Flash Fiction: To Be Truly Alone

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It's been awhile since I posted original fiction, so I thought it would be fun to reflect back on a piece that I wrote for a flash fiction (fewer than 1000 words) contest back in 2018. It's a first foray into action and science-fiction for me, and certainly stretched my comfort zone. 

My intent was to highlight and speak to the sheer vastness of the Universe, and particularly how small humanity can feel in that context. Not only is the Universe vast and presumably empty, but humanity is the only intelligent species that we are aware of to date. Whether – or perhaps, when – we encounter another civilization, what will that mean for us? What will it do to our psyche? And what will it mean to be human in that new context? 

These themes are all too lengthy to fully flesh out in fewer than 1000 words, of course, but they are themes that I hope this piece at least touches on – with some fast-paced action driving the narrative. Below is a brief synopsis introducing the story, followed by the story itself. I had a blast writing it, and the process made me want to pick up an HG Wells novel and do a deep-dive into classic sci-fi (The Time Machine and The Island of Dr. Moreau are probably my two favorites of his). Hopefully it will provide the same impetus for you.

Synopsis: The two sides had been friendly for many years, but when one turns suddenly violent and takes captive an unarmed individual, her only remaining recourse is to make a desperate attempt to free herself and find out what else her captors are planning, before it is too late.

→To Be Truly Alone 

The bucolic dream melted away, the rolling green hills replaced by stainless steel walls, cold to the touch and colder in their sterility. Paisley flexed her fingers, struggling to regain control of herself. She looked to the bruises dotting her arms, examined a still bleeding gash in her leg. She could only imagine what her face must look like. 

They had never been violent before. Something must have changed, spurred them on; either that or they were incredible at playing the long con. She didn’t intend on waiting around to find out what they wanted, or perhaps had already taken.

Setting to work, she looked to the opposite wall, as she remembered that it was a one-way mirror. Paisley knew her captors were impressionable, so she stared into her own reflection, hoping one of them was manning the booth hidden behind. Within a few seconds, she crumpled to the floor. She lay motionless, listening hard. Sure enough, the door clicked open, and one of them crept in, reaching its grey, scabbed hand forth to feel for her pulse. At its touch, Paisley grabbed it by the wrist and rolled it into a choke maneuver, making the most of her size advantage.

“Where am I?” she hissed into its lone ear. “Don’t!” She grabbed the stun prod from its flailing hands and took the keycard dangling from its belt. The body in her grasp went limp, the trachea of its thin neck crushed. “Dammit.”

Paisley briefly wondered if she might feel remorse later; no time for it now. The keycard let her into the observation deck behind the mirror, where she frantically searched for clues as to her whereabouts. Shoving the card into the nearest terminal, its screen lit up on the home page. “Welcome to Reynolds Embassy 2117 – Europa Station. Enter login credentials.”

Shit. Her captors were using their embassy orbiting a human outpost to hold her. They must have staged a coup. It would only be a matter of time before they mobilized to target earth, if they hadn’t already. She drug the limp body of the guard into the booth and used its palmprint to gain access to the system. A quick search of the mainframe confirmed her fears. She had to move fast: It would only be a matter of minutes before they realized she’d escaped the holding room. 

Gathering up the keycard and prod, she shuffled out of the booth and into the hallway, searching for a medical wing. If she didn’t get the prodigious bleeding from her leg stopped, she wouldn’t get far. Voices around the corner. Paisley tried the keycard at the nearest door and slipped inside. 

It was dark and smelled of cleaning products. She searched the cleaning cart with fumbling fingers and came across a mending kit. Not exactly prime first aid, but it would have to do. Trembling, she withdrew a needle and threaded it, plunged it into her thigh, and worked quickly to stitch together her leg. Tears flowed unbidden from her eyes. Fatigued, Paisley struggled to piece together her situation. 

They had drawn blood from her, of that she was certain. The gash and bruises? Testing her healing response, likely. Then it hit her: they lacked white blood cells. That would explain the scabbed over skin. Wounds could never heal properly because of constant risk of infection. A final genetic modification they wished to make before engaging in intergalactic war. She had to get this information out to her side.

Easing the door open, she made her way down the hall, looking for a breathing apparatus. Her suit would have been incinerated, or locked up, at least. She prayed that it was only locked up. Using the darkness to her advantage, she picked her way past several open doors toward the end of the corridor. Supply room. Excellent. 

Once inside, she was elated to find her suit still intact. She pulled it on and fitted the helmet on snugly, attaching an extra oxygen cannister to her belt. Her best hope was to make it to open space and activate her beacon. Then it would be a race for humanity to recover her body first.

Hideous alarm sirens let her know that they had discovered her escape. Time to move. Extending the telescoping stun prod, she made her way back into the hall. She had 100 yards to go, and three armored individuals were already running at her. She parried a thrust of a stun prod from the first, using its momentum to shove it in the back and send it flailing behind her. The second vaulted off the wall, aiming for her head. Paisley dropped to her knees, sliding below its attack along the smooth floor. She sprung to her feet and kept running. The third combatant stood resolutely in front of her. Wrong move, she thought. She hit it square in the chest like a jouster, sending it flying the opposite direction.

Small as they were, she knew their true advantages lay in intellectual prowess, sheer numbers, and a certain disregard for human ethics. She had to make it out alive and warn humanity. Reaching the exit, she thrust the guard’s keycard into the slot. Nothing. It required two-factor authentication. Panicking, spurred on by the footsteps of a multitude of them just around the corner, she ran to retrieve the card off the body of her nearest dispatched opponent, ignoring the sharp pain in her leg.

With a thrill she watched them barreling down the hall, headed straight for her. Paisley sprinted back to the door. Reaching to her wrist controls, she calmly switched on her beacon.

She was afraid, certainly, but also disappointed. Decades ago, humanity had come to know that they weren’t alone in the universe. But in a way they were still alone, of this much she was certain. With nary a glance back, she pushed the second keycard into the airlock, watched the doors slide open, and launched herself into the void.

What Action Looks Like, or Why We Don't Do Anything Anymore

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Let's talk about language. This necessarily requires a disclaimer: I'm not an English major, I studied engineering and climatology. However, it's not so much the intricacies and structural aspects of language that I'm after. Rather, I want to talk about the proliferation of our use of nouns as verbs, a process known as verbification. (And yes, I fully appreciate the irony of the word "verb" being turned into a verb.)

I'm not a Luddite of language. Language changes and evolves over time, often in helpful ways. Words come and go, get adapted to our changing needs, fall out of use to promote a more just society, and so forth.

But sometimes changes in our language indicate something else is going on. Language reflects culture at large, and in this current cultural moment, perhaps we are "verb-ifying" our language because we don't actually do anything anymore. The verbification of the word becomes a stand in for the action itself.

The cascade began with "texting" and "google-ing." These uses streamlined our language and made a fundamental sort of sense. It is much more fluid to say that you "googled" something, rather than to wade through the unwieldy construction of "I conducted a google search," or "I searched for it on google." (I am omitting capitalization to reflect the use of google to refer to online search in general, rather than the specific use of the Google platform. See how language reflects our larger culture?)

But the story now is changing. Adulting. A new way to Chipotle. Dialogued. Venmo me. Summer safely. This is how you money. For the most part, these new verbifications seem to fall into the realm of cheeky taglines, clever marketing, relatable phrases that will stand out in the ever-expanding competition for our attention. In fact, the first link of Google search (as of this writing) turns up an article citing the (dubious) claim that our attention spans are shrinking and the subsequent challenges that alleged phenomenon poses for marketers. I would argue instead that we are still able to sustain attention just fine, but that there are ever more competing claims being made on our scarce attention. 

Enter in the verbification of words. In a world where competition for attention is being ramped up, individuals seek ways to distinguish themselves from the crowd and companies seek ways to better engage with potential customers. It's done in the name of individualism, being a trend-setter, or being cute. But really, it's just sad.

Follow me. Ok, I get it. Follow is actually a verb. Jesus even exhorted people to follow him. But Jesus's invitation entailed actually doing something. Now? Just a click or a tap. And you've "done" it. And herein lies the problem for modernity. A search of verbified words turns up several webpages guiding one in the practice or explaining its history; other search results offer an indictment of the practice. I, however, want to examine instead what the practice says about us from a broader standpoint.

Much has been written about how much activity – and rest – was involved in a standard day for our ancient hunter-gatherer ancestors, notably by Yuval Noah Harari in Sapiens. Movement and action were indelible parts of the hunter-gatherer's day. If one didn't move, one didn't eat or survive. 

Contrast this with our modern day experience where one needn't leave the house for days on end. Food, groceries, gadgets and items from Amazon and the like, and all manner of things can be ordered and then delivered right to our doors with only a few keystrokes on our part. This is undoubtedly helpful when we're sick and need or ought to stay in; it is not my intention to demonize modern conveniences. 

But beyond those rare circumstances, it is simply a form of luxurious convenience that allows us to reap rewards without consideration for the true cost of our lack of action. Inaction is not quite the right term to describe this phenomenon since an outcome is actually being produced, so let's instead call it "un-action." Such un-action results in isolation from others, treats the underpaid people involved in the delivery industry with indifference at best and contempt at worst, has a negative impact on the environment, and requires no meaningful effort. There can be no sense of accomplishment when one has, in fact, not actually done anything. Even for those of us in white collar professions, most of our day is spent clicking, typing, and moving virtual objects about on a screen. 

There is a counterculture, however, that would have us take back our sense of accomplishment, and a long list of articles examining the joy and mental health benefits of the flow state that can be achieved while working at a self-determined physical task. From Shop Class as Soulcraft to the classic Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, we humans seem to know intuitively that joy awaits us when we are allowed self-determinacy and when we work with our hands. The human body evolved to move, and we are denying our bodies a core part of being when we cease to do physical things. 

I think that we sense – subconsciously, at least – that action is missing from our lives. So we create it with our language. We verbify words and allow ourselves to be sucked into the digital vortex and we convince ourselves that we are ok with it. Our capitalist system then embraces the trend and jumps on board with verbified advertising, as with the Chipotle example above (not to mention countless others). 

But what if we could push back? Set down the phone; walk to the store; interact with other people; cook at home; garden; make something; do art; go for a run; find rejuvenation for your body and mind through movement. It will take a conscious effort, but it just might be necessary. Better yet, it just might be an action worth taking.