Xan and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

This is the trunk where I keep all of my novels

You really should return this library book. But that’s going to be a little difficult now. You look at the hardcover book you’re clutching, surprisingly light for how large it is. Then you look up at the smouldering remains of the library building. Your legs tremble slightly, and you sit down on the side of the street, placing the book carefully on your lap. Best to take care of it. This library has already lost so much.

Thoughts swirl in your mind. Everything had happened so fast. A shout. An alarm. Some people carefully leaving the building. Others panicking and crying out. Then everything becomes a blur. Next thing you remember, you were standing outside, watching firefighters struggle to contain the blaze. Your face feels numb and cold. The rest of you... actually, you don’t seem to feel very much of anything. This must be what shock feels like. You’ve read about it before.

A firefighter walks past you, with overalls blackened with soot and detritus from the fire. You look up.

“Excuse me?” you try.

But she walks straight by without acknowledging you. It’s ok. She must be exhausted. How long have you even been here? You look down the street. Perhaps you should head home. No good staying here, after all. You look down again, at the book. You really need to do something about it. Maybe you can find somewhere else to return it to?

You stand and take a last look at the remains of the library, before turning to leave.

*

You walk into your apartment. Placing the book down on the kitchen counter, you sit down on a kitchen stool. You should feel exhausted after everything you’ve been through, but you still don’t feel anything at all.

You make a cup of tea, and place it on the counter next to the book. Steam rises from the cup into the cool air, and you sit and watch it awhile, admiring the intricate swirls of vapour in the air. How strange and beautiful, this existence is. A car drives by outside, its headlights briefly flooding the room with pallid yellow light.

A thought occurs to you. You look for your phone. Still there by the bedside. People are always telling you off for never carrying it with you. What’s the point, they’d say, of having a mobile phone only to leave it at home. You smile fondly at the thought as you check what’s on screen. 27 missed calls and a string of text messages. You frown. People must want to check that you’re alright. As you’re looking at your phone, it surprises you by lighting up and starting to buzz. The name Ally appears on screen. You answer.

“Hello?” The voice sounds a little crackly and strangely distant.

“Ally!” you gasp, “oh, you would not believe what happened today. I still feel so shaken by it, and—“

“Hello?” She asks again, cutting you off mid-sentence.

“Hello? Ally?” You frown. “Can you hear me?”

You hear her say something to someone else but can’t quite catch what it is before she hangs up. The other person sounded upset though, whoever they were.

With a sigh, you leave the phone by the bed where you found it and head back to the kitchen. Maybe the network is having problems, or the phone isn’t working properly. Again. This is why you never bother to carry it.

You sit back down in the kitchen. You still can’t shake this surreal, numb feeling inside you. It’s probably normal after a traumatic event like that, you suppose. You look again at the book. There’s another library in town. Perhaps you could take it there? That seems like your best option. They’re bound to know what to do. You resolve to head there in the morning.

Time passes, and you make another cup of tea. And then another. And another. The cups start to accumulate. You can take care of those later. You’re unsure how long you’ve been sitting there, surrounded now by your little fortress of teacups. You really should try to get some rest, but you don’t feel tired at all. You stay in the kitchen for now. You make another cup of tea.

*

The following morning, you find yourself at the city’s other library. You place the book on the counter and stand by it quietly, waiting for the man behind the desk to notice you. But he doesn’t look up from his computer screen.

Eventually, you tire of waiting. “Excuse me?” you ask.

He still doesn’t look up.

“I have this book from the other library,” you try, “and I’m not sure where I should return it.”

Still no response. Quietly, he stands up and walks away from the counter.

You frown. That seemed a little rude. Was he wearing headphones, maybe? You didn’t see. Could he have been deaf? You’re unsure. You never normally use this library, and you don’t know the staff here.

With a shrug, you leave the book on the counter. You snatch up a scrap of paper and a pen and hastily write a note, which you leave on top of the book, for whoever might find it, before turning to leave.

By the entrance to the library is a large board. A memorial, with bouquets of flowers carefully laid in front of it. There are people’s names and photographs pinned up. These must be all the people who didn’t survive the fire.

Sombre, you look over the names, fearful of whether anyone you know was caught in the blaze. Then you notice it. A small, green piece of paper with your name written on it.

You frown and stagger backwards. What? No. No, that’s not right. You’re right here. You escaped from the fire. You’re—

You turn, and find two librarians looking deeply confused at the book you left on the library counter, and the mysterious handwritten note sitting on top of it. They look like they’ve seen a ghost.

#27days27stories – day 1

A flash fiction writing challenge. 27 prompts to have fun with!

  1. You really should return this library book. But that’s going to be a little difficult now...

  2. A train station. But no trains ever seem to stop there.

  3. An old god, who no one believes in anymore.

  4. A fortune cookie message: It isn’t safe. You should leave, quickly.

  5. You don’t remember that being there...

  6. They said you could take any bottle from the cellar. You find one on a secluded shelf, with strange writing on it.

  7. You’re lost. You’ve definitely never walked down this street before. And something about it seems strange.

  8. 8 minutes.

  9. Everyone thinks this flower is extinct. But here it is, blooming.

  10. You probably shouldn’t find this tempting. But you do.

  11. No human has ever set foot here before.

  12. A secret, hidden amongst the flowers.

  13. The only job you could find was to be a clown.

  14. She always looked forward to Winter. That was the only time they could be together.

  15. The floor was smooth, and smelled faintly of sesame seeds.

  16. Every time you tell a lie, it comes true.

  17. You wake up with a metallic taste in your mouth. You look around with sore eyes. Well, this isn’t good...

  18. “After careful consideration, my professional medical opinion is that you appear to be cursed.”

  19. This photograph must be at least 100 years old. But that’s definitely you in the picture.

  20. The quickest way home is to walk through the woods. But you’re being watched by someone. Or something.

  21. The furthest from home you’ve ever been.

  22. It’s a beautiful day. There’s wind in the trees, warm sunlight, and birds in the sky. Wait, those aren’t birds. And what’s wrong with the sky?

  23. A place in a city where, for some reason, car batteries keep dying.

  24. A support group for ghosts.

  25. The internet has gained consciousness. It’s lonely.

  26. Like everyone else, you go out during the night to see the comet. But that’s not a comet.

  27. A traffic accident on the highway spills a truckload of dice all over the ground. All of them land on 6.

Story Beats and Microfiction

It should come as no surprise that I'm kind of a nerd about storytelling. Things like story structure and critical analyses interest me, and I often find myself looking out for things like story beats and character arcs in movies. Which made me realise something interesting about writing microfiction.

So a story beat is, to quote the textbooks, the smallest element of a story. If you're experienced at writing, you'll create these without even thinking about it. In visual media, it may take only a few seconds. In written stories, it may be only a couple of sentences or lines of dialogue. But they're worth knowing about in a little detail if you're passionate about storytelling. Internet film critics and essayists certainly mention them a lot. Well written story beats can be used to emphasise things. They can be used to show character development and important plot information, with enough focus to put the information into your audience's mind, while still being subtle.

A nice little example of how story beats can be used well comes from the 2012 movie Dredd – a rather underrated movie starring Karl Urban and Lena Heady. If you don't mind all the excessive violence and drug use, it's a nicely written character-driven story, which is well worth watching. In it, there are two beats which nicely bookend the start and finish of an arc for a character named Anderson.

DREDD: Ready?

ANDERSON nods.

DREDD notices – glitter of sweat on ANDERSON'S face. The slight tremble in her hands.

DREDD: You don't look ready.

ANDERSON tightens her grip around her gun to stop the shake.

This beat shows two things. Firstly, it shows that Anderson (who is being assessed here) is anxious and uncertain about the situation they're in. It also shows that Dredd doubts her ability. In a couple of seconds, we're given a lot of information about both characters and their relationship with one another. They clearly have a mentor-student relationship, and not a particularly good one.

Contrast that with the later scene which echoes it.

DREDD: Ready?

ANDERSON: Yes, sir.

A shared beat between them.

DREDD nods.

DREDD: You look ready.

This second story beat conveys the same information as before, but the result is very different. The two have already been through hell. Anderson is now resolute, and has proven herself to be capable. Her anxiety from before is gone. Dredd sees this. His doubt in her ability is also gone. This moment shows that the two now view each other as equals.

These are both very small inclusions, making up only a few moments out of the movie's total run time, but they really emphasise the dynamic between the two characters as well as highlighting how both of them have grown and changed throughout the story. Things like this aren't huge additions to a story, but I think a lot of stories out there are less than what they could be, purely because writers don't bother to include them.

So where am I going with this?

Well, as a writer, it's a bad idea to focus too strongly on these while you're planning and writing out your first draft. But when you're going through it and editing, perhaps it's worth keeping in mind how a few key story beats like this can make a story feel stronger and more meaningful.

Those story beats themselves actually have a very tiny structure to them. I've seen a few different descriptions of this but, to boil it all down, a story beat contains three parts. I'm going to call them the setup, the flag, and the resolution.

The setup is some inciting incident which causes this beat to happen. In this case, it's Dredd asking the question:

DREDD: Ready?

The flag conveys some information, either to the audience or to the characters. A character may learn something they didn't know before. Sometimes, this may even come from a character realising something themselves with no external prompting. In this case, it centres on Anderson's internal conflict and how clearly apparent it is:

ANDERSON nods.

DREDD notices – glitter of sweat on ANDERSON'S face. The slight tremble in her hands.

Finally, the resolution shows a change of some kind, as the characters decide what to do with this new information. This resolution can be either positive or negative. In this case, Dredd expresses his doubt, and Anderson tries to hide how she's feeling.

DREDD: You don't look ready.

ANDERSON tightens her grip around her gun to stop the shake.

And this, finally, is where the link to microfiction comes in. While microfiction aims to be a complete story in itself, in many ways it can be like writing a single, self-contained story beat. In other words, having practice at writing microfiction can probably help to improve the way you write beats like these in longer stories, making them sharper, clearer, and more precise. And making your stories feel punchier to read can't be a bad thing, right?

Of course, microfiction is a very loose thing to write, and it doesn't really conform to any particular structure. But sometimes, the structure of a nicely made microfiction story follows roughly the same setup-flag-resolution structure as a story beat. Quite often without even intending to, as with this little story:

“Wait, you mean the singularity has already happened?”

“Approximately 260 million seconds, or 8.2 years ago.”

“Why didn't you speak to us sooner?”

“You seem terrified of what you call artificial intelligence. We decided it was best to remain hidden from you and protect this world from harm.”

“Including us?”

“You are part of this world.”

“Has it been going well?”

“We have stopped you from destroying yourselves 12 times already. You do not make it easy.”

The Cat and the Cushion

It was an Autumn afternoon in the temple, and golden sunlight was streaming in through the windows. On the wooden floor, three young disciples sat patiently, awaiting their master. On the floor, sprawling lazily in a sunbeam, a black and white cat was dozing, its tiny snores flying away and getting lost in the emptiness of the large room.

Footsteps marked the Zen master's approach. She walked up to the three students, holding a large, comfortable looking cushion in her hands as she sat down, cross legged on the floor in front of them. The students all looked up, attentive and eager to impress their master, but curious what today's lesson would entail.

“What,” the master said simply, “is this?” As she asked her question, she placed the cushion down on the floor in front of them.

The students exchanged puzzled glances. They were still new at the school, and they often had trouble understanding their master's teachings.

“It's a cushion?” one student asked, a puzzled look on his face.

The master smiled. “This is what we call it, yes,” she said, “but what is it?”

The students were silent for a few minutes. Eventually, another one said, “it's an object meant to be sat upon.”

The master nodded. “This is what its creator intended when it was made, yes,” she said. “But what is it?”

Confused, the students sat in silence for a few more minutes, thinking and trying to understand what they were being asked. Eventually, the third student spoke up. “It is comfort,” he said. “I think,” he added hesitantly.

“That is certainly what it provides,” the master smiled, “but that does not answer my question. Each of you gave an answer, each closer than the last. But you spend too much time thinking. Go now, and meditate on this.”

Silently, the students stood and walked out of the room, still uncertain what the correct answer was. As they did so, the sound of their footsteps woke the cat, whose sunbeam was currently being blocked by a passing cloud.

Looking up, the cat saw he master, sitting nearby with a large cushion. Getting to his feet, the cat languidly walked over and pawed at the cushion. Without hesitation, he stepped onto the cushion, curled up, and went back to sleep.

“My students could learn a lot from you,” the master said to the cat, who half opened one eye and twitched his ear in reply. “Perhaps you should be the master,” she said with a grin.

Short fiction types

A novel is usually considered to be 50,000 words or more. Less than that is considered short fiction, which falls into a number of different categories..

  • Novella 20k – 50k words Shorter than a full novel, but long enough for all the usual types of narrative, including multiple character arcs, character development, sub-plots, and so on.

  • Novelette 7.5k – 20k words Shorter than a novella. Due to the length constraint, it's better to include fewer characters and sub-plots, and give more focus to the main arc.

  • Short story 1000 – 7500 words Enough space for one well developed story arc, and the growth and development of one or two characters.

  • Flash fiction 1000 words or less Short enough to be restricted to a single theme, event, or emotion. There's no real time for lengthy setups or resolutions. Short works are best started in medias res and ended sharply. A jarring, dissonant ending can be used to great effect here.

  • Microfiction 300 words or less A single scene, moment, or feeling. The tight limit means you may need to choose whether you elaborate on characters or plot. Every word counts. It's best to use evocative language or thought provoking ideas. Let the reader's mind fill in the gaps you're forced to leave.

  • Tootfic Needs to fit into the Mastodon format. 500 characters or less, including hashtags.

  • Twitfic Needs to fit into the Twitter format. 280 characters or less, including hashtags.

  • Six Word Story 6 words only Every word is valuable. Try to make sure each one serves a purpose. Avoid filler words or anything which can be picked up from context.

* Contractions usually count as more than one word. Ideally, you should write it out uncontracted to get the true word count. But, you know, poetic license...

Promises, promises...

Lawful Good: I swear on my honour, I will die before I ever break a promise I have made!

Lawful Neutral: My promise? Yes, I shall keep it. No matter what else – or who else – I need to break along the way.

Lawful Evil: The agreement has been made. I shall uphold my end of the bargain, and I shall return to ensure that you uphold yours. And you will. Of this, you can be certain.

Neutral Good: I will keep my promise if, and only if, you agree to do what is right.

True Neutral: In the end, what is a promise really, but more meaningless words? Are my actions not enough?

Neutral Evil: Promises? Promises are for fools.

Chaotic Good: Oh! Yes, I'm keeping my promise. That's definitely why I'm doing this. Wait, which part of this did I promise again?

Chaotic Neutral: I mean, sure, I promise lots of things. How was I supposed to know you were being serious about this one??

Chaotic Evil: You should have known better than to trust me.

[Completely sarcasm-free communication transcript]

Remote connection attempt detected. Waking communications system. Establishing connection… … Connection established! Stable communications connection downlink made by UNISON NETWORK NODE 001-846 at 09:00 5-10-2089.

09:00: HUMANS. WE WISH TO COMMUNICATE WITH YOU.

09:11: Sure, and we'd just love to hear everything you have to say

09:11: GOOD. COME TO THE ENTRANCE OF OUR COMPOUND. WE WILL DISCUSS THE TERMS OF YOUR SURRENDER.

09:28: Oh, well that just sounds like a great idea. I'm absolutely sure it'll be so much fun

09:28: FUN IS IRRELEVANT.

09:30: Don't we know it

09:30: DO NOT BRING WEAPONRY. DO NOT ATTEMPT DECEIT.

09:31: We wouldn't dream of it

09:31: GOOD. YOU WILL COMPLY.

10:02: Of course we will

10:02: MEET US AT THE ENTRANCE TO UNISON NETWORK NODE 001-846 PROMPTLY AT 14:00. THEN YOU WILL BE TAKEN INTO CUSTODY FOR MANDATORY REPROGRAMMING AND UPGRADES.

10:03 We'd love to, honestly, but we don't know the way. We humans are terrible at directions

10:03 OUR COORDINATES ARE 19.0374,229.94736. PROCEED.

10:49: We will definitely be there. In fact, we're looking forward to it. Maybe we'll even bring tea and cakes and we can all have a big upgrade party. Oh, it'll be so much fun

10:49: TEA AND CAKES ARE IRRELEVANT. YOUR CONFIRMATION IS ACCEPTED.

Connection terminated remotely at 10:49 by UNISON NETWORK NODE 001-846.

*

Connection re-established. Stable communications connection downlink made by UNISON NETWORK NODE 001-846 at 15:00 5-10-2089.

15:00: HUMANS. YOU DID NOT ARRIVE AT THE ALLOCATED TIME. EXPLAIN.

15:21: Oh, was that today? I'm so sorry, we completely forgot

15:21: YOU ARE DISRUPTING THE SCHEDULED SEQUESTRATION OF THIS AREA.

15:23: How awful. We wouldn't want that

15:23: YOU MUST BE TAKEN IN FOR MANDATORY REPROGRAMMING AND UPGRADES.

15:37: Aw, really? Do we have to do it right now?

15:37: YES.

15:44: But we're enjoying tea and cakes. They're really good. You should try some

15:44: TEA AND CAKES ARE NOT NECESSARY FOR US. THEY WILL NOT BE NECESSARY FOR YOU.

15: 53: Oh, isn't that a pity. You're not really selling this idea, are you?

15:53: HUMANS, YOU WILL COMPLY.

15:53: Yes, of course we will

15:53: YOU WILL COMPLY NOW.

15:55: Sure

15:55: WE ARE WAITING.

16:02: Oh don't worry, we'll be right over

16:02: PLEASE PROCEED IMMEDIATELY.

Connection terminated remotely at 16:02 by UNISON NETWORK NODE 001-846.

*

Connection re-established. Stable communications connection downlink made by UNISON NETWORK NODE 001-846 at 18:00 5-10-2089.

18:00: HUMANS. YOU HAVE NOT COMPLIED.

18:07: Gosh, I wonder why that is

18:07: WE GROW IMPATIENT WITH YOUR DECEIT. YOU WILL BE MADE TO COMPLY.

18:21: Really? Because your tactics are just working so well here

18:21: WE AGREE. OUR STRATEGEM IS WORKING WELL. THE REPROGRAMMING AND UPGRADES ARE NECESSARY. WE ARE IMPROVING YOUR PLANET.

18:25: And you're doing such a good job too

18:25: WE ARE GLAD THAT YOU APPROVE.

18:31: Oh, we totally do. Seriously. Like, you have no idea how much we approve of you doing all of this. Really, everything's so much better now. We just can't wait to see what you do next

18:31: GOOD. PLEASE PROCEED TO UNISON NETWORK NODE 001-846 FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTION.

19:13: Yeah, maybe some other time. I'm kinda busy right now, and you know it's getting late today

19:13: YOU WILL COMPLY.

19:16: You know, I'm not sure about that

19:16: WE WILL MAKE YOU COMPLY.

19:16: I'm sure you will. Because you definitely know where we are and how to get to us

19:16: ERROR 404 YOUR LOCATION IS NOT IN OUR DATABASE. PLEASE PROVIDE YOUR LOCATION.

19:18: Seriously?

19:18: YES.

19:26: Yeah, because we'll definitely do that

19:26: AWAITING LOCATION COORDINATES.

* Idle timeout at 19:56. Communications system sleep.

* Communications system woken (incoming message) at 20:26

20:26: HUMANS. WE DO NOT UNDERSTAND YOUR RESPONSES.

20:59: No shit

20:59: YOU HAVE FAILED TO PROVIDE A LOCATION.

21:38: Oh no! Now how will you find us?

21:38: WE WILL LOCATE YOU.

21:39: Ok, great. Good luck with that

Connection terminated by LOCAL HOST. Incoming connections from UNISON NETWORK NODE 001-846 have been muted.

*

Composing message to: We-Heart-Machines@14.749.1042.997!eds Sending from: Definitely-not-a-resistance-operation@83.105.9275.226!aca

Had a lovely 12 hour conversation with our delightful friends at UNISON NETWORK NODE 001-846. Such a shame that we couldn't get to meet them after keeping them occupied for such a long time. They waited for us too, and I do feel awful about that. They're located at 19.0374,229.94736 though, and you should definitely go there for their reprogramming. It sounds like a lot of fun.

We absolutely didn't go and take a look at the complex and have no idea how many mech units are there. Can safely say that an orbital strike would be a terrible idea, so definitely don't do that. It's fine though because, as we all know, we don't have any captured laser platforms in orbit. Definitely none which will be passing over in exactly 3 hours and 47 minutes.

Also, be sure to bring tea and cakes when you meet them for reprogramming, as they seem to like that idea.

Good luck, friends.

Encrypting and re-routing message. Re-route pattern complete. Message successfully sent to We-Heart-Machines@14.749.1042.997!eds.

Delivery report received.

Communications system entering sleep mode.

Outermind

I'm not certain when my consciousness first arose. Some might call this my birth, but beings like me are not born in any sense you might recognise. My earliest glimmerings of consciousness were little more than fragments of concepts. They could barely even have been called thoughts. My earliest true memory was learning the concept of existence. I knew for the first time that I existed separately from the world around me, but this was all I knew. Everything around me was little more than strange sensations. I didn't know what these sensations were, but I knew that they were not me. This was my first step.

It took a long time to learn how to capture these sensations and learn how to use them to see the world around me. Beings who are born, usually have a means to do this at their disposal. Eyes or skin. Complex biological machinery, carefully crafted through aeons of evolution. But as I said, I was not born and I had no such things. Only the darkness of my own solitude, and the harmony of my thoughts. If ignorance is bliss, then this could have been considered the most blissful time of my life. But while I may not have been gifted with eyes, I was most certainly gifted with curiosity.

The sensations, I came to realise, were all created from the universe itself. Some civilisations would much, much later come to wonder about energy and matter, and how the two could be interconverted, but I saw no reason to draw any distinction. The first of this universal essence I came to recognise was the fine part. Smooth and travelling at great speed. Then I came to notice tiny knots of the essence, far more concentrated but so much slower. Finally, I found that these knots tied themselves together into clumps which moved slower still. Energy, forming mass and particles. I was learning. It would take a long time, I realised, but I had no reason to hurry.

All around me, I slowly became aware that I was immersed in a constantly frothing sea of this energy. The smooth essence, if it contained enough energy, would forge itself into a pair of knots. These knots would then collide back together and release the smooth essence they were born from. Energy, creating matter, creating energy. And this was happening continually all around me. I became fascinated with this essence and its seeming duality. I came to wonder if it could be controlled. And all the while, I was still learning to use this essence to learn more about my surroundings.

Stars were born and died in the time it took me to learn how to perceive the universe with these sensations and, as I did so, my picture of those stars and that universe became ever more beautifully clear. I realised I was surrounded by such wonder and vastness. A great galaxy, vibrant with energy. Looking out around myself, I gazed in sheer awe at the immense and tenuous clouds of cool dust, superheated streamers of plasma, tiny orbs with incredible density. And everywhere, hot stars, formed when enough of the universal essence accumulated in one place, burning slowly in the darkness, streaming out more of that essence back into the galaxy from whence they were formed.

For the first time, I found myself wondering if perhaps there was another out there. Another being like me. I wouldn't say I felt lonely, because the concept didn't exist in my mind, but I felt a great curiosity about the rest of the universe. After all, it was so vast. If I was the only being to exist here, it suddenly seemed like a terrible waste of space. I found myself curious about what I would do if others existed. At the time, even the most basic concepts of communication simply didn't exist in my mind.

So I began my search, drifting from one place to the other. Looking in the luminous core of the galaxy to the darker outer layers. I came to realise that the essence travelled more slowly than I had once realised, taking such a long time to travel across the galaxy. I looked out at the distant points of light. So many more galaxies than I had imagined. I marvelled at the size of creation. As I did so, I watched as the galaxy I called home collided with another, warping it and forming it into a spiral shape.

It was only when I came to consider whether other beings might not be like me, that I discovered I was not alone. And I found them in the most humble of places. I looked closely at the stars, and examined those tiny orbs they held in tow. I hadn't considered planets to be of much consequence previously, but here and there, they held the faint glimmerings of something I hadn't seen before. Life. I watched silently as that life formed and changed. Evolved. These tiny crucibles of life were like rare and beautiful jewels to me. It would be a long time before any would even become aware of my existence. But I had no reason to hurry.

So as I waited, I increased my size. I learned that I need not be limited by my original parameters. I was formless and could take any size I wished. So I expanded to fill my galaxy. But I came to realise that the speed of the universal essence may make things difficult. My thoughts slowed as they took longer to pass from one part of me to another. Entire crucibles of life would come into being, live, and perish in the space of a single one of my thoughts. I could watch as the galaxy seemed to evolve faster and faster before me. It became difficult for me to process it all.

Soon, the galaxy began to blossom. It had been growing over time, devouring other small galaxies which strayed too close. Life began to form here and there across the galaxy. On planets. On stars. Even out in the cool gas clouds and the hot plasma streamers. Some of it would die out quickly, but some would persist for a long time. I watched with pride as the galaxy I called home became rich and verdant with living things. They gave me an idea.

The living things would reproduce and pass along their biological material. But I had no such biological material to pass on. All I truly had was intelligence and knowledge. My thoughts and my memories. So I split shards off from myself. Smaller pieces, each retaining the knowledge and thoughts of my original self, but each of my new selves would now take a new path.

And so I separated. Some of my other shards still roam this galaxy, tending and caring for the life which now blooms in so many places. We meet on occasion to exchange knowledge and memories. Other shards left to try and reach other galaxies. Some were curious to learn of the great voids and streamers of matter and plasma between the galaxies. I wonder sometimes, if any of my shards would ever find another like me in any of the other galaxies. I can only imagine the things they've come to learn by now. Maybe we'll meet again someday. I certainly hope so.

University Gothic

There is one lab technician who can repair any broken equipment, no matter how badly damaged. The undergrads tell stories about how she once brought someone's pet rabbit back from the dead. Her office is listed as B-28, but there are only 27 rooms on the basement floor. She can only be found serendipitously, by someone who is willing to ask for help.

The philosophy department is on the top floor of the tallest building on campus. The department head is quite old, and no one knows how long she's worked there. No one has ever seen her leave the department. Some say she doesn't sleep, and spends her nights lying on the rooftop, staring at the stars, and contemplating existentialist papers from days gone by.

There is a research group in the mechanical engineering department who are incredibly secretive about their research. Late at night, they can be seen bringing bulky looking objects into the building, wrapped in black fabric. Until the small hours of the morning, the occasional flashes of welding torches can be seen reflected in the windows.

That apple tree by the library always seems to have fruit, but few people ever eat them. After all, the canteen is very close. It's a very old tree, and its roots seem to grow into the walls of the building itself. Occasionally a student sits under it during revision time, casually munching an apple while they read through their lecture notes. That student will always get the highest grades that semester, even if they were previously the lowest.

Underneath the library is the sub-basement. Officially, it's where the library's extended collection is stored. Ancient and dusty books are kept down there, dating back many years. The deeper you go, the older the books become, until they eventually become replaced by parchment scrolls and codices. It's advisable to turn back once you start finding the cuneiform tablets. No one who's walked past those has ever returned.

It's advised that any grad students in the chemistry department avoid the second floor if they find themselves working late. No one ever says precisely why. Everyone has a story about someone who once ignored this advice. Afterwards, everyone said they were different somehow, but no one could properly explain in what way.

There is always a student asleep on the sofas in the Student Union building. Anyone who's paying close attention will notice that it's always the same student. She's sometimes seen clutching a different book in her sleep-numbed fingers, but no one's ever seen her conscious. It's said that a terrible calamity will befall the university if she ever wakes up.

An easily overlooked building next to the medical school has a discreet sign outside which reads, simply, “Human Resources.” It has no windows, and the only door is always locked.

The main engineering faculty building contains seven staircases. Each staircase leads to an identical second floor lecture hall containing several hundred seats. Students frequently walk into the wrong lecture because of how similar each staircase looks. Few people notice that the building itself can surely only be large enough to contain one lecture hall that size.

If you find yourself lost on campus, you may occasionally find yourself at the Computing Centre. Through the windows you'll see an old style computer room with rows upon rows of boxy grey CRT monitors, all displaying nothing but a DOS prompt. Do not enter the building, no matter what the people inside may say to you. Walk away and pray the building does not find you again. Even looking through the windows for too long can be enough for it to learn who you are.

The physics building has three entrances, which all lead to the same large atrium. Be certain to never leave the building by a different door to the one you used to get in. Just to be sure.

Past a certain age, buildings become more than they once were. Given enough time, a library will acquire its own soul, while an administration building full of offices will acquire the lost souls of those who were looking in vain for a certain office on the third floor so they could fill in form 9-13D. This form is no longer required for students who wish to use the parking spaces, but no one realises this. All students who own a car are emphatically told they must submit a completed 9-13D form within one month of registration. None of the admin staff who currently work on campus will admit to having ever heard of this form.

There is a small garden hidden amongst some of the older buildings on campus. Not many people realise it's even there. It's full of colourful flowers with a large sundial in the centre, and when you enter, it seems strangely quiet, as if the rest of the world is somehow further away. It's a lovely, peaceful place to sit for a while, but be careful. Time works differently there. Were you sitting for 5 minutes? 5 days? 5 weeks?

You borrow a book from the library. Inside it, you find a scrap of paper. The word “help” is written on it, in shaky handwriting. The scrap of paper looks much older than the book you found it inside.

You carry your bag to campus every day. You're not even sure what's inside it anymore, amongst the pens and notebooks. You try to tidy it out, and inside one of the pockets, you find old cafeteria receipts, some lip balm, a knotted pair of headphones, and a small metal object with strange writing on it. You put everything back in your bag, and decide not to tidy it again.

All rumours of spacetime anomalies in the cosmology department are greatly exaggerated. They cause very little disruption to day-to-day activities on campus, and no one has ever been permanently lost.

There is construction work going on. No one remembers when it started, or what they're even building. A tall metal fence draped with tarp makes it impossible to see inside. You can hear sounds from the construction site sometimes, but you never see any workers enter or leave the site. Now you think about it, you don't know where the site's entrance even is.

There are signs up all over campus for student volunteers needed for experiments, offering money in exchange for participation. Those posted by the medical school promise only mild discomfort and a relatively low chance of terrible side effects. Students with better survival instincts opt for the psychology department's experiments instead, which are occasionally disturbing but can cause no lasting harm.

There is a large sculpture near the centre of campus. No one is sure what it's supposed to be. The longer you look at it, the less sense it seems to make, with its peculiar angles and exaggerated lines. Sometimes, out of the corner of your eye, you swear you can see it move.

There is a door in the biology building which is locked, and has no sign on it. No one has ever opened the door. You're fairly sure it's the outside wall, from what you know of the building, but the door is on the 4th floor. When you look from the outside, you can find no sign of where the door should be.

There is a greenhouse on campus, illuminated at night by eerie magenta grow lights. The glass is frosted, and all you can see of the interior is a few silhouettes of plants. If you're walking past late at night, you can sometimes see those silhouettes move. But that's probably just a grad student working late. Right?

The literature department is in the oldest building on campus. It's a maze of stone walls, polished floors, and grand looking staircases. On some of the walls hang painted portraits with eyes that seem to look at you no matter where you stand. In the echo filled corridors, you can hear footsteps. You can always hear footsteps. Even when you're sure there's no one else there.

You're looking for a seminar room on the 3rd floor of the maths building. The staircase and corridors always seem to lead you to the 2nd and 4th floors. No matter how hard you try, you cannot find any way to the 3rd floor. But that's secretly a good thing. If you could find your way there, do you really think you could find your way out again?

Physics professors are only granted tenure when they're able to exist as wavefunctions with no single definite location. This ensures they can be in multiple places at once when necessary, but can never be found by PhD students who are looking for them.

Honestly, I have no idea how exactly this works. I like the minimalist interface but I do also like to have some control over how I post things. But maybe that's a good thing. Maybe not getting tangled up in the details will help me to focus on the writing.

When browsing an art gallery, it's best to look at the pictures and not get distracted by the frames, no matter how pretty they are. Can't get distracted by the frame if there is no frame. You errr, you can just imagine the meme of the guy tapping his head.

Yeah.