Michael K: Fifteen Minutes Of Fiction

Non-Corporeal Existence

In the year 3052, humanity shed its corporeal existence, and joined the ever expanding ranks of intangible, cerebral entities which float, bodiless, throughout the universe.

Overall it has been a good move for us; no more do we need to worry about those ancient problems of old age, famine and disease. We are beyond the reach of such troubles now.

Free and carefree we float amongst the eddies of the space currents, examining every celestial body that catches our interest. We dive into the very core of the sun and explore its mysteries without harm. Heat, cold, gravity, air pressure, friction - these matter not a whit to us.

Yes, overall it was a good move, and I don't regret it at all. Except...

At Christmastime it's tough to figure out where to put those stocking-stuffers.

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Music Appreciation Class

Dr. Monford peered at me over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses, looking for all the world like a scientist who has just discovered a most unpleasant and unexpected fungus contaminating his experiment.

The professor's scowl deepened as he said, "What did you say, young man?"

Students sitting on either side of me leaned away, as though Monford's glare might actually set them on fire if they sat too close. Then they buried their faces in their notes, demonstrating their utter disdain for my question.

I ignored them. "I said, when are we going to talk about rap?"

It was a fair question. After all, this was a Music Appreciation class. We started out with Baroque composers like Vivaldi, Corelli, and Albinoni. The guys who managed to make minor tunes sound cheerful, and major tunes sound downright spastic.

Then we spent two weeks talking about the Classical composers, like Beethoven, Rossini, and Schubert. These were the composers who had such foresight that they wrote cartoon theme songs two hundred years before cartoons had been invented.

Then there was the Romantic Era, as well as the Modern and the Atonal, and in all that time, we never once mentioned Rap.

Monford continued staring at me for several seconds, and the air pressure in the room decreased from all my classmates sucking in lungfuls of air then holding their breath while they waited for the inevitable reply.

"Young man," Monford said, "This is a Music Appreciation class."

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The Desequelizer

Most people, when I ask them what they would do with a time machine, say "I'd journey to the future, find out who won the World Series, then come back and bet on it."

That would work, of course, if your goal is solely to be a millionaire, but I think that's somewhat short-sighted and selfish. That's right, selfish. I've figured out a way to make money and provide a valuable community service at the same time.

I call myself the Desequelizer. I use my time machine to journey back into the past and meet with movie studio executives to discuss movie sequels that they are planning to make. I'm able to tell them both the response of the fans, and the future income earned by the film. Then, I advise them whether or not they should make the film.

In return, they pay me handsomely. And why wouldn't they? I save them a boat-load of money with my service. After all, think about how much money they wasted making Casablanca II - Here's Looking at You Again, Sam...what's that you say? Oh, that's right...they never made that sequel, did they?

Thanks to me.

And believe me, you should be grateful that they never made that movie. If you'd seen it, you would have wanted to claw your own eyes out in an attempt to erase the mental image of that disaster from your mind.

I was sick for three days after watching it.

Anyway, I don't normally make a big deal out of this, and I wouldn't mention it at all, but I heard that you really enjoyed Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

Maybe you ought to watch it again.

Soon.

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The Glitter of Fame

My family lives hundreds of miles from here, across the mountains, across the valleys, and across the sea. I haven't seen them in months, maybe even years; I've sort of lost track of time since I started my new job.

The real tragedy is, I've been so busy I haven't even had a chance to send them a message to let them know how I'm doing. People told me that the entertainment industry would wreak havoc on family life. They told me that once my face was splashed on every poster and magazine, I'd completely forget those who supported me and encouraged me along the way.

I haven't forgotten, but I simply haven't been able to get away for a visit. Besides, no one can make me feel guilty; my family hasn't exactly gone out of their way to visit or communicate with me either. It's almost like they're afraid to get involved in my new life - as though they also might be captured by the bright lights and the glitter of fame.

They never approved of my job choice. I remember Father sitting down with me and saying, "The road to success, fame, and glory, it is a treacherous road, with hidden dangers, like jagged reefs at every turn, waiting to tear you apart." Blah, blah, blah.

Mother was no better. She shed many tears, and spent many hours cautioning me of the dangers of my career choice. Even when I was at home, I felt like I was at school, with all the constant lecturing.

But I didn't care. I saw the opportunity to make waves, I saw the tempting glitter of glory, and I was blinded by it. Forgetting every warning, every caution, I fell for the promise of fame. I took the bait and fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.

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Fear Man

They call me Fear Man. Most people, when they hear of me for the first time, assume that my super power is the ability to strike fear into the hearts of criminals.

There are times when I wish that was the case, but it is not. No, my super power is quite different. I have the ability to remove fears from others. Not just humans, either - I can remove fear from cats and dogs, and from other animals as well. If vegetables had fears I might be able to remove those also.

I'm sure you can imagine how useful my super powers could be, but what you might not realize immediately is that there are severe limitations to what I can do.

Just this morning, for example, I got a jumper call. That's what we call it, in the business, when someone has decided to end their life by jumping off a bridge, a cliff, or a skyscraper ledge. I hate jumper calls.

The fellow was standing on the ledge just outside his twenty-seventh floor office window, trying to build up the courage to make the leap. And here, you see, is the issue. The poor sap had many conflicting fears that kept him teetering on this ledge.

It was the fear of living without his wife - who had just left him - that brought him to this ledge. But that wasn't his only fear. No, there was also the fear of death. And there was the fear of heights, as well.

Unfortunately, I can't zero in on one fear and remove it. If I could, I would have taken away his fear of living, and left the other two fears alone. But I cannot take the fear of living without also taking away the fear of dying.

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The Gardener

I had no idea Big Brother was watching me. Nobody ever told me that there were surveillance cameras everywhere, or that government officials were studying my every move, from childhood on up, in order to determine the job that would be best suited to my capabilities, my interests, and my personality.

My mistake was in thinking that there is such a thing as free will in this country. I foolishly believed that I would have a choice of occupations. I went through childhood imagining that I would one day be a doctor, or a police officer, or a fire fighter. Those are, after all, the childhood dreams of all children everywhere, right?

Imagine my shock, upon reaching my eighteenth birthday, when the Labor Officer showed up at my home to explain to me that self-determination was all a crock, and the government had already decided what my lifelong occupation would be.

I was angry. I yelled, I kicked, and I screamed as they dragged me to the Office of Employment to find our exactly what the government had concluded about my aptitudes and interests, and what career they had assigned to me.

To be perfectly honest, if I'd known this was how it was going to work out, I wouldn't have spent so much of my teen years playing the arcade game Centipede.

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The Worst Part of Summer

Tediously bad,
Horrific banality;
Summer blockbusters.

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License Plate

The license plate on my car doesn't look quite like yours. On the left side of the number there is a small black line drawing of a man in a wheelchair, and to the far left of that drawing there is a military insignia with the words "Purple" and "Heart" on either side of it. The drawing of the wheelchair reminds people to leave for me the parking space closest to the door, and the Purple Heart reminds them to pause for a moment and give me a respectful and reverent nod as I wheel on by.

I lost a leg and part of a hand in Iraq. It still sounds unbelievable to me when I read those words on the page. I lost a leg and part of a hand. Sometimes I think these are the least of my losses. The loss of independence, the loss of dignity, and the loss of a decent night's sleep...but even these aren't the worst of my losses.

You can't understand the horror I relive every time my eyes close at night. You can't understand that haunting, terrifying, eternal moment that changed everything. Because you weren't the one who saw the mine in the road ahead of you...and froze.

Have you ever experienced that moment of uncertainty, that moment when you aren't entirely sure you're really seeing what you think you're seeing? Of course you have. But for you that split second indecision wasn't a moment of life or death. The life of a battle comrade didn't hang in the balance, weighed out by your measure of uncertainty.

You don't replay that moment over and over like a horrifying slow motion film loop that never ends.

The purple heart and the little black drawing serve to remind you to leave a space for me, and to give a nod of reverent respect as I wheel on by, but for me they only serve to raise a question which will haunt me for the rest of my life: Do I deserve one, and not the other?

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The Migratory Goose Fly

You've probably heard of house flies, horse flies, deer flies, and the like, but I'll bet you've never heard of the Migratory Goose Fly. This is one of the strangest bugs you could imagine.

The life cycle of the Migratory Goose Fly begins in the Southern United States, and in parts of Mexico (I'll tell you in a minute how the odd little buggers get there in the first place). They reside there for several weeks, undergoing a complete metamorphosis from egg to larva to pupa to adult.

I won't give you the details of the larva and pupa stages; it's a bit grim and grisly, and if you have a weak stomach, you'll thank me for leaving out that part of the life cycle.

The adult Goose Fly is about a eight millimeters long, and has remarkably powerful wings. Upon reaching adulthood, the fly immediately begins flying north.

Up through the central part of the United States, further north, and still further, passing through the cold northern states of Washington, Oregon, Michigan, and Maine, and continuing on into British Columbia, Ontario, and all the other frigid Canadian provinces, the Goose Fly continues his journey without hesitation or pause.

When do they stop? They never do. These foolish flies seem to have an urgent need to continue flying north, but without any apparent purpose. They fly until the cold becomes too much for them, and when they can feel death approaching, they briefly alight on a passing Canadian Goose and deposit eggs on its wings. Unwittingly, the Goose carries the eggs among its feathers until it reaches the South and the life cycle continues for another generation.

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Powerful Dreams

Shakespeare said that all the world is a stage, and all the men and women are merely players. It would be, perhaps, more accurate to say that all the world is a dream, and all the men and women are merely dreamers.

You would be surprised at the extent to which your dreams can alter reality. Things that we take for granted now, things that we consider to be immutable laws of the universe, were once merely fantasies in the sleeping minds of men and women. Few people have the power to dream real change into the universe; it takes a rare, powerful dreamer to build a dream so creative, so strong, that it bends the fabric of the universe.

Take Newton, for instance. Before he came along there was no such thing as gravity; everything sort of just wandered willy-nilly through space as it might, until one afternoon Isaac leaned up against an apple tree in the park and fell asleep. He dreamed a powerful dream, a dream of apples that all fall in the same direction, and accelerate at the same rate.

When he awoke, gravity was the new reality. The dream was so powerful that the universe still bows to it to this day. Interesting, to be sure, and with some practical applications, but it wasn't all that convenient for the poor saps who were taking a nap in the clouds while old Isaac set to dreaming.

There was also the fellow - no one is quite sure how long ago he lived - who had the very interesting dream that people would die if they didn't breathe on a regular basis. Up until then, people tended to breathe when it was convenient, or when they felt like it, and they stopped whenever they got bored with it. No more. Again, a bit inconvenient for the folks who happened to be walking across the floor of the Atlantic at the time, but there you have it - a dream is a dream, and reality is reality, and sometimes the twain do meet.

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