Cleaning Up (Part 1)

At first I thought I was going a bit mad. Then I just chalked it up to stress and being completely worn to the bone. I mean, it’s not that big a deal really, forgetting when I did the dishes. And the laundry. And cleaned out the fridge, reorganized the spice cupboard and closet, swept, mopped, vacuumed, patched that tear the cat made on the corner of the couch, and the million other chores that somehow had gotten done without me recalling doing them. For a while I figured I’d been sleep walking and had somehow managed to cram cleaning that had been missed into the habit.

I guess that’s what I get for thinking like someone raised in the Before.

A broken dish. That’s how it all started. Okay so it really started when I ran away from home 3 years ago, then hooked up with the tough protective type who turned out to be a loser putting on a show and beating someone he thought was weaker for kicks, and then being too scared and desperately lonely to get him out of my life. But I only noticed when that dish broke.

Or more when it unbroke.

~*~*~*~

I thought I’d dreamed the fight. I did that a lot, made the fights seem like a distant fake memory. He’d been yelling at me for some spot on the dish. I was tired from work, had to catch the bus to my next shift in about an hour, and had the overwhelming urge to vomit. It was stupid. I had the bruises to prove it was stupid from other fights. But I did it anyway. Told him to wash the damn thing himself if I did it so badly.

He threw the dish at the wall and it exploded. Then he hit me so hard I blacked out for a second. I guess I fell because I was looking at him from the floor next. When his foot hit me I didn’t wake up for a while.

The pounding on the door made my head throb.

“Coming!” I tried to shout, but my voice came out as a little squeak.

The room swam as I used the counter to haul myself up. Whoever was at the door pounded on it again.

“Sarah open the damn door! I know you’re in there.”

“I’m coming!” This time my voice actual cooperated, if a little slurry. Along with it the spinning room managed to fix itself enough that I figured I could walk. I stumbled through the living-room, still a little groggy, and unlatched the door.

“Oh my god…”

I stared at the person on the other side, trying to work out why they looked so shocked. It took me a few seconds to realize it was my boss.

“Sarah, what happened to you?”

“What are you talking about?” Damn, it hurt to talk. And the words had that mushy quality to them again. I felt my face and winced at the jolt of pain.

Denise pulled me to the couch and fished a pocket mirror out of her purse. She handed it to me and hurriedly shut and latched the door. “That fuck did it again didn’t he.”

I don’t think I heard her at first. I was too busy staring at the ugly swollen bruise that covered the left half of my face.

~*~*~*~

Being as I wasn’t dying, we were stuck in the ER’s waiting room for most the night. The sun had already begun to rise by the time I got looked at, and it was another hour or so before the x-rays. Broken jaw, a cracked rib and a sprung wrist. Denise was trying to convince me to talk to one of the waiting police officers when a worried nurse joined us.

“Sir, can I borrow my patient for a moment before you speak to her?”

One cop nodded while his partner rolled his eyes, looking impatient. The nurse lead me away from the group a little before asking, “Ma’am, were you aware that you are pregnant?”

My eyes going wide as saucers must have given her her answer, because she rushed on, “We were so backed up that we didn’t get your blood work done before the x-ray. I am so sorry. If you’ll come with me, one of the ultrasounds is available and we can check to make sure everything is okay.”

“I… but…” was all I could get out before I began to cry.

TV Leech

“You think it’s another blanked town?” (Soldier 1)

“That or abandon. It’s weird though. This place still looks kind of lived in. Blanking always left a mess. Even when they just pick up and leave the place looks trashed. This one looks like everything was tidied up  before they left.” (Soldier 2)

“Are you two going to stand around gossiping all day.” The commander shouted from the corner. Their squad had been spending the last few hours sweeping the little town for survivors. The commander approached the two soldiers.

“Find anything, sir?” (Soldier 1)

“Nada,” he replied. “Just a couple more streets to check. I’m going to go radio in our status. I need you two to take Becker Avenue and 3rd Street. Report back to me when your done.”

“Yes sir.” (soldier 1 and 2)

Scorch Zone 7

Even though it made her feel nauseous, the endless blackened fields held her eyes captive. The charred landscape zoomed past the window, and even with the vents closed and window up, the thick smell of charcoal perfumed the car.

“You’re not going to spew again are  you?”

She ground her teeth, “No dad, I’m not. I’m pretty sure my stomach came up with that last round.”

“I know you hate this road, but we didn’t have time to go around the SZ.”

“Why couldn’t we have just caught a plane?”

“Magnetic storm. We were looking at a week for it to pass or a drive only an hour shorter from the other direction. Try taking a nap or something.”

She shook her head and resumed trying not to look out the window. Going through Scorch Zone 7 every few weeks might have made the creepy dead fields seem normal to her father, but something about it just made her feel sick down to her bones. She felt like something watched their speeding car from the charred fields.

The Painted City

The welcome to the city sign was mostly obscured with vivid graffiti.

(1) killed the engine.  “I think we found it.” She pushed open the door and hopped out of the battered truck. (2) jumped out of the passenger side and came around to stand beside her.  (1) rummaged through the collection of buckets and spray cans of paint jumbled in the back.

“You sure about this?” (2) whispered. “Aren’t they suppose to be dangerous or something?”

“Ha, there you are!” She pulled out a child’s wagon from the mess and grinned at (2). “Calm down. It’s like they say, what’s life without some risk?”

“Who is this all knowing ‘they’ everyone always talks about? I’d like to punch them for coming up with that crap.”

(1) rolled her eyes. (3) was leaning out the back window watching. “(2), we are about to enter the very soul of art, the muse’s world itself. Isn’t that right (1)?”

She ignored him. “(2), I have wanted to see this place since I first heard of it. Their suppose to live off muse energy, they live for creativity. How can you expect me to pass up seeing that?”

It was (2)’s turn to roll his eyes. “We are about to go into a very vandalized, very abandon city, without anyone knowing where we are at.”

“Course no one know’s where we’re at. This place is like a grade one uber no no.”

(3) laughed, “That’s the point.”

More Than One Way to Soar

“This new world is too full of flash,” she used to tell me. “All fake and fast. No appreciation for the old arts. No one knows how to let things choose there own path anymore.”

These were the things she would tell me as we sat near the fire and she squinted at her stitching. No matter how often dad would offer wire the house for her, she’d insist that her work was always better when made by firelight.

“Three strands, now that’s very important dear.” Shining threads through a silver needle flashing in the fire.

“And the skin must be cured for a full moon’s cycle, from full to full.” Moonlight through gossamer skins drying on the porch.

“The twigs must be given. Nothing can fly with the weight of resentment holding it down, remember that.” Hours spent under the willow tree waiting for a branch to fall and then trying to figure out if it wanted to be used. I never could seem to get it.

This was her way, brought over through the rift.

But as much as I loved my Gram, I was from this world. Unicorn tail strands, and willow branches never called to me. I just couldn’t make it work So were my summers. Spent on her porch or by her at the fireside, until it was time to go back to the city for school.

I remember wandering the aisles of junk while dad and his friend rambled on about tools and scrape. I wasn’t really looking at anything, just kind of staring off into space. Then the light caught this coil of wire. I don’t know why but I reached for it, and the metal seemed to hum.

“Hey dad, can I get some of this?’

He raised an eyebrow, “What are you going to use it for?”

I shrugged.

“Alright, whatever hun. Hey George! How much for this wire here?”

A few weeks later I was walking home from school and a flutter of color caught my eye. Dancing in a dirt devil was a bright red plastic bag. The wind died down and the bag landed in front of me. I pocketed it. By the end of the month I had a few dozen. They all seemed to just find me, and then I couldn’t leave them behind.

Item after item seemed to seek me out, doing anything to catch my attention. I nearly broke my ankle on a persistent belt at my favorite thrift shop. I tucked the odd and ends away in a box in my closet. Once in awhile the box seemed to call to me, and I would take the things out and lay them out on the floor; but the time never seemed right and back they would go. I wasn’t really sure what I was waiting for.

The school year ended and it was time to return to my grandmothers. Dad only gave me his usual raised eyebrow when I loaded the box into the back of the car with the rest of my stuff.

In the light of Grandma’s hearth the wire danced and writhed to shape beneath my hands. Scraps of string and thread, old twist ties and plastic bag handles bound the joints. Using her old iron, I fused the bits of plastics into membrane and embedded it with bits of glass and colored pop tabs. A pair of belts made arm straps and an old fanny pack strap held it across my chest.

I held my work up to the window and let the moonlight shimmer through the wings. Grandma’s hand rested on my shoulder as she looked over my work. “Make’s sense. I never expected my world to call to you like it does me. I suppose there are those looking for their wings back in yours. You’ll be busy this winter.”

“Who do these go to then?”

“Silly. How can you make others fly without first getting yourself up?”

We climbed out the upstairs window onto the gentle slope of the porch. Grandma helped me slip into the harness and grinned as I jumped off the edge of the roof and into the night.

New Timeline and Map Feature

You may have noticed a new page to the blog. I know the story snippets come in very haphazard and far from any logical order. Via Dipity I have made a timeline for Subsequent Remnants, and will soon be adding the map feature Dipity offers. I am currently adding the images that inspired each scene to the outline, but most of the info is up. Enjoy.

http://subsequentremnants.wordpress.com/timeline-map-and-more/

Reality Checking

(Character 1) swung his/her legs, staring down at them. Impatience was in his/her every movement.

“Why do you waste your money on that stuff? Everyone knows machine made is no good,” (character 1) muttered.

(Character 2) didn’t look up from his/her work. The delicate copper wire seemed to shape itself under his/her fingers and tools. “Because, its just for simple nightmare wards, not for terrors. Wires and beads spelled and shaped from the beginning can’t ward those.”

(Character 1) sulked.

(Character 2) “Would you rather we all kept cats? Worked for the ancient Egyptians to chase off the bad spirits.”

(Character 1) shivered. “Cats probably drag in bad spirits, if there were such a thing.”

“Could you make it anymore obvious you have never left the Network,” (Character 2) chuckled.

(Character 1) “It’s true. Bad spirits are the name the superstitious give it. All that stuff is just caused by corrupted natural energy fields left from the Great Wave. Time space warping and all that.”

(Character 2) settled back in his/her chair and looked at (Character 1) solidly. “Believe what you like, but all that scientific prattle has no basis in the realty of what the Great Wave really brought into the world and the only scientists of any merit are the ones that do not deny that. More than an energy shock wave was dragged in by it. The sooner you accept that the sooner you will be less vulnerable to those things.”

(Character 2) eyed (Character 1) as he/she continued to stare at the floor as if it had done him/her a personal wrong. Finally (Character 1) sighed defeatedly. He/she hopped down off the counter and stalked down the stairs.

(Character 2) rubbed his/her face wearily. He/she picked up the wire and bead tangle once more, but couldn’t seem to find his/her rhythm again. He/she simply stared at the piece, at the bloody sparks of sunset that glittered off the bright copper. The light seemed to sneak into the workshop loft through the windows and skylights as much as the sun snuck behind the mountains. Resigned he/she set the piece down and went downstairs as well.

“Have another fight about philosophy did we?” (Character 3)‘s voice taunted from the kitchen. (Character 2) smiled. (Character 3) was as biting as every, even as morning sickness continued to tie her to the air conditioned house.

(Character 2) “No. Actually, this time it was about who is right, science or superstition.”

(Character 3) “And you took the usual side of ‘Stop bickering if it’s real or not and figure out what is really going on’ didn’t you?”

(Character 2) “Naturally.”

Too Innocent

She didn’t have to glance at him to know he was glowering at the scene before them. “You think I don’t get it but I do.”

“Get what?” he muttered and by his tone she already knew they were on the same page.

“Why you can’t stand them.” She leaned back into him and felt a little of his tension ebb.

“You act like I hate them or something.”

“I didn’t say you hate them. I said you can’t stand them. Honestly, I can’t blame you.”

“Alright then, tell me why I can’t stand them.”

“They’re too… innocent,” her eyes lingered on the dancers and drummers in the dusky light. “Its beautiful, but it’s so damn vulnerable.”

“It’s beautiful?” he chuckled and kissed the side of her neck. “So you stay away so much because…?”

She pulled away from his teasing kisses and glared at him. “Because I don’t want to have to watch the day when some marauding lowlifes come in and slit all their throats simply because it’s an easy score.”

He sat there feeling like an ass as she got up and stormed away. Even with their connection broken by the lack of touch, he could feel the residue of pain and fear linger in her wake. She was right though, he couldn’t stand these people. The older ones all seemed to have this look in their eyes of the terminally ill or the condemned. They were living it up with the suddenly shortened time they had found themselves with and hiding the fact from those younger that the end for all of them was inevitable. The whole place gave him the feel of the terminally ill part of the hospital during a charity party, and it made him feel sick.

Nostradamus 2012 and Galactic Rift

So I have been on an apocalypse movie and show binge the last couple weeks. Day After Tomorrow, The Knowing, 28 Days Later… you name it I’ve been watching it. One that really perked my interest however was a program called Nostradamus 2012.

It was a show going over the believed predictions from Nostradamus’s lost book images and how they may relate to the 2012 end of the world theory that developed from the Mayan Calendar and some other cultures. The part that really caught my interest in regards to the Subsequent Remnants world was this part about a really rare astronomical occurrence in which the sun and the center of the milky way align, know as the Galactic Rift or Dark Rift, which happens approximately every 26,000 years. According to the show a lot of cultures believe (or have been translated to believe) this occurrence will cause great cataclysm.

So what does this have to do with Subsequent Remnants?  Well, I’ve been trying to hash out what caused the great wave that brings the magic influence into the world. This may be the answer to that issue. The timing fits where I’ve been wanting this to occur in the story, and the 26,000 year time line may allow me to link in ancient cultures beliefs in magic and actively present deities.

Another thing mentioned, but wasn’t gone into great detail, was the fact that the Earth’s magnetic field shifts from time to time. I don’t know a great deal about this topic other than the magnetic field protects us from some bad things from the sun; that a switch would really mess with our technology; that some rift in the Atlantic has layers in the soil with magnetic content that switched direction even few layers, giving us a kind of time line to the earth’s magnetic orientations over time. I was playing with the idea that this magnetic field going down during a switch is what let the wave in (i.e. we were being hit with it all along) or that it was holding the wave in the inner workings of our planet and it was able to escape during the shift. The problem with this idea I think is it doesn’t seem to have the bang I’m looking for.

Just some thoughts.

Just a Thought…

“What do you mean it’s no good? This is top of the line I’ll have you know. Gathered in one of the best poolings of muse magic you can find!”

His purpling face made her giggle, which of course only induced a more spectacular shade of purple. Her teacher glared at her and then turned his attention back to the irate salesman.

“Sir, I have no doubt of the quality of the source, but you don’t seem to under stand muse magic in the least. It can’t be caught, bottled, and auctioned off to the highest paying customer you can find. If you had spent even a moment in the presence of you intended clientele any of them could have told you this. Force ruins the stuff, takes all the use out of it. You may as well sell this to just charge some old batteries or something now.”

He held out the jar to the saleman. He glared at the Ky’s instructor and then glared at her before snatching the jar away. “You art mages are barking mad you know that. What the hell does some energy residue care how it’s caught.”

He turned to storm down the porch stairs, back to a very nervous looking horse, but Ky piped up, “Wait. I can still try to use it.”

“Don’t be silly, he’s ruined the stuff.” Her teacher pulled himself, creaking and popping, from the old wicker rocker and limped to the open screen door. “Come on now Ky, you should be finishing that paper and get back to your painting exercises before dinner.”

Ky waited till he was inside before jumping down the stairs after the saleman. “Seriously, I want to buy it.”

“What? Didn’t he just get through rambling about what junk it is?” he huffed, jestering at the house.

“I don’t care. He never lets me try out muse energy. Isn’t messed up and weak a good place to start? What trouble can I get into with it if it’s broke?” She held out a couple of coins and a crumpled ten.

He glared at it, “Paper’s no good cept in the cities. Even out here you should know that.”

“True, but it’ll stretch a good way in the nearest.” When he continued to glare at her hand she sighed with exasperation and dug in her pocket, pulling out another five and a few dimes. “This enough?”

He grabbed the money and shoved the jar into her hands. As he led the horse away, she could hear him muttering under his breath, but he seem a bit more cheerful with her savings in his pocket.

“Ky! I told you to get back to your lessons!”

“Coming!” She shoved the jar into her pocket as best she could and tugged her shirt down to cover the lump it made, then scampered up the stairs and inside.