Science Fiction Microstory Contest discussion
Congrats to J.F. Williams, Eight-time Champion of the Science Fiction Microstory Contest
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Powerfully pointed story, J.F.--nice work!
Thanks! This was quite a surprise as I didn't think my story had the heft of the others. On a side note, the wonderful name "Dromgoole" came from watching two different streamed programs recently that both had a character with that name though I had never heard of such a name before. The odd thing is one of the programs, The Night Manager, is from 2016, while the other was from the past year (but I can't remember the name of that one.)on edit: the other Dromgoole was a character in a comedy mystery movie called Handsome that I would not recommend but it wasn't bad. I thought it was brand new but it was released on Netflix in 2017.
Interesting and artfully conceived story, J.F. Nice twist. Congratulations.
Thanks, Tom.I posted the February topics, including critiques, but they aren't on the front page yet.
https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/...
https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/...
https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/...
Great story. Congratulations! I recently read The Midnight Library by Matthew Haig and your story reminded me of the character in that book.
J.F. wrote: "Thanks! This was quite a surprise as I didn't think my story had the heft of the others. On a side note, the wonderful name "Dromgoole" came from watching two different streamed programs recently t..."
Thanks, Rejoice! Now I have to check out that book.
by J.F. WIlliams
"Do you have anything metallic, any particular thing?" Dromgoole asked. "A keepsake, perhaps? Iron is good; silver, better; gold, better still."
Winchell thought for a moment, "I just bought a Krugerrand! I got it on me. I went to Apehousers this morning and picked it up, on a whim."
"Perfect!" said Dromgoole. "Your Other is likely to have done the same. Let me see." He beat a faint tattoo with his fingertips on the sound-muffling keyboard. "Yes. The gold coin will work. BigAz calculated a 93% likelihood your Other will have similar. It may not be called the same but it will be a gold coin."
"Why the coin?" said Winchell.
"It's another parallel, and a strong one. If we can create an abundance of parallels to ensure a stable adhesion during this rare moment of proximity, you can cross, Mr. Winchell," responded Dromgoole proudly. "At the moment I tell you, tomorrow, on Lark Street, you should rub the coin, as will likely your Other."
Tomorrow? Why was it happening so quickly? Dromgoole said the proximity was "rare", so how is it possible? Tomorrow? "Please," he said. "I'm curious. How did a rare event happen so soon after my consultation?"
"Ah, well," said Dromgoole, warming to the question. "Apparently your Other is so like you that he is making the same preparations. This convergence is probably causing the proximity."
"So even in that parallel timeline, I'm not very different."
"Most people aren't, Mr.Winchell. And the split for this line is only three years old. Your life simply hasn't changed that much."
"But Susan, my wife! The reason I'm crossing!"
"BigAz has calculated a 91% likelihood of you wife's existence in the target timeline. The split occurred before her accident, as we agreed. Again, we are sorry for your loss, Mr.Winchell."
"No. That's okay." Winchell had other questions, but he couldn't seem to form them. So he and the Other both had made the same arrangements, or at least BigAz determined that was likely. He began to feel like an automaton, wound up a certain way years ago and just playing out original instructions, regardless of major events, like, oh, say, the loss of his wife. He felt stupid, as if he were missing something that should be obvious.
#
A cool November wind fluttered the stacks of newspapers at Lark Street News. Winchell watched as a woman in a pink sweater rearranged them. He stood exactly where Dromgoole had said: a corner of the storefront that looked like a Corinthean pillar painted a glossy dark green. At precisely three-ten, as prescribed, he reached into his coat pocket and rubbed the Krugerrand between his thumb and index finger. Looking again at the newspapers, all the front pages, except The Post, had changed. The news seller's sweater was now violet. He felt a prickle of electricity on the back of his neck. He had done it. He was desperate to head home and finally see Susan again. He called her though it was against the rule forbidding life contacts before the debriefing. No answer, no voicemail, but her number was active!
#
"Mr. Winchell, I'm Dromgoole," said the familiar-looking man behind the desk. Unlike the other Dromgoole, he wore a mustache. "Are you ready for the info exchange?"
"Yes, sir," Winchell answered hurriedly. "How long will this take? I'm anxious to see Susan."
"Not long. The debriefing really is a priority, sir. Let me go first. You have a job here in this timeline, at Kleets, as an analyst."
"There too."
"Ah, good." Dromgoole scribbled on a green sheet.
"You are married here; Susan; she has a drinking problem."
"A what?"
"Drinking. I understand that over there she is deceased. We are very sorry for your loss."
"That's okay. Is she getting help? "
"Let me see." Dromgoole shuffled some papers. "She is seeing a 'shaman' in 'sweat lodges' and has joined the ladies auxiliary of a white nationalist group, the Cool Dudes. And, good news, she's in recovery. Not had a drink 'for days' it says here."
Winchell was shocked. "Are we happy?"
"No. Not at all," said Dromgoole. "That is why your Other wanted to cross."
"What can I do?" Winchell was devastated. "I can't have that... life!"
"But you already do," said Dromgoole, patting Winchell on the shoulder. "And it won't be so bad. Did they explain over there that after your first night's sleep, you'll forget about the crossing, and the other timeline? They should have."