Category: Uncategorized Worlds

Cecillia and the Agitated Officer

January 23rd, 2025

I put away the brevier and went out of the chapel. The liturgy of the hours were something strange at first, but now I seem to have gotten used to it. The more often I do it, the more I understood how to pray with it: You are not just singing the psalms, but you also have to listen closely to the others. Prayer is not just about saying what you want, but also about listening to what comes to your mind. What is God’s voice?

As I walked past the garden that protects the chapel from any distracted souls, I thought about prayer in singing. Or singing in prayer. It is easy to do when everyone around you does it. Maybe that is why many people are regularly visiting convents. They yearn for more, but need to re-learn how to pray. Or are they just escaping?

My meditation on prayer was interrupted by the voice of an angry officer. Well, you can’t fully escape every day life. As my curiosity took hold of me, I went to the source of this voice.

“Excuse me sister, but this is an urgent business! I need to talk to Father Phillip!” The man seemed to insist on meeting a priest. Urgently. I wonder how you could urgently need a certain priest.

He was talking with the guest sister who apparently was just doing her job: Receiving people. But she just kept shaking her head. “Officer, I told you already. Father Phillip does not want to see anyone. He even told me specifically not to bring you to him.”

“But why???” The officer’s high voice slowly turned to a quiver. “There is once again a demonic attack in the Lotus District, and Father Phillip is the only one who is allowed to exorcise!”

The sister was just shaking her head. “Father Phillip also told me about how you would tell me that there is a demonic attack in the Lotus District.”

“He even foresaw that!” The Officer dropped himself on the chair. Now, he just looked like a pouting school boy. “He knew that we would be in trouble and still went on with his ‘Spiritual Exercises’! Catholics!” He put his hands on his face, as if silently crying. “Tell me, Sister,” he then turned to his conversation partner, “did he say something else?”

“Yes,” she replied. “It is not a demon. Tell the family of the deceased to pray a rosary together, and offer two masses for the poor soul. Father Francis should be available.” Then she went on with her other tasks. She intentionally let the door to the reception open, knowing that the officer might need to take a rest for some time. I heard her light footsteps fading away as she approached and talked with the other guests of the convent.

I knew Father Phillip. He was my spiritual director until I moved away from Nethertown. Some friends of mine told me that he started helping the police handle demonic cases in their town. It was not like that when I was still there, and we suspected it was because of the rising popularity of weird rituals. My friend Paul said that he saw how those rituals call on demons without the people knowing. Kind of scary, if you ask me.

The officer was now sitting on a bench in the reception room. He looked a little lost and confused, but seemed to have calmed down from before. “Hello, Sir,” I greeted him. “I heard you say the name of Father Phillip. I was his pupil some years ago.”

“Ah, are you also one of those weird kids who dote on him?” He seemed to be fed up with Father Phillip and just letting it out on me.

I shrugged. It is not untrue that we were all a little special. We liked Father Phillip a lot. For some, he was the father figure we didn’t know we needed. “Well, I could say that.” I stretched out my hand to him. “My name is Cecillia. Nice to meet you.”

The man smiled, but he kept his answer short. “Dawson.”

We proceeded to talk about Netherworld. He told me all about the new changes that happened since the last time I was there. The police always wanted to avoid collaboration with religious institutions, but lately all kinds of scientist and other learned people seem to be less and less helpful. They also tried to keep it fair and hire several people from several institutions. Nevertheless, only Father Phillip could help them solve most of the new cases. If it weren’t for his holiness, as the shamans say, it was just because he had a calm mind. It was a nice talk with Officer Dawson, but he had to go soon after.

Days went by, and as I was wandering in the garden after the morning prayer, I heard someone call my name. I knew his voice too well. I smiled as I turned to the person greeting me. “Father Phillip! How are you?”

“Well, I just finished my retreat. Are you still being the thinker that you are? What are the new things that you heard recently?”

“Hm,” I tried to recall the past few days I spent in the convent. “There was this Officer Dawson who looked for you. A demonic attack was happening in the Lotus District. He was astonished that you knew about it. Have you gotten in touch with him yet?”

The priest nodded. “Yes, there were no complaints anymore. The family listened and did what I told Dawson to tell them.”

I got impressed, and my curiosity arose. “How did you know?”

My former spiritual director laughed. “If I may be honest, I learned some things from you, Cecillia.”

I did not reply and gave him the space to continue.

“I listened.” He patted me on the shoulder and went away.
Father Phillip and the Haunted Castle

May 29th, 2024

Once upon a time, there stood a haunted castle by the sea. People reported experiencing bizarre sensations, and sudden ominous feelings would lead some to become hysterical. Despite sending groups of policemen and shamans to investigate, their efforts yielded little success. At best, they returned with bloodshot eyes, refusing to speak until they had time to recover. The worst-affected individuals had to be carried back to the city during daylight because they were paralyzed by fear. Most eventually recovered and resumed their duties, but a few victims remained motionless since their return from the castle.

“Father Phillip,” called out little Florian, waving a newspaper that featured the latest batch of victims in another terrible mental state, “they hire shamans and policemen, but no exorcists! Don’t you want to take a look at it?”

The silence that followed was a clear sign that Florian demanded an answer. The other children played their instruments in another room, but Florian stood steadfastly in front of Father Phillip’s office. The boy never left without having his questions addressed.

Father Phillip sighed. “You know I can’t simply act on my own whenever I feel like it. Besides, if shamans are already involved, the church is often prevented from asking further questions.”

“But Father Phillip,” Florian insisted, “you can’t just sit there reading the Bible while people suffer!”

Just as the schoolboy finished his sentence, Father Phillip’s phone rang. He spoke briefly with the caller and hung up. “You’ve raised this topic at the right time, Florian. I must go now. See you.”

“Ah, Father Phillip, thank you so much for being here,” greeted the police officer when he arrived at the location he had been called to.

The Father flashed a smile and bowed slightly. “Certainly, always after the shamans burned your money. The church is indeed there for the poor, isn’t it, Dawson?”

Dawson blushed. “Well…” The officer seemed to forget where he usually placed his hands. “It appears that the church is capable of things that the shamans cannot even comprehend.”

“Ah, shamans don’t know about demons?” Father Phillip inquired.

“Nonono,” Dawson replied, emphasizing the urgency, “this demon can’t be harmed by any spell. Even the strongest incantations were repelled. What’s worse, it adapts to the situation—attack it, and it becomes more resistant.” Dawson’s explanation sounded matter-of-fact, but Father Phillip noticed his hesitation and random pauses. The police officer resembled a child trying to memorize world history rather than a seasoned professional reporting the truth.

The not-so-old priest nodded, listening intently to Dawson. He took notes as he reflected on the situation. Finally, he spoke up: “You know, Dawson, there’s one thing that all your batches did that made the demon stronger.”

Dawson flinched. He didn’t want a sermon from a priest, especially outside of mass. “What is it, Father Phillip?”

Father Phillip locked eyes with him. “Fear. You were all afraid. No wonder nothing worked against the demon. Fear is the evil’s main weapon, not those feeble spells they flaunt. Now, let’s go and take care of it.”

As Father Phillip and the police officer, Dawson, arrived at the castle, Father Phillip addressed the newest batch of recruits. He retained only those willing to pray and instructed them to hold onto their rosaries. The castle needed a regular blessing, he declared, and the demon within was not something to fear. Fear, he explained, was the evil’s main weapon, far more potent than any feeble spells the shamans displayed. With conviction, Father Phillip blessed the castle, sprinkling every room with holy water. Despite the screaming sounds that erupted when the holy water landed on the castle’s surface, Father Phillip remained steadfast, treating them as mere bird chirps. As they completed the ritual, there was no trace of the demon. The shamans, however, adamantly refused to visit the place again. They claimed it felt like being burned alive, and the brightness was so intense that they feared going blind.

Father Phillip remained an enigma. In his presence, demons that appeared as fierce as lions transformed into mere kittens. Even the strongest shamans harbored fear of him.

“See, Dawson,” Father Phillip said, patting the police officer on the shoulder, “just don’t be afraid. No demon can harm you then.”

And so, the haunted castle by the sea found peace, its malevolent spirit banished by unwavering faith and fearlessness.
To Shine

March 2nd, 2023

“Gerbe, Gerbe, look,” called Gerbo, my dearest friend. Dearest, because I do not have any other.

Gerbo waved his little paws, trying to call me into his laboratory. – Or at least the spot that he calls his laboratory. Rats are not like human beings who really know about that kind of stuff. We may be as intelligent as them, but we have other rules to live by. Besides, having to walk on four legs most of the time forces us to design our everyday things different than them. – Laboratory included.

I dipped my paws in some chemical he put in front of the laboratory fence – ‘disinfectants’, he calls them – and walked in. The place is really just a small place with bottles containing all kinds of liquids Gerbo could find. He tends to pick up everything from the sewer, saying that there is always some treasure lurking around. Though, I guess this time, he made the treasure.

“This is the biggest breakthrough I have ever done!” He almost screamed. “It can make us shine! Do you know what that would mean?”

Negative. What benefit can it give us? Being born and still living in the sewer would not invite anything that might change how humans treat us. Some deliberately trap us to release us somewhere else, only to be eaten by wild animals. Some even have the audacity to tame wild animals so that they could eat us by command. Humans are disgusting. And to shine? I doubt it would be of any help at all.

Gerbo’s spark dimmed. It seemed that my lack of understanding demotivated him a little bit. To be honest, I sometimes find him too optimistic for his own good. What good does it bring having a laboratory, anyway? – As a rat? Why can’t he just go for a rat girl and make a family or something, so that it won’t be only the two of us?

“Here just drink this,” he handed me a cup of the liquid he has been showing me. “Stay here until I say you’re fine.”

So I did. After some minutes he told me to go to the laboratory near the sewer, walk around, and return only after I made sure that some people paid attention.

I did again, exactly as my friend said. Until suddenly the human beings started picking me up, very carefully. I got to stay longer and longer with them.

But one day, I stayed too long, and the effect of the potion wore off. The human beings released me, clearly showing disappointment and disinterest. I was sad that my life didn’t change after all. They were only interested in my glowing, and not anything else. To them, I am still a sewer rat. At most an interesting one, worth observing – only when I was glowing.

After I told him about my disappointment, I asked him if he would make something that would make me glow permanently, so that I can lead a better life on the surface. In a clean place, full of clean food. Not like the sewer, where seemingly I become the bringer of death to everyone who sees me.

“Actually, I wanted to try out the chemical myself, so that I can know well what we would need on the surface. So that I could adjust my potion in a way that it would benefit us most.”

Us? So Gerbo never wanted to make my life better?

He denied, but I could not listen anymore. He claimed that he actually wanted the both of us to go to the surface as shining rats – permanently – but wanted to give me a head start to give me hope. Hope that it could change while he works on the permanent solution. Excuses!

So it was after all a selfish agenda. He just wanted the care of the human beings to himself, never cared about me. Me, who wanted change the most. What change does he want? He already has his laboratory! His stupid laboratory!

I demanded him to stop playing me and give me the permanent solution right away. He complained about me abandoning him, not caring about me, but who is really the selfish one? Go to the surface together? A new life, the both of us? Because we only have each other? Lies!

Lies!

He only wanted to piggy-back me.

He only wanted to use me.

Liar!

“Fine! Then don’t go relying on a liar! I’m gone!” Gerbo scurried away from the laboratory. His laboratory.

I decided to wait. Maybe the conversation did get too heated. We never fought like this before. Or maybe we do, but he always came back.

Well, maybe not immediately. Maybe in some hours.

Well, maybe he was so mad at me. Maybe in some days…

It has been weeks. This damn Gerbo. Suddenly leaving me, breaking his promise of bringing us both to the surface permanently. Well, who needs a fool like him, anyway? The only thing he can do is mixing random kinds of liquids!

Maybe I should try making the potion by myself. It won’t be that hard. If Gerbo could do it, why shouldn’t I?

Why shouldn’t I be able to be like Gerbo? He is dumb, anyway.

Why shouldn’t I be able to be like Gerbo? He is too passionate, anyway. Passion blinds, as you know.

I can’t do things like Gerbo. Well, he is too naïve. I can never understand his naivety. I don’t have to do things like Gerbo.

I think I messed up. I feel dizzy now.

I should be able to make things like Gerbo. After all, I was the one who saved him from that cat and let him recover.

I can’t think anymore.

I should be able to change my life…

Gerbo.
The People

February 2nd, 2023

“I can’t explain it!” Marsywa squirmed. “It’s the… The land! The ground! The soil! -Whatever! They accept any one, be it the person born on it or stranger. But the people…. The people…” She sighed. “You won’t understand. You don’t… See.”

“See what?” Broker was now even more confused. This classmate of his tried to explain how she tried to figure out something. Something about the land and people.

She shrugged. “The pain… Of feeling like you belong – and don’t, at the same time. I was trying to figure this feeling out. But it’s hard!”

Broker scratched his head. He never thought about those things. He got his parents, his siblings, his friends… Sometimes he gets into fights with them, but they always managed to talk things through in the end. Doesn’t Marsywa also have friends? Family?

The classmate frowned. “I sometimes feel like I don’t belong to them.”

“Like if you were an alien?”

She nodded. “Something like that. But the place is always welcoming. You can leave me alone somewhere, and I won’t feel scared at all because I know that the land greets and takes care of everyone equally everywhere. But the people…”

“People sometimes shun you if you don’t act like they do?” Broker started to gain confidence. Marsywa wasn’t that complicated after all: She only has some social problems!

“Yes,” she replied reluctantly. “I… I love my people. I love everyone, if I may say so. But I guess the sentiment towards my own folk is hurting me more than good.”

Broker tapped on his table. It is true that Marsywa has gotten into trouble with her kin. She claimed that she couldn’t get into the mind of “her people” anymore, but honestly he thinks that she never managed it in the first place. His classmate has a mind of her own, and the people who live in their area just happen to be more tolerable to that kind of individuality. “But maybe it’s just because they can’t keep up with you.”

Which is not something Marsywa wanted to hear. “You are saying they’re dumb?” She fell silent for a moment and sighed. It has been half an hour since they talked about it, and she began to realize how the agitation exhausted her. The girl decided to let herself sit down on the nearest chair before she continued:

“I am a child of this earth, no matter where I go, where I settle down, its land will take care of me. But the people… Not every civilization in every corner of the world will accept me for who I am.”

She sighed again.

“I guess, I just have to accept the fact that the people of the place I was born in also belong to the ones who would shun me.”

Broker still tapped the table. Looking at his classmate, he recalls all the complaints she had about people in general. Marsywa is a complainer alright, but seeing her complain about not belonging to “her people” does make it unsettling.

He had already told her many times that it were alright if she felt like she didn’t belong there. She could lead a happy life here, with people who enjoy her presence and are not bothered by her stubbornness and vocal attitude. Besides, Marsywa is more agreeable than annoying. She has helped her friends more than they together helped her. In short: Her existence here is not a bother, it’s a blessing.

“Just take a rest then Marsywa,” he then decided to say. “You have worked very hard in understanding ‘your people’, and they have disappointed you time and again. Why don’t you just take a break for now and enjoy being accepted? Maybe not by ‘your people’, but does it even matter?”

She hesitated, but shook her head afterall.

“Once you are not bitter about ‘your people’ anymore, maybe you can get a fresh start and eventually understand them. And maybe, you could finally even get along with them.” He paused to give her a chance to reply, but then continued when she only responded with silence. “As you said, sometimes it is necessary to take a step back in order to take ten forwards.”

Marsywa took a deep breath. Broker was right. Maybe she did need a break. It has all been too much for her, she has been hurt by ‘her people’ too many times. Communication is the key to any relationship, and she always gets into misunderstandings with them. Maybe a new perspective, a fresher look would help. But in order to do that, she would need a step back.

“You are right,” she then said. “The earth takes care of me, so I don’t have to worry it doing me harm. Now it is time for me to also enjoy the welcoming arms of people. Maybe not ‘my people’, but what does that even mean?” She paused for a moment. “Besides, if you guys take care of me like the earth does, doesn’t that mean that you are ‘my people’? They may be my kin, but you are the ones who keep me safe and receive me with open arms.”
Redownloaded

October 14th, 2022

2580. That is the year he said we are in. The Great Collapse three hundred years ago almost caused the loss of human civilization. That is, not only did so many people get killed by the sudden massive earthquakes, but infrastructures also got destroyed. If it were not for the clique of my husband who were frantically writing down things on paper and stored physical books – and also developing a new method of preserving information, all the survivors would have to rebuild everything from scratch. They would have to rebuild not only the people, but also re-establish the buildings, technology, knowledge that has been accumulated for thousands of years before.

People talk about The Great Collapse as if it were a thing from the past. Well, it is – in a way: It happened on 2250. But to me, it still feels like something from the distant future. In fact, this seems to be just a dream. Yesterday was still May 2063. Now it is August 2580. Am I in the future? Or has the future become present?

Jourdan looked worried. He was, in fact, worried: This was the third time he came home to pick up something he has forgotten. Jourdan would never do that if he weren’t worried. Was it my fault? Was he worried about me?

My coughs were getting worse, and I started having high fever at random times. I didn’t eat for days because I knew everything would jump out again. Jourdan started buying all different kind of things to find out what would be so kind and settle long enough for me to digest. And get strength from.

Water does not suffice. Neither anything mixed with too much water. But it was the only thing that I would not throw up again, so I tried to get by until we find something for me. Maybe we will find a cure to this strange disease even the best doctors don’t have the name of, or maybe just something that I might nibble on slowly. I said we, because we are in this together. At least you said so. Right, Jourdan?

The next few days were too blurry to me. I remember feeling weak and worried about him. Because he was worried. About me. He even said it out loud. Right, he said it when I wouldn’t even take a bite on this burger. What was it called? Captain Max’s? Jourdan said I should give it a try, maybe it will stay now. But I shook my head, too afraid of the risk of it coming out, even if I nibble on it.

Now I remember Jourdan talking about an alternative. He said he might not be able to cure my body, but he might give preserving everything else a try. Right, my husband has been working on this device for years. It was supposed to copy every information about us such that someday – when technology allows it – we might be redownloaded to the world. Jourdan’s invention is something dangerous if misused, so I would always talk about it in a lightly manner to relief him from all the stress caused by it. We were in this together, so I would never leave him alone in all the tumult between researchers and politicians. Never.

That was how I said my last “yes” to him. I will let myself be uploaded so that in the distant future, I can be redownloaded to another body. I didn’t like the thought of possessing another human being, so told him that I would be happy living in a machine, as long as I could move around like a human. As long as I don’t take over someone else’s body. I heard that even clones have their mind and souls of their owns. Maybe another genius will find something out. I think Jourdan has already done enough.

We had always joked that I better belong to the future. My own research has been too unorthodox and there was no technology that could support my theories. There were no tools to prove them. Some have tried to bridge the current knowledge to them, but all those people could do was saying that I was right. My theories were sound, but too “distant”.

The Upload was then serving me in the sense that I could hopefully make better use of my intellect instead of deteriorating in an era that was not ready for me and serving Jourdan in his research. There will be two versions of me until the first one meets its end, but they won’t get into conflict as the second will be tucked away in a cold chamber for…

517 years. That is how much I leapt. Jourdan kept his word and ensured that my wish to not possess another human can still be accessed by the people who have redownloaded me. The people have carefully designed my vessel as to make me feel like a human but remind me that I am not borrowing another body at the same time. As a result, I am still shaped the way I was just before I fell ill, but in a different, nonhuman colour. They gave me a crystal-blue like shade and I like how the designer of my new vessel chose the colour in such a way that it flatters my shape, make it not look too uncanny, but still different than a human being at the same time. If he only could see how much humanity evolved despite being setback by the Great Collapse.

Yes, the Great Collapse which caused several volcanoes in the south-east to erupt and cause years of drastic climate change along with other disasters such as tsunamis and extreme cold winters, killing millions of people in such a short time, destroying supply chains and important information networks. The Great Collapse which could only almost eradicate humanity. Almost, because some still survived and those who didn’t managed to record their wisdom in a variety of ways. The Great Collapse didn’t stop the population from evolving.

I did not expect to be redownloaded a little more than half a millennium. Neither did Jourdan. But here I am: Awed by how much the living learned from the dead, and how they now achieved the common wisdom that allows everyone to make a great step towards knowledge.

Humanity finally integrated with nature. They have developed borderless communities – not in a human-centered way – where they build things which have the ability to adapt to nature. Trees are not merely decorations anymore; they make up part of the room – of the building – I am in. I can see wild squirrels scurrying along the corridor but stay away from the lab; they somehow know which areas they may visit. This kind of world has always been something I dreamed of.

At first, I was disappointed that the Great Collapse caused a major setback to the development of things. Humanity had to take hundred steps back. But they also took it as an opportunity to not repeat the past mistakes of my previous generations. They reassessed every existing system and reused them in a way such that they will not get destroyed by natural disasters anymore.

Jourdan and I always joked that I belong better to the future. Maybe I am. I now have the opportunity to find out. Maybe I can refine my theories in this era. Maybe technology finally allows them to take shape.

As for my husband? There were no records of him after some years since my upload. It was said that the first me died some weeks after the upload due to my illness. Jourdan changed since then, but he kept working: Articles about him and his works still occur decades after his departure. Some said he died of an accident, some of sadness. Some said he found a way to transport his body to a different time-space.

No one really knew Jourdan, neither do I. But I may be the one person who knows him best, but he still proved to be a mystery sometimes. That is why I was not surprised when I heard that there was not an upload of him. Everyone believed that he was a self-centered human being, just because he was too often caught up in his own logic. But I know better: He never really joked when he said I better belong in the future. As for him, I think he thought that he better not belong here in 2580.

But he still is here. Through his work. The Great Collapse would cause a much greater loss if he didn’t gather and encourage people to preserve important things outside the Internet, outside of classic storages. After uploading me, he focused on information preservation such that everything important can be accessed even if humanity forgot its language and technology. Is such a person really self-centered?

Thinking about this, I smiled looking at my new wrist. I felt my pulse, which is no different than the pulse I had in my previous life. We have always been in this together, right, Jourdan?
Run, Miss Heavendrop

October 4th, 2022

This girl. First, she refused to dance along in the party, saying that it won’t make any changes either way; now she tries to challenge Big Boss to do the dance move only girls are supposed to do.

“I don’t see why the dance move is exclusive to women; it’s not like it depends on anything of the woman body. Don’t get started on breasts and hips: Yours are bigger than mine and some other girls in the club! The art of seduction, you say? Why, it would be nice to have men do it for a change!”

Great Velociraptor, I must get her out of that room! Or him, it doesn’t matter.

I walked in as calmly as I could and announced that Ms. Heavendrop is expected in the garden. That should do it. Now I only have to guide her to the place and try to talk some sense to her – or not. This girl… If this goes on, Big Boss might butcher her alive.

“I want out from here, Fredrik! This place stinks!”

“Well, I suppose this might be a good opportunity to leave, Miss.” I wasn’t mistaken, there was no one else in the garden, and I could have just said that she ran away with a lover or something similar. Those things happen all the time, and are never my fault.

“Do you really think it would be that easy to leave? You don’t understand!”

“Do you think it would make it easier for you to stay? I might not understand the problems you might have to face if you left, but I do know the consequences if you stayed here any longer.” I look into her eyes. This Fredrik she currently faces might seem to be a simple butler, but I had my own, unique past, just like everyone else. Now is the time to use one of those tools I have gathered over my youth. I walk up closer, raise my head just enough for her to realize how much small she is to me, and looked down on her eyes. “Big Boss will kill you sooner or later. I don’t need to list down the possible reasons for that.” State it slowly, and let silence help it sink in.

My old techniques still seem to work on people. She turned pale. Maybe it was less because of my words but more because there was finally someone who said the same thing as the little voice in her that she tried to shut up all this time. Out loud. See, that is why I left my previous life: It’s disgusting to see how people can so easily be moved and stirred.

Heavendrop doesn’t say nor do anything. She just stands there, in silence. This is enough, though, a little bit more, and she won’t leave this place. I decide to break the silence. “You have to leave on your own, though. As much as I wish to accompany you on your journey, I can’t afford to raise suspicion.”

The girl just looked up. Questions. But I don’t answer unasked questions.

Before she could even ask the first one, I shood her off. “Go, now! Run, you know where to!”

She complied, at first hesitant. But when she repeatedly saw my shooing gesture as she turned around, she finally went full power with her legs. I stayed there until I was sure that she was really gone from the complex of Big Boss. Through the woods, of course.

That girl is a smart one, she will know the next thing to do. People always stress out how much of a benefit a girl’s beauty can be, but more often I find myself disagreeing with them. Beauty is plastic: One day you have it, one day you don’t; one day you’re the goddess from Heaven, one day you’re the ugliest devil from Hell. The greatest gifts for a girl may not be beauty and elegance, but just the things that would be the greatest gifts for a boy: Intelligence, persistence, and determination.

Why are you doing this, Fredrik? I am sure that girl is dying to know the answer of it. Well, to tell you the truth, it is my very mission. Big Boss likes to exploit girls, sometimes even boys, and I like to set them free. Have you heard of the famous mechanic or the legendary female carpenter? Without me to tell them to run away from this place, you would have never known about them.

Of course, I do all of this carefully, with varying methods. I use the tools I gathered in my youth. A knife can be used to kill, or to cook, it depends on who holds it. Being a sneaky, manipulative schemer doesn’t have to mean that you are destined to be a devil’s accomplice. While others rather use their weapons to cut their own path, I use them to cut the path for others. At least the first steps of it.

But no one will know this little secret of mine. Little Miss Heavendrop is not an exception. No one may know, so I can execute my mission as effectively as possible. This girl did leave some mess though, it might be a challenge to clean things up for her. Well, I’ll manage, just like I always had. Big Boss won’t be pleased, but that’s the very reason why I stay.
Blue

September 20th, 2022

Marissa sighed. Another house must be painted blue, though she really liked the combination of green and brown that decorated its exterior. Now they also demanded the stone ornaments to be removed. Even worse, Mr. Longbeard who designed, built and lived in it never liked blue. They said he may keep the interior of his house as he pleased, but the exterior would reflect badly on the other houses which one by one turned to blue. “You do not have any privilege to get special treatment,” they explained to him when he tried to protest, “No one does. Everyone must paint their houses blue eventually. They are obliged to.”

“This is absurd!” Mr. Longbeard couldn’t hold his frustration to himself any longer. “This is absolute nonsense!” He went on rumbling and even tried to scatter the documents in the office. The guards were of course quick to act; they grabbed him on each side and dragged him back to the chair.

That was the last day anyone heard about Mr. Longbeard. Some say they finally managed to make him sign the agreement of painting the house blue, but the pressure devastated him so much that he decided to leave this place once and for all. Where and when he went, no one would tell Marissa. Maybe they didn’t know. They weren’t on good terms anyway with Mr. Longbeards, why should they know? They didn’t care, just like those blue-fanatic officers.

The Blue-Fans – as Uncle Enry would call them – were originally a harmless group of exchange students who wanted to study how each house in this place was uniquely designed to each family that lived in it but somehow still retained some kind of harmony between one and another. The houses were decorated with all kinds of color, except blue. So, the exchange students tried to convince some people to apply some blue on their houses. At first people just settled with blue flags, or blue toy figures. After some time they applied blue paint.

Which is not a problem, of course, but those who started applying blue ended up repainting their entire house in that color. This got ridiculed by the neighbors who never have had any interest in blue, but those who get ridiculed usually bite back even harder: People started making up stories to defend their love of blue. Some then got convinced, as is common in opinions; and to defend themselves against the common critique of using an unnatural color, they gang up.

Harmless opinions became harsh judgements against the opposition. Each household, one by one, got slowly pressured to use blue. Some only did it to shut up their neighbors, some repainted it only to return it back to its initial state after some time. It was now only some friends of Marissa’s parents and Uncle Enry left – Now that Mr. Longbeard also gave in.

What about the exchange students who started it all? They went, of course. They were satisfied in introducing blue to the inhabitants of this place and went back to their homeland, probably about to destroy the harmony of another place on the planet – so her uncle would sometimes say. Now the Blue-Fans were their own people, poisoned by some foreign idea. Maybe the students never meant anything bad, it was just their people who over-worship novelties. “We can never know”, her father said, “all we know is what we see right now. Which means that we have to prepare repainting our house in blue,” but that didn’t impress Marissa, “or move somewhere else, like Mr. Longbeard did,” he then quickly added.

“Moving somewhere else doesn’t guarantee us the freedom of decorating our houses as we want,” her mother added. “It’s a lose-lose situation now.” She sighed. “It’s sad, our place was really famous for the ‘harmony in chaos’ it had – before those Blue-Fans went crazy, of course. There is nothing to gain here anymore. I wonder how tourism will be in some years; an all-blue place is nothing special, so I’ve heard.” Mother always thought about business prospects and profit – although she rarely acted on it – and she claimed that tourism is where most of the income for this place came from. Without it, she would say, Marissa wouldn’t be able to go to school and read the so many different books in the library.

“I’d prefer an all-anything-but-blue place,” Father replied absent-mindedly to his wife. He seemed preoccupied by the newsletter. “Blue is simply an inefficient color. It is hard to acquire, and even if you manage to get it, you’re hurting some things. Or some people. Blue is not like yellow that you can simply get from squashing some curcumin and adding drops of harmless chemicals. Red is common in berries. Green is – “

“- common in leaves.”

“Exactly. I can’t fathom the thought of going through such a hassle only for aesthetics. I refuse blue, even if those Blue-Fans try to drown me in their color. We’re preparing to move out. Marissa, start packing the things you rarely use but would want to keep.”

“When are we going?” Marissa was surprised by her father’s decisiveness. He would usually hold a round-table to discuss things that would affect the whole household; like when he wanted to buy a new motorcycle, but they decided against it in the end, or when they didn’t know what to do with all of Grandma’s books and in the end decided to donate them to the library. But she knew this was an urgent matter. It seemed that Father read some news he didn’t like.

“Soon, but not too soon. Mother and I will take care of the arrangements, you and Leebelle start packing up the not-so-daily and not-so-urgent things; books, clothes, supplemental cooking wares… I’m sure you understand.” He folded the newsletter, stood up, and waited at the door for Mother.

But she only threw a quick glance at him. “’not too soon’, but you’re not even waiting for me to finish the dishes!”

Father only shrugged. “Let Marissa do it, she’s old and big enough for it. You’re overqualified as a dishwasher anyway. Come, hurry.”

Marissa didn’t protest though she hated doing the dishes. This was urgent, she understood. Her father wouldn’t be so commanding otherwise. She came close to her mother, who still tried to clean a big bowl they used for salad last time, and took it from her. “It’s alright, I can do it. Don’t worry.”

Her mother bit her lips. She seemed worried, but for another reason than her father. “Take care,” she whispered softly. “Is it really that urgent?” Mother then asked her husband. “Can’t we just go together? With the kids? What if -”

Marissa’s father didn’t reply, and she heard – or felt – how he gently pushed her mother outside. She could hear them talking in a low voice as they left to prepare for their move. They will come back, she tried to convince herself. We will move out. Together.

They did move out. But not with her parents. Marissa, Leebelle, Uncle Enry and his family managed to make their way out of the place. After some years the two sisters figured out that their parents made a distraction so that they could leave with Uncle Enry. What Father read in the news was a brutal warning to all families who refused to paint their houses blue. When they left Marissa to wash the dishes he decided, along with Mother, to at least open a way for the others – especially their children and Uncle Enry’s family – to escape. Mother’s calculations predicted that it would be too optimistic for them both to join their family one day. It was a calculation that Marissa wished to be wrong. But it wasn’t. And her worry that the place would collapse also didn’t miss: After the Blue-Fans managed to repaint all houses blue, the place collapsed due to the low tourism rate, which, as Mother calculated before, was its main source of income.
Masks

September 20th, 2022

You might have never heard about my place, a quite big city in the middle of nowhere – according to you. Your people might spread rumors that all cities in that nowhere are primitive and uncivilized; places that need more wisdom and knowledge from your place. Well, an intellectual exchange would be exhilarating, but I must assure you that we are not less civilized and modern as your people. We just have different ways of coping with life.

One of them is wearing masks to protect our identities. Yes, privacy really matters here, just like with your people. We are not as communal as we let outsiders think. The world is cruel in each corner of the world, and the world just has infinitely many corners. Different people would take advantage of different aspects of us, so we wear masks to hide those vulnerable aspects accordingly. We can’t depend on our kings and princes to protect us, as they too like to exploit our vulnerabilities. We usually protect the weakest parts of our faces as they are usually gates to hurt us and bring out things we would rather keep to ourselves.

Because there are many sides of evil, each of us has several masks, depending on how many exploits they are at risk in and in which intensity the dangers come. One usually has about three masks; one for malicious tribe members, one for suspicious companions, and one for the ones who hold power – but it’s hard to wear masks. It’s common to have your mask fall off occasionally, because they don’t always fit your face. But it is alright as long as you are not in a dangerous situation. People are trained to handle with exceptional care when their masks fall off. Some are more adept and comfortable with their masks, while some struggle to keep even one up.

I am one of those people who are untalented in wearing masks. People called me out because I just went around bare-faced and they tried to tell me how to carve a mask out of coconut shells. I did try picking up the kind of wood I feel most comfortable in – which are not from palm trees -, but the mask I made from it kept falling of because it was too heavy; on another occasion I tried to make one out of banana leaves – only to have them fully blown away when I put them on during a storm. Inventing my own mask turned out harder as I thought because I was too unmotivated and unimaginative for it. In the end I decided to observe masks from people around me and copy the things I thought suited me best. Then I finally got one mask I can rely on – when everyone has at least two…

Being unskilled with masks is really humiliating, especially if you can see with your own eyes how a friend constantly changes one mask to another. Well, as I am also not really good with masks, once I figure out a person’s real face, I ignore their masks completely. This friend of mine was somehow easy to figure out. Although he was said to have a thousand masks he interchanged frequently, they are quite like one and another. The disadvantage of wearing too many masks is that people who are by your side when you change them notice the things you choose to show and cover. This friend, for example, likes to cover his mouth and let his ear open. He invented a device to change his voice too, so no one really knows his real voice if they don’t pay close attention to it. He has a mask that exploits his mouth and covers his eyes, which he uses seldomly.

People warned me about him because of the many masks he has. Sure, you need some masks in order to protect yourself, but what he got was too excessive. I thought, since I already knew his true face on an occasion where he let it fall off, he trusted me enough for me to trust him. I ignored the warnings and held on to my trust. I let our friendship grow to something more, as I thought I already knew what I needed to know to take the next step.

Others always praised my eyes but said I should better protect my mouth as it is weak and can be used against me. Better to cover my ears too, as I was overly sensitive to sound, which could also be used to attack me. So, the one mask I went for is a simple half-face which I can just let hang on my ears. I ended up using coconut shells after all because it was solid but not too heavy. The texture also let out a less menacing look than my previous masks.

But who thought that a trusted person would attack the things you got praised the most? My strength to see things as they are was turned to weakness when the dear friend who I thought I could trust and love said that my vision was distorted. One day, I was pretty sure that the blueprint he drew for our future home was disproportional and pointed it out to him.

“Tell me, what do you know about blueprints?” He liked to challenge me, so I didn’t mind his endeavor to protect his ego.

“Well, I don’t need to know anything about blueprints to say that the bathroom is disturbingly larger than the living room.”

“No, it isn’t. See, your vision hasn’t recovered since the bamboo leaves hurt your eyes.”

“But –,” There came the stabbing feeling. The bamboo leaves did blur my vision badly back then, but things had become clearer to the point that the blurriness does not contribute to the perception of space.

“You don’t trust me, do you? The blueprint is just as good as it can be. Why can’t you just leave things to me when you know that you still need time to recover?”

“It’s not – That’s why I was trying so hard to treat and rest my eyes properly, so that I can help you build the blueprint – at least give you some input.”

“How long do you want to keep up that treatment? You said your eyes would get better soon, but it has been too long. Can’t you just accept that this is just how you are?”

My vision only became blurrier. The stabbing feeling hurt even more, so I retreated to my current home to sort things out in my mind. It is a little far off from the others and rather suits the description of a nest than a house. But it is where I can think the clearest, away from all the pressure of having to wear a mask and being monitored by a thousand eyes to ensure I act accordingly and appropriately to each encounter.

Then came flashes of memories into my mind. A suspicion rose. I thought that the bare face of my then-lover was his true face. But isn’t our own skin also a kind of mask? To protect our muscles from the dangers of nature? Or is it there to protect something else?

The realization shocked me, so I secluded myself and let myself time to go about exploring other places. That was when we met, and I started to learn about your people. I got even more shocked by another realization: Your people don’t need masks, because you don’t have to worry about other people exploiting parts of your face to their advantage. Hurting others is not a norm: People with sensitive ears have places where they don’t have to worry about hearing screeching noises and other sounds that may make them bleed, people with a weak mouth get supported and are let live because it doesn’t really bother anyone. It is relatively safer to the point that wearing masks is just not necessary.

Yet it is mistaken to say that your place is totally void of masks. Your people might not need to carve masks from coconut shells or collect banana and papaya leaves to weave one, but the need to protect oneself is still there. People from my place are so busy protecting their faces – their body – that they neglect their souls and those of others. Your people don’t have that need or even obsession, but evil lurks in every corner of the world, and in your place, it sees no other option than to hurt the soul. It is global wisdom that the body is a vessel of one’s soul, so you also use said vessel to protect it. In your place, your face is already your mask.

Does it mean that my then-lover not only tried to mask his face, but also his soul? Does it mean that although I knew his face, he never let me know his soul? Where I came from, once you know one’s face it is easy to know their souls, but he really was a tricky one – if I may be honest. A mask may fall off occasionally, does it mean that his rudeness about my vision was a moment where his soul leaked out? If yes, then I am glad that I went. I can’t imagine going back and being ashamed of my unskillfulness with masks and expecting to see other people who use them excessively. A man with a million carved masks is desperate in the place I used to live in, but a man who in addition masks his soul with his face is a pathetic person in both worlds, yours and mine.