Chapter 7. A Card
Don went to the garage. I remain on the blanket thinking at nothing. What a day! My first squirting day. This is so unbelievably amazing. There are couples struggling to have babies and we are a couple that struggled for a proper and vivid squirt. For years! Finally I let it go. Feels like a pee but it’s a totally different liquid. And the after-feeling to my brains and body is magnificent. I can tell that I am like a newborn. No more ankles aching. No more fears haunting. I am like a blank sheet of paper. Good! Now let me write something on it, err, on “myself.”
First thing first, that Platinum Card!
Must ask Don if the product of his fantasy machine is of any use in the real world. Makes sense, my question, I mean. No?
I stand up and, before heading to the garage, I look out for the laptop. Where is it? Of course, it’s not here anymore. Most likely Don took it when he left. But hey, this is my laptop, not his. Thinking at trivial matters, I stroll throughout my garden. The sun prepares to set down to the South-West, the black walnut tree sends a fair amount of shadow over the lawn, the rose- and blackberry-bushes. Crickets prepare their nocturnal concerts with more and more impudence. However, the darkness has yet to come. Summer afternoons are long and summer evenings are even longer. Nights are short. Which is the reason why I love summer so much.
Right, here it is, my laptop, he placed it back on the table to recharge.
“Don? U-hoo! Where art thou?”
“Here honey, down, into the pit, under the car.” His voice sounds distant but it isn’t.
“Hope you got dressed before going down there, did you?”
“Sure, honey. It’s cold and dirty down here.” I can hear the disgust making its way up from down the pit.
“What are you doing?” Yes, what is he doing in the pit? Is it there where he keeps his science and research?
“Shelving the module on its parts. Don’t want to restart it unless I study more on the side effects.”
Nice move, I can only appreciate what you are doing. “Like, for instance, what kind of side effects?”
“Like finding out if materialized fantasies can kill and how to prevent this from happening.”
Aha, this is another reason why I love him so much. He’s a great listener. When I told him that I could imagine drowning, while in the power of his hacking module, that made him think it over. But I won’t waste his time with bragging about my great casual suggestions. He’s accustomed to get inspired by them. I’d rather return him a sarcasm or two.
“Well, if the subject is suicidal, I guess he won’t need a hacking of the Universe to end his days.”
“This is correct, my bunny. But I have to prevent death by accident. There has to be a way to switch off the timeline exactly before the subject’s body is about to acquire a penetrating object, like a knife, rod, bullet or something similar.”
“Will that apply for a cock as well?”
“Good question. It should. So this means no fucking and no killing in the future fantasies.”
“Suits me.” I say with not much of an interest. This because I am bound on the Platinum Card issue, a very important matter, don’t you think?
I don’t hesitate to change the theme, abruptly.
“Don, do you think that I can use that Platinum Card?”
“You certainly can. What a question.” His detached words are followed by the sound of a sliding plate of iron. Then, after two clings, I can see his orange glove grabbing the hook at the back of the car, followed by the glove in his other hand pushing against the concrete floor and off he jumps out of the pit. The zipper of his overalls is mostly open so I let my eyes admire the hair on his chest. But that makes no point. Not for now, at least. Because now I have to find out if this card is of any use to us or not. So I keep pounding him with new questions.
“Well. It’s a product of your fantasy device. Or am I wrong?”
“This time, you’re quite wrong dear.”
“Really. During your dialog with Cron, you were communicating with a far distant daemon.” Now this again. I didn’t expect him to give me easy answers. But daemons?
“You must be kidding me.” Here he starts again with his mumble jumble. It’s disarming.
“No. I am not kidding you, by any means. Remember that, when doing risky stuff, such as hacking the Universe, one finds himself on treacherous networks. The least dangerous route to follow when hacking reality is by submitting requests across the network powered by Kronos.”
“The ancient Greek god of time?” I wonder…
“That’s what the ancient Greeks thought of him. Actually he’s just an artist without a cause, an amoral renegade.” He speaks of this Kronos as if it were the guy next door. I’m scared already.
“And what did you find so cool about him? Why do you say this is the least risky path?”
“Because Kronos is nothing but a mirror. If you are ugly then he is ugly. If you are nice then he is nice. If you are evil then he is…”
“…Evil. And is he?”
“Well, he could be as evil as your thoughts are, only that your human evilness will apply instantly against you, or around you, against subjects or objects targeted by your vengeance. This process is passed throughout a Cron, which is a random routine by Kronos.”
“Hm. Too complicated for me. Is this Kronos alive or just a myth?”
“He is very much alive. He has a fabulous shelter, hidden deep inside planet Saturn.”
“Okay, now I lost you again. I made efforts to keep my sanity but it seems that you are getting me too far. Let’s get back to earth, shall we? I want to buy a black and classy evening dress with this Platinum Card. Can I?”
“Sure. Do you want I go shopping with you? If so, we’ll drive to the city tomorrow morning. Okay with ya?”
“Good. And no consequences whatsoever if I use this card?” I can’t believe he can talk with such candor about an imaginary card. He is a cautious man, to my quarter-of-a-century knowledge.
“Consequences? What consequences are you talking about?”
“Look, Don, don’t fool me. This is not a real card.”
“Yes, it is!”
“Really? You just told me that I got it by the works of Cron who is a routine, or something like that, which is activated and running on an astral server, owned by a guy named Kronos who lives inside Saturn. Come on! Do you expect me to believe all that?”
“Do you want me to lie to you?”
“So this is the truth?”
“The naked truth!”
“And how comes that the mailman delivered this card officially to me?”
“I must admit, for the postman that moment may have been his most remembered official delivery.” Somehow he manages to make me blush, to feel like a public object of manly lust. However, I gotta stick to my guns: the darn card!
“Spare me your tales of male stupidity. How comes that this card is for real?” I sound very serious and this makes him adjust his irony to a more elevated approach towards my nagging insistence. He zips up the overalls, looks at me in silence for a moment or two, invites me out of the garage and walks along with me to the patio. There he grabs my dressing gown from the rocking chair and carefully wraps it around my shoulders. He takes his time until I tight it up and then answers my question with another question. This is what he does when he wants me to start thinking, to find the solution by myself, guided by his propping questions.
“Remember when Elisha taught that woman to collect empty vessels and fill them with the little oil she had left in her house?”
“Think I do. She came to him and asked for help, saying that she was a widow, had to pay the lenders left behind by her deceased husband and that the only thing she had in house was a pot of oil.” I recall this quite well because he had recently read this chapter to me – as he usually does, during our long and slowly thought through mornings, right after breakfast.
“Exactly!” He answers with a happy face and a raised pointer finger. “To this, Elisha instructed her to pour oil from the pot into the new vessels until there will be no more vessels.”
“There are many similar instances in the Bible, no?”
“And do you think these were running on the Kronos routine?” I ask like the stupid student.
“No. I can’t say that. I don’t know on what routine they ran this or that event. It goes way beyond me to tell this to you, or even to grasp with my mind about how it works. As for what am I doing now? I just gave you a well-known example to help you better understand what’s going on with your Platinum Card. And I can tell you that I have found something similar, to that effect, in the Kronos routine.”
“And my Platinum Card?”
“It belongs to an open account that cannot go into the red.”
Here on earth? I think but keep it to myself. And then I ask the natural question.
“Ah, never… There’s no such thing as never, my bunny.”
He is right, never say never. But my curiosity, or my impatience, won’t give me peace from asking over and over. “Then?”
“It will last for seven years, including renewals.”
“And I’m the owner of this account, so it seems…”
“So it is. Yes, it’s on your name.”
“Did you open it?”
“No. Your agent did.”
“My agent? Do I have an agent?”
“Sure you do. Couple of weeks ago you self-published an ebook with gardening tips, remember?”
“Yes, I remember. But sales were lame.”
“Maybe in your forsaken reality. But, within the timeline that we’ve been traveling through, your book was associated with a viral YouTube video that stirred sensation all over the web. Two hundred million views, can you imagine?”
“No. I think I can’t. Possibly because that never happened.”
“Yes, it happened in our timeline. It’s recorded. Let me show you.”
And he rolls the sleeves of his overall and stretches for the laptop. My laptop. He opens the lid, writes the password to login, jumps to the screen where Chrome is and browses to my “Doris channel” on YouTube.
“Ta-da!” Smiling full of confidence, he presents me the aforementioned video. Something we filmed when planting a cherry tree together, early this spring. Nothing special, nothing exceptional, nothing sensational. Below the video, to the right corner of it, I can read 214,987,008 views, and counting. I stare at the screen, baffled!
“How could this be? Are you sure you turned off that crazy machine of yours?”
“Turned off and disassembled. You may check it out in the garage. It’s under the car, each of the parts stored separately. On the shelves, both side walls of the pit.”
“And my book on gardening?”
“Amazon offered you a fat perk for keeping it exclusive to Kindle.”
“And?” I still cannot think so I just ask stupid questions.
“And your agent takes care of all these… how may I call them?…”
“Technicalities? Can we call them that way?”
“Oh yes, sure we can.”
I can feel now, that something even better than my first squirting happened to me today: it is what we call financial freedom.
The Platinum Card is no trick, it is real and provable. And VALID!
My questions and my worries have been answered.
Thank you, God!
“Oh Don, think it’s okay that we thank God for all this success. Think Kronos wouldn’t mind, would he?”
“You stupid woman!” In an instant, the gentleness wanes off of his face as wrinkles of displeasure furrow across his forehead. He continues with a visible effort to hold his anger at me. “Of course that Kronos won’t mind us thanking our Lord. What do you thought? That Kronos is some damn god? That’s pure Greek skullduggery. Kronos is a daemon, trapped inside Saturn for some reason. Didn’t I tell you before?”
“Sort of like the server admin guy locked down in the cellar of the building?” I am kinda worried again, for my flaky faith. And for upsetting hubby. And for being so stupid. And… but he saves me from a renewed mental tailspin with his calm and timely answer.
“Something to that effect. Who do you think helped me hack that far astray over the networks administered by Kronos?”
“That Friend of ours from Nazareth, my dear.”
Relieved of my previous mistake, and refilled with optimism, I get excited once again.
“And thus you tricked time backwards. You changed the past.”
“Me? I didn’t change anything. I just saw an opportunity and I grabbed it. This is all. Guess you don’t mind, do you?”
“No… not at all.” Without mentioning it, I start my breathing exercises. “But how is that to change the past, to alter time, to twist the principles of cause and effect?”
“I don’t think that THIS past was changed in any way. I don’t think that THIS time was altered. I don’t think that ANY principles of cause and effect have been twisted. What I can tell you is the following fact: time is an illusion. Haven’t you read about it on Slashdot?”
“On that crazy forum where geeks meet to chat? Who gives a damn about what geeks have to say?”
“See? Now you’ve got your answer. No one cares about nerd stuff. Stuff that matters.”
“What really – really! – matters to me is that I have a valid Platinum Card.”
“And an online business that keeps selling and pouring oil onto your card, no?”
“Hm… Not bad. Not bad at all. So… tomorrow we go shopping?”
“We’ll leave at eight o’clock in the morning. Fine with ya?”
“You’re such a lovely man.”
“Yes, I know that.”
“One more question before I go to fix us an avocado for dinner.”
“Rather than getting yourself a second woman you decided to hack the Universe?”
“Hah, that’s right indeed. Hacking the Universe proved simpler and saner than getting myself a second woman.”
Copyright 2012 July 15, by Doris Dawn, firstname.lastname@example.org All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.
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