E. Gadd's Stories - "Journey of..."

[E. Gadd Industries]

Hello. After some brief consideration, I decided to make a thread for my short stories. These represent over six years' worth of writing starting in my freshman year of undergrad. I'm not going to post all of them at once, but slowly. Feel free to offer thoughts, or just enjoy Maybe if folks are interested, I can offer some extra thoughts on the pieces I post here, like context or potential meaning (if it exists). But uh... for now... just remember that not everything is as it seems, and all will be well, okay?

...this is the first story I ever wrote.

4. The Grandfather Paradox

"I can't believe he was just here not even... not even a week ago..."

"Yeah... time surely flies, especially as you get older. Er, so I've heard. I'm not really sure."

"I wouldn't know, I'm only twenty. And yourself?"

"Does age really matter? Could it be how we feel at a given time that decides our age?"

"I've never considered it... but then why are birthdays celebrated?"

"People are weird. Always have been..."

"And always will be?"

"Does that matter?"

The two were silent for a moment in thoughtful contemplation. The younger spoke once again. "How did you know him?"

"He and I were pretty close. I'm sure he talked about me at some point."

"Did you two grow up together?"

"But how did you know him?"

"I asked first."

"You could say we did grow up together. Now my question?"

"He was my grandfather."

"And what did you think of him?"

"A good man, just a bit of a worrier. And then that depression set in about ten years ago..."

"A worrier? I never knew him to be a worrier, just... curious..." The older looked troubled after hearing "depression."

"That's one way to put it, I guess."

"Surely you remember his fiftieth birthday, asking all those questions about the cake before it was even served?"

"But only he and I were in the room at that time?"

"I know."

The older winked and disappeared in a blink of light, never to be seen again.

[E. Gadd Industries]

This was a reflection written in my junior year of undergrad, about a particular occurrence in high school in the days when I ran cross country. According to the file, this piece was written in the days before March 17th, 2021.

28. Gossamer

Gossamer (n., adj.) – the very thin thread that spiders produce to make webs; very delicate and light (Cambridge English Dictionary)
    It was quite a humid day, although nothing was unusual about that. Everyone on the cross-country team, myself included, was silently wishing that the heat index would rise high enough that practice would be cancelled, although now that we were on the starting line of the course, our hopes were fairly nonexistent. Ahead of us lay five difficult kilometers of muddy terrain from the previous rainstorms, plenty of twisted ankles if we weren't absolutely vigilant, and air so thick we could drink it.
    The coach gave the signal, and I pressed a button on my fitness watch that, while it appeared to do absolutely nothing, I trusted that it had started the exercise timer. Perhaps despite the conditions, today would be the day to break my personal record. It was unlikely, but a goal nonetheless.
    Everyone else had music because they were able to figure out how earbuds work. Even as a high schooler who worked with music regularly, I still did not know how to keep them in my ears without them falling out what felt like every few seconds. So instead, as per my usual, I stayed in my head the entire time I was running. I would have debates and philosophical discussions, try to answer theological questions, and even review homework and study materials for upcoming tests all while trying to keep up some sort of pace that would be deemed acceptable both by the coach and myself.
    I was never great at the sport. Sure, it was better than me trying to throw, catch, hit, or kick a ball, but I would consistently bring up the rear on the days where we would run the course. But none of that mattered to me because, unlike the other members of the team, I saw no need to be competitive. I knew I wasn't going to be running on a sports team in college, and my main motivation for running in the first place was to stay in shape and have easy, consistent ways of doing so.
    With the day's practice schedule calling for us to run the course, I had prepared myself to not be first or second or even third. I was just there to complete the course and possibly beat my own time of some minutes and some seconds—the big clock they used on race days always changed numbers in ways that never made sense, so I could never keep up with my records.
   
    It didn't take long for the group to pull ahead of me, and as I rounded the first curve that was almost always a right turn, most of the rest of the team was already past the second and halfway to the third turn, the former generally a right turn and the latter strictly a left turn, always.
    I had started getting into that day's topic of discussion, likely on dimensional theory and/or the reality of the subconscious mind, and by the time I made it to the first kilometer sign, I would have been around the third dimension, with the rest of the team nowhere in sight. I was struggling a bit from the humidity, but overall, I was going along at a pace that would allow me to finish running the full course.
    It was at that point that I ran face-first into an old cobweb that was blowing in some nonexistent breeze while dangling from the one-kilometer sign.
    I was caught off-guard, but not too badly; that was not the first cobweb I had run into, by any means, and I knew it wouldn't be my last. I kept running, and as I rounded the next curve, I ran into yet another cobweb, this one defying gravity from some unknown source. Although I kept running, I furiously swiped at my face to clear the string off of it so I could focus again on my running and contemplating the existence of a separate universe within the unaware mind. I was also trying to assure myself that the strings were indeed cobwebs and that I wasn't destroying some well-meaning arachnid's home and means of getting food.
    Before I could settle back in on the philosophical debates and mathematical theories raging in one part of my head, my thoughts briefly flashed to the idea that it was rather odd that I was running through cobwebs like this despite being behind some number of people greater than I could count on one hand alone. I wondered if somehow, the course was different than I last remembered, which wouldn't be entirely unreasonable to assume. Directional signs regularly changed what they showed, and it tended to frustrate those running as they tried to pick their way through the potentially unfamiliar terrain.
    The course didn't seem all that unfamiliar, though, and regardless, the path I was running would not have changed between my attempt at it and that of the team members who were already ahead of me. So, despite the confusion, I brushed off the thoughts and continued running. Right into another cobweb. At that point, I decided that I would just keep running, and if I got bit by anything, I would deal with it then.
    As I continued running the course, I ran into several other cobwebs, and at a certain point, I stopped and attempted to clear all of them from me, concerned that I had captured so many that I was experiencing the sensation of capturing even more when in reality I was merely recapturing those I had already run through. Even on the second lap of the course, however, I ran through still other cobwebs.
    It was at that point that I thought no one would believe me if I told them how many cobwebs I managed to attract during the day's practice, so I largely kept it to myself. That said, I would never forget that day throughout the rest of the season, and it made me significantly more cautious in my running, trying to figure out where others had already run so I didn't potentially ruin any other spiders' homes.

[BlackDragonSlayer]

4. The Grandfather Paradox

I've often considered writing a story that's basically all dialogue, perhaps even taking it a step further so that the reader only sees one side of the conversation It's certainly a challenge to limit yourself to just dialogue.

[E. Gadd Industries]

I've often considered writing a story that's basically all dialogue, perhaps even taking it a step further so that the reader only sees one side of the conversation It's certainly a challenge to limit yourself to just dialogue.

Ooooh, that's an interesting concept, only seeing one side of the conversation. But yesssss it really is! I even considered no dialogue tags for that story, in the interests of complying with the assignment, but then I discovered I could tell the story more succinctly (what you see here) and include basic tags.

New story coming soon... I started writing it yesterday, so it'll perhaps have a bit of a different sound from the other two I've posted in this thread. My goal is to finish it by the end of the week (I'm managing to find time to write stories throughout the week despite classes, research, teaching, logistics of field work, and working on my dissertation proposal).

[E. Gadd Industries]

This piece was written in the same semester (though in the week leading up to the 30th of April), for the same class, as Gossamer. (I haven't had time to revise TockTick and transfer to computer.) It recounts a simpler time, when I felt secure, comforted by something I couldn't know. It didn't want to be known...

Click this only if you want the actual meaning behind the story.

This one recounts a brief period of time during my senior year of high school that Vah Medoh would appear in my periphery, from having played a lot of BotW around that time. Curiously, once I completed that main quest and Vah Medoh was no longer flying in the sky, it also disappeared from my periphery.

[close]

10. Sentinel

Sentinel (n.) – a person or thing that watches or stands as if watching (Dictionary.com)
            The sun flashed frantically and irregularly as the car drove along the highway, and if it hadn't been for the trees that watched alongside the road, the situation would have caused even the most steady-minded to cry out that the world was ending.
            But I knew it was not so. It was all merely a game that the trees liked to play, mischievous, but ultimately harmless in intent.
            I looked ahead, maintaining focus on the road as I made my way through the fog that prevented me from seeing the path in front of me. It didn't matter that there was fog: I knew where I was going. The other cars around me seemed to know, too, as they passed behind me, fading between lanes in the mirrors of my vehicle that were just as untrustworthy as the fog itself.
            But it didn't matter: I knew where I was going, and I was aware of the cars that ambiguously meandered around my own. They might not have existed, but I knew I had to act as though they did. Who knows what reality would befall me if I didn't?
            I kept looking forward, knowing the road was before me, but all at once, I saw something in my periphery. It was not there before, but all the same, I could not know if it was there. As with the cars around me, so was this object. But yet unlike the cars, the object had a knowable, definite shape: it was there, present in this moment, extant on this plane.
            I looked away from the road for a moment, knowing what lay before me for a small stretch, and looked to the object. It was up in the sky, deep in the middle of the driver's side window. As my eyes swept across the sky, I found it empty.
            I was surprised, but not in the matter that I found the sky empty; rather, I was surprised to have seen the object in the first place. Unlike the cars that vaguely existed around me, this object did not naturally exist in the reality in which I found myself.
            What surprised me further: this was not the first time I had seen the object in my periphery. It was there, and had been for some span of time that was significant enough that I remembered its presence and curiously awaited each appearance, being surprised all the same every time it decided to make itself known.
            The nature of the object in the sky was quite fascinating to ponder, even more so than the potential meaning of its existence for some. It was an avian statue, with wings spread proudly and freely as it utilized the power of wind to maintain an unknown course. It always seemed to look away from the direction I was facing, either looking to the left if it appeared on my left, or to the right on my right.
            I smiled as the car dragged along the road to somewhere, its course unperturbed by my momentary shift in focus. This object was starting to become a part of my experience, and to an even greater degree, part of my own self.
            That was the only way I could reasonably justify its purpose for existence: seeing as no one else seemed to acknowledge its presence in the sky, and even the sky itself seemed to be unaware of that which occupied it, it could only be an extension of myself projected onto the world around me. Such was the way I sought to rationalize this reality, anyway.
            I turned off the music that I remembered was playing in my car, as it was becoming a nuisance that grated against the waves that permeated the world both inside my car and outside. The dissonance between the natural frequencies of the dream and the artificiality of the music was enough to drive me mad, and I preferred more to spend my time contemplating the object in the sky. My object in the sky.
            I wondered if it was supposed to be a sign of some sort, warning me as all plots tend to do of some unforeseen event. And yet, unable to think of any reasonable event that such an avian statue could be telegraphing, I discarded the hypothesis and continued pursuing this answer to a nonexistent question.
            The fog having not shown any signs of letting up, I continued making my way down the broad thoroughfare, perhaps to nowhere at all. I reluctantly checked my mirrors, knowing they would not reveal anything useful, and saw nothing. I knew this was not the case, however, and the sounds of a vehicle zoomed by my window with not so much as a second of warning. I looked for the source of the sound, and while there was none that I perceived visually, I knew that the vehicle was there: its proximity to my vehicle had caused it to shake, requiring me to correct the steering.
            As I tried to make out the shape of such a vehicle that nearly sent my own careening off the road, I saw the object once more, this time in more detail than the encounter I had had just moments prior. I could see the glow of its eyes, fixed upon nothing and everything, all at once. They were blue, merely rings that indicated some sense of life but failing to give any sort of more nuanced information than that.
            I decided this time, despite my initial inclinations, that I would maintain my course, looking forward rather than to it. Perhaps it enjoyed its estate in my periphery, and I would be able to learn more about it only indirectly.
            As these things crossed my mind, all at once I felt a sense of peace wash over me. Not necessarily a peace of contentment, but rather it was a peace of security. I felt safe, in some abstract way that could not be adequately explained in words. And yet, when this came over me, I smiled again and put some words into thought, addressing the bird as much as myself, "So you are here to protect me? But from what?"
            Somewhere deep within this reality, I knew the answer, and I knew that I knew the answer. But I wanted to let the object know that I knew it, and figured it was best to let it know by simply asking it.