After noon local time. Aching lower back
this morning and you tried a short nap after breakfast but instead did your thirty-minute
exercises hoping for the best. Afterwards, you took a bath in your new bath for
the first time. The air bubbler is set on high and you’ll have to read the
directions to lower it but it was enjoyable – a long tub with plenty of room
for your legs to stretch out. The hand shower worked fine for washing your hair
also. You are pleased with the choices you made. It is easy to clean up
afterwards using a washcloth – the granite wipes clean. Also, the wall rail
puts you at ease when climbing up and out of the tub. Carol has been working in
the yard most of the morning, picking up straw where need be and watering a
bit. It is supposed to rain some tomorrow and quite a bit on Thursday. Next
Spring you are getting the grass over-seeded professionally. – Amorella
1219 hours. Carol got me up
early to see the last of the Harvest Moon, not quite full but still very
bright. We sat on the front porch after and watch dawn struggling to climb the
horizon. Very nice . . . it was warm at seventy degrees and no bugs to speak of;
though they could easily be heard in the woods. A few headlights were carrying
someone off to work every few minutes. We sat for about twenty minutes carrying
on a conversation part of the time. Reminds me of when I used to haul the morning
newspapers for a few years and when we would hear the lions early morning roars
at King’s Island back in the seventies when they had the animal park. At the
time we were sitting I thought about the simple setting of Our Town, one
of my favorite plays of all time. When you are living life goes by way too fast
you have to wait until it’s over before you can really appreciate what it was,
that’s the main theme from my perspective.
What are you thinking about Diplomat’s
Pouch? – Amorella
1232 hours. I don’t know. I
don’t know about the Soki in particular. I’ll have to go back and read the
book. I forget how Stuck is. I’ll have to find a copy. I know one is
around here somewhere. All these words without Merlyn don’t make much sense to
me. They are his dreams not mine.
You set them up as Merlyn’s dreams. –
Amorella
1236 hours. True. I set them
up that way. They were never really Merlyn’s dreams – I mean, I know its
fiction. Your right. First, I’ll have to reread Stuck.
You had lunch at Mimi’s Cafe.
Carol hadn’t been there in five year and you in at least ten. You both left
remembering why you had not been back. Premier price for a pleasant French
provincial setting but not so premier food. – Amorella
Presently you are at Rose Hill Cemetery
facing west just beyond the Whitaker mausoleum as it is almost mid-afternoon
and the Autumn sun is moving accordingly. While home Carol watered the grass
and you looked for Stuck and as you didn’t find it you hope you have a draft
somewhere about. – Amorella
1458 hours. Carol is on her
walk. I just thought of one other place it might be – in a box in the basement.
Actually, a final draft will do nicely. You played Soki’s character Amorella, I’m
not sure I can copy what you wrote anyway, it wouldn’t necessarily make sense
today. I can’t remember who Soki was, that is, where he came from and why he
entered Friendly in the first place.
1510 hours.
Okay, I found and made a copy of the ‘Printed Stuck.05’ folder and dropped it
in my desktop ‘Notes 09-16’ and put an alias on the desktop itself. I cannot
believe I still have a copy of this book buried away. Obviously I am not the
same person I was in 2001 when I began the book.
No one who was alive at the time is the same
person, boy. – Amorella
1516. True enough. The world
and we in it have changed. Stuck is not tinged with 9/11. This weighs me
down heartansoul it does.
This is another proof-of-sorts that you have
both. – Amorella
1520 hours. This would be
interesting to weigh: 9/11.
It is incalculable, boy, for each person
with the singular memory roots and the stones it has raised up in these fifteen
odd years. – Amorella
1523 hours. How strange,
Amorella, it is an ever-growing cemetery among the living. Stones of connection
to the deed that day, like black flags waving instead of the small American
ones waving here today at Rose Hill. And I am sitting at a crossroad no less.
Damn spooky, it is.
After a stop of necessity at home you are
over on the top lot near the earth dam at Pine Hill Lakes. Carol is on page 132
of Fool Me Once. Drop in the first two or three Soki segments to get a
feel of how it is. – Amorella
1548 hours. Good idea,
Amorella. – I made a mistake I have work from the ‘Stuck 2005’ folder. I need
the 2001 work – which I now have on my desktop.
.
**
**
STUCK
© 2001 (O.H.Richards) R.H.Orndorff
First Serial North American Rights
69660 Words
STUCK
(O. H. Richards)
Key West
17 July 01
I dedicate this work to a lifetime of wonderful
students.
Notice
Written from an out-world stranger’s
point of view, this book is a translation by necessity, and it is based on
modern American English. For continuities sake the measuring systems used in
this translation are also based on the measuring system of the United States.
On our homeplanets, we use a system similar to the metric measurements. Our
homeplanets, as your own planet, exist within the Milky Way galaxy. Our three
worlds, whose natural environments are as similar as those on earth, orbit a
single, yellow sun. We sit and stand and you natives. Naked, we look native
enough, especially from our backsides. Each of us has a head with hair, eyes,
nose, mouth, ears, neck, a torso, two arms, and two legs. Individually, each of
us has five fingers and toes on each hand and foot. Put clothes on us, and from
the front you could not tell the difference. Genetically, we are as similar and
diverse within our species as you are within yours.
The primary classical distinctions in
our two species are: one, we women have sturdy, nearly interior frontal pouches
to carry the young; and two, our timid, tangled and ever relaxed men find it
easier to sit rather than stand when urinating. Socially, a family unit (of a
mix between three and fifteen adult females and males) shares the pouchbabes.
Economically, we are allowanced workers (to the elected parents) of our greater
marsupial family; and psychologically, we are reinforced to be runners rather
than stand-and-fighters. We are a marsupial species, but we are not kangaroos.
We became intrigued with earthlings because your basic emotional, intellectual,
and spiritual notions are similar with our own.
For those interested in Ship’s
propulsion system, we ride a subdirectory of gravity waves, natural gravobars
you native earthlings fit into “Einstein’s cosmological constant,” which is a
slight, repulsive gravity that pushes galaxies away from each other.
A
Short Digest
Arriving on earth the first time, in
your year 1988ce, my associate, Fargo, and I arrogantly believed we were
destined to save you and your world from a dreadfully worldwide plague.
Instead, we found ourselves humiliated. In the second visitation, in the summer
of 2000ce, was an expedition to safeguard human DNA, but instead, we found
ourselves fishing in circumstances that leave us ripe to be hauled up, scaled
and gutted. Sit back, read, and decide what you would do if your bare feet were
ready to run in our naturally green grasses.
My name translated into your English
means Friendly. The first chapter of Stuck comes from my colleague and one time
apartment mate, Trexer. In the beginning as well as at the conclusion of this
book he is as ready to run as I am. The events that put us in our precarious
position began when Ship One froze somewhere between our homeplanets and earth.
In science fiction this freezing of a ship might be caused by an antagonists’
tractor beam which, like a hook on a fishing line, grabs an enemy and reels it
in, or the beam may hold a ship as a stationary target to be used as a feast
for ammunition, destroying the ship and its crew.
To me, this book is real life, of
course. We marsupials don’t have many enemies, and Trexer’s initial problem is
caused by a rare malfunction of Ship, who for reasons unknown, thinks he (Ship)
is as a bullied schoolchild finally safe at homeplanets. Ship thinks he safe at
home. However, we are not home, and as Trexer’s situation is occurring, I am in
a small experimental craft heading to the earth alone, our mother ship with
Captain Fargo, Trexer, Hartolite, and Yermey on board, sits between here and
there, impaled by gravity like a once-flying insect is pinned to a board.
The moments of a gravoskim run are very
exciting. It has been twelve years since Fargo, and I had our first earthly
adventure. First, though, here is a word from a quaint writing associate
swimming in my head.
*
>Hello, I am the Soki, a floater, who was drawn to the
earth twelve years ago during the very time Friendly and Fargo first visited
earth. I resided in a little fellow; a forest person named Mexito, while he was
living alone in a library surrounded by decapitated native heads.
Unknowingly,
Mexito gave me to Friendly as a gift, so now I reside in her. She came to think
of me as an alter ego, but I am not. Having been cast among the living, I do
nothing but observe and write commentary from time to time. In exploring I
discovered I have visitation rights to a selected few of the living and the
dead. I have yet to determine by what means this is allowed. What I reflect
upon depends on my mood after conversing with the dead and/or witnessing the
events firsthand in Friendly’s stories. Words are the outcome not the medium,
and I cannot explain the manner of my existence within the living or the dead.
I reflect, and I see myself as a conscious, disembodied, holographic mirror.
<
*
This is Friendly again. I think of the Soki as a persona in my writing process,
not as the aberrant personality he thinks he is. I allow his viewpoint because,
well, I have empathy for any creature desperate enough to create an imaginary
consciousness.
Anyway,
Trexer, who is as real as I am, is in a quandary. Ship is supposed to be
heading to earth, but he does not know where Ship is relative to its location
between home-planets and earth. This is not good situation for Ship and those
aboard. I’ll begin the first chapter with Trexer.
From
the conclusion of Chapter One:
Unknown
to Fargo and the crew, I, Friendly, sat in the wall chair directing the
ClassOne Shuttlevator from homeplanets through a quick slide of gravobars to
stop near the orbit of Mars. My objective was to land with blackenot on and
wait for Fargo and crew before setting out to find the remaining human colony.
I hoped I would not cause any unusual solar activity or earthquakes when
Shuttlevator finally shut the gravobars down. Shortly though, instruments on
board automatically focused on signs of human life. Data filled on data and
quickly shut down. Shuttlevator froze its machinery out near earth’s moon. I
rose from my chair cautiously, confused. I am not where I am supposed to be, I
thought. Blackenot is on. I pushanpulled the manual blackenot default switches,
but Godofamily -- data showed billions of human people existing. How could this
be? The city near the lake appeared a good target.
I pushanpulled a variety of manual to
automatic switches and maneuvered Shuttlevator ground ward to near a slowly
trickling stream. A few lone trees stood adjacent to a small wood. A few homes
set on the woods’ edges nearby. I can ease in and hover invisibly just above
the trees. Blackenot is on. Billions of these people died. I did not and to
this day do not know how this is, but I decided, at least then, I would not
run.
PrimeThree will send a directive to wait
for Fargo, that’s what I thought. The new datum flashed before me. The earth
date: 14 June 00ce. Fargo and I arrived 14 June 88ce. This is exactly thirteen
years after the great plague, twelve years after we left five human beings
alive on the planet. Whatever plague occurred earlier has not happened here.
Billions of people are today alive, but plague or no plague, they too will be
dead some day. I smiled; our first trip now seemed a joke. I said to myself; ‘we
thought these people were already dead. It is very odd.’
*
>Hello. I, the Soki have some observations. These marsupials are presently stuck
in a ship of their own making. Living people touch death the moment of birth,
and they are stuck too, even though their individual creation is of their
parents making not their own. People have a voice, and as such, one’s own stage
appears to stand relatively taller than herorhis neighbors. In here, theatre is
a rule the living share. The dead also have a voice of sorts, and have rules of
theatre too. Their rules usually end up being played out in a metaphysical
court with the curtain closed. What are the rules for a genuine floater like
me? Presently, I have no idea. <
From
the conclusion of Chapter Two
*
>This
is Soki. Blake won’t tell you he
thinks people are mostly hot air, but he does. ‘Life’s a scientific experiment
and people are the lab rats,’ fits Blake to a tee. Justin thinks he knows what
it is to be dead because he once napped in an open grave. This man uses the
dead and their artifacts to make a living. ‘We’re all prostitutes for money or
power,’ is Justin’s rationalization. I don’t think either Blake or Justin is
very original. Pyl hates her nickname. Her father gave her a pretty name,
Philly, as in ‘my silly Philly,’ which she thought was funny. Besides, she
loved her dad’s laugh when he called her Philly. Brother Blake though, could
only say Pyl when he was young. Mom and Dad thought Blake was cute when he
began calling her Pyl, as in ‘Pyl is a little pill.’ Pyl stuck, and she has
never forgiven Blake for something he doesn’t even remember. Pyl doesn’t like
her brother, she might even hate him, but consciously she thinks she loves him
because, well, he’s her big brother. Besides, her parents insisted the two like
each other enough to get along while growing up. People don’t always know who
they are or what they are really about. Soki
smiled, some people spend too much time on the stage rather than checking the
construction underneath.
I
mention these facts, because when communicating with the dead, I can see into
the living. Thinking about their construction, the dead lay in comfortable
beds. Each dead person has to define justice at least a sense of it sheorhe can
be in a state of death with. This takes time and focus. The dead don’t realize
herorhis first judgment before the Court will be partly herorhis own. Each
assumes sheorhe is going to trial and will be found innocent or guilty. If
there will be a judicial argument, the first questions may center on ‘how am I
innocent?’ and ‘what am I really guilty of?’ This takes considerable time.
Fortunately, the dead have plenty of time to spend on life’s reconstruction.
The
living characters, both marsupial and human, don’t have the time or inclination
to dwell on their after-lives. Why should they? ‘Being alive is the most important
thing in life. When I’m dead I’ll have time to think about being dead,’ that’s
what the characters in here think.
Meanwhile,
the dead usually end up considering aspects of the following questions to make
a judgment about their lives -- one, ‘what are the things I know?’ Two, ‘what
are the things I did not know when I was alive?’ Three, ‘what are the things
that were impossible for me to know when I was alive?’ Four, ‘what can I
forgive myself for? Five, ‘what can I never forgive myself for?’ And, six, ‘why?’
To
the living, these questions have a tone of serious business, but in here at
least, when you are dead, you spiritually survive by developing a sense of
humor and wit. I guess being dead is similar to being alive without a physical
body or a brain. As I have mentioned, I am not alive and never was. Living
people know more about life than I ever care to know. I find life and death
ridiculously bizarre. To be honest, I just want to go home, but I have no
memory of where I’m from. So, like Trexer I am trying to find my bearings.
Friendly
thinks I am swimming in her head like a fish. She thinks I am a creation of her
writing imagination. I don’t believe Friendly is stupid, but she is wrong in her
thinking that I am her imagination. I do have a sense of self-being, but I
remember nothing of before. I have a sense of being torn as I came into this
universe. I was shoved or pushed. I was not pulled or drug here. The force was
from behind, and now I float like a balloon I do not swim like a fish. I float,
but I do not eat, sleep, or dream. I am either from before life and death, or I
am from afterlife and death. That’s what I feel about myself currently. Being
conscious is interesting, is it not? Blake thinks the unconscious is even more
interesting. Pyl is not interested, and Justin is not sure what he thinks. Too
much thinking makes Jack a dull boy, that’s what I, the Soki, think. <
From
the conclusion of Chapter Three
*
>Soki,
here. Almost everyone likes a pleasant surprise. Justin and Rabbi Jabal are
secretly deliberating the worth of the sealed urn. I’ve been walking among the
dead, and like the urn; the dead are sealed too. I recently read in the
newspapers that some want to declare Jerusalem, a Holy site, decreeing no one
owns the city but God. Each side in the dispute can save face, no matter what
the politics or the religion. The dead don’t know what to think about owning
things because those who did no longer do. From what I’ve observed, life is a
tough row to plow. Mice or men, you better get out of the way. Eventually, the
living get plowed under too. The dead think this is funny. Theatre makes life
complicated. People shout from the stage, ‘You! Do this! You, do that!’ Talking
heads are everywhere. Living people take in air before speaking. The dead don’t
breathe. It’s no wonder the dead don’t talk. <
Above selected and copied from final draft of Stuck,
© 2001.
**
**
1609 hours.
Wow. It has indeed been some time since I read over this material (which on the
face of it, still seems okay). You do a good job as Soki Amorella.
You see how Friendly is, who at this time is
already a persona of your muse, Laney.
Yes. Hartolite
is another persona, Angie. Both women were in the Department of English at
Mason in 2001. I left in ’03, Laney left in ’04 and Angie in ’05. It is bad
enough from my perspective, that I left first, but it would have been far worse
on me psychologically, if Laney and Angie had left before I did. Both are still
Facebook friends. Both were a joy to work with. (1620)
You have no more to say? –
Amorella
1623 hours. No. Heartansoul
are still a jumble from 2001 through 2005. I had a creative energy I no longer
have.
Creative is not the right word. – Amorella
1626 hours. I’m older in
several ways, you are right, Amorella. Creative is the wrong word, but it’s not
all sexual.
You are correct. It has never been ‘all
sexual’. Passion can be sexual but yours rarely has been sexual in your
lifetime. You lean on a Platonic base – let’s leave it at that. You are a dreamer, boy, still. –
Amorella
1632 hours. Dreams over
fantasies always. I don’t build a base of thought on fantasy – that’s mental entertainment.
A base of thoughts on a dream, that’s something to build one’s heartansoul on. –
rho
I wouldn’t be here if it were otherwise,
young man. Post when you return home. – Amorella
1636 hours. I feel like I
learned or reinforced something today.
You decided to make up for the average lunch
(one lunch was free with a coupon and it was still over eighteen dollars) with
a stop at Graeter’s. Carol is in Kroger’s on Tylersville for a few ‘necessities’
like milk and bananas. – Amorella
1717 hours. Low darker clouds
are rolling in from the southwest. People had their car lights on at
four-thirty – like we were in December already. – You know, the dream I based Stuck
on was pretty good, no pretentions and with light satire. We’ll see. Maybe
I can do something in a work without Merlyn. Soki might be okay too but he’ll
have to be up to date.
Why? He’s talking about the Dead. You know
more about the Dead than you used to. Soki can work with that. - Amorella
1728 hours.
So, Mexito gave Soki to Friendly on an alternate Earth. I will have to spend
some time with this.
That’s easy enough. Take a chapter word
count on Stuck. See what the average comes out to. Post. – Amorella
1756 hours. We are home. I’ll
do the word count. Maybe it would be better than what I was trying to do.
What you did, boy. When you were little,
before formal schooling you learned to color in the lines. In retirement you
write rather than color but it is still in the lines, ain’t it, young’n? – Amorella
1759 hours. You are sounding
like Aunt Jemima.
2028 hours. I added up the 21
chapters of Stuck and the total words are 50,488. This averages to 2404
words per chapter.
Let’s say we have an average between 2500
and 3000 words per chapter. This includes new Soki comments. – Amorella
2033 hours. We have to start
somewhere. That’s as general marker. This appears reasonable. I’m glad I
totaled each chapter as I moved along. So far though I don’t see any passion in
this word count business.
Heartansoul, my man and the mind will take
care of itself. – Amorella
2040 hours. I must say,
without Merlyn sounds refreshing. I can’t believe I just thought this.
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