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Whalesong was a jagged spike of sand extending from the base of an embedded whaling platform. Its connection to the mainland required an earthen ramp as the land suddenly dropped twenty feet before reaching the platform, and crisscrossing metal walkways connected the platform with the sand on the oceanβs side. Β Stains remained on the platformβs blue-gray surface, and a notable taint of death lingered on the beach, mixing indiscriminately with the breeze of an ocean that could no longer bear the proximity of the austere square of metal.
Since the ocean receded, rumors began circulating around the tiny beach. Short, stalky plants appeared near the platform that dried in the sun and left acid scars. Happy individuals would go and then never leave, despite the pleas of husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, or children. They would linger and then disappear, purportedly to a creature some individuals had taken to calling a βhsark.β
No one really cared. Despite, or perhaps because of, the string of disappearances, attendance at the beach skyrocketed. Casualties were explained away by bloggers who have never been to the beach as the obvious negligent swimmer who simply forgot to return before high tide.
βThereβs bound to be a few of these people,β they argued, βin the hordes that are going there. Overall conclusion: not haunted.β
To further salve the concerns of their growing tourism industry, local government officials mandated a clinic and police officer to be stationed at the platform for all hours. People felt at ease. They kept coming. Disappearances no longer made headlines but fell neatly into the statistics of brochures and pamphlets.
Β Dan Mateyo was excited. His job rarely gave him a moments rest, and he could never before afford to go with his son and daughter to a distant beach. He started smiling as he imagined his childrenβs overjoyed reactions to the immensity of the ocean, the soothing lap of waves on soft sand grains. He could barely believe his luck that he had won that lottery. He had never even heard of this beach before, but when he sent a query to the company that offered the lottery they laughed and replied βWe need word to get around! The deal is this, sir, we will pay for all expenses and transportation to and from this beach, and in return you must tell your friends and family about it!β
A quick google search verified the existence of the beach, and while some articles were definitely disturbing, other articles assured him that this sort of thing happened at other beaches as well, and really to worry would be paranoid. He practically danced home after receiving a phone call telling him he was selected.
He gripped his childrenβs hands tighter and rushed forward, dragging them laughing as they neared the platform.
It took a few moments to navigate down the layered cliff to the base of the earthen ramp, but no one really minded. Really, he could barely stop himself from tickling his daughter, Silvia, the third time around he had to help carry her down, after she had yelled laughing for him to stop, giggling uncontrollably. Eventually they were down though, and they started walking up the ramp to the platform along with a crowd of others, still smiling from clambering down the cliff face.
The platform was nothing really to see. As people walked to and fro, they would reveal momentary glimpses of darkish stains on the hot metallic sheen of the surface before another body moved in its place. Railings, too hot to touch, surrounded most of the platform. An almost modernist metal box sat squatly near the walkways leading to the beach, announcing the clinic and the police office nestled inside.
Β The crowd of people funneled neatly into the box, and from the whispers of the crowd Dan gathered that a quick check-up and possibly some inoculations were necessary before entrance to the beach in order to better guarantee the public health. His daughter pulled on his arm, straining her head to look at her fatherβs face.
βDaddy, why arenβt we going to the beach?β
βWe have to get a quick check-up first darling, it should be really quick.β
βCheck-up? No shots, right?β His daughter was terrified of shots.
Dan smiled at her, βProbably not.β
Β She went back to staring ahead resolutely, satisfied with his answers, but Dan looked with a tinge of worry at his son. He was slightly older than his daughter, and he noted a growing gap between the two of them, something that he couldnβt seem to breach no matter how hard he tried. His son had packed his bags obediently, but when Dan tried to share his enthusiasm with his son, the boy had simply nodded and agreed, lost to his own world.
As he looked forward to the rapidly diminishing line ahead though, Dan wasnβt worried. He knew that this stage happened to everyone, and he was positive that if nothing else, he would enjoy the time he spent with his son.
They eventually entered the box.
There was a slight disturbance ahead. A young man, tanned and unshaved, was yelling at the doctor.
βALL THEY NEED IS SALT WATER MAN. YOU KNOW THAT. YOUβVE SEEN THE CASES. JUST GIVE THEM SALT WATER.β
The young man continued yelling this as he was dragged out by the lone police officer.
Danβs daughter huddled closer to him.
When their turn came the doctor smiled apologetically.
βIβm really sorry, every now and then someone like that comes in. Itβs the atmosphere of the beach. Draws in a few strange people.β
He then went through a quick check up of each of them: looking at the insides of their mouths, asking them whether or not theyβve been to the beach before, and taking a small blood sample.
His daughter squirmed when she saw the needle, her eyes growing huge. In the end he sat with her, tightly squeezing her hand, telling her that it would barely hurt and that right after they could go to the beach. She made it through with her eyes tightly closed.
βMy brave little girl,β Dan whispered as he hugged her afterwards, smiling.
They walked out onto the metal ramp and onto the beach.
The beach was surprisingly uncrowded. Everyone filtering along the peninsula of sand that stretched to a point out towards the ocean. The sand whispered beneath their feet, like a dying wind begging entrance to a doorway.
Dan heaved his girl up, grabbed his sonβs hand, and ran to the ocean, barely taking the time to take off his and his sonβs shirt and leave them on a secluded patch of sand.
Dan sat with his daughter in the shallow water, teaching her to swim and occasionally splashing her back whenever she got a little bored with the lessons. He let his son go a bit deeper so long as he could still stand and he was in sight of Dan.
As the sun went down, his son walked back, frowning at some unseen mystery.
Dan called out to him, half-laughing as his daughter jumped on him trying to sink him deeper into the sand.
βWhatβs the matter? Are you hungry?β
His son shook his head but continued staring ahead, biting his lip as he moved back to their clothes and sat down.
Dan sighed a little as his daughter looked concerned.
βHey darling, you want to move back to the beach so we can talk to your brother?β
She eyes took such a broken look that he immediately dropped the idea, and allowed her to stay in the water so long as she moved closer to shore and stayed in his sight.
Dan walked backwards to his son, he didnβt want to lose sight of his daughter.
Eventually though he sat down beside his son.
βWhatβs wrong champ?β
His son shook his head.
βWhat are you thinking of?β
His son stared passively ahead.
βAre you having fun?β
βYeah, Iβm having fun.β
Dan was so relieved at a response he smiled at his son, βYou know, it doesnβt really look it.β
βI know.β
Dan looked back ahead, but couldnβt see his daughter. He looked a bit further down the beach on both sides, and then looked behind him on the other shore. He couldnβt see her.
βHave you seen your sister?β
His son woke a little from his stupor.
βI thought you were looking after her.β
Β Dan jumped to his feet. He couldnβt worry yet with this son in tow, but he walked down the beach calling his daughterβs name, forcing his voice to take a calmer tone than he felt.
βSilvia? Darling? Are you here? Silvia call back to me.β
When he reached the end of the beach, he was past able to keep up his calm façade. He grabbed his son and ran back to the platform.
When he entered the police office, he found the lone policeman that had taken away the young man earlier and immediately started yelling, gesticulating with panicked motions. His son looked crushed, staring at the officer with huge, beseeching eyes not unlike his sister could.
βOfficer I canβt find my daughter. Sheβs around this tall, sheβs seven years old, she has fair hai-β
βWoah,β the officer interrupted Dan while he was fishing his wallet out of his shirt for a picture. βWait a minute sir. Have you looked around the beach?β
βYes, thatβs the first thing I did when I couldnβt find her.β
βLet me see her pictureβ¦ yes, sir, I personally look over everyone who leaves here, and I can assure you your daughter has not left with anyone else.β
βBut she isnβt on the beach!β Dan hadnβt considered kidnapping, and was reeling with an internal pain that drowned out reason.
The officerβs eyes became notably softer.
βHere sir, letβs go back on the beach then and look for your daughter again. Maybe she was simply swimming while you were looking for her and so you missed her.β
βMy daughter canβt swim yet.β The words came as broken, heaving syllables. Dan felt as if a razor was slowly crushing his lungs, leaving stabbing pains as he struggled for breath.
The officer gave an awkward sympathetic look that was more burning than a knife wound.
βSir, have you considered that perhaps your daught- β
βOfficer, the water wasnβt even up to her knees. I made her promise to stay close to shore and in sight. SHE WAS ONLY THIS TALL, DAMNIT.β The volume of his words could not shatter realityβs glass window. He felt trapped in that box, unable to escape the inevitable march of thoughts and words that seemingly only worsened his state, darkened the glass he was beginning to see through. His son was terrified and shook beside him.
The officer tried to comfort him, brought Dan back to the beach to look for his daughter again. The officer questioned everybody, asked the doctor if perhaps a little girl somehow got past, they searched every crevice of the platform, the beach, and the ocean. Dan didnβt find her.
Β The sun was beginning to set as Dan sat with his son on the beach. They were still waiting for Silvia to appear somewhere, running at them with shells that she had found while she was hiding somewhere on the beach. He felt empty, and he wasnβt sure if he could ever bring himself to leave that spot.
There were still a large number of other beachgoers nearby, settling in clumps against the growing chill that rose as the sun fell.
Dan had no one to call, no one to ask to take his son back home. No one he would ever trust to take his son that far. He knew he had to eventually leave, and it was getting too cold besides.
He croaked out the words βHey. Maybe we should start going home.β
His son sat indifferent beside him. The distance had widened immeasurably. Sometimes Dan wondered if his son was even aware that he was sitting beside him.
βI donβt want to leave,β he finally said. Dan didnβt question him. Just sat numbly on.
He woke to screams. His son was missing. He saw large shadows on the ground under a moonless, starless sky. Someone was shouting βOh god!β over and over again in the distance.
Danβs mind was in shambles. Something inside him had broken, and he felt that if he had to go through it again he would jump into the ocean. He had to fight that desperate desire until after he found his son.
βJASON?β He shouted, he didnβt understand why so many people were yelling. He bumped into a small form that was running towards the platform.
βDAD, RUN.β He held his son, trying to stop reeling from the sounds around him. Jason struggled against him, trying to run out of the beach. Someoneβs phone flipped on in the distance, creating a small, dangling point of light on the black sand. Dan didnβt understand what he saw, didnβt comprehend what happened when the light went off. He simply grabbed his son and ran.
Β When they reached the box, the door was ajar. A florescent light was on, but cut no deeper into the blackness just outside the box than a probing fingernail cut into the dense paper of a book. The payphone was cut and left on the ground, and blood smears were present on the floor. Dan didnβt care about either. He only had one thought left. He had to get out. He had to get Jason out.
They rushed to the door opening to the mainland, but it was locked and iron. They turned around to run out the back and jump over the rail, but a rapid, heavy footstep could be heard rasping up the metal ramp, like the sound of a piston smashing onto a conveyer belt.
Dan rushed to lock the door, and was knocked back by the tremendous blow of force that reverberated through. An inhuman, reptilian roar sounded on the other side, pushing Dan into a fetal position with his hands over his ears. His son was crying against the wall.
Something fell in another room, and Dan could hear a voice. Hoping beyond hope for someone who has a key, he ran into the room but saw only a video recording of the doctor that had by chance turned on when the webcam atop the monitor had fallen onto the keyboard.
β-tastic discovery. The plant has an extraordinary parasitic strategyβ¦β
The doctor held up pictures of human corpses, a beanlike plant growing out various pores and through the skin in what seemed like a stage of decay. Dan didnβt understand, and didnβt care. He immediately began rifling through the filing cabinets, the desks, anything that could possibly hold a key.
βIt seems to interact with the nervous system of its hosts. Stimulating and shutting off certain receptors in the brain that are primarily responsible for motivation in order to induce lethargy in some cases and excitability in othersβ¦β
He couldnβt find the key. He saw a fire hydrant, ran to it, and ripped it off. The doctorβs voice could still be clearly heard in the hallway as Dan ran to the front door facing the mainland again.
βThe spores of the plant are generally unable to manifest into sexual maturity until after the death of the host. Primarily though, this may be becauseβ¦β
CLANG. The hallway rang of metal on metal as Dan smashed the fire hydrant into the doorβs handle. His sonβs crying could be heard intermixed with the doctorβs voice.
βthe growth of the spores is slow while the hostβs immune system is active, and rapidly accelerates in terms of growth after the death or injury of the hostβ¦β
CLANG.
βThe nocturnal lizard-like creatures seem to function in a mutualistic relationship with the spore plant, as the sudden growth of the spore in the host synthesizes large concentrations of certain proteinsβ¦β
CLANG. The handle was bent.
Β βConsequently, like ants of the genus AttaΒ or Acromyrmex, they aid the reproduction of the plant by leaving new hosts or fertilizing the fungal colonies with already dead hostsβ¦β
CLANG. The handle was broken off and the door swung freely. Dan ran to his son and picked him up, leaving to the concluding words of the doctor, βGiven isolated experiments using the similar Ophiocordyceps unilateralis, I no longer believe quarantine and containment to be feasible, even in the interests of biodiversity and studyβ¦β
Β The squad leader was smoking a cigarette as his men sat quietly in the dark truck, rumbling along the road. They had all been fully debriefed, and were prepared for anything, though many of the men held sick feelings for what may be required. The truck stopped atop the cliff, and the squad leader saw a dark figure running out the door. He immediately brought out his gun and fired a warning shot.
βDonβt move! Put your hands up!β
The figure stooped, and in the dark a smaller figure stood up, before raising his hands.
βTHANK GOD YOUβRE HERE. WEβRE UNARMED. YOU HAVE TO HELP US. GET MY SON OUT OF HERE.β
The figure made steps forward, but the man shot again into the dark.
βI said donβt move! The next shot will not be a warning!β
The figure stopped. A whisper could be heard on the still night, βPleaseβ¦ just take my sonβ¦β
The squad leader received radio confirmation of aerial support, and the figure heard. The figure dropped his hands, and did nothing but stare at the squad leader as his son cried beside him. Eventually the figure dropped, gathered his son, and held him tightly. Whispering words in a soft voice that the squad leader could not hear, did not want to hear.
Β A bomb fell from the sky, illuminating the coastline. Cinders fell from the sky on the truck, shielded by the cliff-face. The squad leader took a deep breath after exhaling the smoke from his cigarette, breathing in the spores as they fell.
There's nothing quite like leaning back in a car at twilight, with the sun filtering through the leaves of passing trees and a calming song in the background. I think I'll call it bliss.
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I think I do a lot of things to try to convince myself that I'm beautiful regardless of the ugly things surrounding me. That one day I'll create something so close to the human soul that everyone I've wronged will understand and forgive me. I'm still waiting for that day.
The greatest tragedy is not one in which a villain accomplishes some terrible misdeed, but one in which the collective good intentions of decent individuals causes pain and suffering.
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There's a popular idea of multiverses, or multiple universes, that states that everything possible/impossible is happening simultaneously, either in this universe or another one.
This is really easily disproved in its conceptual sense by the following idea. If everything is happening in one universe or another, then there must exist at least one universe filled with universe-jumpers that will pop into my universe, at my location, at this time, and provide me with some process or device to grant me infinite power.
Because that doesn't seem to be the case, logically there cannot be an infinite number of universes that satisfy every possible combination of rules and non-rules.
Regardless though, I'm sometimes really curious what my life would be like if a certain event was slightly different. What if I were a little brighter? Or a little more charming? Or perhaps, simply, a little better at dancing? I kind of half-wish this idea were true, because then I could feasibly imagine myself popping into those other universes just to satisfy that curiosity. To know, exactly, what it is I missed out on and what I could have been doing.
P.S. For the more mathematically inclined, you can actually make some pretty awesome analogies between this sort of system and set theory. For example, if each universe is a collection of moments, then each universe is a set of those moments, and "everything" can be described as a set of all sets.
We can reach another paradox by defining one of those sets as "a set, S, that does not contain itself," and we can make this definition because the problem allows any universe, and so we're essentially picking a universe that should already exist. Say S isn't inside S, then it should be in S by our definition, and if it is in S, then it can't be in S by our definition. This results in (Russell's) paradox.
Personally I believe they're two different words, though the dictionary argues somewhat persuasively otherwise.
In my opinion to be alive is to be conscious. To change either yourself or something else because you thought of another way and decided to yourself that that way is better. In other words, to be alive is toΒ do things.
It's painfully easy to react and drag myself through the day and enormously difficult to find time at the end to consider whatever I've just done with my time and wonder what I should do next. Life is almost an observer's sport, where the game is to leave with as few bruises as possible. To be alive is to play the game and meaningfully tweak it, to be living is to just be part of it one way or another.
I was out jogging, and I had a few thoughts on cancer. Naturally I have a very naive understanding of cancer, so it's probable that my thoughts are not only worthless, but already definitively disproved.
I originally thought of a molecule that becomes deadly after a certain mass threshold is reached, as certain polymers exhibit radically different physical properties from their respective monomers, I thought this might be doable, at least to the extent that it could restrict the maximum size of cancer cells and therefore prolong the lifespan of afflicted individuals.
However then I recalled current research at MiT exploring swarm intelligence/programming in robotics, and I realized that if you could miniaturize that to the point where those robots could diffuse between cells (and they're quite simple, but I'm not absolutely positive that miniaturization to that scale is possible) then you could individually program a mass of them to target large cells by causing them to react when a certain background-EM-amplitude threshold is reached, killing the cancerous cell.
Very tentatively... this could cure cancer?
Anything we do or say has incalculable effects on the remainder of history, trickling like water before falling as the proverbial avalanche. Intuitively this makes sense, but sometimes I blink and marvel, astonished at the universe I've created and vaguely curious what I'd do with that power.
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Granted for most of human history those with an elevated rank have been marked as distinct through jewelry, the color purple, and in some cases exceptionally long nails. However, modern society has developed behind the computer. A state of being which has somewhat de-emphasized physical appearances. What, then, indicates this distinction?
Personally I believe it to be email addresses, or the brief resume attached beneath a profile picture indicating "Professor of Modal Logic at MiT". The goal of our materialistic society, then, is to get the greatest email address possible. (In my case, to get ryankwon@<awesome college>.edu)
I feel a revolutionary sort of mood today, and it's quite a brilliant feeling.
That desire to do something meaningful, to actually impact the conditions around you rather than sit complacent (as I'm ironically doing as I type this out).
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