Update 5: Do Updates Need Titles? Well, I Shouldn't Leave This Blank, So Here You Go

Apologizes for the lack of updates! The Spring semester at UMD is in full swing, I'm teaching a class called Literature in a Wired World (awesome, right?), I get to read books all day, and sometimes I watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer. A lot. As for story updates, check it out:

My short story, "Second Chances," came out in December over at Anotherealm Magazine. I was not expecting the Fantasticks quotation to precede the text (”Round and round at the break of day, candles glow, fiddles play . . .”), but this strangely appropriate epigraph was a welcome addition. As for the story itself, it involves an astronaut's thoughts as he lies on the brink of death; that is, until he sees . . . well, you should read the story for yourself to find out. It's free! Read it here.

My other most recently released short story, "A Hero's Only Request," appeared in the Ruined Cities anthology by Deepwood Publishing. You can purchase the ebook through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Kobo. "A Hero's Only Request" is a post-apocalyptic story set in a place called Ilion and features characters named Perseus and Oppenheimer. Yeah, it's bizarre, but you'll love it. Of my short stories which have been published so far, "A Hero's Only Request" is probably my favorite, with a devastating final line that will put you in tears and have you cursing my name. Or maybe not, but read it anyway.

Finally, to give you something to look forward to, my short story, "The Family Tree," will be published by Electric Spec on March 15th. The story takes place over the course of a week, involves a child's relationship with her grandfather, and features a 20-foot clockwork tree made of cogs, gears, and pulleys. But what does the tree DO, you ask? Wait and see.

Oh, and last I heard, my story "The Haunted and the Bereaved," is still set to come out in Static Movement's Deathly Encounters anthology, but still no word on when.  

There are exciting events ahead, so stay tuned.

Update 4: Leeches and Rhinos

Updates! Updates! Updates!

I must first announce here that my science fantasy novel, The Leech World, is going to be published by Hunt Press. It's all still in the early stages, with a tentative release for February, 2014, but get excited because this is happening. I've been working on The Leech World since 2010 or so, and the manuscript actually served as my senior thesis in college. Since then I've been editing it like crazy and shopping around for agents or publishers. Others have shown interest in the book in the past, but I've waited patiently until now, and Hunt Press is a good fit. Expect more updates about the novel soon!

As for short(er) fiction, my novelette, "Into the Light," recently received an Honorable Mention in Quarter 2 of the Writers of the Future contest. I mentioned "Into the Light" in a previous update. I don't think I've ever worked on any story as hard as this one. It's gone through a ridiculous number of drafts, and has grown from around 9 or 10,000 words, still a sizable story, to 18,000 words. Now I just have to find a publisher willing to accept this absurdly long fantasy story.

My short story, "A Hero's Only Request," is going to be published by Deepwood Publishing in their Ruined Cities anthology. As a teaser: this story takes place in a post-apocalyptic world where its citizens occupy themselves by destroying microwaves and clocks, which they deem evil relics of the past. Things get sort of insane from there, and I don't want to ruin it, so we'll just leave it at that.

Remember that my short story, "Second Chances," is still on its way; it will be out in December through Another Realm, which you can read online. "The Haunted and the Bereaved" should also be out at some point from Static Movement. When I know, you'll know. 

If you simply cannot wait to read more of my fiction, and you think you'll black out and free all the animals at the zoo if you do not read another word from me soon, there's a backlog of stories on this blog. If you've read all these stories, good for you, but you're fresh out of luck. Remember to free the lions last so they don't terrorize the other animals. It might also be a good idea to ride on top of a rhino, if possible. It'll be harder to catch you. Also take pictures.

Until next time,
Daniel Kason     

Update 3: Playing with Twine

Twine, for those who do not know, is not just a light string or strong thread composed of two or more smaller strands or yarns twisted together, but a tool for making interactive stories. Some of the best Twine stories are actually games, with the crucial element being the addition of choice. Allowing the reader a set of options through a nonlinear, meandering storyline adds an extra layer of interactivity to the experience of reading. Suddenly, reading isn't just a passive experience of taking in necessary information, but one in which the reader's choices are a crucial part of the act of reading itself. Suddenly, the issue of agency (who is in control: the author or the reader?) is questioned, and the text itself is destabilized, no longer linear and repeatable, but nonlinear and variable.

This is why even the more literary hypertexts composed using Twine resemble games as much as stories. The common metaphors used for composition of stories, like the puzzle, the map, or even the maze, are more appropriate than ever.

As an assignment for my Introduction to Digital Humanities graduate class, I decided to adapt one of my short stories, Dark Creation, as a Twine. The reasons for this were actually quite practical. 1) I noticed that the page for the story on Indigo Rising Magazine's website is no longer active, 2) This was my first published story, and I have no problem desecrating the integrity of its supposed stability by altering the text, 3) I still think the story holds up and thought it the appropriate for Twine for its style, length, and even its message, and 4) I own the copyright.

You can read the finished product itself by clicking Here or by going to the story's page. My adaptation (and I prefer to think of it as an adaptation, even if I made it myself) is by no means perfect. I also did not take advantage of Twine's more elaborate features, such as setting up conditions and variables, but I also reasoned that these features wouldn't be appropriate for this particular story.

I didn't try anything radical, and I kept the story basically linear. It might help to read the story first if you haven't already, but I will provide here the guidelines I followed in adapting "Dark Creation," and what I was trying to accomplish creatively.

The links start off as a set of regressions that the reader could choose to explore if they are so interested. The paths do fork, but always arrive back at the correct (and only) storyline. Things do get interesting as the story progresses, though. I play around with rhythm and the choice of how much or how little text to display on the screen at once. For example, do the words, "That is why I have come to you" not mean more when displayed alone?" I tried to take advantage of this relatively simple constraint. Most significantly, while the links start off as regressions (mere options the narrator/protagonist was courteous enough to provide), eventually they become a way for the narrator to attempt to hide information, to suppress the details and ugly facts he would rather forget. But the story presses on, and while the narrator (self-styled "The Imposter" by the end) still includes these repressed omissions, eventually the story changes gears again, and he becomes proud of these flaws and mistakes. When this happens, there are fewer and fewer choices for the reader, as The Imposter gains confidence and becomes more sure of the way the story is supposed to go. When this happens, the story becomes even more linear, and the possibility of alternate paths disappears entirely, until by the end the rhythm is too fast, there is too little text on the screen, and the links themselves are composed of not single words anymore, but every remaining word on the screen. The nonlinear form of the hypertext thus collapses into linearity, but for The Imposter this is a positive thing. And this is how the story ends.

Now that I have veered into the territory of interpreting my own fiction, it is time for me to stop, but I hope you enjoy my Twine story. I have no prior experience with using this tool, and I'm sure there are issues that remain, perhaps even flaws in the storytelling itself, but like The Imposter, I am proud of them regardless.

Enjoy.     

Update 2: More Nonsense, Publications, and Foolish Dreams

Greetings earthlings,

I know I haven't updated in a good long while. In the time since my last post, two of my short stories were accepted for publication, and I received a book offer for my novel. I will talk about each of these in turn because this is my blog and I do what I want.

The first story, "The Haunted and the Bereaved," was accepted for an anthology by Static Movement called Deathly Encounters. From what I understand, there have been some issues with the printing, but the anthology should still be out in the near future. For those interested, this was actually one of the first stories I wrote in college. So it's quite old at this point. Looking back, there are probably a few things I would like to change or revise if I got the chance, but it would also be nice to inform my eighteen-year-old self that he got published at long last. The story, about a man who confronts the ghost of his dead father, along with his terrible crimes against the dead, should hopefully be out soon.

The next story, "Second Chances," is another piece I wrote in college, this one towards the end of senior year. It involves the last survivor on a mission to discover alien life, his dead crew, and a second Earth, but that is all I will say for now. The story will be published by Another Realm in December, and will be available to read online. 

Finally, it is worth noting that over the winter I did receive a book offer for my novel, "The Leech World," but I ended up turning it down for various reasons (including the contract, the publisher, ect.). Rest assured, dear reader, that between reading and writing for graduate classes, I am continuing my search for agents and small publishers. I will not rest until my science fantasy novel finds a home. Well, maybe I'll rest a little bit, but only because it's probably not healthy if I don't rest. But that does not diminish my determination to get my novel published! Okay, I think you understand now. I promise to update sooner rather than later. I know you're all dying to see more from me, and who am I to deny your wishes?  

Sincerely,

Daniel Kason

The Haunted and the Bereaved

Written in 2009

"The Haunted and the Bereaved" is forthcoming in Deathly Encounters, an anthology by Static Movement
Click Here For Static Movement

Update: New Releases, Stuff in the Works, and Other Such Nonsense

4/9/2012

Greetings earthlings,

I figure I'll provide an update every once in a while if something of importance is happening. Two of my works were published and released last week (actually, both on the same day). I'll start with "The Intergalactic Book Club," which I wrote in 2011 in my Senior year of college. I wanted to compose a light-hearted, humorous piece that simultaneously critiqued and recognized my debt to the science fiction genre in general. "The Intergalactic Book Club" was what came out of that. I remember getting several rejections before the piece was accepted in the Flush Fiction anthology. In fact, I almost forgot about the story, which was a shame because the ending left the two aliens, Grux and Flezno, poised to continue their intergalactic adventures. Maybe I'll continue those adventures after all. As an aside, I read Stanislaw Lem's Cyberiad after writing "The Intergalactic Book Club," which is just as well because my story appears to be in part a rip-off of Lem's tales. I, however, think that Lem anachronistically plagiarized my story, but of course that is my opinion.
("The Intergalactic Book Club" is not available online, but click Here for the Flush Fiction release page and Here for the amazon page.)  

The second release is "Sons of the Desert," which I wrote directly after my trip to Israel over the summer of 2011. The setting, a Bedouin encampment in the Negev desert, as well as a few major and minor details (such as my own telling of the Bedouin story), I stole directly from my memory of the experience. The plot itself, the two boys and their dangerous journey through the desert, is, thankfully, completely fictional. After writing the piece, I sent it out to one or two publications, JewishFiction.net got back to me pretty quickly, and that was that. Easy enough! Now if only getting the rest of my stories published were this quick and simple!
(Click Here to read "Sons of the Desert") 

In case anyone's wondering how my recent stories are going, last semester I wrote a novelette called "Clockwork." Most of the writing took place at night after classes discussing Dostoyevsky, Woolf, and Faulkner, and I'm sure some of that found its way into my story. As a brief synopsis: a recent law has made suicide illegal. It is now permissible for those who commit suicide to be brought back to life and tried for their crimes. In reaction to this, a man commits suicide in an act of protest. That's all I'll say for now, as I try to find a publisher. But, again, I'm really excited about this story, and I will not rest until it finds a home!

Otherwise, I completed another short story which melds and confuses science fiction and fantasy (trying to find a magazine for that one as well), and recently I've been rewriting a past story, "Into the Light," which is on this blog (at least for now). "Into the Light" had way more potential that I'm trying to flesh out, but I also have to say that this story is extremely difficult to write. I'm at 35 pages or so (almost done with the first draft), and each time I sit down and force myself to write, I almost always swear the tale off as horrible. But for the sake of my sanity, I'm completing the first draft, and from there I'll take inventory. If I can do any justice at all to the original premise (an envoy from the world of darkness journeys for the first time into the world of light), I'll have something special on my hands.

That's it for now. Hopefully I'll have more reasons to update soon!

Until then,

Daniel Kason

Sons of the Desert

Written in 2011

"Sons of the Desert" was published on JewishFiction.net in Issue 7 (April 2012). Click on the link below to read the story!

Click Here To Read "Sons of the Desert"

Trial and Error

Written in 2010

While the Germans bombed London all winter, Nicholas Irvine had been hard at work on his machine to the stars. It was nearly complete now, despite their best efforts to level all of England.

The Blitz had been crippling London for several months now; thousands were already dead, and thousands more would perish if the bombings persisted further into the year. The people themselves were strong and perseverant, but Nicholas was frightened for his life and for the lives of his people.

He didn’t share their British resolve. Maybe in the long run their island could survive the attacks, but at what cost? When would it end? Bearing these thoughts and foreseeing the destruction that was to come, one year ago Nicholas started working on his plans to leave Earth.

When Nicholas went to bed that night, he prayed for London to be spared another firestorm. The next morning he woke up relieved to find his house undisturbed, and immediately started readying the ship for takeoff.

His daughter Christina, who was nearly twenty-five now, visited him that afternoon as he was preparing for liftoff.

“You’re really going to go?” she said as they sat down for one last cup of tea.

He nodded. “You know I have to.”

“That’s not true.” She looked flustered, but she calmed herself. “They say the worst of it’s over, you know. The Royal Air Force is growing stronger. Soon we will be able to compete with them.”

“You know that’s not the true reason I have to go,” Nicholas said.

“Then why? Is it because of that discovery you were talking about? Because if so, that’s not a good reason, either.” He said nothing, but Christina knew it was true. “Why, Dad! It was just an observation. No one knows if it’s really true.”

“It’s true,” Nicholas said plainly. “I have to trust in something, Christina, and if I want to hold onto my sanity, that something has to be science and the study of nature. If the astronomers say they’ve looked into space and encountered a wall, then it must be true.”

“Maybe our technology just isn’t advanced enough. Maybe we can see nothing past the celestial spheres because our telescopes aren’t capable of it.”

Nicholas shook his head. “No one had any trouble gazing at any of the celestial spheres before. The Moon, the Sun, and all the planets were discovered in ancient times. Like the others, I assumed that the sphere of stars must extend farther than we could ever hope to see, even with the aid of telescopes. But to encounter a wall of nothingness, and at no more than one-hundred and fifty million miles away…nobody can explain it.”

“So what? You’re going to risk your life just because we don’t know what’s out there? What if you don’t make it, Dad? What if you aren’t able to complete the journey?”

“I’ll make it,” Nicholas asserted. “The bulk of the fuel is necessary to breach the atmosphere, but as for the trip through space itself, I have reason to believe it will be an easy ride.”

She was silent for a moment. They each took a sip of tea. Then she said, “Dad, do you really believe it? Do you really think we can’t see past the stars because, well, because God is there?”

“What else am I supposed to believe? Can you think of any alternative?”

“None,” Christina said. “So why go if you don’t doubt the rules of the universe, if you accept the existence of God?”

“Because if God is out there, I want to meet him. Because the universe may be perfect, but mankind certainly isn’t, and I want to know why.”

Christina now understood just how determined her father was to have his questions answered. Moreover, his unwavering interest piqued her own. “All right,” she said, and finished her tea. “But I want to go with you.”

“Absolutely not.”

She looked furious. “You don’t think I have the same right you do?”

“I’m sorry, Christina, but you cannot come with me.”

“I’d like to know why.”

“Because I love you, Christina, and because I don’t know what will happen.”

“You mean when you meet God.”

“Yes. And you must stay behind and stand for Joseph and your mother. You must represent our family. The Battle of France couldn’t be won, but in time, if enough people like you are around, maybe we can win the Battle of Britain. As for an old man like me, all I have left is questions and all I want is to have them answered. Then I will be done.”

Christina looked down for a moment, her anger superseded by sympathy. She reached into her purse and placed something on the table. It was an olive jar that had been painted green.

“Take it,” she said. “I know you wanted me to have it, but I think you should bring it with you. You’ll need it more than I do.”

Nicholas nodded and grasped the jar. He placed his palm on Christina’s hand.

The room shook, and they lowered their heads. A bomb had gone off far in the distance, but they could feel the explosion even here.

“When you see Him,” Christina said when it was over, “if you see Him, try to give Him a little credit. We haven’t exactly been the most well-behaved children.”

Nicholas nodded, but he doubted he would be so forgiving.

When Nicholas first read the reports that the geocentric model was correct, he had been baffled. To him it had always made more sense for the Earth to revolve around the Sun. Instead, the Earth was stagnant while eight celestial spheres rotated around it, moving like clockwork. Because it was now proven that humans were literally at the center of the universe, no one could deny anymore that we were special, and, by extension, that some divine creator must exist.

There were the skeptics, of course. There were always skeptics. They argued that the astronomers were wrong, that Copernicus was right, and we were simply deluding ourselves. But such people weren’t convincing because they did not use the scientific method and instead relied on their own intuition. In any case, the Ptolemaic model was widely accepted now, and such differing opinions were in the minority.

Still, while Nicholas had accepted the truth of the geocentric model, he had always wondered why this particular explanation had turned out correct while the others were all refuted. Was Copernicus’ model so outrageous of an idea?

Nobody took notice of Nicholas as he transported his spaceship into the backyard and readied it for takeoff. Perhaps they were more concerned with the afternoon’s bombing. In any case, the launch was successful and occurred just as Nicholas had predicted. Part of his house was destroyed in the process, but Nicholas had a feeling he was never going to return to London. No, the stars were where he was headed. The stars, and what lay beyond.

As he had predicted, space was not difficult to pass through. With the absence of air and gravity, space practically tugged Nicholas along on his journey. If the astronomers were correct in their predicted distances of the planets and stars, Nicholas would have plenty of fuel to reach the end and come back.

The Moon was the first sphere, residing very close to Earth. Nicholas looked out his window as he approached it. The sphere holding the Moon didn’t actually exist, but represented the invisible ring in space which shifted, like the hand on a clock, moving the Moon along its pathway around the stationary Earth. The Moon itself turned and moved like a mechanical toy.

Looking out the window, Nicholas almost expected to see the Ten Commandments etched onto the Moon’s surface. If God existed and wanted us to know it, was this scenario really so absurd? But Nicholas saw nothing.

Mercury and Venus were the next heavenly bodies to pass by. He encountered a miscalculation regarding the planets’ distances. The spaceship would require more fuel than he had once thought, but this wouldn’t be a problem.

When Nicholas reached the Sun, his spaceship was illuminated by its heavenly light. This was the fourth sphere, located roughly five million miles away from the Earth. Humanity’s home was behind him, not much smaller than it was before. Space was far less vast than Nicholas would have assumed.

The Sun, a perfectly round orb rolling through space along the grooves of a perfectly round sphere, astounded Nicholas by its perfection. Surely the presence of such a flawless body proved the existence of God. Nicholas wondered, however, why so large and great of an object would not be the center of the universe itself. Was humanity so great a thing that it deserved its position at the crux of everything?

Only a few months more and Nicholas would know for sure.  

As the fourth celestial sphere disappeared behind the view of the ship’s window, Nicholas leaned over to the table beside him and picked up the green olive jar. He held it in his hand, listing in his head all of the questions he would ask. Then he set the jar down and resumed piloting the ship.

If he was to have all of his questions answered, Nicholas mustn’t blockade his mind from the memories. He was convinced that his son would have supported his mission, were he still alive. Nicholas remembered vividly the day he had received the letter of Joseph’s passing and how they were unable to recover all of his remains. Marissa had died in childbirth for him, yet no one knew where much of his body rested.

Olives had always been Joseph’s favorite food. Nicholas smiled as he remembered all of times he had set down a bowl of them before dinner, and how they had all vanished before the food came.

Tears filled Nicholas’ eyes as these memories came to him. He wanted to know why. He wanted to know why all of this was necessary, why the Earth did not share in the universe’s perfection, why God was hiding so far away from his children.

Nicholas wiped his eyes and resumed his travels.

As the weeks passed, so too did the planets. Mars was next, followed by Jupiter and finally Saturn, the seventh sphere. Nicholas marveled at the last planet’s rings, the way the beams of light wrapped precisely around Saturn’s middle without deviating.

Nicholas didn’t linger. He had long since grown jaded by these miraculous sights. He was tired of witnessing the perfection, the handiwork of God. What he wanted to see rested far beyond where he was now, in the space past the eighth sphere, in a place the astronomers had failed to detect.

He increased the ship’s speed, burning up more fuel than before. Now that the end was so close, Nicholas longed to reach it. The engine labored through the weeks, blasting the ship past the seventh sphere and into the eighth. He was over eighty-million miles away from home now, and he could still see it.

Like a shooting star, the spaceship blazed a trail of fire through space. Nicholas fed the engine, watching the stars pass by in a chaotic blur. These points of light represented the limit of mankind’s technology. Past this realm, into the white wall beyond, the imperfection of mankind was made quite evident. Out there, Nicholas could see nothing, and he wanted to reach it.

As the days passed, Nicholas prayed he was getting close, though he wasn’t sure who he was praying to. He realized that he would no longer have enough fuel to take him back home. By needlessly burning most of it away, Nicholas had gambled that he would have enough to return home, and he had lost. Unlike with the planets, the spaces between stars seemed limitless. Nicholas could no longer be certain when they would end.

            He remembered Churchill’s speech over the summer, shortly after Joseph’s death. There had been rumors in London that Britain was going to surrender to Germany, but Churchill had assuaged their fears. We shall fight on the beaches, he’d said, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.

            Nicholas believed that Churchill had been speaking the truth. He admired Churchill. He was determined to be stolid, resolute, and unyielding like him. Even in the face of death, of a force greater than himself, Nicholas would steel himself and face his adversary without fear.

            Nicholas wasn’t even aware he was approaching the ninth sphere until his ship departed the eighth and broke through the barrier.

            Immediately after entering this new realm, Nicholas could tell that the rules here were different. He was in the ether, a world where matter was different from what he was accustomed to. So while his ship continued to ignite a stream of fire behind it, Nicholas lost control.

            The ship veered through the clouds, turning erratically, gaining speed and then losing it as it looped through God’s domain.

            Finally, the ship punched through the clouds and approached the ground below. While he was more concerned with stabilizing his ship, Nicholas was able to glance out the window and see a few shapes below: wings, harps, beatific faces. Nicholas even claimed to see Joseph and Marissa among them, but this was just a fantasy.

Nicholas fought for control as the ship, now a burning fireball, plummeted to the ground. Angels dove out of the way as Nicholas’ machine plunged into the soft, white blanket, tearing through each layer of fabric until it encountered something solid and collided with the obstruction. As the lights went out, so did Nicholas.

            He awoke standing in the middle of a great white room. A man was sitting at a rather large desk, busying himself with the papers in front of him.

            “Where am I?” Nicholas asked when his head was clear.

            The man looked up at him. He had a great white beard, powerful shoulders, and cold blue eyes. A cloak of light surrounded him. “WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” he answered before dipping his quill in a jar of ink, resuming his work.

            “Heaven,” Nicholas said breathlessly. “The afterlife. That is where I am. And that makes you God.”

            “YOU’VE CERTAINLY MADE A MESS OF THINGS.”

            “Where’s my ship?”

            “BEHIND YOU,” God said, extending out a long glowing finger. Nicholas looked, and it was there. “YOU CRASHED STRAIGHT INTO MY OFFICE AND INTERRUPTED MY WORK.”

            “I’m sorry,” Nicholas said. “But I had to come to see you.”

            God rolled his eyes. “I KNOW, NICHOLAS IRVINE. I KNOW.”

            Nicholas was growing nervous. Here he was, standing before God, and he knew he must have violated some sort of law, if not several, to reach this place. He expected some sort of punishment, for God to pass judgment upon him. Nicholas was confident that with a snap of his fingers, God could have him dead.

            Then he remembered Churchill.

            “I have a few questions for you.”

            “SPEAK.”

            “I want to know why you made the universe the way it is, why it is so utterly flawless.”

            “THE UNIVERSE IS FLAWLESS BECAUSE I AM FLAWLESS.”

            “But mankind is not flawless,” Nicholas pointed out. “Why is that?”

            God was silent for a moment. He placed his quill down. “MUST YOU QUESTION EVERYTHING I DO? I AM YOUR CREATOR, NICHOLAS IRVINE. YOU MUSTN’T DOUBT ME.”

            “I cannot help it!” Nicholas protested. “My country is at war. People are dying every day, and there doesn’t seem to be any fairness or design to it all. It is random, not ordered.”      

            “YOU EXPECT ME TO EXPLAIN MYSELF?”

            “Yes,” Nicholas said. “If you created me then you created me to question everything that happens to me. It is in the nature of mankind to ask questions. So please, answer mine. Why is the world the way it is? Why did you make the universe so perfect and yet mankind so flawed?”

            “I TOLD YOU NOT TO QUESTION ME. DO NOT FORGET YOUR PLACE, NICHOLAS IRVINE. I AM YOUR GOD AND THE GOD OF YOUR ANCESTORS. NOW DO AS I SAY AND LEAVE THIS PLACE.”

            God waited, but Nicholas stood still. He thought about returning to his ship and heading home, but even if he had enough fuel, he wouldn’t have done it. Something inside Nicholas simply required to have his questions answered, for as much as he feared God’s wrath, he feared not knowing the truth even more.

            “YOU’RE STILL HERE?” God said after a moment. He looked into Nicholas’ eyes, and Nicholas wanted to look away.

            He thought about his wife and son, and then he stared back.

            “Yes, God, I am.”

            “AND YOU WILL NOT LEAVE, EVEN WHEN I COMMAND YOU TO? “

            “No, God. I have come too far, I have waited too long. I will not leave. Not until I know the truth.”

            God sighed. “I KNEW I SHOULD HAVE PLACED HEAVEN FARTHER AWAY. YOU HUMANS ARE CLEVERER THAN I ANTICIPATED. IN ANY CASE, THERE IS NO HARM IN TELLING YOU THE TRUTH. YOUR BEING HERE CLEARLY MEANS I MADE A MISTAKE.”

“You can make mistakes?”

            “OF COURSE. I CAN DO ANYTHING.”

            “But you wanted us to believe that you are perfect, that you have everything under control.”

            “WHAT KIND OF GOD WOULD I BE IF YOU KNEW I WASN’T OMNISCIENT? MANKIND WOULD NOT HAVE ACCEPTED ME.”

            “That is why you created the universe the way it is,” Nicholas realized. “The planets and stars are a buffer to keep us from seeking you, from knowing your true nature.”

            God nodded. “I WAS HOPING THIS WOULD BE THE LAST TIME I CREATED THE UNIVERSE, BUT I WAS WRONG. YOU WERE ABLE TO REACH ME, TO SEE MY FACE, AND SO I MUST START OVER AGAIN.”

            “You’ve created the universe more than once?”

            “OF COURSE. THE TOWER, THE FLOOD, I CAN NAME COUNTLESS EXAMPLES, BUT I DO NOT WISH TO DWELL ON MY FAILINGS.”

            Nicholas looked worried. “So you’re going to do it again, just like that, just because I found a way to reach you?”

            He nodded. “THAT IS HOW IT MUST BE. I THINK MY FOLLY WAS THAT WHILE I HID MYSELF WELL, MY BARRIER STILL RESIDES IN SPACE AND TIME. IN ORDER TO TRULY DISGUISE MYSELF, I MUST EXIST OUTSIDE OF THOSE RESTRICTIONS.”

            “All because of what I did?” Nicholas went on. He couldn’t believe the impact he had made, how easily he had altered everything. “All those people will die, don’t you understand that?”

            “DIE AND BE REBORN. I WOULDN’T WORRY, NICHOLAS IRVINE. THIS IS MY BURDEN. A LESSON WAS LEARNED IN THE PROCESS OF THIS UNIVERSE, SO DO NOT THINK IT WAS A WASTE. YOU ASSISTED IN BRINGING ME CLOSER TO PERFECTION. YOU ARE A TRUE REBEL, NICHOLAS IRVINE, AND THE PROTECTOR OF MY CAUSE.”

            “So am I Job, or am I Abraham?”

            God chuckled. “BOTH AND NEITHER. WOULD YOU MIND TERRIBLY IF I HELD ONTO THIS?” He held out the green olive jar which Nicholas thought he’d left in the ship.

            “It means a lot to me,” Nicholas said. “I’d like it back, if you’re going to let me live.”

            “OH, YOU WILL LIVE,” God said, “BUT YOU WILL NOT BE AS YOU ARE NOW. YOU WILL NOT UNDERSTAND ITS SIGNIFICANCE. PLEASE, IT WOULD MEAN A LOT TO ME. MAY I KEEP IT?”

            Nicholas shrugged. “All right, if you must, but only if you answer one last question.”

            “ASK YOUR QUESTION.”

            “Is this a game to you? Is the whole universe a chance for you to showcase your power and learn to better yourself after each mistake, or do you truly care for and look after your children? Do we mean anything to you?”

            God looked hurt. “YOU MEAN EVERYTHING TO ME. YOU ARE WHAT THIS IS ALL ABOUT, WHY I HAVE BEEN TRYING SO HARD.”

            Nicholas nodded, satisfied. It felt good to have his questions answered, to know the truth, however disenchanting it may have been. He thought about Joseph, about how tragic and meaningless his death had been, and how Nicholas didn’t want to live in a universe that didn’t match humanity’s imperfection. If human nature couldn’t be changed, then at least nature could. “Okay,” he said. “I’m ready, do what you must.”

            God smiled, and in that instant, the universe died and was reborn. Every star, every planet, even the Earth itself, was swallowed up into the darkness and then spat back out. Time itself began anew, and God was the only thing present in the new universe.

            This will be the last time, God promised as he observed the nothingness. This will be my last mistake. This universe will be flawed, but it will also be perfect.

            With a wave of His hand, God created light, rewrote the laws, fashioned the Earth again. Then He descended down upon His creation and, like before, decided to make man.

            He opened the jar and spread its contents out over the space before him.

            And the Lord God formed man from the dust of the Earth…

The Perfect Lawn

Written in 2010

  

Mr. Polanski hated October 31st more than any other day of the year. It was the day the hooligans came from all corners of the town to ravage and defile his absolutely perfect lawn. He knew this year’s Halloween would be no different. He watched uneasily through his window as the teenagers came with their eggs, their toilet paper, and their cans of silly string. He watched them smash a pumpkin into pieces on his clean, trim, spotless lawn. It was spotless no more.

            Mr. Polanski could ignore them no longer. He went into his garage, retrieved his shovel, and stormed out his front door. He never could remember the rest.

            His neighbors said he was losing his mind. He was 82 years old, he had lived through the most terrible thing to happen to humanity, and so his mental state was understandable. But Mr. Polanski felt fine. He didn’t understand why they complained, why they wanted him out of the neighborhood.

            They called him Mr. Perfect, and he liked that very much. He prided himself on his well-kept lawn, the nicest one in the neighborhood. Mr. Polanski had to work hard to maintain it, of course. He mowed it once a week, never in the afternoon (too hot) or in the morning (too wet), but in the evening, when the sun had just set. He knew the perfect technique to cut his lawn straight and to the perfect length.

            The sprinklers went off every night unless it rained. Mr. Polanski hated when it rained because what that happened nature was taking care of his lawn for him, and he wanted to take care of it himself.

            He knew all about fertilizer. He talked to a lot of people about dethatching and aeration and when they were needed. Several times a day, Mr. Polanski would head out with a rake and shovel and rid his yard of unwanted leaves and sticks. Sometimes, when Mr. Polanski was feeling particularly ambitious, he would sit out by his porch, watch the wind blow, and be ready before any object intruded upon his perfect lawn.

            Mr. Polanski’s lawn was the greenest and cleanest in the neighborhood. He inspected it daily for weeds and plucked them out before they could spread. Pests never dared to approach his lawn because they had already learned of the consequences.

            Yes, they called him Mr. Perfect. Nobody’s lawn could compete with his. Before Lilly had died, maybe, but that had been a different time.

            A few hours before the teenagers murdered his lawn, Mr. Polanski had just finished cleaning the grass of debris and was now in his living room watching television. He needed his thick glasses to watch his programs now. This hadn’t always been so.

            He kept a picture of Lilly on the table beside his armchair. Not a recent picture of her, but one directly following their wedding, when she was younger and livelier. He missed that Lilly.

            Maybe he was getting old, too. Wasn’t that what they had said at the factory? Mr. Polanski couldn’t remember anymore. He couldn’t remember much of anything.

            But he did remember this: when they had fired him, Mr. Polanski had fought back. He’d said they couldn’t do this to him, they couldn’t take away his job just because he was getting old. Mr. Polanski had fought, but Mr. Polanski had lost.

            “You’re not fit to work anymore, Mr. Polanski,” someone had told him; he couldn’t remember who. “You need to go home. You need to rest.”

            Mr. Polanski had gone home, but he hadn’t rested. Who were they to tell him what he could and couldn’t do? He had lived through more terrible times than these, and he was still here, his heart was still beating. He was 82 years old, and he was stronger than any of them.

            “My lawn couldn’t be any more perfect,” Mr. Polanski said, grinning to himself before getting up to fix himself dinner. He had to blend his food now; he couldn’t chew many things anymore. His doctor had told him once that he needed dentures, and Mr. Polanski had told his doctor to go to hell.

            With the blender on, he couldn’t hear the start of Halloween, when the children went out in their hideous costumes and demanded candy from him. The doorbell rang eight times before Mr. Polanski was done with his dinner, and he didn’t get up once to answer it.

            When Mr. Polanski was finished eating, he went outside to inspect his lawn again. He cursed aloud when he saw the footprints on his once-flawless grass. He would have to take care of that tomorrow. In the meantime, Mr. Polanski picked up all of the candy wrappers the children had carelessly scattered across his lawn (and their parents had neglected to clean up) and went back inside to watch television.

            Irritable, they had called him. Forgetful. Washed up. Useless.

            Mr. Polanski laughed at these insults and thought about his lawn, which was perfect and would always be perfect.

            By the time the teenagers surfaced, Mr. Polanski was tired and wanted to go to bed. He couldn’t sleep just yet, though. He had to make sure his lawn was left alone.

            It wasn’t, of course. And while the teenagers destroyed it, Mr. Polanski tightened his hands into fists and tried to control his rage. His pulse was racing (bad for his heart, his doctor would say), and beads of sweat were dripping down his nearly bald head. Mr. Polanski pushed down one of the blinds and looked through the opening.

            In the darkness, he could barely distinguish the teenagers as human. Dark shapes danced and paraded, hurling grenades at the side of his house, spraying colorful bullets into the grass. They brought out their greatest weapon last, a bomb larger than Mr. Polanski’s head that they finally hurled into the middle of the lawn, incinerating it in gooey orange chunks.

            Mr. Polanski could watch no more. Everything in his life, everything had been taken from him, and now his lawn, too. He didn’t see the teenagers as people anymore; he saw them as demons who had come to torment him. Mr. Polanski would dispel the demons as he had in Europe, as he had when he had lost Lilly, and then everything would be okay.

            Mr. Perfect went outside with a shovel in his hand, and he couldn’t remember the rest.