Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
It was like Priusville stopped at the traffic light today. Between the intersecting roads, almost every generation, model, and variation of Prius was represented, that I could see. I counted twelve, included a dark green first gen Prius that a local real estate agent uses.
Sprinkled among the Priuses in our little town were also a dark blue Tesla Model S and a silver Tesla 3, a Chevy Volt, and, directly beside me to my right, a bright blue Kia Soul plug in.
My Mazda CX-5 felt like a dinosaur.
The cat had gone out during the night, but it was necessary to lock the petdoor behind him because the raccoons had figured out how to use it, and weren’t shy about coming into the house.
Now that the sun was shining, it was time to eat, and the big black cat wanted in. Removing the petdoor, the man lifted the flap and said, “Come on in, big guy.”
Responding with a light meow, the big cat put its front paws in and luxuriated in an extended stretch. As he ended the stretch, he began moving through the opening and into the house when he stopped. Staring, he emitted a disapproving meow.
The man looked back. Another of his cats was a few feet back in the room. The two had never gotten along. While they no longer fought with tooth and claw, they avoided one another’s presence and vocalized their dislike. In short, the black cat was not coming into the house with that other one in the room.
“Fine,” the man said with exasperation, releasing the pet door flap. “You can come in on your own, you stupid cat.”
It was so maddening that the two cats behaved these way, even after three years of living in the same house. He didn’t know what he was going to do about it.
In the meantime, he’d go check the mail. Glancing out the window, he saw a neighbor heading for the mail boxes.
He groaned. Peggy. He could not stand her. Her political views were…well, they were seriously crazy. Checking the time, he decided, he’d just sit down and wait until the other one went away.
Sighing as he sat, he thought, the world sure had become a complicated place.
Looking at the clock, he found that it was 2:15, so it was appropriate to go to bed. The cats, though, thought that since he was up, it was appropriate that they be fed. Being a soft touch, he headed toward the utility room to feed them.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang. The sound froze him while injecting a thrill of fear through his muscles. It sounded like someone was beating on the house’s side. Glancing toward a cat, he saw that it wasn’t bothered, but continued its quick trot toward him. As he opened the closet and drew out a flashlight, he checked the second cat. It also seemed unconcerned about anything but getting fed.
Had he imagined it? No, it seemed real, he argued with himself, trying to think, what could he use as a weapon? He didn’t know where his baseball bat was. Any hammers he had were in the garage, which is where he thought the noise may have originated. As these thoughts raced through his mind, he thought, maybe his wife had beat on the wall to get his attention. Maybe something had happened to her.
He was moving toward the master bedroom as he processed those thoughts. Opening the bedroom door, he found his wife and another cat sound asleep. So it wasn’t them…
Returning to the front of the house, he turned on the outside lights and the flashlight, opened the front door, and stepped out. I should have grabbed the phone, he thought, looking around.
It was a gusty night, full of shivering tree noises and fluttering, dancing leaves. Even with the outside lights on, the night seemed as dark as a coal mine, sparking new fear and anxiety in his stomach. But, this had to be done. Flashlight lighting the way, he walked around the house, peering into the bushes’ shadows for someone ready to jump out.
Finding everything in order in the front, he went to the garage and confirmed, no one was in there, and the door was locked. Inspections of the back and side yards found no one there. Everything was in order.
He went back into the house, fed the cats, and turned off the lights. It could have been imagination. It could have been teenagers pranking him. It may have been something that happened at a neighbor’s house.
He would probably never know.
He’s a smile in fur,
a presence in purr,
a weight on your legs,
and a sweetie who begs.
He’s a whiskered shadow,
on your pillow,
and a paw beside you,
trying to guide you.
He’s a mighty hunter,
scared of thunder,
quick as light,
and quiet as night.
He’s a song and a feeling,
a world and a being,
and a time and place,
touching your face.
Sometimes, you get up and start riding the wave of the day, but other days, you hang back, waiting for the wave to develop.
Hearing unfamiliar banging and creaking sounds, he opened his eyes and found the ceiling.
Pink, and swaying. It felt like he was on a boat. Or would that be a ship?
He closed his eyes. Something was hung. Reboot. Try again.
When he next opened his eyes, he was looking at correctly colored sage green walls. Sunlight was streaming in.
Feeling better, he rose to hit the head and discovered a limp. He’d not had that before. As its presence was being digested, he passed the bathroom mirror.
He was female. Not bad looking, about the correct age, forty-five. Same colored hair. Those were starts to being the right person in the right reality.
More to digest.
He continued to the toilet. His cats and dogs must be out of the house. The primary reasons for keeping them was to help keep reality anchored. It didn’t work, if they weren’t around. Ergo, they weren’t around. That’s why his start-ups were hanging.
As he sat to piss, he considered going back to bed to reboot again, but it was already eight thirty. Time was the one constant that didn’t change when a start-up went awry.
Coffee, he decided, wiping, flushing, washing his hands and heading for the kitchen. He thought while popping a K-cup into place, coffee always helped release the hang ups. It was remarkable that way. Once he got the coffee into his system, he’d find the animals and bring them into the house. Then he’d decide. The house seemed correct, as did the reality outside his window. Maybe he’d enjoy being a woman for a day, or take a nap later and reboot.
Sipping the coffee, he smiled. Coffee always helped. If that ever changed, he didn’t know what he would do.
There had been decisions before, but things change, so new decisions were reached and accepted. What had been important became meaningless as priorities sifted like sand dunes.
Others ran into him, exchanging greetings, but then, privately told one another, “He’s really changed,” “Yes, he let himself go.”
They saw it as a bad thing.
Do you know that moment when you first smell the brewed coffee and lift a cup of it up to your lips, and feel the heat radiating toward you? You take that first sip and let it loiter in your mouth and slip down your throat, and think, “Wow, that’s so good.” You take another sip, and the sip becomes a long, lingering swallow that hefts a sigh in you as your lips finally part with your cup, and it comes to you, that might be the best thing of your day?
But then you go on, and there are other good things during the day, and you think, “This can be a pretty good life.”
Naw, that’s probably just the coffee talking.
“All you men,” she said,
“All you women,” he said,
“All you Republicans,” she said,
“All you Libertarians,” he said,
“All you Democrats,” she said,
“All you Greens,” he said,
“All you people who don’t vote,” she said,
“All you people voting illegally,” he said,
“All you reactionaries,” she said,
“All you slaves,” he said,
“All you gays,” she said,
“All you lesbians,” he said,
“All you blacks,” she said,
“All you whites,” he said,
“All you elites,” she said,
“All you apathetic people,” he said
“All you cops,” she said,
“All you military,” he said,
“All you illegal aliens,” she said,
“All you people on welfare,” he said,
“All you rich people,” she said,
“All you poor people,” he said,
“All you thieves,” she said,
“All you drug-dealers,” he said,
“All you addicts,” she said,
“All you criminals,” he said,
“All you killers,” she said,
“All you corrupted government workers,” he said,
“All you CEOs,” she said,
“All you teachers,” he said,
“All you parents,” she said,
“All you working women,” he said,
“All you Mexicans,” she said,
“All you communists,” he said,
“All you ignorant, uneducated people,” she said,
“All you snobs,” he said,
“All you people clinging to old ideas,” she said,
“All you fascists,” he said,
“All you NAZIs,” she said,
“All you Japs,” he said,
“All you Southerners,” she said,
“All you Northerners,” he said,
“All you people in rural areas,” she said,
“All you people in the cities,” he said,
“All you idiots,” she said,
“All you foreigners,” he said,
“All you Chinese,” she said,
“All you refugees,” he said,
“All you old people,” she said,
“All you young people,” he said,
“All you conservatives,” she said,
“All you libruls,” he said,
“All you white Supremacists,” she said,
“All you feminazis,” he said,
“All you atheists,” she said,
“All you Evangelicals,” he said,
“All you hateful assholes,” she said,
“All you whiners,” he said,
“You’re the reason we’re in this mess,” they said.
Feeling his Fitbit buzz, Thomas leaped up, hurrying out of the house as he checked the time and confirmed, yes, 4:59.
It was sunny, which was helpful. He ran out of the house to the sidewalk, scattering the snoozing cats on his porch into three directions. On the sidewalk, he stopped, panting fast and holding still. He checked his shadow. It was crisply defined on the white pavement. The other wasn’t there.
The Fitbit said it was still 4:59. It didn’t show seconds, which he lamented. Cars rumbled by, breezes tousled the trees’ leaves, and the cats crept out to see what he was doing.
Then, it must have been five, because the shadow was there. “Who are you?” Thomas said.
“Your shadow,” the shadow said. “One of many.”
“Many?”
“Yes. You’re the one true person. The rest, like me, are just shadow.” The voice and shadow were fading.
“Wait,” Thomas said, a ridiculous request because the shadow couldn’t wait. It was a five o’clock shadow. Why did it appear? What did it all meant?
He didn’t know. At this point, only his shadow knew for sure.
Michael Seidel, writer 