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    Vision Lake Short Story Collection
    Vision Lake Short Story Collection
    Vision Lake Short Story Collection
    Ebook96 pages1 hour

    Vision Lake Short Story Collection

    By Gene Strasser

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    About this ebook

    A collection of science fiction short stories about the clash between alien cultures, the perils of space travel, the death gasp of a dying world, and the nature of the human soul.

    Man in a Box
    Doldrums
    Discrepancy
    Plinius

    124 Pages

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGene Strasser
    Release dateMar 20, 2019
    ISBN9781720018940
    Vision Lake Short Story Collection

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      Book preview

      Vision Lake Short Story Collection - Gene Strasser

      Man In A Box

      "She had killed three others.  Taken their heads clean off.  When I disposed of the carcasses, I wondered what she had done with them.  My father was especially furious.  But what do you expect.  She had claws.  She had teeth.  There was only one thing she knew how to do and do it well and that was to hunt.  I didn't find it disturbing at all and I seemed to be the only one. 

      Actually, what did bother me about all of it was how it seemed to make life seem so trivial.  Going from birth to death over and over again.  It had begun long before humans had ever arrived on the scene and it would always continue.  A cycle that never ended and that made life seem so generic.  My mother, in her own anger, tried to attach human emotion by wondering how the survivors must be grieving for their lost loved ones.  But there was no emotion.  No feelings.  It was simply a mechanical process that had repeated itself nearly an infinite number of times.  Looking at it this way sometimes I thought that there seemed to be no purpose in life.  No need to achieve.  No need to strive.  Simply because there seemed to be no value in it. 

      When she brought home the fourth one my younger sister managed to rescue it but already it was bleeding behind the ear.  She put it in a cage and tried to nurse it back to health but it didn't seem to get any better.  We finally ended up taking it to a nature sanctuary north of a small town called Oxford not too far from where we lived at the time.  We put the rabbit in of all places, the bottom of a small wastebasket.  I held it while my sister piloted.  When we had nearly reached the sanctuary, the rabbit which had remained calm through most of the trip, suddenly acted up.  It kicked.  It rolled over.  First head first.  And then on its side.  It screamed a soft scream and bore its teeth.  Finally, it laid down on its side and stopped moving.  At first I didn't know what was going on until that single velvet black eye stared up at me.  Even with its gaze, there was nothing behind it anymore.  All that remained was a shell. 

      At first I was shocked.  Even when we finally arrived I couldn't shake myself out of the daze that I was in.  The owner of the sanctuary said our cat had punctured an artery in the back of its neck.  On the way home I was hypnotized.  I had witnessed something amazing.  Oh, I know, why would the death of such a small creature affect me so much? Like I said, countless numbers had died before almost to the point where their mere existence seemed meaningless.  I am not sure but maybe I just happened to be looking in the right direction at the right moment.  Or maybe I didn't pass judgement on the whole incident like my family did.  Or maybe I didn't respond or mourn in the mindless way our society had taught us when death arrives. 

      No, what I saw was remarkable.  Where, during its entire short life this creature could not find its place.  Could not find any value or meaning.  Somehow it had succeeded in its own death.  It was like the plumage of a peacock that is hidden until it unfolds in all its raw beauty.  It was during its death throe that it had become unique.  Elevating itself above the ordinary.  Somehow making a mark in eternity that could never be taken away.  It was its defining moment."

      I stopped. 

      I stared at the peeling grey paint on the wall in front of me and watched as a Denebian spider stood guard in the middle of his web that was stretched out between the wall and the boarded up window to my left.  I sat in the steel padded chair and didn't move a muscle.  Suddenly it was so quiet.  My heart ached and a dull pain quickly shot down my left arm and in some strange way it seemed almost pleasurable. 

      You idiot, I cursed to myself in a low whisper as tears began to well up in my eyes.  I felt so utterly alone.  No one was there. 

      I leaned my head back and let a single tear tumble down my left cheek.  I felt the sensation as it cut into my skin like a sharp feather.  I laughed as I glanced at one of the yellowing ceiling tiles and counted 268 dots. 

      Earlier, a Denebian neurology student had come into my room bearing a ceiling tile from who knows where.  She kept it from my sight until she sat down in a chair next to me.  She flashed it for only a second and instantly I counted 179 dots.  Then she painstakingly tried to count them herself.  I was amused as she lost count a few times, fumbling with the tile in frustration.  At first I thought she was going to break it over her knee.  Or maybe throw it against the wall.  But she continued.  One by one.  Until she finished in triumph.  Then she exploded in anger and we argued a little while.  She had gotten the count wrong. 

      But she calmed down and eventually got it right.  Then she left and returned with another tile and we started all over again.  When she finished, she left again and never returned. 

      Now I wondered.  How long had it been?  A day?  Two days?  I couldn't remember.  Or maybe it was because time had no meaning to me anymore.  Instead everything seemed like a mad rush of sensations blowing into my head like a raging storm.  Images.  Smells.  Sounds.  They all blended together.  They all competed.  Sometimes to such an extent and in such a disjointed manner that I became lost, disoriented.  For now the fury seemed to subside and I strained to remember.  But I couldn't.  I couldn't remember the last time I sat down.  I couldn't remember the last time I laid down in my bed.  I couldn't even remember the last time I ate.  But it could not have been that long?  If it were, then it meant that I have been sitting in this chair for two days without moving!  No way!  Not possible!  Or was it.  My legs weren't asleep.  I didn't feel hungry or thirsty.  Nor did my back ache. 

      I quit trying to figure it out.  I looked over at the bed and found it inviting.  One thing I did know, I hadn't slept very well lately.  Now was the time.  Especially since the music had stopped.  And I knew it wouldn't be very long until it would start again. 

      I got up out of the chair and headed for the bed in the corner to my right.  I sat down on it and quickly I laid back rolling over on my right side.  Instantly my body seemed to sink heavily into the mattress.  I hadn't realized how exhausted I was until now.  Vivid images of rabbits filled my head.  Racing and hopping through the underbrush.  Fast and furious.  Crisscrossing each other and darting in and out in wonderfully intricate patterns.  I marveled at the sight and then I closed my eyes. 

      I see that you slept, the doctor said rather enthusiastically as he sat calmly in the chair next to the bed.  That's good!  I was already sitting up and awake.  Not that he had disturbed me.  The blasted orchestra had begun again just before he had arrived waking me out of a sound sleep. 

      How long? I asked as I wrestled to keep my eyes open and clear the fog that clouded my vision.  I couldn't appreciate his optimism.  How could I?  I was dying and there was no stopping it. 

      By earth time, oh, I guess it would be. . .  

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