Chapter 3. Digging up Jupiter

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The quaint little get together Jeremy envisioned earlier that day had ballooned into a seething mass of debauchery.  He was doing tequila shots in the kitchen with people he didn’t know.  The room wasn’t spinning yet, but the floor seemed to have tilted about fifteen degrees. Through a haze of hash smoke, he saw Chloe walk through the front door.

Jeremy waved to her, and she made her way through the fray toward him.  He was glad she showed up, despite the strange incident outside Hannah Hall.  He wondered if, perhaps, he had dreamed the whole thing.  After all, he could have dozed off while he was on the bench waiting for her.  He could have been in a half dream, half waking state when he saw her turn into mist, and then materialize back into flesh and bone.  That explanation suddenly seemed very plausible to him.  Occam’s Razor, he thought.  The simplest explanation is usually the best explanation.  

“Chloe, I’m sorry about . . .” he began.

“. . . Water under the bridge,” she said, and smiled radiantly.

“Wanna drink?” Jeremy asked, a bit wobbly.

“How about this one?” she said as she took the tequila shot he was holding and downed it in one big gulp.

“I didn’t know you drink tequila,” Jeremy said.

“Me either,” she said, wincing.  “You want to go somewhere?”

“Sure.  Like where?”

“You’ll see,” she said, and took his hand.

It was a cool night, and the Moon lit their way as they made the short walk to campus.  Chloe stopped at a side entrance to the Science building and produced a key card from her pocket.  She swiped it and the electronic sensor over the door handle flashed green.  She opened the door and said, “After you.”

“How’d you get a key?”

“The teaching assistant for Doctor Russel’s ‘Western Civilization class’ gave it to me.  I think he’s a bit smitten.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said.  “Smitten enough to risk getting kicked out of the grad program.”

“Come on.  Just act like you belong here and it’ll be fine.  I want to show you something.”

They walked through a labyrinth of corridors and descended a staircase. At the bottom of the stairwell there was another security door, and Chloe worked her magic with the ill-gotten key card. They entered what looked to be a warehouse entirely outfitted with gray metal shelving from floor to ceiling.  The shelves were stocked with a mishmash of crumbling pottery, rusty swords, broken spears, tarnished coins, and assorted textiles in varying states of decay.

“What is all this?” Jeremy said.

“Artifacts, I guess.  Stuff they found at archaeological sites, and they thought it was important enough to catalogue and put it in a climate controlled basement.  Here, this is what I wanted to show you,” she said, pointing to a shelf labeled M317-A43.  There was a marble bust of a bearded man with wavy hair.  The nose had crumbled away, but the overall impression was that this individual had been very handsome, and very imposing.

“He looks like a rockstar,” Jeremy observed. “Like Jim Morrison before he got pudgy.”

“Well, you’re close,” Chloe chuckled.  “That’s the Roman God, Jupiter.  They excavated it in Calamus, Algeria, which was a Roman province way back when.”

“How did the university get it?”

“It’s on loan to our anthropology department.”

Jeremy was quiet for a moment, and then said, “Do you think it’s weird?”

“Do I think what’s weird?”

“How people are born, and most of them struggle through life, and they die.  They just die, and decades and centuries and millennia go by, and we sift through the things they leave behind.  It’s just really . . . depressing.”

“I guess it is kind of depressing if you only consider the things – the physical objects we recover from the ground.  But the way I see it, these things are the manifestation of ideas.  That’s the part that can’t rust, or rot away.  Ideas resonate in their own perfectness, separate and distinct from the physical universe.”

“Wow, Chloe.  Have you been talking to my roommate, Chett?  Because that’s really way out there in outer space.”

“Well, you were the one being a buzzkill.  I was just trying to put a positive spin on it for your sake,” she said as she folded her arms.

“Chloe?”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, something apparently.”

“I . . .”

“. . . Just kiss me,” she said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2. Prone to Glitches

I’ve decided to parcel out the serial fiction in weekly installments, rather than monthly.  So far, this has been a fun little project for me.  I hope you enjoy it.

-Hawkelson

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Chapter 2. Prone to Glitches

As Jeremy walked up the stairs to his apartment, he could hear the driving bass from the stereo and smell the hash fumes.  His roommate, Chett, was already in full party mode.  Well, it is Friday, he thought.  Then again, that guy is always in full party mode.

As soon as Jeremy walked through the door, a beer can arced across the living toward his head.  He caught it reflexively.  “Thanks, Chett,” he said as he cracked the beer and chugged frantically before the foam could overflow onto the carpet.

“No problem, bro.  I could tell you were stressed before you even walked in.  You really have a stressed out vibe today.  Like, way more than usual.”

“Something insanely weird just happened to me, actually.  Did you leave some hits of acid laying around, or put magic mushrooms on the left over pizza, or anything like that?”

“No way, bro.  It’s the Matrix.  It’s been real glitchy, lately,” Chett said, and then sparked up his four-foot tall water bong.

Glitchy – the word bounced around in Jeremy’s mind.  What did Chloe say? There are glitches sometimes.

“What do you mean the Matrix is glitchy?” Jeremy demanded.

After about fifteen seconds, Chett exhaled a voluminous cloud of smoke, and said, “You know that guy?  That astrophysicist from Maryland?”

“No,” Jeremy said, a little aggravated, “I don’t know that astrophysicist from Maryland.”  Talking to Chett required the patience of Job.  He was a smart guy who could sometimes provide keen insight, if you could stay with him through all the obscure references and disjointed segues.

“Well, that guy from Maryland found out the universe is really a computer simulation.”

“And how’s he know that?”

“He was studying String Theory, and he found computer code in it.”

“What does that even mean?” Jeremy said, exasperated.

“It means we’re in a big ass computer simulation, bro.”

“And it’s prone to glitches?”

“Yeah.  Like, God, or the aliens, or whoever’s outside of the simulation needs to call their IT guy to have it debugged.”

Jeremy considered this statement for a moment, and then was seized by a fit of laughter.  It felt good to laugh like that.

“That’s what I’m talking about, bro,” Chett said. “That’s the kind of vibes you want to put out there.  Let’s have a party tonight.  It just feels like a party night, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, after he composed himself.   “Maybe just a few people.” He walked over to the fridge to grab another beer and he couldn’t help but notice Chett texting away with considerable intensity.

“Just a few people, right?” Jeremy said suspiciously.

“Yeah,” Chett said, “Give or take.”

Serial Fiction

I thought I’d try an exercise in writing serial fiction.  My objective is to get an installment out on the last Sunday of every month.  This isn’t going to be novel length –  maybe four or five installments.  I thought it would be interesting to see how a narrative develops in this format.  So far, it looks like the story is leaning toward horror, or possibly Sci Fi, or maybe some combination of the two.  I’m not quite sure how this is going to go.  Questions and comments are always welcome.

-Hawkelson

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It was not a dark and stormy night, and that was the scary part.  If it had been, Jeremy could have chalked it up to an overactive imagination brought on by watching one too many paranormal videos on Youtube.  As it turned out, it was a bright sunny day in mid autumn.  There was no doubting his senses.

He was sitting on a bench outside Hannah Hall waiting for his sort-of-girlfriend, Chloe, to finish her French exam.  He wasn’t sure if it was a date or not, but whatever it was, they were going to walk to the student union for a bite to eat.  It was hard to get a read on her.  She said she didn’t like to put labels on things, and Jeremy accepted that because she was very eccentric, and highly intelligent.  She was also smokin’ hot, so he decided to wait awhile longer to see how things would play out.

Chloe came walking out of the building at about a quarter ‘til two.  Jeremy realized she had finished her exam in fifteen minutes.  He wondered how she ended up at a mediocre state university when she clearly had Ivy League brains.  He wondered about a lot of things.  She told him her parents split up when she was a kid, and she was shuffled between grandparents, aunts, uncles, and foster homes until she was eighteen. She said she had lived just about everywhere in the country, but she didn’t think of any place as home.

Chloe descended the stone stairs, looking quite stunning.  She was tall and tan with dark hair, and blue eyes like glacial ice.  A lot of people thought she wore colored contact lenses, but that wasn’t the case.  It was just in her genes.  And in her jeans, Jeremy chuckled to himself.  He was an English major – always on the lookout for puns, especially bawdy ones.

He waved to her, and she waived back.  He had a cheesy line he was going to say to her in French: Ça t’a fait mal quand tu es tombée du ciel ? He had practiced the pronunciation for a solid half hour, and he felt like he had it down fairly well.  It translates to something like, Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?  He thought she’d get a kick out of it, or at least appreciate the effort.  But what he saw next made him forget the line.  In fact, it made him forget about his notions of reality.

Chloe began to blink on and off, as if phasing out of existence.  Then, in mid-stride, she vanished completely.  Jeremy wanted to scream out for her, but terror had crystallized in him.  He was unable to move or think.  A diffuse fog appeared in the space she had occupied.  It collected in roughly human form, and drifted toward him.  The fog seemed to gain density and opaqueness as it closed the distance, becoming less like a vapor and more like a syrupy liquid, then like sand, and finally, Chloe was restored in her entirety.

She plopped down on the bench next to him and said dramatically, “I’m so glad that exam is over.  I think I got an A, or a high B at worst.”

Jeremy’s faculties were jolted back to life, and he stood abruptly and took a big step backward.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Chloe, what just happened?”

“I finished my exam, silly.  Now we’re gonna get lunch.”

“Tell me what just happened.”

“I’m sorry, Jeremy.  You weren’t supposed to see that.  There are glitches, sometimes.”

“Tell me what just happened.  Please.”

“Don’t pry,” she said.

“They have cameras all over campus.  I’ll get the surveillance video.”

“Go home, Jeremy.  Go out with your friends tonight. Forget about this.”