Re: Your Brains

 Wowee, it's been a while since I posted here. At work, we've organized a little #writers-retreat Slack room where some of us have been posting our work and writing challenges. This week, I posted a writing challenge for everyone. Some of you might be familiar with Chuck Wendig and his Flash Fiction Friday challenges. I did this one a few years ago, hit that shuffle button on your favorite music player/app and whatever song you land on is the title for your story. So, I did that again today and got "Re: Your Brains" by Jonathan Coulton. So, here goes!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I sat down at my desk and saw a memo on it and picked it up. I chuckled a bit as I saw the memo was titled, “Re: Your Brains” like that old Jonathan Coulton song. Man, my dad loved that song. It did seem like a strange title for a memo, though. Then, as I read the memo, I had the weirdest sense of deja vu. I felt like I had read this same memo before, though I didn’t know how that could be possible.

I glanced across the aisle to where my coworker Kyle was sitting. He saw me looking and smiled and waved. I saw a piece of paper sitting on his desk that I assumed was the same memo, but it didn't seem as if he'd read it. If he had, he would probably have been as freaked out as I was. It was a weird memo to say the least. Well, maybe he wouldn’t freak out. Kyle was nice, but a little vapid. I’m actually not sure how he got a job at a think tank. Now that I think about it, it was probably nepotism. To be honest, I didn’t know Kyle that well. I awkwardly waved back to him.

As I’ve hinted at, I work at a think tank for one of the biggest neurological research hospitals. You see and hear some weird stuff at these types of companies. For example, just last week, a headless chicken ran down the aisle between Kyle and my cubes. There are still blood stains on the carpet from where the neurologist tackled the chicken right outside of my cube. They're replacing the carpet next week. I don’t know what happened to the chicken afterwards.

Even at a neurological think tank, you don't ever expect to get a memo titled, "Re: Your Brains" and even if you did, you wouldn’t expect to have it tell you that your company has been given legal rights over your brains when you die. The memo was unclear as to what claims the company had to the other parts of your body, but it was hard to focus on that bit at the moment.

How does a company get legal claims on someone's brain matter you might ask? Well, being a neurological research think tank, the researchers need a lot of brains to study, both alive and dead. I've done some of the studies, the living ones obviously. They pay you a bit extra and all you really have to do is wear ridiculous contraptions on your head while they ask you all sorts of random, off the wall questions. It’s kind of boring, but the extra money is nice. I used it to lease a new car. It’s blue, I think. That’s funny, I can’t seem to remember what color my car is. Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s blue. Or maybe green? Anyway, I had to get a hard top because they were out of convertibles, but it’s only a two year lease, so I’ll get a convertible when the lease runs out.

I'm getting off track, sorry. The point is, they need lots of brains and supplies are limited, especially for dead brains. Apparently not everyone wants people to experiment on their brains after they die. I know that I wouldn’t want that. Sure, harvest my organs to save some lives and whatnot, but my brain is not going into some lab when I die. Who knows what kind of inhumane experiments these scientists have concocted.

So, supplies were an issue and when some lawyers for the company found that out, they thought it would be a slam dunk to get the government to award the company the employees’ brains for use in their experiments after they die. Apparently, some numbskulls in the government thought that anyone working for a "think tank" ought to have known that having their brains harvested when they die was a known risk when taking the job. I can tell you that I never had that thought cross my mind when I took the job. Given a few months and probably millions of dollars, it's now codified into law. Representative government at work, folks.

Anyway, back to the deja vu for a minute. I have the feeling that this has definitely happened before, but I don't know how that's possible since the law was just passed last week. It was last week, right? Yeah, it was last week, the law passed on the same day that I bought my red car, September 18th, 2034.

I idly glanced at the calendar on my computer and saw that it said November 11th, 2037. That is weird because the memo in my hand dated September 25th, 2034. How could it have been three years since the law was passed? No, my computer must be wrong somehow. I got a two year lease on my orange car and it’s sitting out there in the parking lot right now, I just drove it into work this morning. I remember because I had to have the top up because it was raining pretty hard. I can barely see the windows from my cube, but I do see that the sun is shining. I thought it was supposed to rain all day.

I shrugged to myself as I glanced over to Kyle again and saw that his smile was empty and hollow and he seemed to sit as still as a statue. Then I saw that the blood on the carpet from the headless chicken was gone. Something about this whole situation was off. I dropped the memo on the ground as I jumped out of my chair to go over to his cube to shake him out of his stupor. Just as I was about to leave my cube, I heard a terrible grinding sound.

I looked up to the ceiling and watched with horror and amazement as it began to slowly melt towards me. I screamed and the world lost focus for a moment, and then…

I sat down at my desk and saw a memo on it and picked it up. I chuckled a bit as I saw the memo was titled, “Re: Your Brains” like that old Jonathan Coulton song. Man, my mom loved that song. It did seem like a strange title for a memo, though. Then, as I read the memo, I had the weirdest sense of deja vu.

Story: Geology Addiction

Today's story is another one of Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenges.  I started writing this on Friday, but got stuck on the ending.  I finished it up this morning and it ended up being 998 words, just shy of the 1000 word limit.

The trick of this challenge was to randomly select a word from three sets of words that he provided.  I first got Dystopian, which I liked a lot.  Then I got Geology.  That one stumped me quite a bit, at first.  Finally, I got Addiction.  That I was all right with.  I hope you like the results.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Carl could still hear the sounds of voices and motorcycles outside of the dumpster he was hiding in.  Two of the members of the Federal Protection Force had already opened the lid and hadn't spotted him, so he was sure they wouldn't find him today.  Of course, they have been searching for him for over an hour, so they were being admirably persistent.  If you could admire anyone in that organization.

He reflected on how he'd gotten into this situation.  Everyone knew that practicing any sort of earth science was against the law, but Carl couldn't help himself.  He was addicted to geology.  He found it fascinating how the Earth worked and how different minerals were formed.  Living in the Hawaiian Federation would have been a geologist's dream, if you could have been one in the modern world.  He'd gotten careless and went out to Mauna Kea three times this week and had finally been spotted by a patrol.  They'd chased him, but he'd made it to his motorcycle and gotten to Hilo before they could catch him. It was too close of a call, he'd have to be more careful next time.

It struck him, not for the first time, that the government's ban against the earth sciences was an unfair and old fashioned idea.  History wasn't his strong suit, but it had been over one hundred years since the ecological disasters of the early twenty-first century.  People who studied the earth wouldn't make the same mistakes as their counterparts from the century before, would they?

How anyone studying the earth sciences had even caused the disasters in the first place still confused him.  Of course, he was only an amateur scientist, so perhaps he didn't have the insight that his predecessors had.  Before, he'd always assumed that the government had everyone's best interests at heart about this since the laws were enacted during the height of the crises, but now he was doubting that more every day.

Things weren't all bad, though.  News agencies were starting to report that the environment was improving around the world and that people would likely be able to return to the large continents within his lifetime.  It made him wonder what it was like to live on a large landmass.  To have the freedom to roam.  To be somewhere where you knew that there wasn't another human being within kilometers of you.  People were so crowded in Hawaii that you couldn't be alone unless you went up to the volcanoes.  That was part of the appeal of geology to Carl.

Carl realized that the sounds of the patrols had gone away.  Cautiously, he uncovered himself from the trash around him and slowly lifted the lid of the dumpster.  He breathed a sigh of relief, not to mention fresh air, when he saw that the coast was clear.  He crawled out of the dumpster and headed home.

He managed to get home without encountering another patrol, which was good since he was out past curfew.  When he entered his house, he found his wife waiting for him.  She looked angry.  "You were out at the volcano again, weren't you?"  She sniffed him and said, "You almost got caught this time too, didn't you?"

Carl sheepishly replied, "Yes to both questions.  I got away though and hid my bike on the west side of town.  It should be fine until we can go get it in the morning."

Marsha's expression didn't change.  "Did you at least remove the plates?  Or should I be expecting them to break through the door at any moment?"

"No to worry, my dear, we're safe in that regard," he replied.  "If you don't mind, I'd like to remove these smelly clothes and have a shower."

Carl started to step around his wife when he heard the sounds of engines outside.  He froze in a panic as the front door flew in with four Federals right behind it, guns first.  Two of them grabbed Carl, the third pushed Marsha back with his gun at her head and the fourth put a cowl over Carl's head as the first two bound his hands behind his back.

He was pushed outside and into a vehicle before he could say anything.  "What's going on?  Where are you taking me?"

A gruff voice said, "Shut up.  You've violated Federal Laws and will be punished.  Speak again at your own peril."

Carl didn't know what that meant, but everyone heard stories about people who went into Federal custody.  They typically didn't come back.  He was forced to bide his time and see what would happen, since there wasn't much he could do anyway.

After what seemed like hours, the vehicle stopped.  Carl was pulled out of the vehicle and pushed around for a while until he was pushed into a chair.  The cowl was pulled off of his head and he blinked against the bright light that was shining in his face.  A few moments later, his eyes adjusted somewhat.  He sensed, rather than saw, two figures on the other side of the light.  "What's this all about?" he asked.

"Mr. Walters, you've been caught practicing forbidden sciences.  We've found your motorcycle laden with ill-gotten volcanic rock and our search team has found the geology lab you've been hiding in your home," one of the voices said.

The other voice said, "You know that practicing geology is a crime in the Hawaiian Federation.  You are guilty of this crime.  Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"I haven't done anything wrong.  Science helps us understand the Earth better.  Maybe if people had understood the Earth better, we wouldn't have had the..."

Carl suddenly felt an intense pain in his chest and looked down to see the end of a blade sticking out of it.  A man walked around from behind him.  As Carl died, he heard, "You were too smart for your own good, Carl.  Can't have those ideas floating around."

Story a Week 11 - Dead End Job

This is the next story for my Story a Week project. This week, I was trying something a little different. I'm very comfortable writing in Science Fiction and Fantasy settings, mostly because that's what I read the most. This week, I tried writing something outside of my comfort zone and I think that I learned a lot about my writing process by doing so. That is also why this week's story is a day late, it took me longer to write this one than any of the others.

Let me know what you think! I am planning a non-fiction, normal, blog post for either this week, or next, so check back later for that.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rick Branson walked down the aisle of the plane. He found his aisle seat near the rear of the plane and sat down. The flight from Atlanta to Barcelona would be long, but when he bought the ticket two hours ago, the seat next to his was not assigned, so he could try to lay down when it came time to sleep. Much to his surprise, not long before the door was closed, a man sat in the chair next to his and slid a briefcase under the chair in front of him.

The man smiled at Rick and said, "You gonna stow that duffle? Need me to get up?"

Rick looked down at the duffle bag in his lap and patted it lovingly. He said, "Uh, no, thanks. I'm going to keep it under the seat in front of me."

Rick bent down and slid the duffle under the seat. When he sat back up he noticed the man still looking at him. Rick inwardly sighed and said, "Hi, I'm Rick." He extended his hand.

The man took it and firmly shook it. He replied, "Al Huffington. Nice to meet you, Rick. Business or pleasure?"

Rick shot a confused glance at Al and said, "Huh?"

Al chuckled and said, "You must not be a frequent traveler. I was asking you if you're going to Barcelona for business or pleasure."

Rick nodded to show he understood and said, "Neither, I'm heading to Andorra."

Al let out a slow whistle. "Expensive up there, you must be a rich fella."

Rick chuckled gleefully and said, "Yes, I just came into some money, you might say..."

At this point the lead flight attendant came on the PA and announced that the door of the airplane was closed and the plane would be departing the gate shortly. "What was I saying?" Rick asked.

Smirking, Al said, "You were about to tell me how you came into your money."

Rick glanced out of the corner of his eye at Al, wondering if he could trust him. 'The door is closed, you're home free,' he thought. He shrugged and said, "Alright, but we gotta keep it quiet."

Al and Ricky both looked around slyly to see if someone was near who could hear. Satisfied, Rick started his story, "I've been an armored truck guard for just over five years now. I started that job because it was all I could find after I dropped out of college. The pay was alright, but my partner was a sixty year old man that had been doing the same job for thirty years and didn't make much more than I did."

"So, basically, you had a dead end job," Al cut in.

Rick nodded, "Yeah. About a year ago, I figured that out. I realized that I had made a big mistake by not continuing college. I didn't want to be an armored car guard forever."

When Rick didn't say anything for a minute, Al said, "So, what did you do? Start buying lottery tickets, or something?"

Rick smiled and shook his head. "No, I needed more of a sure thing to secure my future. I started working on a plan to take the entire contents of the armored truck."

Rick looked at Al, whose face was a picture of shock and awe. Rick smiled and continued, "My partner and I worked one of the routes that took in the most money of the entire armored truck company. I knew all of the procedures and everything, so it was just a matter of planning."

Al looked at Rick with disbelief. "You robbed an armored truck?"

Rick laughed. "No, I merely failed to return the truck at the end of my shift."

Al and Rick looked at each other for a few moments. The captain came on the PA and announced that they were waiting for a mechanic's sign off on an item before they could taxi out to the runway.

When the captain was done speaking, Al said, "You'll have to tell me how you did that without being caught."

"Well, I don't know..."

"Oh, come on, Rick. Who am I going to tell? We're on our way to Spain," Al pleaded.

"It is quite a story," Rick said. He paused for a moment, then said, "Alright. I'll tell you all about it."

Rick lowered his voice. "As I said, this all started a year ago. I knew that I had to be careful and have a solid plan before I could act, otherwise I might get caught. Or worse, I might be killed. Armored truck drivers carry guns, you know.

"The easiest part of my plan was how I would deal with my partner. I briefly considered bringing him into the plan, but I didn't think he would go along with it. He was near retirement and I think he would have thought it too risky. So, I had to figure out a way to neutralize him without hurting him. After all, I'm not a bad guy and he was a pretty cool old dude."

Al chuckled and Rick continued his story. "I had taken a chemistry course in my brief time at college and I knew from it that you could make chloroform if you had the right ingredients. A quick internet search later and I had a batch made up. I didn't even need to go shopping as we had the ingredient right in the apartment already. I tested it on my roommate when he was a little drunk so he would think that he had just passed out and it worked great."

Rick sighed. "Now came the hard part. I had to have a plan to get all that money out of the truck and get away without getting caught or worse. It took me a long time and I threw out a lot of ideas for multiple reasons. I ended up with a plan that almost guaranteed that I would get away without getting hurt, but there was no way that I could guarantee not getting caught. Once I had a plan, I went through a period of doubt in which I reconsidered whether or not it would all be worth it."

Rick glanced outside and realized that the plane still hadn't moved even though they had closed the door over twenty minutes ago. "Why haven't we left the gate?" he asked.

Al quickly replied, "The pilot said something about a maintenance issue a little while ago. I'm sure it's nothing."

Rick looked around suspiciously. Al said, "You were telling me about your doubts."

Rick glanced outside one more time, then back at Al. Finally, he said, "Yeah, I had some doubts. The plan wasn't foolproof. There were some variables that I couldn't control. There was no way to prevent being identified as the person who stole the money. My plan had to include a speedy getaway out of the country..."

"And that's why you're on this plane?" Al cut in.

"Uh, yeah," Rick replied. "I found a way to take the money, avoid revealing myself for a couple of hours and get to the airport. And now..."

"And now," Al interrupted, "you're under arrest."

Rick sat up straight in his chair. "Huh?"

Al grabbed his briefcase from under the chair in front of him and opened it up on his lap. Inside, Rick saw a tape recorder rolling and handcuffs. Al pulled the cuffs out and put Rick's hands in them as he sat stunned.

"B...b...but, how?" Rick stammered.

"Your chloroform wasn't as strong as you'd hoped," Al replied. "Your partner woke up not long after you left him with the truck and called it in. It was only a matter of figuring out where you were heading. We did that so quickly that we were able to put a wire on me so that I could record your confession."

"B...but..."

"That's enough of that," Al said. He signaled the flight attendant at the front of the plane who opened the door. "Pick up the duffle and get up."

Glumly, Rick obeyed. The next few years wouldn't be as much fun as he had hoped.