A Note from Karen: I presented this bit of short fiction at the 2014 Artist, interrupted performance at Liberty Park in Salt Lake City. I hope you find these photos of my reading as humorous as I do.
She
lay asleep in a transparent sphere. Was it the hamster's wheel? Or
her cage? Machine guns. Phft! Pft! Phft-ft-ft-ft-ft-ft-ft!
Ksh!Ksh!Ksh! Shattered. I finally understand now what it was, or what
it suddenly wasn't: a glass egg.
And
where were you, Parent/Guardian, when it happened?
Genevieve stepped out, and, in a moment, grew so tall, I nearly called her Alice. She brushed off the residual glass, dust now, and entered her new world.
“We
are descending into Las Vegas!”
“That's
not a metaphor!”
Gen
paid no attention to the asinine dialogue of
the gun-wielding barbarians who had both attacked and freed
her. Though shrinking now, they continued to fire, pricking her heel
with dainty lead rounds. (This eventually lead to a small rash, but
she took no notice of it.) Her life moved at a much slower rate now
than did theirs. She did not see them knit huts and toboggans out of
their own hair to protect themselves from the eternal winter caused
by her shadow.
Neither
did she observe their great, sliding migration from the grass between
her feet to a booming new Casino
village, which, by the time you finish reading this sentence, will
have developed into the
neonic, metropolis founded in the large geographical indentation
formerly known as Gen's first footprint.
Gen's
new world was warm. She lifted her face to the sun. She took her
second step, and her third and so on.
The space was vast. I can't say how vast, for Gen had no instruments of measure. Neither did she care to question space. For all she knew, the potential to travel forward, one foot after the next, was infinite. Having very little interest in what lay to her right or left, her awareness was singular in dimension, as was her transportation. Gen trod faithfully toward one point of light without evaluation, without comparison, without distraction.
The space was vast. I can't say how vast, for Gen had no instruments of measure. Neither did she care to question space. For all she knew, the potential to travel forward, one foot after the next, was infinite. Having very little interest in what lay to her right or left, her awareness was singular in dimension, as was her transportation. Gen trod faithfully toward one point of light without evaluation, without comparison, without distraction.
The
Sun conveyed itself mechanically along its curved track. It cared
nothing for Gen's steady conviction. Meanwhile, her mind contained a
single repeated wave of thought. It was not a word, for, for Gen, the
only known member of a new species, thought was neither limited nor
liberated by word. However, for the sake of story-telling, I will
paraphrase: “come.” And the chant was something like: I come, I
come, I come.
But
she couldn't keep up. The Sun was too fast. Gen's sudden cognizance
of her unrequited love comprised her second thought: “go.” Now
her chant was a plea, Not-go, Not-go, Not-go! And her world changed.
I
would call it darkness, but Gen knew nothing of darkness. As I said
before, she knew only Come and Go. But she comprehended now that Go
resulted in a new something, a thought I shall call, End.
And
how long stood she paused in this End?
Gen
had no means for the measurement of time. Frankly, she had not had
the time for it. You humans have had the advantage of thousands of
years to develop time as you know it in the Twenty-First Century. At
first, time was represented by only two recurring periods: light and
darkness. Then mankind divided time into days and years—simple
measurements defined by earth's relationship to the sun. When the
rate of food production be came constant and dependable, each day
was subdivided into breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Hours
were later invented to make people to feel guilty for showing up late
to the cathedral.
Then someone came up with minutes in
time to
please all those people at factories who needed more holes punched in
their lives. Seconds were for olympians, and nanoseconds for
commanders of the U.S.S. Enterprise.
Coincidentally,
Gen's next learning step was to comprehend time. She did so in
thoughts I shall term, Then and Now. “Then:
Sun, Come, Warm. Now: Not-Sun, Not-Come, Not-Warm.”
At this point, dancer, Angela Green, performed a structured improvisation as a brief accompaniment to my work. |
Sweat
inspired in Gen a new emotion that I have struggled to distill. It
was something like Work, and something like Hope. She moved faster
and faster—how much warmth could she produce on her own? She was
determined to know. We might call her newest thought, Agility. She
pushed that thought into the sky and pulled it down again, stretching
it into an arc, a spiral, a diamond, and
a
sequence of asymptotic fractals of Hausdorff dimension log 3 over log
2.
Gen's
joviality was finally interrupted by the return of the sun. First,
she sensed a change in the atmosphere. What was it? She brought a
hairy, purple hand to her face—that's when she discovered her eyes.
She had never used them as yet. She pushed them open one at a time.
Ah—Sight! Look, there it was. It was smaller than she expected, and
her attempt to observe it directly was unpleasant. She smiled and
forgot the sun, becoming immediately occupied with introducing
herself to all the other purple gorillas standing evenly-spaced
throughout that public park who had just opened their eyes for
the very first time.