Fiction Break: A Still Point In Time

In the spirit of Infinity War's crossovers...

The man shifted uneasily in his chair, scratching at his grayed temples. Across from him sat, to his eyes, a walking scarecrow and a very pretty (if out of place) girl. She looked annoyed, but the scarecrow man looked impatient, perhaps expectant.

The man's hand shook as he reached for the small tumbler of whiskey. He sipped, choked back a grimace, and took a deep breath.

"I know you are going to think I am crazy, but I believe very much so that I am not. Everybody in Lagos remembers the day the heroes came crashing through and 'accidentally' blew up the Wakandans," his voice catching on the word 'accidentally' like it held a bitter taste to it, "but no one remembers when the mutants came to Lagos. No one but me."

The scarecrow man's eyebrows furrowed together, and for a moment the man was afraid they would leap off of his forehead and assault him. There was a moment of quiet, then he continued.

"And that's not all. I remember both of these events, and I remember the great Apocalypse. I read in the news about the robots in Europe, but no one else remembers entire cities disintegrating. What's wrong with me, Mister Doctor?"


One Hour Earlier...

Clara stumbled out of the TARDIS, choking on the smoke that followed her through the doors. Whatever was burning in there, she decided, could not be anything but hazardous to her health, and she sometimes worried she'd breathed in far too much of it over the years she'd traveled with the Doctor. She took in a lungful of dusty air and looked around. Hot, dry sun beat down on her, and she was surrounded by the noises and smells of a bustling marketplace of a dusty, dry city. The Doctor came charging out of the doors, dispelling the cloud of smoke that had followed her, his coat covered in soot and his face crossed with more lines than she'd remembered before the explosion. He was muttering something to himself about time tracks, dimensional boundaries, and crossed realities until she interrupted him.

"Doctor? Doctor! Where are we?"

He stopped and looked around for a long second before sticking his finger in his mouth and holding it up in the air and pronouncing, "Lagos. Nigeria. Earth. 2016. But the wrong one." He glanced up at the side of a building that looked like it had seen better days. Several of the upper floors of the North side of it had suffered structural damage and had clearly been on fire recently. He frowned, digging in his pocket until he found a small wooden box, tilted the lid open, then shut it firmly and shoved it back in his pocket.

"How can it be the wrong one?" Clara asked, "Isn't there only the one Lagos?"

The Doctor looked supremely annoyed, "Clara, do you remember that awful bingy-bingy noise before the cloister bells started ringing? That was the TARDIS jumping off course. And then when the walls started closing in? Something went wrong with the dimensional stabilizer, and we got pushed through a weak point between universes. Wherever we are, it's not the right Lagos. For one thing, that building," he said, pointing up at the burned out husk, "isn't supposed to be all exploded. I should know, I had tea there just next week and it was still in one piece."

Clara, trying to keep up with the shifting tenses in his explanation, suddenly noticed an elderly Nigerian man staring at them in disbelief. She tugged at his coat and whispered under her breath at the Doctor.

"Doctor, I think that man there just noticed us."

"Well of course he noticed us. We just stepped out of a smoking blue box that probably made an awful racket landing and... hold on, that man just noticed us. The TARDIS telepathic fields must have malfunctioned and -"

Clara cut him off, "Then why hasn't anyone else noticed us?"

"Ah," The Doctor patted the pocket he'd stowed the box in, before starting off towards the man. Clara shook her head and followed.


...Now

His name was Isaiah, and the Doctor was drinking in every detail of his story. Every fantastical detail. In this world, it seemed, there'd been a swell of enhanced individuals -- soldiers and inventors, robots and aliens -- appearing through history and operating quite publicly. But Isaiah's story fell apart in several places as he tried to reconcile two very different versions of history that were living in his head. This was very distressing to him, especially as it seemed no one else remembered one set of events. The Doctor and Clara sat with him for a very long time, listening to all he had to share.

When Isaiah had finished his stories, one accounting of bizarre events from two perspectives throughout his remembered history, the Doctor leaned back in his chair, his eyebrows finally leaving attack position. He pulled a slender tool from his coat pocket, shoved it rudely in Isaiah's face, and pressed the button. Isaiah flinched at the green light on the tip and the whine it let loose. The Doctor snatched it away from him, popped open the tip, and stared intently at the shifting metal on the inside.

"Well then. It's little wonder you're so perturbed. Your consciousness is split between two versions of reality, one that doesn't exist anymore and the one that exists around you, and you can't reconcile the two. Part of that little human pea-brain is quite literally stuck in the wrong universe. But why? What makes you of all people special?"

Clara sunk her elbow into the Doctor's ribs, handing him a notecard that he studied intensely for a moment before grudginly bringing his gaze back to Isaiah.

"By which I mean 'I am terribly sorry to hear about your distress. I can only imagine how I would feel in your place, and I will do everything I can to resolve this situation for you. Shake hands and smile politely.' "

Clara rolled her eyes and looked apologetically at Isaiah as the Doctor took off towards the ruined building.


To be continued...

Salem Watches A Movie: This Is Not "TV But Better," This Is Life...

This week, around New Year's Eve, Erin gave a recommendation of the movie Strange Days. I commented that Strange Days is a fantastic movie, and I've been a big fan of it for years. Erin, as she's wont to do, suggested I write about it. This is actually not a terrible idea, as I have a glowing recommendation of this movie as well.

I make no secret of absolutely loathing the 1990s. The weird middle child of Gen-X decades, the 90s always felt like a half-assed attempt at continuing the craziness of the 1980s while toning it down in shame. The 1990s wanted to be as weird as its big brother, but was afraid to commit. A few good things did come out of this period,  though, and Strange Days is one of those memorable genre films that, alongside Fight Club, The Matrix, and The Crow are known for their anti-establishment nihilism and excellent soundtracks.

 

The stars of the show on the craziest New Year's Eve of their life

And the soundtrack for Strange Days is a real cracker, too, the best soundtrack I've heard in a movie apart from The Crow's. It manages to set a mood for the gritty and violent near-real world of the movie while also standing alone as an excellent collection of music. Listing the tracks that aren't top-notch would be shorter (if not more difficult) than the stand-outs, so just click the link instead of worrying about looking it up.

Director Kathryn Bigelow hasn't made many movies that I've seen, but the ones I have, namely The Hurt Locker and Near Dark,  I've thoroughly enjoyed. I don't normally follow movies by their directors, but now that I've sat down and had time to think about it, I'm definitely going to look up more of her films. She's got a tendency to not hold back at all with emotional, impacting moments, and this movie is no different. 

Remember when we all thought this was the end of the world? God, I feel old..

The world that Bigelow built is definitely a product of its time, with a severe but charming case of schizo-tech. Good science fiction, it's said, takes one outlandish or futuristic element and builds around it, and in this case it's the SQUID headsets, that allow people to records and play back memories… from Sony MiniDiscs apparently. Memory capture and playback, but no cellphones? Madness. Then again, if our "hero" Lenny had a cellphone, the entire plot would have fallen apart.

Bigelow certainly isn't pulling her punches with the story, too, which deftly touches on themes that were highly relevant at the time: a famous black performer is executed by two LAPD officers (played perfectly by Vincent Donofrio and William Fichtner, two guys that are always playing 'that corrupt official'), and one of the girls with him was recording it on a SQUID. The evidence finds its way into Lenny's hands, and there's a mad chase that ensues to ensure the evidence isn't intercepted by crooked officials before it can be properly exposed.

Themes of loss, racism, escapism, and family are interwoven throughout the story. There's two stand-out moments in the movie that I guarantee will stay with you: an amputee living out a nice run on the beach, and the brutal murder of a character utilizing a pair of the SQUID headsets that, depending on how strong your constitution is, will either disturb or disgust you. 

 

Yes, that's Top Dollar from The Crow. And yes, I had a crush on Juliette Lewis, too.

This is also one of the most well-casted movies I've ever seen, too. It's got a few big guns in the cast -- Fiennes and Bassett are at the top of their game here -- along with some B- or C-list actors putting on uncharacteristically great performance. On paper, Ralph Fiennes is slumming it, but in reality he's working the room well both metaphorically and literally. His Lenny is gloriously sleazy around 90% of the cast, but when the veil drops, you can see the loss and sorrow in his eyes. Angela Bassett is the other one slumming it, and she has the same dual presentation, all steel and ice around most of the cast and all maternal instinct when they stop looking. Juliette Lewis is totally believable as that weird ex-girlfriend you just can't let go of, and special mention goes to Michael Wincott and Tom Sizemore's performances.

Overall, this movie is absolutely dripping with atmosphere. From the dialogue delivery to riding the absolute bleeding edge of cyberpunk sensibility, this movie will hold your attention the whole way through.  Even if the movie didn't take place on New Year's Eve, I'd still recommend watching it regardless of the time of year.

Strange Days is one of my absolute favourite movies of all time. I am genuinely hard-pressed to criticize this film in any way. It's got nearly everything you could ask for. 

What I Did On My Christmas Vacation by Salem MacGourley, age 12

Okay, okay, I had my tantrum last week. I'm better now. 

To anyone who failed #Whamageddon last week because of me, I sincerely apologize. I am never in my right mind when Christmas comes around. I'm not a holiday person to begin with, and frequently go into self-imposed exile on Christmas so I do not ruin the holidays of others.

I do have a couple of people in my life who are both stubborn enough and caring enough to disregard my wishes and let their care for me be well-known nonetheless, and to them I say thank you.

Our lovely editor Erin is one of them. The Batgirl is wonderful, thank you.

My new insurance company provided a present as well. A trip to CVS Minute Clinic was 100% covered, and the amoxicillin and ipratroprium were only $5 apiece. The sinus infection is lifting slowly but surely and despite the protestations of my digestive system's devastated flora.

I decided I'd sit down and play a Christmas game, so I played Dead Rising 4 again, and found that Capcom had mere days before added a mode with all manner of costumes based on other Capcom games from Mega Man to Street Fighter with their respective powers, and I've had a good time finishing holiday quests in Destiny 2.

Twice Upon a Time, the Doctor Who Christmas Special came on, and it was really quite good. With only a few minor cringe-inducing lines given to the First Doctor (come now, he wasn't that sexist, even by modern standards), it was exceedingly well written, performed, and produced, and was a fantastic send-off for Peter Capaldi (who is too pure for this world). Also, spoiler or not, I am happy to say that they absolutely did let Jodie crash the TARDIS, in a spectacular fashion. I was genuinely concerned they wouldn't let her do that. That gives me hope for her run.

All in all, though, it was quiet. And quiet is all I ask for these days. I hope the rest of you enjoyed your holiday as well.

The Moment: The War Nobody Remembers

     The man sits alone at the edge of a small cliffside, on a planet that shouldn't exist in a time that shouldn't be reachable. He stares, impenetrably, into the distance, the lines on his face forming caverns that travel down eyes that have seen unimaginable horrors into the grayed forests that frame his perpetually scowling mouth. He looks tired, more tired than he has with any other face. Tired enough to give up completely. To check out of the horrors of this war that he didn't want to fight, and spent so long running from when he was young and dashing. But that young and dashing romantic man is gone now, leaving a hollow weapon in his place. A weapon that has expended so much ammunition it can't possibly fire anymore.

     From observing him, you would think that he is no longer paying attention. But he hears the soft rustle of bone and silk behind him and, without turning, he acknowledges the presence approaching him.

     "You shouldn't be here. It's not safe." 

     The young woman in the bone armour does not approach any further, but instead kneels almost reverently. She bows her head slightly, averting her gaze. "My apologies, Grandfather, but there is nowhere you can go that we do not see you." 

     "I'm not your Grandfather, and I want no more part of this," he grumbles, his voice at the same time soft and piercing.

     "I petition you, on behalf of what remains of the Eleven Day Empire. I petition you, Grandfather of House P-"

     "I'm not your Grandfather," he brusquely interrupts, "and your House can go hang itself, along with the rest of them. I've no more to do with this atrocity. Perhaps it's time the universe burns itself apart. Let something better take its place."

     The girl is silent for a moment, carefully considering her next words. She's one of the last of her House, having worked in secret through the war, tracking the Grandfather's movements as he cut a swath of destruction first through machinations of mutants, then through rogue elements of his own people. "Apologies, Grandf... sir. But there's something you should know. Something you wouldn't remember. Something only few remember, those who were outside it all. Our House remembers, the Sisterhood remembers, and would probably tell you, and only you, if you were only to ask the right questions."

     He turns, the first time he has moved in quite some time, taking in the appearance of his petitioner. Her armour crafted of the bones of creatures that never existed and covered in a black cloak that seemed to move of its own accord. But most importantly, her shadow, a shadow that drifts on the ground about her as if it were a sentry, and appears to be holding a rather large dagger that she herself is not.

   "Little Cousin. What's your name?" he asks, after a long moment.

     "Cousin Talia, late of House Paradox," she answers, with a hint of sadness.

     "And Cousin Talia, late of House Paradox, you are aware that your shadow seems to be holding a machete?"

     "Yes, Gra...yes, sir. I wield the Grandfather's shadow. I am all that is left. Cousin Eliza fell in an ambush, and passed the shadow to me."

     "Why are you here, Cousin Talia? Can't you see I want to be left alone? I'm tired of being swept up in a conflict that threatens to end the very universe itself."

     "Sir, there's something you should know. Something you wouldn't remember. The enemy you face now... is there any logical way they could be a threat to your people on this scale? Your people control time itself. The more ruthless amongst you could easily go back and do that which you chose not to do so long ago. Your people are weak. They were caught unaware after a greater conflict. One with an enemy that was not only greater than what you currently face, but was far older and more powerful than even your people could begin to imagine. You were in that war, you and the renegade you count as brother. You triumphed, but at great cost to the universe. Your people were too busy rebuilding time itself from the shattered fragments that were left over when the mutants attacked. Your most powerful weapons had been expended, your most potent soldiers sacrificed. That is the only reason why they threaten you now."

     The man does not respond at first to this. He turns inward, and turns away from Cousin Talia. His eyes scan the horizon physically, but internally, he is searching his memory for inconsistencies. He meditates on his past lives... and there. In the cracks of his memories. Three. Seven. Eight. The memories feel wrong, things missing, things that couldn't happen but did. Plaster, over cracks in the wall. He pushes at the crack and... there. The prior war, the one that ended before he was on a crashing ship with a pilot that hated him for being what he was.

     "You remember, don't you? Or you remember enough." She sounds almost confident now.

     "Yes. Enough. The moment has come. No more."

     He stands up, finally, and walks back towards the blue box sitting in the distance. He stops a few feet away from Cousin Talia. "Thank you. You've given me what I need. It's time for this to end."

     Cousin Talia, if you could see past her shadow and the bone shards framing her face, might be blushing when she responds, "Grandfather, it has been my honour. Spirits protect you... and watch over you." 

    As he slips the key into the door of his box, the man turns back to Cousin Talia, whispering a barely audible thank you to her, then pausing.

     "Cousin Talia, if you truly are all that is left, then surely you should consider yourself more than a Cousin, if you are to rebuild."

     

      She nods, before fading out in a whispering, groaning noise. He enters the impossibly large space inside his box, pressing a few buttons to set the coordinates for the Homeworld, steeling himself for what is to come. 

Creamy White Supremacy

Justice has jumped the shark.

In the last few months, I've seen a green cartoon frog declared a hate symbol by the ADL and a conspiracy about a purple bird facebook sticker being touted as the next big symbol of hate.

This, though.. this takes the cake.

Milk: The creamy symbol of #WhiteSupremacy in Donald #Trump's #America https://t.co/VqlWkBsNnr pic.twitter.com/uLBp9fVK4W

— Hatewatch (@Hatewatch) February 13, 2017

@Hatewatch, of course, is run by the Southern Poverty Law Center, which has been struggling to keep itself relevant to anyone on the right of Stalin for the last decade or so, and they're linking to Mic.com, who certainly has no political bias. None at all. Whatsoever.

Their research on this is a bait thread on 4chan, in which the denizens of /b/ set a trap that involves explaining how lactose tolerance is exclusive to the white race, which is backed up by alleged neo-Nazis drinking milk during Shia Lebouf's #HeWillNotDivideUs stream, which (ironically enough) was divided first by metal barriers and then by the Museum of the Moving Image after Shia was arrested for assaulting someone on the stream. Mic even tries to link it to the Nazi officer in Inglorious Bastards and the gang from A Clockwork Orange (conveniently ignoring that the ACO gang a) had Russian influence, b) were anarchists, and c) the milk was laced with drugs).

This just makes me so tired. I'm trying so hard to write something here that doesn't just devolved into incoherent screeching, but these are voices that so many people are listening to, and they're telling us that the greatest threats to humanity involve a cartoon frog, a Facebook sticker, and dairy products.

Being only 3/4 white, I am mostly lactose-intolerant (pizza has recently been introduced into my diet, with light cheese and minimal consequences). I guess, by this logic, I am not white, am not a Nazi, and therefore am safe from punching (for the time being).

I guess what I'm trying to say here is knock it off. Stop being ridiculous. If you're going to set yourself up as an expert on extremists, then try harder to realize when you're being trolled.

Odia Dentata

Have a new Salem.
Still not smiling.

It's 12:23 am on Tuesday evening as I write this. 12 hours from now, I'll be on my way to the dentist's office. It's a new dentist, mainly because I haven't set up with a new dentist since moving to New Mexico. Or since I lived in Texas. 

Dear readers, I must make a confession: While he may be pretty and witty and... outspoken, Salem has a badly jacked-up grill. Like, "I never smile" bad. Which is just as well; I go from looking mournful and vaguely menacing to goofy when I do. Yep, my teeth are all sorts of messed up, like those of a feral dog that smoked meth. 

When I was a child, I had one of those nightmarish horror stories you read about where a dentist completely ignores “That hurts!” coming from a child and continues on blissfully with what he was doing. From the moment I left his office I was stubbornly resolute that I would not go back to the dentist, and so I didn't. My parents, bless them, were otherwise occupied; my dad worked (a LOT. The man's retired three times now, after all) and my mother was busy with my disabled sister and didn't have the energy to force me to go back to the dentist. I brushed, but flossing was a lost cause; the crowding makes it nigh-impossible to get floss between the teeth.

Besides, bad teeth run in my family. I got them from my dad, who is snaggletoothed to boot.

On the top row, my front teeth angle inwards. My incisors are diagonally in front of them, overlapping ever so slightly. My canines are enormous. The molars are mostly normal. (Mostly.) On the bottom, my front teeth are longer than they need to be. The incisors are at 45 degree angle pointing inwards and are quite large. The molars are (again) fairly normal.

I used to grind my teeth a lot as a child, so the grooves in my teeth are quite deep and the edges are quite sharp. Were I to bite you, you would know you had been bitten. After moving out on my own, I went through a few years of pretty much abject poverty, as I worked several jobs, both on- and off-the-books, without insurance. The following few years I had a job that provided insurance, but was in an abusive relationship where I caught holy hell for daring even thinking of something for myself. The following years after that were racked with alcohol first, then depression. I continued to brush for most of that time, except for a period of time during the marriage where I was genuinely afraid to ask if she'd seen my toothbrush.

I suspect I may have two cavities at this point. My right back molar tingles a little, and the top of it isn't the right colour. One of my left molars has a hole in the side. I've lost enamel from my top front teeth and incisors in about a millimeter-sized strip. I figure the best-case scenario is that I need two fillings and four crowns. Worse case, some of them may need extracting and a partial denture.

I'm not looking forward to this. There is a very large, very loud part of my mind that still considers dentistry to be a savage and barbaric practice of torture. But I'm sucking it up and I'm getting this taken care of. It will be painful. I will endure that pain. It will be expensive. I will go into debt. But it must be done.

But... to quote...

I don't want to go.

Update 4 PM Mountain time, Wednesday 16 September: My mouth hurts. So much blood.