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.

Stories of the Nature of Cities

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What follows is a flash fiction story that I wrote for a project called "Stories of the Nature of Cities," with a vision of what cities will look like in the year 2099. The focus of the project is, of course, on transdisciplinary thinking and efforts to make for a more connected and greener city. More about the project can be found on The Nature of Cities website. 

Whether the global pandemic of 2020 casts any doubt on the viability of cities is undoubtedly a concern, but it seems that that is where further innovation can come into play to make cities feel safe to the masses and allow them to continue to thrive. Density, previously a key selling point of cities, is naturally considered less than ideal in the midst of a pandemic. But, one could argue, perhaps it is also this same proximity that has allowed us to build the institutions that we have that have led to the relatively quick rollout of a vaccine. 

Cities are, without a doubt, hubs of innovation. But in the following flash fiction story, I focus on a simpler version of a city. One that is smaller, and based on communal cooperation and mutual care and trust. A community and society that promotes the common good, while maintaining concern for the individual, is one we can all get behind. The fictional story that follows is one that I feel epitomizes the type and quality of life we aim to promote here at Deliberately Aimless. Welcome to the notion of SimpliCity, otherwise known as Peace River.

→Peace River

Diana watched from under her visor as the green leaves fluttered in the breeze above her. She took a spade from the wheelbarrow next to her, relishing the feeling of its wooden handle in her grasp. This tool allowed her to cultivate both her own food as well as an intimate relationship with the natural world, an experience she realized she shouldn’t take for granted. It was only a short while ago that people had little contact with nature; a sizeable portion still didn’t. In humanity’s quest to eliminate hardship and effort, it had unwittingly removed purpose from life. As Diana saw it, many in the mid-century period became shells of their former selves, having no physical concerns, and thereby no connection to their bodies, to nature, to each other.

But things were changing. On the eve of the 22^nd century, there was a movement by a significant portion of the population to re-establish the small town, to leave behind the concrete jungle, the overcrowding, and the desultory life. Many would choose to stay in the still-growing cities, for the convenience; others desired something more: to know Mother Nature.

With this aim in mind, Diana had moved to Peace River, high on the Canadian prairie, a year ago. When she arrived, she hadn’t witnessed a utopia in action; pursuit of utopia had made the megacities what they were. Neither were these remote communities communist. They still operated under capitalist principles, but not the capitalism that you and I know. Currency existed and people held occupations, sure, but interest was not earned on loans and wealth was not created simply by manipulating markets. The towns operated under the not so radical idea put forth by Solomon in Proverbs, that “dishonest money dwindles away, but he who gathers money little by little makes it grow.” In fact, this described much of the outlook of how the town operated as a whole, not just as pertains to commerce. Nature, too, was something to be used little by little, as needed, but not without tender care.

Diana had found employment as a journalist, covering the goings-on in the town of about 7,000. She enjoyed riding her bicycle to her appointments, the global warming of the past century having made the winters of the northern prairies more tolerable. Most of the town’s residents commuted by bicycle, much as the Dutch had used to do before rising seas had forced many of their number into the megacities. Life moved at a slower pace in Peace River, and the residents subsequently found themselves without regular need of automobiles. A train line ran once daily to Edmonton, and a city-subsidized rental facility allowed residents to rent autonomous cars on an as-needed basis.

Digging the nose of the spade into the soil, Diana upturned a small amount and deposited the potato tuber, covering it back over. She trenched a line about thirty feet long, and continued planting about every twelve inches. Finishing, she tossed the spade into the wheelbarrow and pumped some water from the nearby well into her bottle, savoring the fresh taste as she drank it down. Northern Alberta had outlawed the use of pesticides nearly eighty years before, and all cities had moved to grey water systems, to reduce the amount of waste entering streams. In that time, the groundwater tables had begun to recover, in terms of both quality and quantity. The installation of bio-swales and permeable pavement throughout town had also helped with the infiltration of rainwater and snowmelt, intercepting portions of it before it could runoff into the river, where it would become “lost” due to salinity when it entered the sea, until such time that it precipitated over land again.

Which reminded her that she needed to meet Tom back at the house to have him check the pressure in her front room radiator. She walked round to the front just as he was riding up. He leaned his bicycle against her wire fence, and she led him inside. A socialite, Tom explained as he set to work. “I see you have the newer units with the gridded folds to maximize surface area. That helps with efficiency. So what seems to be the problem?”

“It’s been emitting a high-pitched sound when it runs. I’m worried about the pressure since we run recycled water through them these days.”

“Understandable, don’t want to have that sort of mess to clean up. Again, it’s more efficient to run re-used water through, but I understand the concern.” Tom made quick work of it, replacing a fitting and O-ring, and was soon on his way.

“Thanks, what do I owe you?” Diana asked as he headed down the steps.

“Nothing, it’s part of your community fees. The city, which is to say the people, take responsibility for all municipal water services, even into the house. Have a good evening.”

Diana liked Peace River. It was small enough that she could know people and be known. Yet it wasn’t a cult; no one was forcing her to be there. Should she ever desire to return to the hustle and bustle of the megacities, she could. It was just last week she had visited her brother in Calgary. And, in fact, she still held investments in some of the larger companies of the world at large; ties and communications still very much existed to the so-called “outside world.” But at the moment, she found it difficult to envision a scenario in which she would return to that world. The pace of life in Peace River was slower, the people friendlier, her career less stressful, and the town better connected with the lifeblood of humanity, which is to say, nature. Diana had rediscovered the joys of physical nature, better understood her own nature, and felt a peace and connectedness which she knew gave life to her body and to the world.