Nemo - 1

I wake up small. Barely four feet. Female, thin. A child. I wonder what it is like to wake up the same as when one lies down to sleep. That body was tall, slightly cramped even in this large crate. It is but an idle thought, not made for following, though.

I put my nose to the hole in the crate. No new smells, good. I am still alone here. With care, I swing out the side of my crate and roll into this cold place. Wood instead of concrete. An old, abandoned warehouse building. Safest, for now. Perhaps soon, something without dust.

The rats here are healthy, unlike the ones in Manila. Many things are different here than they were there, or in the other places I have been. But they are not like how those other places think it is here. I expected to be shot at within moments of arriving. Instead, I have seen no guns, and practically have to seek out violence anywhere except on the media.

I only have one left, though, in my little larder. One fuzzy little rat to eat. Two slices of the cheesecake left, but my body says protein instead of sugars right now. I start chewing, while thinking about my day.

I have alcohol enough to last for a few days. The good stuff, not what they sell to each other for drinking. Isopropanol seems like a very deustche word. Longer than it needs to be. Best flavor, best food value for the volume. Takes me an entire bottle of the browner ones to match a single pint of the alcohol from the pharmacy.

Walking to the window, I let clothing flow from my skin. Grey, like the outside of the building. My skin follows suit as I step through the swinging window and plant my feet on the outside of the wall. Squatting there, with twenty meters of air below me, I watch you.

It is a time for watching and listening, now. Not for the research I would like to do. Searches here will be studied, reported, logged and tracked. I will have to be careful to do them in many different places. Libraries here will be good for that. Universities, perhaps. They were good in Munchen and Lisbon. But not so much in other places.

The language here is strange. It is as if it cannot decide what it wishes to be, and so it is something of everything. Even its own speakers do not understand how it works or why.

I think I like that.

429

Singers - 1

I walk across the flagstones, singing the Small Song of Light. Just enough to keep my footing sure in this oldest part of things. Songs were less pure, less certain when these stones were sung, and so they are rougher than the new ones. Our newest stones are bright, clean, almost without flaw. Such improvements we have made in our singing, in our songs.

As I walk, the strains of the various voices come to me from all around. Songs of Wind, Water, Food, Stone. Songs of making, of recording, of cleaning and baking. Songs all around, giving us our needs and asking only that we keep singing into the darkness.

Ahead is the Building of Assignment, where I will be told what songs need singing, and be asked which I will undertake. It was the third of all Buildings, simple and strong, without the refinements we have since added to our Towers. I have always liked its doorway, in which was found the Song of the Arch.

I walk inside, and am greeted.

“Singer Mahd,” Brek says, “how sings the light with you?”

“It sings well, Singer Brek. And with you?”

“Ah, quite well, Singer. I have interesting news for you, Singer. And interesting news for all of us, as well.”

“And what is your interesting news, Singer Brek?”

“First, Singer Tann reports that there may be a new Song soon.” Brek nods and grins. “Perhaps even a new Great Song, if you can believe that.”

“And what sort of song might it be?” I ask.

“That is uncertain, but Tann is certain that this new song will be one of wonder, to astonish us all with new things.”

“And when might we hear this song, and know the new way of things?”

“Also uncertain. But in such uncertainties is the magic of anticipation, Mahd. What fun!” Brek might burst from such anticipation, it looks.

“And you said you had interesting news just for me? Is there a good assignment to be found for me?”

Brek becomes a little more solemn. “Yes, there is a good assignment. Mahd, I have been asked to hold a particular song to be sung. I think you will choose to sing it for us.”

“And what song might this be, Singer Brek?”

“You have been asked, Mahd, to sing the Song of Another.” Brek's eyes light happily with this news. Mine do not, quite so much.

What is This? - 2/23/2014

So, what is this blog supposed to be?

In short, a place for me to write.  The plan is that each of three days of the week (currently Monday, Wednesday and Friday) I will post a beat in a particular story.  A beat is pretty much what I decide it is, but think in terms of a single event, conversation, emotional or dramatic moment in the story.

Mondays will be a piece called Singers.  Wednesdays will be Nemo.  Fridays will be Fog.

In the future, if this experiment works out, I intend to add more stories, each designated to be once a week on a particular day.  Ultimately, I would like to be writing seven stories at once, beat by beat.

The inspiration for this is from both the pulp serials of the 30s and 40s, and from modern webcomics. I might have considered a webcomic, could I, for the life of me, draw at all well or consistently.

So you'll be stuck with words and words alone, I'm afraid.

Anyway, welcome to the serials.  The first story post will be tomorrow.