from each other, dressed in fighting suits. It was a battle against time, a match against Candice and the seconds running out. Michael bowed to Candice, and she did the same. The fight began.
»I need to talk to you about the comparison,« Candice said. Michael saw her avatar throw a deadly punch right at his solar plexus.
»I haven’t finished it.« He blocked, but the force of the blow threw him backwards, into a defensive position. Candice pushed on.
»You haven’t? But it seems like you’re leaving.« A high kick, followed by a leg sweep. She wanted to get him off his feet.
He tried some evasive maneuvers, staggering backwards in the process. »I can’t talk to you right now, Candice. I’ve got an appointment.«
»If you can’t talk to me about work you’re not doing, then I hope your appointment is with a job counselor.« A deadly move. Candice stood on her head and activated the helicopter. She began to turn, slowly at first, then ever faster. Her legs swished past Michael’s head. Candice began to advance, forcing him to backpedal or be hit.
»You know what? I quit!« Michael took a quick step, and then he threw himself forward, jumping over Candice’s rotating legs, coming up running.
Candice watched Michael run past her, blinking in astonishment. In the back of her mind, a tiny voice confessed to envying his choice, but she quickly silenced it and went back to work.
-
Michael jumped into his car and sped out of the compound. As he turned towards the freeway, a tire exploded with a bang and threw the car against a parking truck. To Michael, the explosion was reminiscent of the bubble holding his hopes bursting apart. He had to get to the airport in time! He stumbled out of the car and past the gathering of curious bystanders. It was only a short run to the airport. He could still do it.
Michael ran. Sweat broke out on his forehead, drenching his clothes. As his chest started to hurt, he forced himself into a steady hustle. Still, he made good way along the streets. He passed an advertisement for railway transfer, and looking at the long-legged man made him laugh so hard he had to stop running for a moment.
Panting, he wiped the sweat from his brow. »I don’t suppose you could carry me to the airport?« he asked the man on the billboard.
»Are you kidding?« the man said. He turned his head left and right, and when nobody was looking, he stepped out of the billboard. »Do you have any idea how my legs hurt at night? I’m not going to carry anybody.«
»But I need to get to the airport in time to say goodbye to my daughter,« Michael pleaded. The man pondered this.
»I’ll tell you what,« he finally said. »I’m going to run alongside you, so you know to keep a constant pace. Just try to stay on my heels, and we’ll get there in no time. What do you say?«
»If that’s your best offer, I’ll take it.«
The man walked in the long, awkward strides of a two-legged spider. Michael hustled alongside him. Or, at least he imagined he did, because obviously billboards don’t come to life outside of a Steve Martin movie. But imagining having the man beside him helped Michael overcome his chest pain, his burning lungs and most of all the lazy part of him that didn’t want to exercise, no matter why or how.
Finally, he saw the airport in front of him.
»I have to leave now,« the long-legged man said. »If the train company gets wind of me taking off, I’ll lose my job.« He patted Michael on the back. »Good luck!« Then he turned, and walked back the way they’d come.
»Thanks!« Michael called after him, and then renewed his pace. He entered the airport running, sweating, looking for Samantha. Suddenly, he stopped, and cursed. He had forgotten the gate number. Desperation flooded over him, trying to drown him as the dam of his hopes fell apart.
»No,« he said, and took a deep breath. »I will find her.« And he set off at a brisk pace.
-
And that’s my story. Michael went on to write several very successful books, and soon he moved to the country across the ocean where Samantha lived, and they saw each other regularly. He even found another wife, but that’s neither here nor there.
As to why he didn’t suffer from a heart attack like he did the first time around, the answer to that question should be obvious. Whereas originally, his heart had been reduced to a mere organ, the second time around it was filled with hope and love and imagination, a powerful cardiological protection, as any doctor worth his salary knows (though granted, not many doctors are worth their salary).
Many of you will probably claim this is a silly story, and anyway, there’s nothing like the DDDA, and the comment about God was disrespectful. Well, maybe you’re right. If you’re so intent on keeping things real, then you should stop reading before the pod gets sent back in time. It’s your choice: Do you want Michael comitting suicide on a warm autumn day? Or do you want someone to save him, even if you have to accept a little time travel along the way? I know what I want.
As to whether Michael found Samantha at the airport and said goodbye to her? Well, of course he did.
After all, she was the only girl around with a beetle on her back.
Berandor
lunatic
Whoa! There it is!
[sblock] To be honest, I'm afraid the story doesn't work at all, but that's the one I had in my mind, and with time running short... oh, well, maybe it's just a lack of distance to it, and I'm totally wrong about it.
Still, I like the idea, but I'm not convinced at the execution. Let's hope RW's finger gave him more trouble than he suspected[/sblock]
[sblock] To be honest, I'm afraid the story doesn't work at all, but that's the one I had in my mind, and with time running short... oh, well, maybe it's just a lack of distance to it, and I'm totally wrong about it.
Still, I like the idea, but I'm not convinced at the execution. Let's hope RW's finger gave him more trouble than he suspected
[/sblock]
RangerWickett
Legend
Berandor, you do realize you still have over 24 hours left, right?
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