The Steel Tomb Part 1 (Fixed Formatting)
It was the frigid salt-water spraying into my face that awoke me. I sat bolt-upright only to be greeted by an explosion of pain in my forehead as it collided violently with an unseen metal surface. It seemed that I had a pre-existing headache that had now been multiplied exponentially by my own carelessness. Grunting in pain I slowly rose from the floor being certain to let my hands guide me. Upon standing up I opened my eyes... Nothing... There was nothing. Blackness enveloped the space around me in a sickening blanket. This was very bad. That could only mean that both the engines and the emergency power had failed. This was most certainly NOT GOOD. It was in that instant that my blood seemed to freeze in my veins. The water! My hands pawed at the darkness in a mad attempt to find the freezing stream that had awoken me. It didn't take long. It was the sound that gave it away. It was the sound of death itself. Luckily for me it wasn't a very big leak. Hardly enough to be worthy of extreme alarm, but it surely meant that the pressure hull had been breached. The fact that I was still alive was a miracle.
What on earth had happened that I would find myself in this predicament?! A dull haze greeted me when I attempted to probe my memories from earlier that day. It didn't matter. I had to get out of this compartment immediately. I reached into my pocket for my trusted flashlight. To my utter dismay I found that it was gone due to a gaping hole in my pant leg. My ears were telling me that the pressure in the room had already risen slightly. My hands stuck out in front of me like two antennas. Since my memory was failing me, I had only my ears and hands to guide me. A metal pipe greeted my fingertips and as they ran along its frigid length I could feel my body heat rapidly being sapped away. My hands shied away quickly before they became frozen. Nothing on board was supposed to be that cold... Unless I was standing directly beneath the refrigerant plant. I knew where I was. It was the engine room. Quite literally the worst place to be onboard for somebody who was bereft of light. In my mind I had always nicknamed it the jungle gym of death. It was due to every piece of equipment having the potential to dismember, crush, or electrocute you to death in a matter of mere seconds. It was either that or the whole steam plant deciding to rupture and recreate the scene at the end of âEUoeRaiders Of The Lost Ark.âEU
Needless to say, I was slightly discouraged at my predicament and was not excited to begin the multi-storied climb to the watertight door that lead to the forward compartments. This task would prove difficult because of the intricate web of ladders and low hanging pipes that precariously cluttered the path. My still ringing head sent stabs of pain to the backside of my eyeballs. Reminding me that I was wounded and would have to go cautiously slow so as not to incur yet more injuries.
A thought occurred to me now that made me feel stupid for not thinking of it sooner. I almost slapped myself in the face from the sheer exasperation at my own foolishness. I thought better of it.
âEUoeHello?âEU There was no response. âEUoeHello!?! Is anyone there!?âEU There was nothing but the creaking of the surrounding machinery. Where was everyone? A terrible thought sprang into my mind. Maybe the reactor had sprung a leak and they had been forced to abandon the engine room barely escaping with their lives from the ensured onslaught of radiation? No... That wouldnâEUTMt explain how I was still alive. Surely my vital organs would have liquified by now if that was the case. A sharp spike of pain in my ears warned me that I was wasting precious time. I had to escape and I had to do it now!
My hands swung slowly around me in a circle in an attempt to find which direction I needed to go. They quickly found a gap in the piping and I slipped through it with relative ease. The familiar sound of steel plating greeted my ears as my sneakers stepped onto it. I bumped into a handrail.
âEUoeOkâEU I said to myself. I knew that I had one of two options. I was to either go right or to the left. One way would lead back to the propellor and the other would lead me closer to my goal. If I was to choose the wrong way towards the screw then I would run the risk of falling two stories into the lower levels and breaking my neck. The other would lead me to a set of ladders that would lead me to the top of the room. There was a sudden crash and a thud that emanated from somewhere on my left. Not wanting to find out what it was I turned to my right and started my slow journey in the darkness.
My outstretched extremities ran along the bulkheads and myriad apparatuses that were bolted to them. My feet collided multiple times with what felt like loose bits of debris that lay scattered all about the deck. I prayed to myself that whatever I was trampling underfoot was not anything human. There was certainly no response on the part of the debris which was both comforting and terrifying simultaneously.
A high pitched squeal arose from out of the darkness that continued in a devilish crescendo till it sounded not entirely unlike a train horn. The demonic dirge echoing off the metal interior of the boat only magnified it a hundred fold. The terror that ripped through my body in that instant cannot be described. If I had anything within my bowels to expunge at that moment it certainly would now have been stewing within the confines of my pants. Luckily for me, this was not the case. What had happened instead was not by any means more preferable. I was frozen. I was standing stock still as God-Knows-What was tearing itself apart along with half the engine room no doubt. My only guess was that there had been a catastrophic failure within the hydraulic plant and that it had ruptured. Three thousand pounds of hydraulic fluid bursting from a hole less than a millimeter wide was known to cut grown men in halfâEU¦
The pressure was now rising at an alarming rate. If I didnâEUTMt get to the door in time the atmospheric pressure alone could seal me permanently in this underwater tomb. With my legs feeling like cinder blocks I slowly began to move towards, to what I was now certain was indeed, the right way. The feeling of relief that washed over me when my hands wrapped around the all too familiar ladder that would take me to the uppermost level was, by most accounts, incalculable.
Without warning my breathing started to become ragged and painful. At once I knew what had happened. The hydraulic fluid had ATOMIZED! The sickening cloud rose from the depths below and I could feel my skin becoming oily with itâEUTMs greasy embrace. Holding my breath I quickly removed my undershirt and fabricated a makeshift scarf to wrap around my nose and mouth. The pain was considerably more manageable but I had to climb up quickly if I wanted to survive.
My hands grasped the higher rungs and slowly began to pull myself up into the unknown dangers above. To me, what lay in wait overhead was inconsequential. I wasnâEUTMt going to stay down below and wait to die! As I ascended, the shrieking machinery below began to slowly wane in pitch and volume. It wasnâEUTMt merely my increasing distance that was responsible for this, but rather that the hydraulic system, which had a finite amount of fluid to expel, had rapidly dumped a majority of it contents into the room already. This phenomenon could best be described by a party balloon slowly leaking out. At first it would eject air rapidly but as the pressure decreased it would begin to evacuate air more slowly.

Twist of Sensation 2634 words

Cool sheets of silk pressed gently to my back as I lay upon them, gazing serenely into the personal void that surrounded me. With long strokes I smoothed a crease that had formed, much to my annoyance, on the tight surface of the fitted sheet. Even after the irritating wrinkle had disappeared, I found myself still massaging that one spot lovingly. It was something that could not be helped. The silk felt like water sliding against my warm palm, leaving behind tiny fracture like crinkles instead of moist droplets.

From deep inside my darkness I heard the loud banging of cabinet doors, or at least it sounded loud to me. Instinctively, I raised my head slightly to hear better and indeed I did. I heard the soft and quiet rhythm of bare feet treading lightly across hardwood flooring. Then there was a high pitch clink as glasses were being lifted and shifted.

As I was listening to the stirring of the vivacious vixen that shared my company and my utter darkness, I began to notice a number of scents and odors that had somehow found their way to clinging to my body. The first and most pronounce was, of course, that of my favorite cologne which I had lightly rubbed onto my neck hours before.

There were very few fragrances I could stand to have on me, and of course, the one I enjoyed the most would be a gift from my Ember. It was our first Christmas together when she gave it to me. With most of the cologne I have tried on before, either the power of their musk was too strong or there would be an overpowering flowery scent that would leave my eyes watering. But this, it was the perfect mixture of masculinity and subtleness. And out of preservation for such a precious thing, I wear it only on the finest of occasions.

The second belonged to her. It was rather faint, but it still seemed to touch my senses strongly. The scent was sweet strawberries, and my, how it made my mouth salivate. More than likely the perfume found its way onto me as we hugged tightly together in the back of the taxicab that brought us home. Speaking of the taxi, that is where the third odor came from.

Hidden lightly underneath the other two seductive aromas was the repulsive smell of cigar smoke. Even though Ember said he did not actually light one up, the whole vehicle reeked with that god-awful stench. Once the car came to a stop at our destination and the doors opened, fresh air poured in and washed over my senses like a fresh shower of rain. It was cleansing and pure, or least as pure as city air could be.

My head slowly rested back down on a feathery pillow, and my thoughts drifted farther and farther away until I was surely on the brink of sleep. As I teetered on that brink, I was suddenly pulled as those footsteps changed directions and came nearer until they were surely at the foot of the bed. A few more steps and the balance of the bed shifted as she sat carefully at my side, the backside of her dress touching my hand lightly. With the sound of bedsprings groaning in protest, I heard her sit something on the night table which sounded just like a couple of glasses.

The texture of the dress was soft and smooth, almost like the bed sheets. But I think was something close to cotton. Suddenly her gently grasp took hold of my wrist and raised it until I felt her hand slid into mine, each finger interlocking like a thread of lace.

``Have you already winked off, my dear?``

I smiled, and for a moment, I thought I could feel her smile back to me. Long ago, there was a sorrow that would plague my heart whenever I thought about never being able to look upon the smiling face of my beloved. Such a sadness sank into my heart like black tar that corrosively ate me. But it was moments like these when I could feel her love and happiness, not through words or sensations, but a silent bond that bound us together in our journey through life.

``Not at all, I was simply deep in thought.``

I felt her fingers squeeze lightly against mine until I could feel the steady pulse that lay hidden under her pleasant flesh. I am not the only one with keen senses. She knows when something is bothering me. It is amazing how only after three years she knows my mind almost better than I do.

``Something is troubling you.``

``No,`` I tried to sound as reassuring as I possible could. ``I honestly was just thinking.`` She remained silent for moment or so, as if contemplating my response. I felt her skepticism as the gears of her mind turned, but she asked nothing more of it.

``The glasses?`` I asked. Her fingers curled slightly in my hand and began to tickle my palm.

``I thought a nightcap would be a nice way to end the day. Hard to believe it was only three years ago when we first had lunch in the park, do you remember.``

``Yes, we had finished semester finals early that day and the park was full of the buzzing voices of an obnoxious family reunion.``

``Is that all you remember?``

``No, I remember that it was your tender voice and intellectual words that kept me sane. It was a tonic for pained ears. I remember that was the day that I knew I could not go a single day without hearing at least three words from you.``

She was silent again. It weighed my heart down dearly that I could not see what expression was upon her face. Her hand slowly slipped from mine, leaving it hanging frozen in air, and I heard a very light scrape of glass on wood as the glasses were lifted. I placed my hands on either side of my waist to push myself upward. Now sitting, I knew I was eyelevel with Ember because I could feel her warm breath light blowing against me.

My hand lifted up again and it was a cold glass cup that my fingers wrapped around. I could tell that from the strong aroma that it was rum, which she knew had been my alcohol of choice ever since I stole a sip from the bottle my father kept hidden so many years ago. And from the glass she held, I smelt strawberry wine. My Ember had a curious love for strawberries that I found rather delicious.

I held my glass high and she met me halfway in the toast. The ring that permeated from our glasses as they collided hung in the air for almost thirty seconds. It was not till the ringing had died that I raised the rim of the glass to my lips. The strong alcohol was already running down my throat before I could even taste it. A small blaze started mid esophagus and continued down till my entire core was heated with warm intoxicated pleasure.

As Ember slowly sighed, the scent of strawberries told me she had finished her glass too. She took my glass from me and I heard her set both on the night stand once more. I would have done it myself, but I knew I sat out of reach.

We sat motionless and as quiet death itself, but I knew that the cold space between us was begging to be filled with the coming together of two young bodies. I raised a longing hand, hoping to find something of her to feel. But it was her who found me. Her hand, cupping the outside of mine, guided my hand through the darkness till finally it found her warm and tender cheeks. Now knowing, my other hand was capable followed suit without any assistance.

The longer we sat together, the more my hands felt and studied the delicate features of her face. It was something I have done many times but never tire off. My palms pressed against the corners of her lips while careful fingers touched the edges of her eyes.

As details flowed through my hands like Braille on a piece of paper, there was something else I noticed. Makeup smeared and rubbed off onto the skin of my palms. I guess I never could sense it over her perfume and other invading odors.

``You went through all the trouble putting makeup on,`` I started. ``Just for tonight's occasion? Just for me?``

She did not answer, but her silence said everything. Suddenly my palms were moist and the blush she had on was smearing horrible as my palms moved back and forth. It was tears.

My hands quickly released her so that my arms could wrap around her and bring her closer to me. As her body pressed to mine, she returned my embrace with arms like steel traps. Her hair tickled the flesh revealed from an undone button of my shirt as she buried her face into an open shoulder of mine.

She wept lightly as fresh tears soaked through the thin material of my shirt. Each time a sob shook her body, I found myself holding her that much tighter. What else could I do? I knew of nothing comforting that I could say.

After a minute or so, I felt her head rise slowly.

``You do not think my selfish for shedding these tears, do you?`` She asked in a low and hoarse voice.

``Or course not`` I answered almost immediately. She laughed, almost forcedly, and tightened her embrace around me. How could she think I would hold such a thing against her?

``Just know,`` She said laying her head back down against me. ``I have felt nothing but pride and delight when I stand beside you. Because I know that not only do we have each other, but we have love. And we do not need vision for the sort of love we make together.`` The last of her words echoed in the recesses of my mind as I felt the darkness around me grow warm and damp. As I was laid back down, my clothes seemed to liquefy and dissolve into beads of sweat that I felt rolling across my bare skin.

Then as precise fingernails traced circles around the middle of my chest, my fists clenched as I felt goose bumps prickle along the hair of my forearms. After the third cycle, her hand paused for a moment before slowly making its way up to the base of my neck. As the hand of Ember reached the soft flesh of my throat, her hand began to caress and lightly massage that side of my neck.

The gravity of the bed shifted as one leg slid across my waist and the rest of her body followed as she straddled my centerline. I felt her posture shift forward right before her soft lips pressed to mine and her vicious tongue danced vicariously between my teeth. The flavor of strawberries and wine spread across my palate as her intoxicating and heated breath permeated down my airway.

The longer we laid like this, the more the fabric of our beings intertwined as we tossed and turned together in my perfect darkness. The only sensations I felt was that of every inch of her body that was wrapped and contorted around mine. With ecstasy writhing in our veins and spasms of relief shuddering through our muscles, sighs of pleasure became long and drawn out songs of agonizing passion.

As this spiraling ride of love reached the peak of its ascension, it paused only for moment. Then it fell into a thunderous descent of cries and whimpers of almost rapturous pleasure. I felt her nails digging into the nape my neck as we spun and twirled, each gasp of her breathe felt almost as hot as flames against my exposed flesh. We continued in this state, with bodies clenched close, for what felt like forever.

But once the high had passed, our muscles relaxed as our breathing became shallow and calm. It felt as if we were rag dolls, drained of energy and only able to lay tangle together. With her chin resting on my chest and the rest of her body limp upon mine, the rise and fall of her breasts against me became slow and steady. It seems that sleep has slipped upon her like a heavy veil.

I must confess that I was not far off myself from joining her in sweet slumber myself, but once I started to drift something wafted in front of my nose. It was a new smell that could finally be noticed by slowed and tired senses. It was the adrenaline induced stench of sweat and strong body odor. With our old scents long faded, these new ones ate at the very air I breathed and choked my lungs. I had to force back the realization and try to just ignore it. To just go to sleep so that this tender moment would remembered and cherished between us for years to come.

However, I could not just fall asleep. I had lain as long as I could, and finally found myself suffocating. Carefully and gently, I pried myself free from the unconscious grasp of my sweet Ember. Whether or not it had awoken her, I had yet to find out. I sat on the corner of the bed and reached out to find my trusted cane, but stopped as soon as my index finger had touched the cold polished wood. Only six steps straight ahead of me, I can handle that just fine without my old friend.

Handling the doorknob as if it was fine china and entering as silent as the Red Death, I took three more steps and found the sink. A shaking hound turned the knob and twisted slightly. The pipes released the stream and the sound of a crashing waterfall rang in my ears. Damn, I had opened it too far. The noise lessened as the knob turned back in the opposite direction. It seems that the damage was done, however. I had heard a stirring from behind as a sleep stricken Ember spoke in a slurred voice, which at any other time I would have found adorable.

``Jake?`` She called out. ``You alright?``

Shame and guilt tugged and pulled at the strings of my heart, for I could not bare to face her now. This is part of the curse that has plagued my senses and twisted my life into an almost humiliating process of learning and training; not much unlike a very young child being taught how to walk and speak. And what is the cause, you ask? A simple drop of poison to the family gene pool is all. It may be my pride and youth speaking, but I learned early that life can truly be cruel and heartless.

But then again, can I really think such a cold thing about life and not count the blessings it has bestowed upon me? I have a blessing in honest friends that treat me no different because of my condition, I have a blessing in a job that I have been more than prosperous in, and I have a blessing in the form of a loving guardian angel that is slowly rising from bed to see if something is wrong with me.

I guess life is too short to remain angry at every unfairness. So all in all, I have come to the realization that it is best to enjoy what we have while we have it.

Title: "Cheri" By Esty (Eastbeast) (Word count 1554)

They sat on a hill by the shore and subconsciously tore the frail grass from the earth as they talked. She molded about the damp roots, compressing it between her fingers until it produced a grainy clay. Hands in the grass, they snapped and uprooted twigs but paid no attention to them, their conversation was too entrancing. She met him at the market today when she accidentally dislocated a pyramid of peaches by taking one too close to the base. A simple mistake that anyone could make, with or without her condition. She could hear what sounded like hundreds of bassy pounds hitting the floor in succession. The sound seemed to surround and overwhelm her at first. The scene the quieted, and the rate of thumps decreased to fewer and fewer per second. She acknowledged the situation and bent down in her long linen dress. She sunk into it as she knelt down, almost making her feel as if she was submerged in water. She grasped somewhat aimlessly for the fallen peaches, like a swimmer eager for the shore. She suddenly heard footsteps approach her from the casual clamor of the marketplace ambiance nearby.

"I can help you pick those up if you like." Said an assertive but concerned masculine voice out of the ether. At first, she felt a sense of pride well up within her throat, preparing a "No thank you, I have it under control" as a response, but she realized accepting the help in this situation might be best for herself and the food. Still conflicted she did not say much, only uttering an "Oh umm yes... "

The reconnaissance for the peaches was hasten. She could hear his footsteps going places she could not have imagined the bulky fruit could have fled to. In her hand, she held up the last peach, the gentle furry skin pressed against hers, compelling her to study it some more and perceive the imperfections of the spherically inexact object. She fell into a light day dream over the concept of a peach in her mind, extracting feelings and depth from it. Suddenly a warm and leathery type of skin seemed to touch her hand, wrap around the peach and with a slight pry and take it from her. "That is the last one," he said.

"Thank you" she replied, "I usually don't ask for help, but I appreciate it."

"Well, you didn't need to ask," he stated with almost a humorous inflection "Generally if I see someone struggling, I stop and help them."

She didn't like the word struggle. It's connotations seemed to put dent her ego. The vision it put in her mind was that of her body squirming in helplessness, like holding down a small animal, or the feeling of a tight scarf her mother draped around her neck as a child.

"Struggling... Isn't a word I would use." She seemed to blurt out.

"Why not? We all struggle sometimes." He replied casually.

"Yeah but you don't just tell someone they are struggling... It has a rude sound to it... Especially to a blind woman." She said, the words seeming to come out of the side of her mouth.

There was a silence after her thought escaped from her mouth. The said words echoed back in her mind. All of a sudden, she felt silly. She broke the silence with laughter and the ego seemed to dissipate from the scene. The man joined her in laughter, and they could sense they were about to be formally introduced.

"My name is Daniel," he spoke as they both came down from the laughter together.

âEUoeCheriâEU She added in response.

He extended his hand forward, but she did not sense it, thus it stood idle in mid air and slowly retracted. He felt stupid for a few moments.

âEUoeIf I offended you, I am sorry about that. For what it is worth. Ha.âEU He awkwardly joked.

âEUoeNo, that just means you are a good person... And I am an incredibly stubborn one.âEU

With her defenses dropped a bit more, she realized he had a certain unique but fragrant smell, like that of an herb. The bass of his voice, also comforted her like a song on the radio, or a person leading meditative prayer.

âEUoeWell I guess you are correct in a way.âEU He analyzed. âEUoeI can't say that to everyone because you'll never know how they will take it.âEU

âEUoeTrue.. One can always try I suppose.âEU

The pace of the conversation switched gears, and Daniel took his opportunity.

âEUoeWell... I see you like peaches. Then the restaurant next door has some of the best cobbler you could ever taste... It is also my family's recipe. Would you care to join me once you finish shopping?âEU

âEUoeHmm.âEU She hummed with a smile, her main visible feature in contrast to her thick sunglasses. âEUoeI don't think I have anything that will spoil. So, yes. I would be delighted.âEU

âEUoeGreat! It is straight out the main door to the left, one door down! Called Fernado's-âEU

âEUoe-Cafe, Yes... I know it. That is something I don't need help finding, thank you very much.âEU She said in a joking tone. He heard his laugh and a quite âEUoesee yaâEU fade away.

She finished shopping and found herself drifting though the door of Fernado's Cafe. A waft of warm pastries behaved as a doorman, welcoming her in. Among the scents she sensed a familiar one, a product of a pungent but sweet herb that she remembered from the grocery. She sat at Daniel's booth.

âEUoeHi, glad you could make it, Cheri.âEU

âEUoeSo your family runs this restaurant?âEU She asked.

âEUoeYes, but I am the only one of my siblings that still works here. My parents are the true owners.âEU

âEUoeSo, what do you do for them then?âEU

âEUoeI am the head chef. Although today is my day off.âEU

âEUoeAh I see. Culinary School is quite-âEU

âEUoeI never went. My father taught me everything I know. We are guided by more feeling than logic when it comes to our dishes.âEU

âEUoeThat must make them taste interesting then.âEU she with an uncertain smile.

âEUoeWell it doesn't always work out, we generally have a lot of trial and error periods... And at times, our customers can be the guinea pigs.âEU

âEUoeMmm that is unfortunate... But you really seemed to hype up the Peach Cobbler back in the store?

âEUoeWell that is the one thing which is worth trying, here. In fact probably the only thing. We just can't seem to come up with other pastries that match it.âEU he seemed to say in slight lament.

âEUoeThat is unfortunate. But you are lucky. Ask me what I do.âEU

âEUoeWhat?âEU

âEUoeAsk me what my profession is, Daniel.âEU

âEUoeUhhm... What do you do?âEU

âEUoeI am a food critic, and I used to be a baker. I have judged the last 3 pie tournaments in the county. And I believe Fernado's Cafe has won them all three years I have been there.

âEUoeJesus Christ... So you were that blind judge?!âEU He abruptly shouted.

âEUoeYes. Your pie is something I still remember, and I've looked forward to it since.

âEUoeThat pie is what kept our business afloat so far! Just barely!âEU Daniel, exclaimed brimming with excitement. âEUoeAnd umm... we actually won 4 years.âEU

The slice of peach pie, radiated a warm presence as it was placed in front of her. She delicately placed her hand upon her utensil. The roof of the crust broke with satisfying texture. She felt the hunky weight, and could almost sense the viscosity of the syrupy peaches. The contrast of the slightly salted shell with the warm subtle taste of nutmeg reminded her of what It meant to be a baker.

She sat in silence in front of Daniel, taking her time with every bite. Then another scent seemed to descend upon her, a smell not as favorable, but adequate.

âEUoeNow this...âEU Daniel began, âEUoeIs a sample of our other selections...âEU

Still silent, she took her fork to the dish. The roof of the crust wrestled like hardened rubber against the fork, and gave no appealing fragrance when she finally broke into the meat of the pie. An awkward and over-saturated tag of cherry amalgamated around the inside of her mouth, almost felt like it was going up into her sinuses. It was revolting and dwarfed in comparison to the peach delicacy she had tried before hand.

âEUoeI see what you mean...âEU She muttered, trying to mask the sincere displeasure with the dish, conscientious of Daniel's feelings. âEUoeThe difference is night and day, really. How does this happen?âEU

âEUoeGod you are right...âEU Danile said in some despair. âEUoeWhen I saw you... I knew you could possibly help us, like your vote helped us win all those years. We have the passion for this, just the logic to reproduce it is not there...âEU

âEUoeCome on, let's walk down to the shore.âEU

âEUoeWhy?âEU

âEUoeBecause, Daniel. I can see you are struggling with something.âEU She smiled briefly but then became serious. âEUoeOnly you had the courage to ask for me help.âEU

(It looks like there was a glitch with the previous message. Hopefully I can send it to you guys in a Pm so you can read it.)

Title: "I'm blind, MOTHERFUCKER!"

Steve woke up. He wasn't sure if it was morning or evening, he couldn't tell the difference anyway. He felt hungry so he walked to the kitchen. There are exactly thirty-six steps from his bed to the kitchen sink, every step etched in his memory. He pulled out the least grubby frying pan and stepped to his massive pile of bananas under the cabinet.

Steve wasn't much for big breakfasts, but today was a big day, so he went all out. Steve fried up eight large bananas. Patches, Steve's seeing eye dog, came running up. Steve rubbed Patches head and spoke. "Today's special, buddy. We'll have to look our best. This was the eleven year anniversary of the day Steve went blind. And the day Steve planned to get his revenge.

Walking from the kitchen to his closet, he memorized the path around old pizza boxes and taxidermied animals from habit. He muttered to himself while rummaging through his closet, "What to wear?" He wasn't sure what looked nice, or what colors his clothes were, to be honest he barely remembered what colors looked like. He pulled up a shirt that he thought was red, but he couldn't remember what the difference between red and blue was.

He gave up trying to decide and chose the outfit that seemed the most intimidating to him. Once he changed they walked out of the apartment and into the hallway. As they entered the elevator to go down he heard his neighbor Gary inside.

"What the fuck are you wearing?" asked Gary in a mean tone. Steve responded, "Earth to Gary, I'm Blind! I'm sorry that I can't perfectly color coordinate my clothes to match. If my eyes worked, then maybe I could dress better. So maybe you shouldn't mock the disabled!" Gary replied, "You're wearing a bra on the outside of your t-shirt, a skirt with the word JUICY' on your ass, a pair of green gloves, and while wearing a Fedora hat! And under that bra, does that t-shirt say 'Fuck the Indians'? That's really racist." Steve replied, "It's not racist, it doesn't mean 'Native American Indians', it means people from 'India' Indians." Gary replied, "That's still racist." Steve responded as the door opened to the ground floor, "I'm one-eighth Indian, it means I want to fuck. Or I want to bang Indian chicks."

Steve left the elevator and walked through the lobby to the sidewalk. He felt the warmth on his skin so he assumed it was a sunny day. He asked a passerby the time, and he started walking towards the prison. Brad was about to get released from prison, the man who caused Steve to go blind. Eleven years ago, Steve caught Brad stealing from in the apartment. Steve held him down until the cops arrived, but in the struggle Brad scratched Steve's corneas causing him to go blind. Steve had a mental breakdown after he went blind, and was never the same since.

By the time Steve got to the prison gates, he knew Brad would be out at any minute. Patches growled slowly and Steve heard footsteps coming towards him. Steve grabbed them by the collar and yelled, "Son of a bitch! Are you ready to die?!" He instantly realized this was the wrong person, he accidentally grabbed an elderly woman. Steve apologized as she quickly scuffled away.

Immediately he heard, "You again, you're the freak with the bananas!" He knew it was Brad, so Steve replied, "You ruined my life once I lost my sight. I lost my job as a photographer, I could never drive again, and my girlfriend even left me. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to masturbate when you can't see anything on the screen?" "Steve, you put me in prison, I'm going to put you in a grave!" Steve pulled out his handgun. Startled, Brad said "You're blind, why do you have a gun?!" Steve replied, "If someone goes blind they still have freedom of speech under the first amendment, and they still have the right to bear arms under the second. Legal rights are not taken away because of physical handicap according to the Americans with Disabilities Act!"

Steve fired a barrage of bullets in Brad's general direction while screaming, CONSTITUTION! Then he waited for a moment, and listened intently. Steve asked, "Are you dead or are you just being quiet?" Brad grabbed him from behind and threw Steve to the ground. Kick after kick came out of the darkness, he missed his sight more than ever. Then Steve felt the gun being forced out of his hands while he heard, "Any last words, Freak?" Memories flashed before his non-working eyes, places from long ago and images of people he used to know rolled in his consciousness. He realized his life had been rather shitty.

Patches came out of nowhere and bit Brad, "Ahhhhh!" A couple police officers from the station came running and grabbed Brad from behind. The cop said, "You're going back for a long time Brad. Now lets get your prints off of this gun." Brad screamed and pleaded as he was brought back into prison to await his upcoming trial.

A police officer helped Steve get back on his feet and said, "I was around the side of the building when your dog came over barking like crazy, when I came over I saw him assaulting you. Your dog saved your life." Steve just smiled and thanked the officer. While walking back to his apartment Steve felt grateful towards his canine, and for the fact that the cop didn't see him firing the gun. "Lets go to the grocery store before we go home, Patches. I'm gonna to buy you a big steak tonight."

Word Count: 975

âEUoeTest to make sure I fixed the quote glitchâEU and an apostrophe '

"Cheri" by Esty (Eastbeast) (1554 word count) (Take 2 with the glitch fix hopefully.)

They sat on a hill by the shore and subconsciously tore the frail grass from the earth as they talked. She molded about the damp roots, compressing it between her fingers until it produced a grainy clay. Hands in the grass, they snapped and uprooted twigs but paid no attention to them, their conversation was too entrancing. She met him at the market today when she accidentally dislocated a pyramid of peaches by taking one too close to the base. A simple mistake that anyone could make, with or without her condition. She could hear what sounded like hundreds of bassy pounds hitting the floor in succession. The sound seemed to surround and overwhelm her at first. The scene the quieted, and the rate of thumps decreased to fewer and fewer per second. She acknowledged the situation and bent down in her long linen dress. She sunk into it as she knelt down, almost making her feel as if she was submerged in water. She grasped somewhat aimlessly for the fallen peaches, like a swimmer eager for the shore. She suddenly heard footsteps approach her from the casual clamor of the marketplace ambiance nearby.

"I can help you pick those up if you like." Said an assertive but concerned masculine voice out of the ether. At first, she felt a sense of pride well up within her throat, preparing a "No thank you, I have it under control" as a response, but she realized accepting the help in this situation might be best for herself and the food. Still conflicted she did not say much, only uttering an "Oh umm yes... "

The reconnaissance for the peaches was hasten. She could hear his footsteps going places she could not have imagined the bulky fruit could have fled to. In her hand, she held up the last peach, the gentle furry skin pressed against hers, compelling her to study it some more and perceive the imperfections of the spherically inexact object. She fell into a light day dream over the concept of a peach in her mind, extracting feelings and depth from it. Suddenly a warm and leathery type of skin seemed to touch her hand, wrap around the peach and with a slight pry and take it from her. "That is the last one," he said.

"Thank you" she replied, "I usually don't ask for help, but I appreciate it."

"Well, you didn't need to ask," he stated with almost a humorous inflection "Generally if I see someone struggling, I stop and help them."

She didn't like the word struggle. It's connotations seemed to put dent her ego. The vision it put in her mind was that of her body squirming in helplessness, like holding down a small animal, or the feeling of a tight scarf her mother draped around her neck as a child.

"Struggling... Isn't a word I would use." She seemed to blurt out.

"Why not? We all struggle sometimes." He replied casually.

"Yeah but you don't just tell someone they are struggling... It has a rude sound to it... Especially to a blind woman." She said, the words seeming to come out of the side of her mouth.

There was a silence after her thought escaped from her mouth. The said words echoed back in her mind. All of a sudden, she felt silly. She broke the silence with laughter and the ego seemed to dissipate from the scene. The man joined her in laughter, and they could sense they were about to be formally introduced.

"My name is Daniel," he spoke as they both came down from the laughter together.

âEUoeCheriâEU She added in response.

He extended his hand forward, but she did not sense it, thus it stood idle in mid air and slowly retracted. He felt stupid for a few moments.

âEUoeIf I offended you, I am sorry about that. For what it is worth. Ha.âEU He awkwardly joked.

âEUoeNo, that just means you are a good person... And I am an incredibly stubborn one.âEU

With her defenses dropped a bit more, she realized he had a certain unique but fragrant smell, like that of an herb. The bass of his voice, also comforted her like a song on the radio, or a person leading meditative prayer.

âEUoeWell I guess you are correct in a way.âEU He analyzed. âEUoeI can't say that to everyone because you'll never know how they will take it.âEU

âEUoeTrue.. One can always try I suppose.âEU

The pace of the conversation switched gears, and Daniel took his opportunity.

âEUoeWell... I see you like peaches. Then the restaurant next door has some of the best cobbler you could ever taste... It is also my family's recipe. Would you care to join me once you finish shopping?âEU

âEUoeHmm.âEU She hummed with a smile, her main visible feature in contrast to her thick sunglasses. âEUoeI don't think I have anything that will spoil. So, yes. I would be delighted.âEU

âEUoeGreat! It is straight out the main door to the left, one door down! Called Fernado's-âEU

âEUoe-Cafe, Yes... I know it. That is something I don't need help finding, thank you very much.âEU She said in a joking tone. He heard his laugh and a quite âEUoesee yaâEU fade away.

She finished shopping and found herself drifting though the door of Fernado's Cafe. A waft of warm pastries behaved as a doorman, welcoming her in. Among the scents she sensed a familiar one, a product of a pungent but sweet herb that she remembered from the grocery. She sat at Daniel's booth.

âEUoeHi, glad you could make it, Cheri.âEU

âEUoeSo your family runs this restaurant?âEU She asked.

âEUoeYes, but I am the only one of my siblings that still works here. My parents are the true owners.âEU

âEUoeSo, what do you do for them then?âEU

âEUoeI am the head chef. Although today is my day off.âEU

âEUoeAh I see. Culinary School is quite-âEU

âEUoeI never went. My father taught me everything I know. We are guided by more feeling than logic when it comes to our dishes.âEU

âEUoeThat must make them taste interesting then.âEU she with an uncertain smile.

âEUoeWell it doesn't always work out, we generally have a lot of trial and error periods... And at times, our customers can be the guinea pigs.âEU

âEUoeMmm that is unfortunate... But you really seemed to hype up the Peach Cobbler back in the store?

âEUoeWell that is the one thing which is worth trying, here. In fact probably the only thing. We just can't seem to come up with other pastries that match it.âEU he seemed to say in slight lament.

âEUoeThat is unfortunate. But you are lucky. Ask me what I do.âEU

âEUoeWhat?âEU

âEUoeAsk me what my profession is, Daniel.âEU

âEUoeUhhm... What do you do?âEU

âEUoeI am a food critic, and I used to be a baker. I have judged the last 3 pie tournaments in the county. And I believe Fernado's Cafe has won them all three years I have been there.

âEUoeJesus Christ... So you were that blind judge?!âEU He abruptly shouted.

âEUoeYes. Your pie is something I still remember, and I've looked forward to it since.

âEUoeThat pie is what kept our business afloat so far! Just barely!âEU Daniel, exclaimed brimming with excitement. âEUoeAnd umm... we actually won 4 years.âEU

The slice of peach pie, radiated a warm presence as it was placed in front of her. She delicately placed her hand upon her utensil. The roof of the crust broke with satisfying texture. She felt the hunky weight, and could almost sense the viscosity of the syrupy peaches. The contrast of the slightly salted shell with the warm subtle taste of nutmeg reminded her of what It meant to be a baker.

She sat in silence in front of Daniel, taking her time with every bite. Then another scent seemed to descend upon her, a smell not as favorable, but adequate.

âEUoeNow this...âEU Daniel began, âEUoeIs a sample of our other selections...âEU

Still silent, she took her fork to the dish. The roof of the crust wrestled like hardened rubber against the fork, and gave no appealing fragrance when she finally broke into the meat of the pie. An awkward and over-saturated tag of cherry amalgamated around the inside of her mouth, almost felt like it was going up into her sinuses. It was revolting and dwarfed in comparison to the peach delicacy she had tried before hand.

âEUoeI see what you mean...âEU She muttered, trying to mask the sincere displeasure with the dish, conscientious of Daniel's feelings. âEUoeThe difference is night and day, really. How does this happen?âEU

âEUoeGod you are right...âEU Danile said in some despair. âEUoeWhen I saw you... I knew you could possibly help us, like your vote helped us win all those years. We have the passion for this, just the logic to reproduce it is not there...âEU

âEUoeCome on, let's walk down to the shore.âEU

âEUoeWhy?âEU

âEUoeBecause, Daniel. I can see you are struggling with something.âEU She smiled briefly but then became serious. âEUoeOnly you had the courage to ask for me help.âEU

Dang still glitchy, sorry about that guys.

"Analogies"

3101 words

Part 1 of 3

I - Methods

150 ml of wine consumed at a rate of approximately 20 ml per minute metabolized by a 59 kg female produces a BAC with negligible impact on proprioception, the sense of the relative positions and movements of one's limbs. This sense is essential for executing actions and motions involving limbs that one is, for whatever reason, unable to see. (Hence the "close your eyes and touch your nose" field sobriety test administered by U.S. highway patrol.)

Endogenous, i.e., internally, willfully guided auditory attention in a complex scene is loosely analogous to tuning a radio with a three dimensional dial. Unique vocal signatures both ID known speakers and tag unknown persons for future reference. The aural chaos of a crowded space, regardless of its complexity, can always be reduced to its constituents.
Individuals are quickly located in space with respect to the listener. E.g.:

Clayton's non-Rhotic New England speech 3.5 meters out at 3 o'clock; Haddock's honking Canadian Goose laugh four meters out at 7 o'clock; Nguyen's spray bottle plosives 2 meters out at quarter to 11; Schneider's lateral lisp six meters due right every time he my name comes up in his conversation with Singh; Dale's showstopper sneeze going off like a concussion grenade dead ahead; the double thunderclap of Brody's three drink double backslap at 4:30, the resonance of which suggests patient, barrel-chested Twomey as the recipient; etc., etc.

Signatures are integrated into a coarse mental reproduction of the scene. Continued attentive listening (disguised, say, as intent rummaging through one's purse) can bring the reproduction into sharper resolution.

Finally, with focused attention, the locations of present individuals can be abstracted to a two-dimensional coordinate plane defined by the layout of the room (the approximate size of which, if unknown, is determined by: 1. the level of reverb; 2a. the size of the crowd and 2b. the estimated crowd density in persons/square foot; 3. the most distant discernable voice when standing at the bar) that is independent of the listener and, if periodically updated, allows for free movement and interaction.

And thus, a research faculty party can be, if not enjoyed, at the very least functionally attended.

II - Abstract

I get away from the party around 0130. The halls of the Institute are empty; my footsteps are the only sound I hear as I make my way to the elevators. I've had enough time here to learn my way around the winding floorplan, and despite a dull, cottony feeling of exhaustion in my head, I find the elevators without any trouble.

I get off on the faculty housing floor and enter my room. I kick off my heels, take the sound system's remote from the night table, and dial in a track. I put the remote back in its spot and curl up on the bed.

The speakers are silent for a few seconds. Then, the first drop hits. It's a big one, right on the skylight like someone tapping their fingernail against the glass. The drop is followed by another, then another, and then the sky opens up and lets loose. Drops batter the skylight, drum on the roof shingles, ping off the gutters. They slap the leaves on the tree outback, rattle the roof of Dad's Oldsmobile, thump the roof of Maxie's doghouse, splash in the big puddle that always forms in the driveway.

Listening to the rain, I let my understanding of room around me melt away; it's like relaxing your brow after having it furrowed all night. The walls and floor float away out of reach, furniture vanishes like ice cubes melting in your fist. The hallway outside falls away like a sinking submarine. Soon, the whole facility fades away like a dream at morning. I lose myself in space. There's a stomach-flipping instant of disorientation, but it passes. Soon, there's nothing but the sheets underneath me and the rain.

A familiar place comes to fill the void. The cotton sheets I'm lying on become the ones I laid out on the bed with Mom every laundry day; the floor reappears as hardwood planks with worn varnish whose texture my feet learned so well; the old walls position themselves with stately calm, lined with the wallpaper Mom and Dad let me pick out at the store by touch. I let myself believe it. I let my brain be tricked. For one moment, one instant, I'm sure I could reach out and feel that wallpaper pattern one more time; then the moment's gone so quickly it might have not happened at all except for the homesickness it left behind like a lead weight in my chest.

Jack enters the room after a half hour or so. He sits down on the bed and eases across the mattress so his body is flush with mine, his chest against my back. He wraps an arm around me and I lace my fingers with his.

We listen to the rain.

"I like this one," he says after a few minutes.

"My dad sent it to me spring of freshman year," I say. "It was the first good April shower."

A gust of wind sends a sheet of rain against the windows that sends goosebumps down my arms. A neighbor walks down the sidewalk with an umbrella.

"This is a huge step, Sara," he says. "For you, for your team, for this project... for everyone, really."

Dad sent me 32 tapes in all, recorded with his good microphone in my old bedroom. They've followed me from school to school, apartment to apartment. I know every drop by heart.

"We all know you're going to do great, Sara."

Your ambitions launch you so far from everything you knew that you can't slow down for a minute lest you realize what a long way you are from home, where your dad sat you on his lap at the window and told you that this one of so many maddening sounds was just a choir of voices, told you that when it felt like you were drowning under a waterfall of noise, all you had to do was learn those voices and pick them out, isolate and understand each element and how they came together; where you learned that there was nothing so complex you couldn't understand with time and patience, learned that complexity is just a lot of easy ideas put together. Home is where you learned that language gave those voices names. Home is where your dad took your hand and said, This is grass, This is mud, These are leaves; tilted your face to the sky and said, This is rain.

"Analogies"

Part 2 of 3

III - Observations

At 0700, Jack and I arrive at Observation. Delancey is manning the array of closed-circuit television monitors. I hear his chair swivel as we we walk in. "Dr. Crane!" he says in greeting, his cheer hitting me like a sunlamp. "Dr. Blake!" he says to Jack. "How's it going, boss?"

"How's everyone doing today?" I ask.

"Pretty good," he says, turning back to the monitors. "Everything looks about normal. Adam, Calvin, Dolores, and George are having some kind of powwow in the main enclosure, but it looks pretty relaxed. Betty, Edwin, and Felicia are doing some strength training in the rec room. Ian was in medical for a few hours, 0200 to about 0430, but he looks fine now. Dropped a food crate on his foot, but Dr. Haddock says he looks fine."

When he yawns, I can smell cigarettes and the coffee that's been keeping him up all night. "Helen and Julia are doing some reading -- their stuff, none of ours -- and Livia is doing whatever they do in room B. That leaves our guy Kurt," he says, a smile entering his voice, "who's been prepping for his big date with Dr. Crane for six hours straight."

"Attaboy, Kurt," Jack says. "What about you, how are you holding up?"

Delancey yawns again. "Well, I can't lie. This is all getting to be a little less than exciting. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate this is really special and all. But eight hours straight, seven days a week is a little too special, you know? Like lobster and caviar three meals a day."

"Seeing anything like this first-hand means sitting through everything too boring to show on the evening news," I say.

"Exactly, exactly," he says, taking a slurp of coffee. "Listen, I watched Neil Armstrong and them on the moon, same as everybody. You couldn't get me away from that set for nothing. What would've been less interesting is watching them play cards and pick their noses on their way up there. Know what I mean? It must be like, whaddyacallit, one of those reality shows before they take out all the boring stuff."

He takes another sip from the mug and sets it down on the console. "But hey, big doings tomorrow, right, Dr. Crane?"

I smile. "I can't promise anything too exciting."

"And speaking of the evening news, that reporter is getting cleared for entry downstairs at security."

My smile suddenly feels a little brittle. "Thanks for the heads up, Delancey."

Delancey pats my arm as he turns back to the monitors. "Good luck tomorrow. I'll be up here rootin' for you. Knock 'em dead."

"Good talking with you," I say as Jack slaps Delancey on the back.

"Always a pleasure, doctors."

IV - Discussion

0830 finds me in my office in the Linguistics center, seated across from reporter Janice Tan. The smell of her perfume mingles with the espresso I had a lab assistant make for her. This is the third time we've met.

"So, last time we talked," she says, flipping the pages of a notebook, "you laid out the work your team has completed to date, from language structure, to semantics, to translation. Care to add anything to your description?"

"Just a reiteration of my appreciation and respect for my team. Those first years were rough, but I really have to hand it to them for hanging tough while laying the groundwork."

"Not exactly low-hanging fruit?"

"Absolutely. Like I said, we had more false starts than I can count. But really, for linguists of a certain mind, this was a dream job come true. Totally undescribed language studied completely from scratch? It's the Everest of language studies, and I had the best team for the job. And of course, we can't claim all the credit here-- we were lucky to have brilliant minds coming at this from the other side."

"They've been helpful?"

"Absolutely. They've been working at this just as hard as us, if not more so, and with a fraction of the resources and manpower."

"Twelve, correct?"

"Yes, twelve. Once they had the habitat finished, they just launched themselves at this. They've all been just incredible."

"They set up the habitat themselves?"

"It was a joint effort, but they did most of the work. There were a number of design considerations that we really couldn't predict, so we handed it over to them. From what I've heard, it's quite a remarkable space."

"Have you been inside it?"

"Not yet, no. They have their own atmosphere set up, so it's a bit of a to-do to get in there. Although, from what I've gathered, I'd find it quite amenable."

"How so?"

I kick myself for letting that slip. "Well, it's a space not just with considerations for sightlessness, but one whose design and construction are rooted in a sightless mindset. Nearly all man-made buildings consits of rooms with long sight lines across mostly empty space. That this volume is easily navigable strongly assumes one can take advantage of those sight lines. However, it's clearly the wrong way to go when one's navigation is dependent on touch."

"As is the case with your visitors?"

"Exactly. Their architecture, as far as we can tell, simply doesn't have the expansive, open spaces found in ours. While a sighted person finds them pleasing, they're totally impractical to someone feeling their way through the environment."

She writes for a few seconds. I've noticed her note-taking increases whenever blindness is mentioned. I don't hold it against her.

"Not to sidetrack, but if you could just quickly explain the names?"

"Yes, sure. We initially referred to them by number, but if you work together as long as we have, that starts to feel a bit impersonal. Their actual names... well, names would take a while to get into, but safe to say, the names they use would be difficult for us to really understand and impossible to pronounce. So at an Institute meeting a few summers back, we worked out twelve names. Our chief anatomist, Dr. Blake, believes they're hermaphrodites, so we alternated male-female."

"Like hurricanes."

I laugh. "It's unflattering, I suppose, but yes, that's true."

"So, this half-decade or so of collaboration is coming to a kind of climax tomorrow, correct?"

"We believe so, yes."

"Could you explain what you feel the significance of this event is?"

"Well, it's more symbolic than anything else. The higher-ups like to bill it as the first communication ever between a human and an extraterrestrial, but we've been communicating ever since our first contact with them. Naturally, those first interactions were crude, to say the least. It was more like an extended, top-secret game of charades than an ecstatic moment of cosmic contact."

She laughs. "But you feel that a spoken conversation is possible? That you've each reached that level of fluency?"

"That's our hope, yes. I should make it clear that, despite all the progress we've made, we've only begun to scratch the surface. We've built our way up from nothing, but there's still a long way to go. The conversation tomorrow is going to be a simple one at best, but it could open the way to learning about their species."

"Analogies"

Part 3 of 3

"With all the difficulties your team encountered, did it ever seem like this research might prove impossible?"

I'm silent for half a minute or so. I've rehearsed the answer to this question in my head ever since Dale stuck his head into my office and told me to expect a call from a journalist the Institute had vetted.

I begin slowly. "Analogies are something our professions have in common. Both of us need to explain concepts to an audience unfamiliar with them. The easiest way to do so it through the lens of the familiar."

"Very true."

"Scientific phenomena are almost always easier to grasp as analogies. J.J. Thomson described the atom as a plum pudding, Bohr said it was like a solar system, and Schrodinger said it was like a cloud. Something unfamiliar -- atomic structure -- is understood through familiar, everyday objects.

I start to pick up speed. "This kind of thinking, however, enters our speculations as well. Popular representations of extraterrestrials follow this. 'Aliens are like us but more technologically advanced, less emotional, less irrational, less warlike, et cetera.' But this assumes the common ground on which to build the analogy.

"To me, it seems like a failure of imagination to assume any meaningful resemblance. Would they have language as we understand it? Civilization? Emotions? Culture? Would they experience time the way we do? Our movies, books, television, they all take this for granted. Aliens, they say, will look like us, think like us, feel the way we do, with only a few funhouse mirror distortions. It's like how we anthropomorphize everything from dolphins to cockroaches. But what if our basic structure of consciousness, our understanding of reality, was so different as to make communication possible? Look at individuals with severe autism or schizophrenia-- communication can be nearly impossible."

It suddenly occurs to me that she hasn't been writing for some time. In my limited experience with the media, I've learned that a reporter that isn't writing is a reporter that's lost interest.

I force myself to say, "Take me, for instance."

Ever so quietly, I hear her sit up straighter.

"I can memorize dictionaries, encyclopedias, textbooks on the biology, psychology, and philosophy of sight, but I will never truly understand it. The gulf between my understanding of it and reality is too far to bridge. So much of our culture, our civilization, can't get over that gulf. this world wasn't designed for me, for my experience."

The pen begins scribbling again.

"Of course, I can adapt. I can compensate with things I've been taught or figured out. Which I will be more than happy to enumerate later," I say, cutting her off before she asks. "The point is, I don't have sight, but there's more than enough common ground for me to participate in society. A huge part of that common ground is human cognition. I might be down a sense, but I still think and mentally experience things the same way as everyone else.

"But our cognition is laden with eons of evolutionary baggage, and every aspect of our civilization, every institution that seems so insanely complicated and unlikely, from art to language to the stock market, are tinted, if not molded, by that baggage. The smallest adaptation can have consequences we literally can't imagine.

"The bottom line is that our particular form of consciousness, everything that makes a human human, is the result of evolutionary pressures. There's nothing to stop a different intelligent organism to evolve a consciousness so different from ours to render any meaningful contact impossible.

"And yet," I say, tapping my knuckles on the desk, "And yet, analogies still happen. Birds, bats, and insects all evolved flight. Mammals and squids evolved almost functionally identical eyes independently from scratch. Humans and certain species of ants evolved farming. So why not consciousness? Not something exactly the same-- a bee's wing is awfully different from a sparrow's-- but something close enough. Analogous."

The pen scribbles away.

"My greatest hope," I say, "is that Kurt and I will have enough common ground to connect, to understand each other, the way I can with you."

"Do you think that will happen?"

I force a smile.

"I'll find out tomorrow."

V - Results

I lie in bed awake. Jack sleeps next to me. I'm so tired I can't fall asleep. The recording has long since played to the end. The storm's over, but I'm still awake.

For more than half my life, I've lived in analogous homes, lived with analogous families. You learn that an analogy is never, never close enough. Language falls short. Fails. But it gives you a choice: you can give up, disappointed, or you can keep looking.

Come To My Senses

âEUoeWhat have I lost?âEU They began to peel the cotton away. The fabric tickled, a gentle lie poorly cloaking deep anxieties. Fresh air rushed the wound, storm winds that brewed ahead. Baited breath fed the gale as inch by inch the bandages lift. Everyone waiting; faith shaken that this unwrapping would bear a simple gift most never ask for and none willfully cast away. Their lungs seized by hearts full of desperate pleas. The sound of their silence was deafening and echoed by the hopelessness of all their prayers that, on this day of all days, a luminous guide might see me through. A symphony of whispered whyâEUTMs and what ifâEUTMs that sang to me, not of hope and gleeful tidings, but of somber shores absent of gilded horizons. The veil remains and it was evident even before it was spoken; in a single malign moment, fate hath slighted me.

The lethal splendor of the pale path called to me like an angelâEUTMs trumpet, but the folly of a vein existence prevailed over an apathetic soul. The faltered course of a single journey commits me forever to an arduous road. The scale slanted mercilessly to the side of flesh, elevating a crime many carelessly commit; a life sentence that isolates me amongst family and labels me a burden to myself and all. The punishment was too harsh, but no amount of protest will abate the curses festering in my core saturating every thought. A pit, endless in direction and depth, draws me down. Seemingly conquered by contempt, what shortened metric would I hold to my life now?

A moment rapt in pure and perfect pitch, ironclad in its grip. âEUoeA shadowy prison of my own design?âEU The revelation comes as a clenched hand between the bars. âEUoeNo, IâEUTMve been thrust from good grace by what is beyondâEU; frivolous blows to stone and steel. âEUoeCheated? Or a trade locked behind pride and entitlement?âEU Digits part only slightly, behind them, a rigid golden thing cuts through the darkness. âEUoeTake me from here; letâEUTMs leave this sterile house.âEU Resting in the palm, a single heavenly body that beckons me north on a moonless midnight. The gates swing wide and a warm embrace greets me upon release. There is love, even here in the deepest fathoms of my desolation; a solemn touch lifts me.

I pass through the gates; the hurricane gusts have begun to die, replaced by a calm flow. Delivered by the current, many marvelous offerings once before peered past. Tender greeting; thousands, each unique; kiss the skin and welcome me back. Begging to be let out and stale from being held in for far too long, I taste the air once again. Pine and Fir travel gracefully on the breeze, stoking a blaze I recall but never knew; not truly, with glowing embers like a field of stars. âEUoeWhat have I lost?âEU A question; a plagueâEU¦ devious in nature, in the past made me seek swindling elixirs that only attended to the symptoms. Diagnosed and recovering. But I have lost, I am minus one but not diminished. IâEUTMve lost the illusion, the illusion that blinded me.

Word Count: 525

At 7/3/13 12:06 AM, suprofound wrote: Come To My Senses

Gonna try this again without all the weird code in place of the ' and ". It's really distracting.

Come To My Senses

"What have I lost?" They began to peel the cotton away. The fabric tickled, a gentle lie poorly cloaking deep anxieties. Fresh air rushed the wound, storm winds that brewed ahead. Baited breath fed the gale as inch by inch the bandages lift. Everyone waiting; faith shaken that this unwrapping would bear a simple gift most never ask for and none willfully cast away. Their lungs seized by hearts full of desperate pleas. The sound of their silence was deafening and echoed by the hopelessness of all their prayers that, on this day of all days, a luminous guide might see me through. A symphony of whispered why's and what if's that sang to me, not of hope and gleeful tidings, but of somber shores absent of gilded horizons. The veil remains and it was evident even before it was spoken; in a single malign moment, fate hath slighted me.

The lethal splendor of the pale path called to me like an angelâEUTMs trumpet, but the folly of a vein existence prevailed over an apathetic soul. The faltered course of a single journey commits me forever to an arduous road. The scale slanted mercilessly to the side of flesh, elevating a crime many carelessly commit; a life sentence that isolates me amongst family and labels me a burden to myself and all. The punishment was too harsh, but no amount of protest will abate the curses festering in my core saturating every thought. A pit, endless in direction and depth, draws me down. Seemingly conquered by contempt, what shortened metric would I hold to my life now?

A moment rapt in pure and perfect pitch, ironclad in its grip. "A shadowy prison of my own design?" The revelation comes as a clenched hand between the bars. "No, I've been thrust from good grace by what is beyond"; frivolous blows to stone and steel. "Cheated? Or a trade locked behind pride and entitlement?" Digits part only slightly, behind them, a rigid golden thing cuts through the darkness. "Take me from here; let's leave this sterile house." Resting in the palm, a single heavenly body that beckons me north on a moonless midnight. The gates swing wide and a warm embrace greets me upon release. There is love, even here in the deepest fathoms of my desolation; a solemn touch lifts me.

I pass through the gates; the hurricane gusts have begun to die, replaced by a calm flow. Delivered by the current, many marvelous offerings once before peered past. Tender greeting; thousands, each unique; kiss the skin and welcome me back. Begging to be let out and stale from being held in for far too long, I taste the air once again. Pine and Fir travel gracefully on the breeze, stoking a blaze I recall but never knew; not truly, with glowing embers like a field of stars. "What have I lost?" A question; a plagueâEU¦ deceitful in nature, in the past made me seek swindling elixirs that only attended to the symptoms. Diagnosed and recovering. But I have lost, I am minus one but not diminished. I've lost the illusion, the illusion that blinded me.

The rouse perfume

I pour my coffee in my mouth and taste itâEUTMs a bitter and sour soup, I feel the warm liquid though my throat and washing my stomach and my body, making me feel better. I used to drink late, but right now I need this express to make the trick. ItâEUTMs funny to think about it, the colors of the cup that IâEUTMm holding I have never been in this place, so I donâEUTMt even know this mug. How did I end up on this?, two weeks ago I was happy, I wasnâEUTMt the richest men, I wasnâEUTMt the smartest or the tallest, but I was happy, I had a career, a life but above all, independence, right now I canâEUTMt even walk on the street without fear of that terrible ghost that is always in front of me and that takes the shape of a solid wall or a hole, he doesnâEUTMt let me walk like a normal person, he doesnâEUTMt let me take care of myself. But how I ended up here? I was happy, all this happened on that car crash, it was a cold night and a the road was covered by an invisible but slippery layer of ice, then that car tried to stop but the tires didnâEUTMt find any road to hold it pushed the car in front they both ended up hitting a stone on one side of the road, I went down of my car to help but when I was trying to open one carâEUTMs door I eared the horn of a trailer, I saw it moving at me rising mountains of snow at his steep, next think that I knew I was in the hospital, I opens my eyes and saw darkness, I ask them to turn on the lights but no one answered, I heard for a while the noises of the hospital and realized that the problem was not the lights, a Doctor came and confirmed my suspicion.

They said I was lucky for being alive. âEUoeLuckyâEU , how lucky can I be If I lost everything?, I canâEUTMt work in this condition, I canâEUTMt go jogging, I canâEUTMt go to see a movie, I canâEUTMt even find my way in my very room, all the time that terrible ghost is in front of me menacing, hitting my nose, hurting my legs, scratching my fingers. I lost everything I lost even myself, but what hurts me more is that I lost her. She is just in front of me I can hear her drinking her coffee; she is the one who helped me to walk to this places. All that times that I thought on invite her out, all that many times that I tried, but, why do I have to be that shy, why was I?, I wasted to many opportunities, and now she is gone, she will never like me now.
-So how are you feeling?
-IâEUTMm feeling sad
-Im sorry I canâEUTMt tell you something to make you feel better, except that time will help you find your way
Find my way, I canâEUTMt do that, not alone at least, not any more. I sight, I cannot make out what face she is giving me, but I have to look sad on that chair. There is the smell of the rouses, not around here but on her that is her perfume, It just matches her natural scent so well, it kind of mixes with the scent of her skin so well, with her women scent, with her natural perfume, it makes you feel warm, so quiet. I remember that the first time that I smelled was when I started to work as police officer, it had to be the third or second day on that job, by that time I was fresh from the academy and she was as well, she started to work in the lab few weeks before I did. We both have had a lot of time together and I, a lot of opportunities to say what I feel, but I took none and the time, the time is gone now.
He is getting close, I can recognize the song of his engine, it may use some work on the transmission and maybe change the oil more often. He stops and goes out of the vehicle his shoes make some noise on the gravel, then she stands, pushes her metallic chair back making a bass sound, she runs at his arms and kisses his cheek, they start to talk in front of me I can hear all the conversation. The problems at his work, the plans for their week end, all that typical chat between a couple, the loud voices, the silly last names, I can only be here stay here and ear, just looking to all that I lost. ! Ho my little rouse!.
-Emm listen, my boyfriend will take me to work, do you want a ride to your apartment?
-Can you take me to work instead?
-What?, arenâEUTMt you incapacitate?
-They said me that they would retire me, but I donâEUTMt want that, I donâEUTMt like to be in my apartment, alone, so they gave me a desk job.
-Ok, will you need someone to take you the rest of the week?, I can do that for you
-That would be nice
She walks me inside of the police headquarters, I can hear the typical voices, one agent fat and ugly yells at one officer and urges him to bring his ass into a police car, I hear the sergeant voice talking to a detective, I hear the sound of some paper sheets he must be handling a file.
-Now sit here and wait It will not take me too long and I will bring you to your desk
-You are in the womenâEUTMs looker right? -Said I after few seconds-
-How can you tell?, did you remember the place or are you peeking on me?
-Ha ha ha, no but by your perfume, you are wearing right now your lab coat, right?, the smell of you perfume has diminished
-So, -says she going out of the lookers- now you notice the perfume.
She takes my hand and we walk fast to my desk but just when we were there I heard the voice of the sergeant
-Forget your lab; you are going to the field today.
-But IâEUTMm not field agent sir
-You are now, we are short of people and this has to be done right away there was another bomb attack at the south if we donâEUTMt stop this people god knows what will they do. By the way bring him with you
I felt the hand of the sergeant on my shoulder
-Him?, but he canâEUTMt see, he will be vulnerable in the crime scene
-Maybe, but this was also his case so he knows it better than anyone else in the entire building, any question, to him.
-Thank you sergeant -Said I-
-Glad you didnâEUTMt retire son
So here I am again in a police car a place that I thought I wouldnâEUTMt never be again, I feel the sun rays burning my skin I hear the music very loud and I can ever ear the gears in that stereo working, the knobs turning, and I can smell the ozone produced by that think . The only thing that would make it better would be if I were behind the wheel.
-So tell me, what is going on with this case
-Well this gang is integrated by five people, as far as we can recognize, they work a protection racket. And a person that doesnâEUTMt pay gets a bomb in his house.
-So a protection racket
-Yes but you have to be careful, the boss of this gang is insane, he calls himself the clown, He dresses up in a clown suit, puts on a balding wig and shoots water from a flower to his sidekicks. But thatâEUTMs not it, he likes to play games with the police he sent once a piece of the hair on his wig and asked us to make a DNA test, he also sent some stupid letters with his picture and the map of his den but when we opened the envelops they burned on spontaneously. I tell you if you see something strange in that place, better get out.
-Ho men that freaks me out.
-Yea you better be careful, if something is out of place you better go out.
She goes out of the car and I hear everything from here, I hear the voice of an officer yelling some orders, smell some chemicals bubbling, and her rouse scent, I hear the sound of a plastic band she is inside the crime scene, but suddenly, something is wrong someone picked up something that shouldnâEUTMt been taken. A gear starts to turn I hear a small clock, the smell of some gun powder, something is really wrong, I get out of the car.
-¡¡Get out of there itâEUTMs a bomb!! -I yell-

-¡¡Get out of there itâEUTMs a bomb!! -I yell-
I hear some shoes scratching the dirt and pushing some stones, everything moves too slowly, there is the bomb it starts like small lighter and expands with a terrible sound. I just hope she is ok, I canâEUTMt smell her perfume in the confusion. I hear some shoes scratching the dirt around me they are some police officers, I better leave the job to the ones that can see it will be better, unless, there is what I was afraid of the smell of the gunpowder isnâEUTMt gone, there is more this time, that damn sulfuric pestilence. She is still in the crime scene, I havenâEUTMt smell her scent coming out I cannot leave the work to the ones that can see this I have to do by myself, I pick my stick and start to walk, the ghost that has been chasing me attacks but this time takes the form of a plastic band. I smell her, I know I can smell her she is in front I hear some shoes rushing in front of me walking on a wooden stairs, this time the ghost will not be able to fool me. I can smell her, I know that is my rouse, she is on the floor, I touch her leg she is here, I touch her eyes, then I touch her wrist, she is ok, she is unconscious but ok. You took me by the hand when I needed, now I taking you on my shoulder, it is a difficult walk the ghost of the darkness is there threating me on every step, but I canâEUTMt give up I will not give up. I take her to the car, she will be safe there, I hear some voices asking for help.
-¡¡There is another bomb there take out everyone and run¡¡ -I yell-
I hear some voices asking for help some voices that I know and donâEUTMt want to leave there I hope everyone is away when this place blows out. But suddenly, IâEUTMm taking one friend out. I ear another lighter and the whole place blows out. I fall on my chest and the one who I was recuing, over my back, I canâEUTMt hear, my ears hurt and are buzzing terribly. What is this?, will I lose all my senses one by one?, at least if I survive, I havenâEUTMt seen this much blood on my hands ever before.

Notes about this job:

Well what can I say, I saw this contest on the calendar literally four hours ago and I said to myself I have to enter no matter that there are only four hours I can make it. And so I started to write. I have to apologize because of some redaction mistakes; I just had some minutes to make corrections. Well that it's and good luck to everyone.

Hey guys, if it is easier for the judges to read my submission, I included it in a document minus the glitchy parts. Thanks and enjoy!

http://www.newgrounds.com/dump/item/5dc1f62824be52de8085c1da b3ae9722

-Esty

Contest is over! Thank you all for your submissions!