Communal Story Progress

The experiment continues, and even though people are busy these days, many have taken the time to add a few lines to keep the story going. I'm especially excited about the development of Wendell, the main character. He is key to the story.

Here is the whole story so far. The latest additions are at the bottom, in bold. Read some, read all, enjoy, and then add your little piece to the puzzle. Everyone is invited to contribute, no restrictions. Welcome to communal writing.

 Morning seen through the gaps in the curtains. Bittersweet light. Wendell looked out his window, watching sparrows. Particle counters at several nuclear plants on the sunward side of the planet began to trace a slow climb. 

            Meanwhile, Wendell was trying to find a pair of socks that matched. The sparrows were agitated, and he needed to fill the bird feeder. Like many others that day, he was preoccupied with his morning routine. (The bird-forms are nearly always the first to respond, anyway. It was too soon for humans to notice.) Wendell settled on one navy sock and one black sock. He pulled on his sneakers, grabbed the birdseed and headed outside. Wendell emptied several scoops of seed into the feeder, then stepped back and smiled as he heard chickadees twitter excitedly in nearby trees.

            Across the Atlantic, it was 2PM at the Large Hadron Collider when Dr. Maria Answara returned from lunch. She stretched. She yawned. She looked at her feet. The air was clear and the temperature was warming to a comfortable 17 degrees Celsius. There were tulips in a vase on her desk. Maria walked over to her window to look outside. She had so many things to do today but couldn't help but want to go for a walk and enjoy this beautiful day. 

            The report to the commission was still a work in progress. Why did this have to be so scattered. Wendell's absence was affecting her more than she cared to admit. Why had he left so suddenly? And to take a nothing job as shift supervisor at the Palo Verde nuclear power station, of all things! Maybe it had been a mistake to become involved with Wendell. But, really, wasn't two years long enough to grieve for a dead wife? Maria turned away from the window and looked at the piles of papers on her desk.

            Wendell clicked over to "Good Morning America" as he was eating his daily instant oatmeal chased with a Red Bull. The anchor was in the middle of a report about birds behaving in odd ways. Wendell glanced out the kitchen window at the bird feeder and was shocked to see several turkey buzzards standing near it. "Buzzards in my yard?" he thought "I've never even seen them it town before."

             As he got up to look more closely, his cell phone buzzed on the counter. Wendell sighed as he read the number on the display. For a brief moment he felt a twinge of rebellion and considered not answering. Then he rolled the kinks out of his shoulders and straightened, Hoping the Red Bull was hard at work in his system, preparing him for the day. He pressed the answer button.

            It was the plant calling, of course. He had been hoping (and not hoping, maybe) for a call from Maria, so he could try to explain. But of course she would be tied up now in her research. He had read they were getting ready to start a new series of runs. He answered, rather than letting the call go to his voicemail, although he briefly considered ignoring it. It was Carl, the plant foreman.

            ‎"What do you know about birds?!" was the first thing out of his mouth. As he looked out the window again, he noticed the buzzards were gone. He curiously scratched his head wondering if he imagined them. "Uh, never mind. what's up?"

            Maria sat down at her desk and picked up the headphones. She opened Pandora, and the "Sultry Blues" channel started up with Lavay Smith whispering "Baby you can use me" in her velvet voice...BadadumpBadump. "You can abuse me" DadadaBump. Then the horns came in and the Red Hot Skillet Lickers blazed off into an up-tempo riff, with Lavay wailing "But just don't refuse me!". So NOT what I need today, she thinks, clicking on the "next" icon. Clang! "I've walked forty-seven miles of barb wire." Clang! "Gotta cobra snake for a necktie"...

            Maria glares at the screen; "George Thorogood is Sultry Blues? What kind of idiot wrote this program, anyway". Click. Ok, let's try the Grateful Dead Channel. The opening notes of Dark Star creep into her ears. "That's much better", she thinks, picks up a stack of papers, and starts to read. As she reads, Maria's memory drifts to the show in 1993 when Sting actually opened for the Dead.... she shifts to Drums and Space.... then an encore with "Walk me out in the Morning Dew".... when she looked up and he vomited on her shoes... grilled cheese for a buck didn't mix well with the X. They both looked at her shoes. "Is that oatmeal?" "Yeah, late breakfast. Guess I should've skipped the sandwich." They looked at each other. "Hey, sorry about your shoes."

            That was how she met Wendell. And Therese, his wife. Maria smiled. Therese had propped Wendell against a wall and taken Maria to the ladies room, where they used paper towels to mop up the vomit. To no avail. The shoes were ruined, but a lifelong friendship was born. Sometimes it felt like she was destined to inherit Wendell. After two years, she still missed Therese. And now Wendell had fled without explanation.

But what could be done about it? Nothing.

            Little did she know that he was out on the road, driving with gritted teeth and a half a bottle of lukewarm Cherry Coke next him as his only companion. His tension had formed into little knotted muscles in his back. He missed Therese, but had had to leave before he could properly explain why he had to leave. He felt like crying and vomiting at the same time. But he was too busy dodging the birds walking on the narrow, twisty road to the plant.

           Snap out of it he thought, he didn't like his mind dragging him into past's abyss. He thought more of Maria. Maria Maria Maria, perhaps... he then gave himself a mental slap! I need to focus, he was frustrated with himself. These birds these dangblasted birds!!!! He felt that he was about to lose it, he heard a noise off in the clearing not to far into the twisty road, he slowly turned, something weird definitely this way comes...and nearly sideswiped a tree as the procession exited the clearing and began trooping across the road, fronted by a silvery unicorn dressed in bright ribbons and tinsel being led by a rolly-polly figure in pink coveralls and a pointed hat with a short round brim. Next in line were a pair of elephants ridden by winged monkeys. Bringing up the rear was a cartoonish old guy with a broom and push-can. Marching along side were two columns of birds.



         Wendell slammed on the brakes, slid to a stop, closed his eyes and shook his head violently. When he peeked again through half-open lids, only the birds remained. They weren't marching anywhere, just standing around looking confused.

"That doctor wasn't kidding, was he..." Wendell thought, and cringed. He took a deep breath. "I've got to get a grip." 
He drove onto the main road, towards the plant. "But, really, what's up with the birds today?"

            Hanging on to the wheel with one hand, he groped in the door pocket, pulled out the new prescription vial, levered off the top with his thumb. Popping another Abilify, he washed it down with a swig of Coke. "This is supposed to be the latest, greatest stuff, it should be working better than this!"

            Sometimes, Wendell thought, it would have been easier to have stuck things out with Therese. Then he would still have the boat and the dogs, which would almost make Therese bearable. All those reminders of the dumb things he'd done - as if he were the only guy to ever puke his guts out at a Dead show, for Chrissake - and never a decent thing to say. At least Maria knew how to treat a guy. 


             He sat in his car at the side of the road, sweating through his shirt. The horrible procession had stopped, and the way ahead had cleared, although he could hear more birds clattering through the branches in the tree he'd nearly hit. Maybe they were spy birds, he thought, sent by the government, or by the Russians, to steal secrets from the plant. 
He would have to run. Otherwise, the birds would find Maria, and then the collider project would be doomed.

            On NPR, Ira Flatow was interviewing Michio Kaku. "The tin-foil hat bloggers are really having a time with this bird thing, aren't they!". 

           "Yes, Ira, the 2012 crowd are busy revising their counts, all the while crowing 'It's starting, it's starting!'. And the magnetic field flippers are saying "see, we told you it was overdue." Of course, there is absolutely no evidence the earth's field can change anywhere nearly as fast as they are claiming. But the bird thing IS interesting. On some of the more serious science blogs, researchers are speculating that it's just one more unforseen consequence of climate change. Apparently, birds are starting their annual migrations early this year. Perhaps they are getting lost because it's the wrong time of year? It's way too early for anything other than speculation, of course". 

           "Thanks for taking our call, Michio. In the next segment on Talk of the Nation...." 

           Wendell switched off the radio. Kaku again! They couldn't find an ecologist, so they called him? Michio must be making a mint doing these 5-minute interviews. And here I am working at a stupid nuke plant. That Michio is nothing but a mouthpiece for the government, just a brown noser. Wendell sighed deeply, losng himself in his thoughts. He had a feeling that Michio was in with no less than the Russians, Chinese and possibly the North Koreans. Wendell actually was jealous, Michio lived the life that he could only dream of.

(12 months previous

)

**** It's very, very dangerous, what they are doing! ****



++ In other galactic news this cycle, the speed of light in vacuum remains approximately 299,792,458 meters per second, as expressed in the dominant local system units. ++



**** Right, Ship, make fun if you like, but they can't go on like this. ****



++ You can't tell them, the Accords specifically... ++



**** Now who's stating the obvious, Ship? We know what the Accords say. And what they don't say. So, no, we can't tell them. But, here is what YOU are going to do... ****

          Wendell passed through the security gate of the plant. The grounds looked like a bird convention. That group there, the mockingbirds, where they actually mocking the staff trying to shoo them off? For some reason, his badge hadn't worked in the perimeter gate, but the guards had recognized him and waved him through. He parked in the shade of one of the tall cooling towers. Moving a bit stiffly, he walked off towards the office block.

            The offices buzzed with activity. Birds batted against the windows. Carl grabbed him the moment he walked through the door. “What are you doing here? You're supposed to be on medical leave through the end of the month. How did you even get in; HR department was supposed to invalidate your badge. if the boss sees you in here, we'll both get canned!”

            You called me, remember," Wendell replied. "Now what's going on?"

            
"Oh, right. Well, as you can see it's these damn birds. They're all over the grounds. One of them is going to get sucked up and jam up the equipment. Our people can't scare them away fast enough." Carl's bald head had a slight sheen to it.


            "Have you tried dogs?" Wendell asked. "Or better yet, cats?"

Carl looked puzzled. "Where would we get enough dogs and cats to make a difference?"

...."wait, hang on, I didn't call YOU -- I called the second shift guy. Dammit, Wendell, you're so confused you got ME doing it! Get out of here before the plant manager sees you."



            "But what about the particle count?", Wendell stammered.



            Carl eyed him suspiciously. "How in hell do you know about that? Was it on the news this morning? I bet that damn Russian Goesky has been snuggling up to that skanky reporter again...that's all I need today!"
He shoved Wendell into his private office to get him off the main floor and out of sight.

            Wendell's cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked and saw that Alice, his neighbor who works for the local animal shelter had sent him a text message..... "hey, W, how about a cat? We've run out of space...??? weirdest thing... strays, give-ups, you name it. Come on, you know you want one!"

                        Wendell knew what he had to do. He called Alice back, "Cats, yes, Alice, you couldn't have called at a better time. Look, I'll call you back in a minute, my boss is ragging on me just now. But, yes, I would love a cat...iin fact, I'm going to want LOTS of 'em...yeah, I'll explain that when I call back. Hang onto those cats!"

            “Carl, listen for a second. I'm here now, and fairly lucid at the moment. I don't know what happened with the call, but Jonathan hasn't shown up yet, anyway. I have an idea about the cats...I can use the intern's cube, he's not in a today and the big boss wouldn't get caught dead down there in at the low rent district."

            ‎"OK, but you gotta keep a lid on the incident this morning."



            "What happened, anyway?"



            "It was those damned Russians, again. One of those clowns was on the board when the Southwest Net shed a bunch of load without bothering to warn us first. Unit Two got caught with a lot of excess heat. And this guy must think a control rod is what's hanging between his legs. Damn HR must have gotten a package deal on all these ex-pig-boat reactor wipers after the Evil Empire collapsed! So we had a nice little power excursion that tripped all the detectors. The software over-rides worked, though, which is why I am still here instead of hauling ass down the road in my truck. At least they didn't mash the "fuck-me" button...this time. Management is still honked-off about the SCRAM on Unit One that your predecessor pulled..."

            ‎"Why did Southwest shed load? They usually want more power this time of day, not less. And they always tell us ahead of time, anyway."



            "They lost the big 400KV superconducting transmission line out of Lake Mead. Nobody knows why."

            Outside the birds continued to gather in the parking lot, on the road, on the sidewalks, in the grass. They began to sway in unison. There was a low hum. Those in the facility could feel it in their feet.The office got very quiet. People peeked out windows and doors, trying to see what had happened. Wendell had become extremely paranoid and also extremely thin. He only ate three pieces of cheese and some wilted lettuce for lunch. Down with carbs, he told himself.

It was early evening in Switzerland. Maria closed the cover of Wendell's report. So Wendell believed his team had found the elusive Higgs boson. Then again, Wendell believed a lot of other things, too. His report had trailed off into paranoid rambling. Mental problems. That explained his quick departure. Maria's musings were interrupted by a steady humming coming through the floorboards. She went to the window to see...