Summer

Rock encrusted with dead grass and moss. Dry, brittle, a tired, old scene of late summer, the harsh buzzing of insects, the heat heavy on the soil. Brakeman leans over the wooden fence and pulls the flask of warm, brackish water to his lips. He sips gratefully and with a grimace, his lips and tongue flickering like a pale amphibian to stop any of it escaping.

His throat feels like it will work again and he coughs, gently.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

The boys stare at him, a mixture of awe and fear. Brakeman is the stuff of their nightmares, fed up on half-heard tales of vengeance whispered amongst the older kids.

UFO

The first feeling I get is one of inquiry, a gentle interest like that of a Buddhist monk looking to understand the world that is in front of him by simply sitting and watching. Then the lights start to move away, a spiralling and intricate dance leaving a smell of dying autumn leaves. They shrink, briefly illuminating the clouds, and suddenly disappear in the dark sky to leave only after-images, the fading false glow of memory.

The sight has been increasingly common, reported on local news channels across the world, but it is still dismissed by the major nationals, apart from Fox who have run it as a nut piece. No-one understands it yet, no one has thought about it enough yet. The truth is, people seem unwilling to really acknowledge that it might be real. Fear, I guess, keeps it hidden in plain view. Despite all those films the truth we all know is that alien invaders would win. Apple computers, cold viruses and good, old-fashioned, human ingenuity will not win us a war against creatures so advanced that they could probably just wipe the planet clean of life and start again if they chose.

Johan's long, heavy face is dark and angular in the bare, red lighting of the pod. We are hanging in space, nearly a kilometre from the <<la terre sans la ciel>>, only a thin but incredulously strong cable tethering us to the bulk of the space craft.

Flickering on the glass the image of Saturn fills our vision, overlaid with real-time infrared pictures of the aurora. It is beautful but incredibly unnerving to watch. The blue streaks reach out, sketches of magnetic waves that should not be behaving in this way, red hexagonal shapes below mapping out the nothern pole of the planet with an alien isometric view. None of it looks real.

I wave my hand over the overlay, and begin twitching my fingers to pull up files and videos from half a century's worth of compiled data on this phenomenon. It flies over the screen in waves, from the earliest, laughably low rez videos of early probes and Earth-based scopes, through to the latest purpose-built flyby cameras. The maths underlines it all with records of patterns that should not be natural. This is not a view that Johan shares. Look at pulsars. He has said to me many times. Before we understood them they seemed to be messages from other civilisations, we couldn't imagine otherwise. But the truth is nature can produce very many strange and unusual things that we do not yet understand.

Even aliens, I mutter under my breath.

What? Johan asks.

I smile and shake my head. How are we doing? I ask. Time to get back yet.

Feeling exposed?

Hanging around like this? Yes, I feel exposed. I know we need to collect the data away from the ship to avoid interference from the drives, but do we really need to be here too?

Johan laughs. He is a much more physical kind of person that I am. He has to be here, I can sense that. Simply seeing this thorugh a camera would never be enough for him.

nanowrimo 4

An unexpected interlude requiring more work...

The monk breaks into an even larger grin and bows in return. Together they walk back up the path, chatting in broken Chinese and sketching out the occasional Sanskrit word in the air in front of them in order to learn more about each other.

The monk's name is Geshe, Wei learns.

The monastery is larger than he expected. It is built of thick, whitewashed walls that seem to erupt from the earth itself, with small red-framed windows and ornamented eaves.

Li spends a few weeks with them, discussing the sutras, enjoying the debates that form the basis of their teaching style, and learning too about the strange beliefs that accompany their faith. Sometimes it seems like they do not follow Buddhism at all, but then a phrase or an expression will turn his misconceptions on their head and affirm their understanding of the Mahayana to be at least as deep as any Chinese priest. It becomes clear to him that their understanding of the psychology that Buddhism propounds is deeper than any school he has previously come across. Yet he can't help feeling culturally adrift, cut off from familiar practises and even his own language. Eventually it is time to leave.

nanowrimo 3

More unpolished work...

The crowd is warmed and ready. They have listened to what has been said and know that it makes sense. They have seen the ghostly Christian missionaries come, offering their food and their books of magic to those fools willing to listen and lose their souls to the foreign magic. Big Brother raises his hands.

“These devil princes and their slaves carry weapons that we are supposed to be afraid of. They have defeated the weak armies of the Manchu's but they cannot withstand us. They cannot harm us. We are protected, because we are strong. We do not touch opium, or alcohol or tobacco. We refuse to become slaves.”

Ho'Er knows that this is his cue. His chanting becomes louder. He presses his hands together in front of his chest, his first fingers outstretched. Suddenly he leaps up with a scream and begins his demonstration, leaping with his own well practised kicks, his face an expression of possession and the demon he has become. Reaching the far end of the stage he halts, becoming still once more. The crowd cheers his skills and inside he feels their faith and strength. He has no fear as the young Red Lantern, springing on her tiny feet, climbs up onto the stage, a rifle slung over her shoulder. The crowd fall silent. Even those who have heard of this act are quiet, faced with the reality of the weapon.

The girl raises the rifle to her shoulder and swings it towards a clay pot carefully positioned on the edge of the stage next to Ho'Er. She squeezes the trigger and a firework pop is followed by the sharp crack of the clay collapsing, pieces flying with the bullet's impact. Ho'Er increases the speed and volume of his chanting once more. The crowd is as still as he is. The Red Lantern tilts the weapon towards him and he looks again into her eyes. This is not the first time he has looked down the barrel of a loaded gun, looked into the eyes of the one aiming it at his heart, but he does not have any fear. He knows that he cannot be harmed. Even if there has been a mistake and the bullet loaded into the gun is real the gods know that he is fighting for them and they will protect him. She pulls the trigger.

Smoke pours like liquid from the barrel. Ho'Er raises his hands and turns to the crowd triumphantly. They are cheering him, cheering Big Brother, cheering the Red Lantern girl. Nothing can defeat them.

Nanowrimo 2

“That's right. His full name is King Earth Treasure of the Great Vow. Do you know what the Great Vow is?”

The two boys shake their heads.

“He is the most perfect of the Bodhisattva's. He resides in hell to try and bring enlightenment into even the worst of hearts, the most terrible of places. He has forsaken his own Buddhahood until he is able to bring all beings, even those so lost in hell that they can never be freed, to enlightenment. He was born a young girl who prayed for her mother to be released from hell after she died. Finally Buddha granted her wish to go to hell to see where her mother was. Her mother had already been released, thanks to the girl's efforts in accumulating merit, but while there she saw the great suffering of all the other beings trapped there and made her vow. Are you capable of such a vow? Can you strive to learn from King Earth Treasure and bring enlightenment to all beings?”

Nanowrimo 1

It's Nanowrimo time, so rather than write something new I'm going to pick something from the novel I am writing and upload it. Unfortunately, with only two days done, there's not so much to choose from yet, but it proves I'm doing something.

His life recently has been an increasing spiral of change that has wound him tighter and tighter until he thought there was nothing more that he could see, or feel; the shifts from joy to sorrow have been so rapid, as in the blink of an eye, that he no longer feels certain as to who he is anymore. Since the death of his father nothing has been certain; he knows this from when he has caught his mother crying to herself, when she thinks he has not been nearby, or overheard conversations she has had with his uncles and aunts that are now long behind him in Guangzhou. He has even lost those few friends he thought he had to come to this cold, dark town.

His mother comes forward and pats him on the shoulder as the gate is opened to the outside and his uncle gestures to him to follow. Outside a breeze catches down the street, cutting through his clothing even deeper than before. The road is edged with snow that is stamped into the blackened and muddy road.

“Keep wrapped up warm.” His mother calls to him from inside the doorway. He turns back with what he hopes is a smile of confidence. He sees the lacquered scripts fastened on the wall on either side of the door: Long life, happiness, prosperity. Those all feel a long way from him.

In front of the steps are four men dressed in greasy padded jackets, straw hats tied on firmly against the wind, blowing through clasped hands to try and loosen them and keep them warm before the journey begins. There are two palanquins waiting for them. Master Li gestures for Wei and young Li to get into the one while he pulls open the door for the other, pausing only to ensure that they are safely aboard.