Technofail: the Sequel

I can’t believe how bad this whole “technology beyond lightbulbs” thing has been lately. The internet has conked out yet again. If any other internet companies want to come to Alaska, the field is wide open and any degree of competency will raise you head and shoulders above the present competition. Please come. PLEASE.

So! Here I am, Jill-of-the-past, stealing internets on a Saturday morning. (I seriously snuck into an unused classroom in the back of the museum to use the university’s much more reliable internet. I’m cold and the ceiling is making weird noises at me. Please pray for me.) Unfortunately, I can’t stay long. So, with no means to do any research, I don’t have a regular blog post for you. But I doooo have a recently finished Camp NaNoWriMo project. *bats eyelashes* So until I can figure out how to browbeat my internet into not sucking (attempts to guilt the router have so far resulted only in a flashing red light of mockery), have the first chapter of the newly revamped Dead Timmy!

Chapter One

One fine spring day, Timmy died.

He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to. But he did just the same.

And as unexpected as that was, what came next was even more surprising.

An unknowing blankness distilled into a kernel of self-awareness. Timmy didn’t know how long he had been out, or whether he had been dreaming during that time, but he knew who he was and, with that sense, he began to fade back into existence from the nothingness that had followed that rush of stone and water.

The first thing he saw was a six and then a two. He concentrated a little harder and noticed a seven and a one on either side of the 62. And there was a three. His vision telescoped out and he realized he was looking at a piece of paper, or at least something kind of like it, being held in a hand, or at least something kind of like it. On the strip of paper was the longest stream of numbers he had ever seen in his life, or after it for that matter, held loosely by an ameobic fingerless blob of being that could only be a hand. His hand, he realized with a start.


He held up the long strip between two translucent hands jutting incongruously out of his chest, or at least the bigger blob somewhere below where his eyes were.

What just happened?

It came back to him in a flash. Bright sunlight as he pinwheeled through the air. The smell of saltwater. Black rocks eager to embrace him. And then nothing more.


Read More!


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