Weekend Fiction - Oracle’s Dilemma

This is chapter 3 of my science fiction serial, Oracle.  Now, we're getting deeper into the mystery surrounding Melanie.  As always I greatly appreciate any feedback.  Thanks!

Chapter 3; Oracle’s Dilemma


At 3 am, Cyrus finally gave up on sleep.  It seemed that the unanswered questions in his mind simply would not wait for the morning.

“Ezra?”

“Good morning sir; it’s 3 AM; your schedule?”

“No, Ezra; search biographical information of Melanie Thomason; 3 mile radius.”

“Two results; Melanie R. Thomason, age 52 and Melanie Thomason, age 8.”

Neither of those women could possibly be Mrs. Thomason’s niece.  “Dismissed, Ezra.”

Cyrus was determined to unravel the mystery surrounding Melanie.  He considered calling in a favor from one of the several private investigators he had assisted, but felt wrong about having anyone spy on her.  Finally, he decided.  Cyrus had never needed to ask anyone for information about someone; he had no intention of breaking that pattern.

“Ezra; turn off the lights.”

“Very good sir.”

Cyrus sat down at his desk and turned off the radio, for the first time in years.  He had once learned some meditation techniques hoping to quiet the noise in his mind.  He pictured Melanie's face in his mind.  He began to focus on breathing, deeply and slowly.  He thought back to Melanie helping Mrs. Thomason rescue the cat.

“Concentrate, concentrate...  ”

Cyrus whispered to himself.  It was no use.  The matter how hard he tried, Cyrus could not quiet the noise in his mind.  His mind constantly jumped from scene to scene of seemingly anyone except Melanie.  After about 10 minutes of focused effort, Cyrus was exhausted.  He shoved his chair back angrily and got up from his desk.

“Ezra; turn on the lights, now!”  Cyrus said, angrily.

“Very good sir.”

As Cyrus stepped away from his desk, he tripped and fell over a pile of discarded clothes.  He struck his head on a bedside table and fell to the floor, unconscious.

Cyrus awoke in silence.  When he opened his eyes he found himself in an unfamiliar place.  He was standing in a featureless expanse of grey, facing an enormous white wall that stretched as far as he could see to his left and right.  The top of the wall was obscured by grey mist.  Set in the wall were two heavy wooden doors.

“Hello, can anyone hear me?  Hello, HELLO! ”

Cyrus' cries went unanswered.  He walked to the door on the left and opened it to see a featureless grey expanse seemingly identical to the place he now stood.  Somewhat apprehensive now, Cyrus strode to the other door from behind this door he could hear a multitude of voices, all speaking at once.  Somehow, he was certain that Melanie was behind this door.  He reached for the door, grasping the heavy iron hoop.  The door would not open.  He struggled with all his strength with the door but the door would not budge.  He pounded the door as hard as he could but to no avail.

“Melanie!  I'm coming; I'll get you out of there. ”

Cyrus raced back to the other door but it slammed shut just as he reached it.  Going back to the door on the right, Cyrus reached to open it.  This time it opened easily to discharge a crowd of people, hundreds of them fitting every description.

“Melanie!  Where are you? ”

Cyrus is interrupted by the steady stream of chatter coming from the people in the crowd.  They surrounded him, all shouting questions at once.

“How long do I have?” said an old man with a walker.

“When am I going to die?” came from a woman in a business suit.

A sickly looking child asked, “Will it hurt when I die?”

A woman in a hospital gown screamed, “How can you stand there and watch me die?”

“Do something, save me!” cried a woman who looked like she had been beaten.

“I can't help you; it's not my fault!” Cyrus responded.

The people just continued shouting, crowding around Cyrus.  As he struggled to escape from a soldier with a battered rifle, he fell, the crowd closing in around him.  Cyrus' world went dark as he passed out.

“Good morning sir.”

Cyrus woke up screaming, drenched in sweat.

“Good morning sir.”

“Ezra… Ezra, it was just a dream.” Cyrus said, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Good morning sir.”

“Go ahead, Ezra; I’m awake now.”

“Very good sir; your client will arrive in 2 hours; shall I start your shower and coffee?”

“Go ahead, Ezra, extra hot shower today please.”

“Very good sir; your client?”

“Go ahead, Ezra.”

“General McDermott, to discuss Project Threshold.”

The idea of meeting with General McDermott wasn’t a pleasant thought.  Cyrus knew that he would spend nearly 4 hours listening to the General.  He suspected that the General was more interested in having a captive audience than in Project Threshold.  Cyrus had assured him last time that the project would be approved by Congress, but it seemed that the military never ran out of questions… or stories.

As Cyrus ate his breakfast of French toast and sausage, he found his thoughts again drifting back to Mrs. Thomason’s niece.  What it was that made her different from every other person he had ever known?  Finishing his breakfast, he resolved that he would figure this mystery out.

By the time General McDermott finished talking, it was already past lunch time.  Cyrus briefly considered skipping the usual round of charity clients, but something inside him wouldn’t let him.  He actually did enjoy some of them; they were the closest thing he had to friends.  He seemed to have a large amount of clients who had questions about their love life.  He predicted the future for other people all afternoon, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Melanie; thinking of how we wasn’t able to see anything about her.  When he was done with his last charity client of the day, he found himself driving to Mrs. Thomason’s house.

Mrs. Thomason lived on a tree-lined cul-de-sac, just off a busy street.  Cyrus stood on the porch of Mrs. Thomason’s house.  He was intending to ring the doorbell, but was having difficulty getting over his nervousness.  He simply couldn’t be certain of whether Melanie was home or not.  Looking into Mrs. Thomason’s immediate future didn’t help either.  He was able to see her answering the doorbell in about 19 seconds, but other than that; Mrs. Thomason would simply tell him that Melanie lived in her guest house, and that she didn’t know if her niece was home or not.  It occurred briefly to him that he could simply bypass speaking to Mrs. Thomason and go straight to the guest house, but he wasn’t certain of quite the affect that would have on the situation; he wasn’t even certain if he could do something other than he had seen in Mrs. Thomason’s future.  As he mentally debated the possibilities, he absentmindedly stretched out his hand and hit the doorbell button.

“Just a moment please.”  Mrs. Thomason’s voice was barely audible over the noise of the street.  Seeing Cyrus at the door, she seemed confused.  “Are you here about Mr. Fluff?  We found him right where you said he would be.”

“I… No, actually I was wondering… is Melanie here?”

“Oh, Melanie doesn’t actually live here,” Mrs. Thomason replied; “she lives in my guest house and I’m not sure if she’s home or not.”

Cyrus followed the rest of the script of his conversation with Mrs. Thomason mindlessly, shortly finding himself alone again on her doorstep.

For some reason, Cyrus couldn’t bring himself to go and knock on the door of the guesthouse.  Without being certain of the outcome, he was unsure how to proceed.  He finally left when he foresaw a neighbor dialing the police about the strange man loitering at Mrs. Thomason’s door.

Weekend Fiction - Oracle Meets a Stranger

This is chapter 2 of my science fiction serial, Oracle.  This time, we actually start to have a plot.  As always I greatly appreciate any feedback.  Thanks!

Chapter 2; Oracle Meets a Stranger


“Good morning sir.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Good morning sir.”

“Shut up!”

“Good morning sir.”

“Go ahead, Ezra.”

“Very good sir; your first client will arrive in 2 hours; shall I start your shower and coffee?”

“Go ahead, Ezra.””

“Very good sir; your client?”

“Go ahead, Ezra.””

“Representatives from ExNect corp regarding the upcoming merger with AT-Tec.”

“Dismissed, Ezra.”

Cyrus dismissed Ezra, his computerized assistant.  His shower was ready, with static blaring from the integrated speakers and flashing colors on the screens.  After showering and dressing, Cyrus put on a set of comfortable clothes and went to the kitchen for his coffee and breakfast.  Looking forward, he saw Mrs. Meyers, his housekeeper cleaning up the remains of his waffles and eggs.  He didn’t like waffles, but Mrs. Meyers was such a great housekeeper that he didn’t have the heart to tell her.  He wasn’t looking forward to hiring her replacement seven months from now.  At least he knew Mrs. Meyers wouldn’t suffer when she died in her sleep early on that Sunday morning.

Cyrus reassured the executives from ExNect that the merger with AT-Tec would be wildly successful.  The SEC wouldn’t even have a problem with the merger.  He saw the stock price rising to unprecedented highs, but; since no one asked; he didn’t mention that anyone who held on to the stock for longer than 8 months and 3 days would end up losing far more than they had gained.

After eating a corned beef sandwich (another of Mrs. Meyers’ favorite selections) for lunch, Cyrus prepared for the rest of his day, answering questions for the charity clients who were always lined up outside of the guest house, waiting for him.  He anticipated having a long day with them today.

There were no surprises among the clients at his door.

“Will we have a boy or a girl?”

“Should we buy the house down the street or move across the country?”

Even though he never answered questions about lottery numbers and death anymore, nearly half of his clients wanted to ask.  After the third person in a row asked about the SuperBall jackpot numbers, Cyrus was ready to call it a day.  The elderly woman who was waiting for him looked very frail though, and he knew that her question was easy to answer.

“What can I help you with today?” Cyrus asked; humoring Mrs. Thomason by asking.

“I know this may sound like a silly question,” she faltered; “but I seem to have lost my cat.  I’ve been looking for him everywhere for 2 days.”

Cyrus looked forward and saw Mrs. Thomason with an attractive woman, opening a battered trunk to release a very angry cat.

“Do you have an old trunk at your house?” he asked.

“Why yes, I do… how on earth could Mr. Fluff had gotten in there though?”

Cyrus was about to answer, but then the cat rescuer from the future walked through the door.  He found himself suddenly speechless; how had he not seen Mrs. Thomason’s niece?  Cyrus struggled to find something to say, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how he could have been surprised by the sudden appearance of this woman.

Sensing his confusion, the woman decided to take action.  “I’m Melanie,” she said, extending her hand.

“I’m Cyrus” he responded, shaking her hand.  He was unsure of what to do next; he had never met a stranger before.

Wish You Were Here

I was feeling pretty depressed yesterday; April 26 would have been the 43rd birthday of a cousin that I was close to.  He passed away unexpectedly and suddenly seven years ago.  I have the same condition that he had.

Perhaps more than most people, I am understandably aware of my own mortality.  I trust that God has a plan for my life.  I pray that this plan will have me on this Earth for long enough to watch my son grow up, but I do not know if this will happen.

Anyone that knows me well knows that I am frustratingly preoccupied with time.  If there is any task to be accomplished, I want to do it immediately.  If I have an appointment to go to, I want to arrive 15 minutes early.  Yet, I often find myself frustrated at myself for wasting time.  Being unemployed and unsure of what I can do to earn money and support my family, I feel like I have too much time on my hands.  After Kristofer goes to bed at night, I get on my computer.  Once I get done with my daily Bible reading, taking care of finances and doing the work in two free classes I take online I am left with not much to do.

I know that there are other things I should do, lots of things to write; I find myself drawn to playing silly puzzle games online.  This is when I start feeling guilty; if I am doing something that does not benefit God or my family or anyone else, I feel guilty.

Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death.
Romans 8:1-2

I know from this passage that I do not have to feel guilty.  The only one that is condemning me for wasting time is me.  On the other hand...

For even when we were with you, we gave you this rule: “The one who is unwilling to work shall not eat.”
2 Thessalonians 3:10

Fortunately, I believe that my issue is not so much that I am unwilling to work but rather that I am unsure of what to do at any given time.  I have a tendency to get myself so loaded with ideas and project stubs that it is difficult for me to take the time to sit down and develop any one of them.  My temptation is to get frustrated, give up and go back to whatever meaningless activity I can find to fill my time and take my mind off of what I should be doing.  What a mess I am!  I am concerned with time, but I waste time.  Even though I know I should be doing one thing, I find myself doing the opposite.  Apparently, however I am not unique.

For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.  For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing.
Romans 7:19-20

I wonder if the apostle Paul felt like me?  I wonder if he struggled with feeling guilty over not accomplishing his goals?  I actually like Paul; he must have been quite a character.  First angry, then pleading, then sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong.  He jumps from one subject to another so often... I just wonder what it must have been like to actually be there for one of his multi-hour sermon/lecture/improv sessions.  Everywhere he went, riots broke out.  Everytime he spoke you never knew what was going to happen.  I think of his shipwreck adventure.  When he was bit by a snake, the villagers thought he was a murderer and being punished.  But when he didn't drop dead, they changed their minds and decided he must be a god.  That was the type of person he was, everyone had an opinion.

So, where am I going with all this?  To tell the truth, I've been wondering that myself over the last 15 or 20 minutes.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.
Ecclesiastes 3:1

I suppose that means that there is even a time for playing silly puzzle games, just not when there is work to be done.

P.S.: I'll see you in 40 or 50 years Mike; we still have to do that mid-air belly-bounce.

Don't Stop Believin'

All my life, it seems that I've always placed imaginary barriers between my life as it is and my life as I would like.  "I need direction."  "I need a job."  "I need a divine healing."  Once I've received whatever it is that I think I need, only then will I be able to be happy, fulfilled, useful to God... take your pick from any number of imagined positive outcomes.

But then, I look at what I actually do have.  I have a wife who loves me.  I have a son, something I never dared to dream of.  I have incredibly supportive parents who always pushed me to do my best.  I have all these blessings and yet I still want more.

The apostle Paul said he had learned to be content whatever his circumstances.  He had learned the secret of being content in any and every situation.  (Philippians 4:11-12)  This is not at all me.  Sometimes I feel like nothing will ever be enough.  For the most part, I'm not longing for tangible things, but rather for intangible, like better self-worth, clear direction from God or the feeling that my efforts are appreciated.  A good example is  my financial situation.  I would like to have more money, but my major issue is the fact that I don't work for it.  Because of this, I tend to feel guilty and incapable.  I know in my head that I should not feel this way, and yet...

Two years ago, I graduated from college.  I didn't pay a single dollar for my education.  I was evaluated by a State of California agency; they determined that I was likely able to attain employment and proceeded to spend nearly $40,000 for my Bachelors degree.  Now, I look back and wonder why?  I've applied for the types of jobs I've trained for with no success.  I've made professional contacts, presented numerous Letters of Reference; I've done every job seeking tactic suggested to me to no avail. What a poor investment my education turned out to be!  I've thought of going back to school and attaining a Masters degree, but how can I possibly justify spending another $30,000 or so?

When it comes to specific instructions, the Bible is pretty lean.

Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the realm of the dead, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom.
Ecclesiastes 9:10

I suppose right now, spending time with my family as I continue praying and seeking direction seems to be what my hand finds to do.  I pray that I will remain faithful.  (Don't worry; I'll keep writing my blog too.)

Weekend Fiction - Introduction to Oracle

This is chapter 1 of my science fiction serial, Oracle.  As always I greatly appreciate any feedback.  Thanks!

Chapter 1; Introduction to Oracle

I am alone.  It is only here, in my home where I can have any peace.  My radio is tuned to static, turned to a thundering volume.  A few strategically placed strobes flash sporadically, at random intervals.  They keep me distracted, so I don’t have to listen to the voices.

I waste so much time searching for things I lose, I really should clean up; but if I don’t keep myself busy, I won’t be able to function.  Free time is my enemy.  In my quiet times, there is nothing but noise.  Images of suffering, of death, bombard me constantly.  I find no peace in quiet, only struggle.

My ability has made me rich; I have everything I could ever buy.  I’ve traveled the entire world and lived a life that other people only dream of.  I have more money than I could ever spend in my lifetime.  I don’t even care about the money though; all I need is enough to keep filled with food and noise.

People tell me that they love me; they tell me that they envy me.  Other people tell me that I am demon possessed, that I am cursed.   Others brand me as a prophet, as the anti-Christ or as the devil himself, taken on human form.  For many years now, my greatest wish has been that I could give my ability away, that someone else could bear my burden, even for a day.

My business cards say simply ‘Oracle’.  No one really seems to care about my name; Oracle is plenty of information for my clients and I don’t have any friends.

I predict the future.  Other people may claim to predict the future, but I do.  I am the only person I know that is never wrong; 100% of the things that I predict actually happen. I predict the future, and I solve problems.  I have solved every problem ever given to me.  It’s almost frighteningly easy for me; I simply look ahead for the solution and steal the answer from the future.

I have never been wrong.  I predict stock prices, the weather, anything at all.  I make predictions for corporations and they pay ridiculous sums of money for the service.  Politicians hire me to advise campaigns.  I give them a single word of advice; yes or no, and they are desperate to pay me.  I regularly meet with military clients; we discuss tactics, new weapon systems, and outcomes of wars that haven’t happened yet.

I should have been happy, earning absurdly large amounts of money to do the simplest tasks, but I was miserable.  Then it somehow got much worse.  I was hired by a wealthy gentleman who wanted to know the exact circumstances of his own death.  I had never thought about predicting a death before; now I see death constantly.  I have to fight to keep death out of my mind.  That is where the noise comes in.  I try to drown out the noise inside my head with noise outside.  Static, flashing lights; these are my sources of comfort.  Sometimes they work better than others.

I had a name once.  I was a child once.  My ability used to be fun.  I always knew where everybody was when we played hide and seek.  I was always the winner at Easter egg hunts.  In school, I could see my teachers grading tests and copy the correct answers.

In my twenties, life started getting worse.  Nothing was ever challenging.  I could never meet new people, new places were intimately familiar.  And everywhere I went there were more and more people.  I became fixated on the endless suffering and death!  I was struck by the idea that every person I ever saw was going to die, and I was burdened with knowing the exact time and circumstances of their death.  I tried everything I could to find peace, but the more I struggled, the worse I felt.

Slowly, my friends disappeared.  I had plenty of people that claimed to enjoy my company, but the fact that I helped them make billions of dollars contributed to that.  I was flooded with marriage proposals, but romance was impossible for me.  ‘Til death do us part’ seems to lose meaning when you know exactly how long that is.  If anyone had any ulterior motive in befriending me (and everyone did), I saw it.  After asking me to tell them the most intimate details of the future, they would act as if they cared about me and somehow believe that I wouldn’t see through them.

I tried everything I could think of to be rid of my power.  I knew that I would be happy if I could just be rid of it; I could be normal, like everyone else.

I dreamed of having a normal life.  I dreamed of having a wife; having children and growing old.  In my dreams, friends were never far away.  I had true friends that didn’t like me for what I could do for them, but just because they were my friends.  I saw myself at peace, napping quietly in my hammock while the children played.

My future however was the one thing I wasn’t sure about.  I could read the future for everyone else, but my own future remained a mystery.  I don’t know why I am not allowed to see my future, but it is possibly my greatest blessing, and my greatest curse.  Perhaps my life would be more bearable if I knew that something would change soon, or even if I knew I didn’t have much longer to live.  On the other hand though; I wasn’t sure how the knowledge of my own death would affect me.  It’s nearly more than I can bear to see the death of others, I don’t know if I could handle seeing my own.  For all I know, I might be immortal.  That could be the most horrible future of all.

The greatest gift I could receive would be surprise.  I’ve never been surprised by anything.  I’ve never had a surprise party, I’ve never been surprised by a plot twist in a book or a movie.  Living the life that others dream of held no excitement for me, only prolonged torture away from my noise.

What is my greatest hope?  I wish I could hope.  People tell me to trust in god; they tell me that god is my only hope.  How can I of all people put my trust in something I can’t see?  I’ve never seen anything outside of the physical realm.  I’ve seen the deaths of millions of people, and I’ve never seen a death that didn’t lead to somebone suffering.  If I could see any reason for hope; I could live happily.  The only thing that I have to hope in is my own ability.  I know that my ability will always be there for me, always provide for me.  If I can’t have joy, romance, excitement or hope, at least I will have security.

I have a full schedule today; I have a meeting with a high profile client.  After my paying clients, I do several hours of charity each day.  I don’t advertise, but there are always people waiting at my door, wanting to know this or that bit of their future.  They always ask the simple things; will I have a healthy baby, will I win the lottery, will she say ‘yes’…  I answer their questions until I can’t take any more; then it is back to my room, back to my noise and the semblance of peace it brings me.

Thankfully, I don’t dream anymore.

Weekend Fiction - Oracle Foreword

In this weeks edition of weekend fiction, I'm starting something new.  I've been working on a longer, sci-fi story and I'll be posting a chapter each week.  First up is a poem that I'm using as the foreword.  I'd appreciate any feedback, thanks; enjoy.

Oracle

I am Oracle
I know who you are
I know your future

I am Oracle
I can have no peace
Noise is my friend

I am Oracle
You don't need to speak
You'll get your answer

I am Oracle
I already see your life
So much suffering

I am Oracle
What is your wish
What can I tell you

I am Oracle
Run from me
You don't really want to know

I am Oracle
I am lonely
I am lost

I am Oracle
My future is dark
I have no vision

I am Oracle
What can I say
I have no peace for you

Who are You?

Three people came to the tomb of Jesus.  Out of all of the disciples, all the followers, all the curious crowd, just three people came to the tomb and that most blessed morning.  They were, Mary Magdalene, Simon Peter, and “the disciple Jesus loved”, presumably John.  Which of these characters do you identify most with?  If you had been there, how would you have responded?

Mary arrived first at the tomb, saw that it was empty and went to tell the disciples.  When she came back later, she was so consumed by her grief that she did not realize that Jesus was right there beside her.  Have you ever been that way, so absorbed in your own life that you find yourself closing God out?

Maybe you are more like Peter, running to see for yourself what happened.  I always wondered what Peter thought about standing there in the empty tomb; how long did he stand there before turning to leave, disillusioned and disappointed?  Perhaps you are like him, standing in the last place you saw Jesus, unsure of what to do.  If you don't find Jesus waiting, what is your reaction?  Will you like Peter go home dejected?

John had perhaps the most interesting reaction.  He was in such a hurry to get to the to that he outran Peter, but then hesitated to go into the tomb.  Finally he went in, after Peter.  When he saw the empty tomb, without its missing body, he simply believed.  When God does something that you don't understand, are you willing to simply accept it and believe?  That is so not my personality, but that is the type of childlike faith that God wants from us.  Did John have questions?  I'm certain he did.  Did he understand what had just happened?  Doubtful.

When you are looking for Jesus, which of these characters do you most identify with?


*Based on John 20:1-10