Thursday, August 24, 2017

Mine Remembered





Mine Remembered

It had been rough getting back here.  The last time I was here I came on horseback.  My three-year-old Roam didn’t think anything much of rough terrain.  The ’32 Chevy Contender that got me here today protested mightily the whole way. 

After pouring myself out of the seat and arching my back to let the kinks out.  I turned to my grandson that was just shy of 16 years, “Here it is.  I spent two long years of my life here.”  I forced a smile for him.  “I was just about your age.”

“It’s falling down, Grandpa.”

“That it is, Boy.  You oughten to have seen it in its heyday.”  I pointed to the weathered gray building, further most right.  “That was administration.  I help raise that structure.  It still standing.  Says a lot for cedar and rough-hewn pillars.  A few of the supports in there still have roots in the ground.”
“When were you here last?”

“Over half a century now.  I remember driving ten penny nails in the roof joists.  The backside of the administration building is only nine or ten feet off the ground.  We’d slide down and leap off like we were a bunch of crows taking air.  Then hit the ground rolling.”  Ralphy came to mind.  “That is till Ralphy broke his ankle.  The foreman said no more jumping.  We had to use the ladder like normal folk.”

“Let me show you the other side.”  I commenced leading him up the sandy shale embankment.  I started out with a limp until I got some lubricant to working in my left knee.  The little slope was slippery, and I ended up crab walking it up.  I thought about there was a time when I’d hit a spot like this at a run and never look back.  We finally, made our way through the rubble and came out on the other side.

“Boy, look up that there hill.   Now, just imagine a wall of fire the height of a tall horse, from that rise to this bellowing down on you.”  I swept my arm across the landscape covering the territory to the horizon.

“Wow, were you scared?”

“No time for that.  We’d were nearly complete with the new building, and we were determined to beat that fire back.  Why it came right down within spittin’ distance of our mine.”  I looked at the green hills and wondered how was it we nearly lost the whole place but for expending our lives energy putting out the fire and the place has lasted another fifty plus years since.  Another fire like that and there be nothing here.

“What did you do, Grandpa?”

“Well, we hunkered down with shovels and hoes and started pulling back the vegetation as far up as we could reach without gettn’ deep fried.  We were bound to deprive that fire of any more fuel.  At the end, when it reached the end of our line we commenced to throwing shovels of dirt on it.”  I remembered the heat and sweat pouring off us.

“The fire was out to defy us.  It spits red hot ash into the air that landed on the Roofs.  We had a couple lads on each roof that stamped them out soon as they lit.  But they were coming mighty fast and hot.”  I grinned.  Here I was winding myself telling the tale.  At that time I was in fatigable, although I was just a runt of a kid.

“I tell you, grandson, it was a long ten hours we fought that blaze.  When it was all over, there wasn’t an eyebrow in the place as they’d all been burned off.  A couple of the older fellows kept pattin’ out their beards.” 

“Can we get in the mine, Grandpa?”

“Don’t know, let's crawl in there and see.  I’ve got lots to tell you about this place.”


  

Wednesday, August 9, 2017

BAKER BOT - Flash Fiction

BAKER BOT

I was the richest man in the world. Being diversified in every corporate endeavor, that was what made me so much money I couldn't give it away if I wanted.  That's okay, I didn't want to anyway.

In my waning years, I caught a literary craving for Steam Punk.  It was fascinating to me the retro look of machinery from when I was but a little boy.  So, when I founded CyberSapiens with my brother, the engineer, I had in mind this very end for me.

Sure, all our cyborgs were sleek, beautiful, durable and aesthetically appealing and without the law mandated joint markings you would never know they weren't human, so long as they kept their mouth shut.  The speech had always been somewhat stilted.  That wasn't for me, though.  I picked out something much more, well, more unique.

It had a torso, hip and should rotator joints of recycled submarine hulls of titanium.  The calves, forearms, body, and head of light cold rolled sheet metal with a light green powder coat and orange accents.  The chest had a pressure gauge in the access cover monitoring the tiny nuclear fusion furnace that powered unit and the cybernetic control center in the helmet.  In keeping with the retro look and the Tom and Jerry cartoons I loved I told my brother I didn't need more than three fingers and a thumb.

It was ready, and I died.

 When I awoke, it took me a few minutes to adjust to the high contrast view through the yellow/amber lenses.  This was way cool.  I could feel everything through the electrostatic contact made when something touched me, or I felt it.  I was truly pain-free.  I rotated to my feet and gazed at my brother that smiled at me.

"I have a surprise for you,"  he said.

"What would that be?"  I felt the digital speaker vibrate on my right shoulder.  I wasn't sure, it might tickle.  I felt like laughing.

"Oh, come with me, and you'll see."  He opened the door and followed me out.

On the street, I must admit I drew a lot of stares although I moved silently as all the motors and servos were well suspended and my new body was thoroughly tested for noise shorts.  We turned the corner, and there was Boston's Confectionary Center.  The largest in all the state.

As soon as I saw it something happened.  A flash popped into my net, and I dashed across the street to reach it to the screeching brakes of a Uber cab.  I made it fine leaving three finger dents in the Ubers hood.  Ripped open the door, then threw the handle down on the floor after I gained entrance.  What the heck was going on.  I was obsessed.

There in the center of a table was a grand pink three tiered cake.  I spun, picked it up and held it high admiring it.  Why did I find it so elegant?

My brother turned up a few minutes later and laughed.  I thought he was going to bust a gut and wished he would.  "What did you do to me?"

He sputtered it out, "I downloaded Julie Richardson's Vintage Cakes Cookbook to your compulsory net functions."  He smacked me on my shoulder with a resounding thud.  "Little Brother, You’re a baker bot now."

Subtlety - An essay

 SUBTLETY   Rarely, if ever, has subtlety been brought up as a topic of discussion during our writing group meetings. I haven't come...