> Tamar in Plureality

Morning Has Broken

Max was having a very troubled day. It had been one of those mornings where he wished that he had slept through this reality and awoken in the next. Things were off-kilter and it felt like he was spiraling somewhere, even when he was standing still.

He closed his left eye and he could see straight and that feeling of falling was gone, until he opened it up again. It seemed like his optic nerves had crossed wires. He happened to find a patch to place over his eye.

When he went out the door of the apartment complex he was staying at, a cab zipped by and splashed him with a wall of water, soaking him to the gills. 

He grumbled and went back in to change. On the way up the stairs, some kids were moving a sofa and it had blocked the stairwell up to the apartment. 

Max took it as a sign that he should go back, so he went outside to continue on his way. In the exact same spot that he had gotten soaked, it was deja vu when another cab came by and did the exact same thing.

Max grumbled to himself.

He stopped off at the corner coffee shop to pick up a coffee and that's when an old lady dropped her coffee cup, and the contents spilled on Max's boots.

"I get it," Max replied to no one in particular. 

The old woman turned around with a look of shock on her face.

"I'm so sorry," the woman pleaded; she seemed frightened when she looked at the wet pirate staring back at her.

"Don't worry about it, ma'am," Max told her. "I'm just having a really off day."

The Cab Driver

The midnight hour was close at hand when Maggie stepped out of the cab. She paid the cabbie a crisp C-note and told him to keep the rest. The cabbie smiled and then checked to see if the bill was counterfeit.

"It's good," she told the driver.

"Well, you never can be too sure these days," the cabbie replied after tucking the bill into his front vest pocket. "You sure this is the place you want to be?" he asked.

"Yes dad," Maggie replied sarcastically.

The cabbie tipped his hat and pulled away, glancing into the rear-view to see what the girl was going to do.

Maggie grabbed the duffel bag and started walking towards the warehouse. She could hear the sound of music coming from within.

"Dancing," she muttered. "There's a time and a place for it... and now is not the time."

> Goner in Plureality

Supercharge is a code-word for a gravitational blindside, any number of planets may be involved as may any number of restaurant patrons, subway passengers, any conjunction of biology, matter, orbits (however erratic) really, it’s a wave that selects its own medium based on tables and rules that disappear so far back into antiquity or so far forward into whatever is next or so far inward it becomes indistinguishable from chance or for that matter fate, and not gravity exactly but the deeper thing that looks like gravity, gravity only in the sense that gravity is what pulls tears down your cheeks, or inevitability in the sense that there’s no going back from that step off the cliff, not that being supercharged is something that ever happens to us anymore, do we know for certain either way, or better yet can we select or at least take part in the selection process, nominations, secret ballots, debates, of the medium, be a supercharger, though all on the condition that a supercharged medium is indistinguishable from a natural hot or cold, high or low, spicy or mild.