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A quote: “Don’t ask for guarantees. And don’t look to be saved in any one thing, person, machine, or library. Do your own bit of saving, and if you drown, at least die knowing you were heading for shore.” ~~ Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451
I’ll start with a story …
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I sleep on grandma’s couch, getting up anytime I hear her cough. I bring her broth, mop her forehead. When she finally falls asleep again, I explore the tiny apartment.
I found the portfolio under a loose board on the closet floor. Sketches, studies & watercolors of delicacy and purpose. Clear, gorgeous …
… and dangerous.
I feel an edge of panic even as I feast upon the emotions these images stir. Nothing left in our public museums resemble them, nothing in our art schools would allow them.
Food is free but you need a license to purchase paper and pencils.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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. featured image, cropped, Adobe Stock standard license.
Diane says: I consistently feel shivers of unease, dread, anxiety & a whole host of other emotions after reading your thought provoking Friday fiction! I love it! Please keep up the great work.
Navig8r says: Woozy but waking up. Or dreaming? Mouth dry as paper. Memory fragments. Angry people. Ski masks. Blindfold. Rough van ride. Few time clues. Several meals from the ski mask people. Then a needle. Head clearing a little. No windows. Basement? Feels weird down there. A diaper? It’s full. Doesn’t look fresh. Partly dried out. Tunnel vision. Still the drugs? Dehydration? Both? Kidnappers must have been gone for quite a while. Coming back? Captured? Killed? Better get out while I can. I stagger. The cart works for a walker. Stairs will be a challenge if I can even find them.
Cameron says: “How have you escaped notice for so long?” he asked.
“Easy,” I said. “Put a bunch of signs that say ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ on the doors and we can move around the city. And if you’re thinking about reporting us, we have more hidey-holes than this.”
“I wouldn’t-”
“No, because you know what would happen.” I opened the door and showed him inside. “You want to know what guides us?” I handed him a piece of paper. “Read.”
The man’s eyes widened in horror. The Constitution was a Forbidden Document but I had a copy. And he began to understand.
When I was a kid growing up, the library was full of books about space. Heinlein’s juveniles, along with Silverberg, Elam and various lesser lights. And of course plenty of non-fiction about the Moon landings, which I read as much as the science fiction. I even dreamed about living and working in a moonbase when I grew up.
As time went by, those books disappeared. The science books were “dated,” the librarians said, and “that Buck Rogers stuff” was nothing but escapist trash, a waste of time better spent reading realistic stories about children making friends and solving real problems. By the time my kids were that age, you’d think we’d never gone beyond Low Earth Orbit, let alone dreamed of settling the Moon and exploring Mars.
But I hadn’t forgotten. Every time I saw one of the old books in a garage sale or a library dumpster, I’d snatch it up and save it. Now I wait until the kids are old enough to understand this isn’t something they go blabbing about to their friends, that it’s our special secret, just between us.
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