WHAT IS OBJECT WRITING?
“Object writing is timed, sense-bound writing, usually done first thing in the morning. You pick an object- a real object, like a paper clip, a coffee cup, a Corvette – and treat it as a diving board to launch you inward to the vaults of your seven senses”
Day 1 – Flake
The flake of stone easily breaks off into my hand, somehow cool despite the sun beating down on my back. A trail of sweat runs down the side of my face before dripping onto the hot sand I’m crouched in.
I trace a dark line glinting up at me from the stone flake with my finger. Millions of years of geological activity had smoothed the flake in the way no human hand could. I look back up at the rock formation in front of me. The flake dismissed from my mind. In front of me lies the preserved remains of a creature no human eye had ever seen. A sharp predatory face stares back at me. I can imagine cowering in fear from its visage. Long claws ready to assail prey. Or anything deemed to have crossed this imperious creature. Terrifying spines run down it’s back. Weapon? Or a defence from something even more horrifying. I suddenly feel a cold shiver.
I snap upright and scan the landscape around me. Nothing. Not even the wind stirs here in the desert. Probably nothing more than my primordial fight or flight instinct. My very genes rebelling at the idea of coming face to face with what lies entombed in stone in front of me.
I pick up my tiny chisel and get to work.
Day 2 – Target
My target shifts slightly to my right, unaware of my presence above and to its rear. I lean forward and flick the gun sights to the on position. Ready. I start my dive. I can feel the air battering my fighter plane through the rudder pedals. Time slows to a crawl as my target enters into my gunsights. I smash down on the firing stud. Six lines of tracers connects me with my prey momentarily. The acrid smell of cordite fills the cramped cockpit. In a flash I am past. Looking back over my shoulder I can see my target is still in the air, and now I am the prey. Angry hornets invade my cockpit as bullets zip past me. I immediately slam my joystick to the side of the cockpit and throw my fighter into a roll. I can feel gravity clawing at me. Fighting me. Now inverted, and I dive down. The earth is trying to pull me out of the air. Darkness starts creeping into my vision as the blood in my body rushes into my feet, threatening me with unconsciousness, and death.
Somehow I am the predator again, another moment is all I need. The bright red and yellow explosion fills my forward canopy for a moment. I finally breathe again.
Day 3 – Champion
The rush of blood thunders in my ears. The adrenaline flooding my body has left a tangy taste in my mouth. Or is that what my own blood tastes like? The thought barely crosses my mind before the champion’s right hook annihilates my sense of self. Existence utterly ceases. A warm darkness embraces me. I feel peace. This is only fleeting. Reality slams me back into the boxing ring. On instinct alone my body leans back, the champion’s follow-up blow caresses the side of my face. In retaliation my left arm slams into his floating ribs. I take pleasure in the momentary surprise I see in his face. I’m wholly unprepared for what comes next. A right arm pile drives into my stomach. If there was anything left in my stomach I’d probably retch. Instead I taste bile in the back of my mouth. The spectators of this spectacle roar in approval. Their raucous enjoyment of my suffering reverberates in my mind. I can make this stop. I just need to fall down. I don’t. I won’t. I can’t. Not yet.
Day 4 – Aurora
Reaching, ever higher. Further, faster, never turning back. The first time I saw the moon Titan rising over the horizon of Jupiter, I knew I’d never be able to turn back. The dark, tumultuous blue of the moon, in stark contrast to the orange-red of the cloud-covered Jupiter. I can feel the hull of our spacecraft Aurora vibrating, as the breaking burn clawed away the speed we’d built up over the past few months. I hear the moaning and grumbling of the deck plates as they shift from the deceleration. To have open sky above me once again, to be able to move outside of the confines of Aurora, that was a feeling I couldn’t wait to savour. The decades we’d spent preparing the moon for our arrival would finally pay off. Humankind would have a home to call its own once again. And then, we could start planning for what comes next.
Day 5 – Paisley
The man in the paisley suit stared at me from across the table. The cold steel table my hands rested on seemed to be sucking all warmth out of me. I’d never seen a more hideous colour-combination in my life. The stare continued for a few more heartbeats. Paisley-suit man then leaned back, and reached into the inner-pocket of his jacket and pulled out a box of cigarettes, he delicately put the box down on the table. Then he deliberately reached into his jacket again and withdrew a Zippo lighter. The Zippo joined the smokes on the table. Paisley-suit man picked up the box, pulled out a single cigarette, and put it in his mouth. He offered me a cigarette. I declined with a single shake of my head. Paisley-suit man shrugged. He reached for the Zippo, and flicked it open. The schnick of the Zippo flicking open shattered the silence in the room. A flame sprang from the Zippo. I don’t think I’d ever seen a Paisley-coloured flame before. I snorted at the absurdity of it all. Paisley-suit man studied my reaction. And shrugged as if it was the most normal thing in the world. The flame ignited the cigarette. Paisley-suited man took a long drag from the cigarette. I thought for a moment he was going to blow the smoke into my face. At the last moment Paisley-suit man turned his head and delicately blew the smoke away from him. In the close confines of the room the smell of menthol quickly became cloying.
Paisley-suit man turned back to me: “So I bet you’re wondering why we’re here…”
Day 6 – Cardinal
A thick ivory-coloured envelope slides across the table towards me. I look at it. Then back at Paisley suit man. My one eyebrow raised in a question.
“But the messenger I am…” he replies with an exaggerated shrug. “It does come from the Cardinal, with her regards”.
My eyes go wide. My quivering hand turns the heavy envelope over. It feels rich and heavy in my hand. And there. Staring up at me is the Cardinal’s seal.
My shaking hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes, I fumble with the Zippo, eventually, finally managing to light the cigarette. Paisley suit man looks on, taking in my reaction, before returning his attention to his own cigarette.
My own pull on the cigarette is out of practice, haggard. I’d stopped smoking years ago. The cool taste of menthol in my mouth only served to add to my nausea. The room suddenly feelsinfinitely small. I could feel the walls closing in on me. How many people sitting at this very desk had received similar envelopes. What happened to them I wonder.
I’ve delayed as long as I could. Looking around unsuccessfully for an ashtray I finally decided to just drop the cigarette and stamp it out with my foot. Bright red sparks danced across the floor.
I lift the envelope, and crush the Cardinal’s seal with my thumb, the dark blue wax cracking loudly. I pull out a single document. My breathing becomes heavy. I can feel nervous sweat running down my back. It is finally happening.
Day 7 – Sled
The cramped bridge of the former-United Nations Orbital Cutter Sled smelled of ozone and burnt electronics.
My co-pilot and sometimes-best-friend (She can be a bit of an arsehole at times) banged away furiously at the console in front of her.
“That’s not going to work Jet… We’re going to have to reset the breakers manually…”
Jet glared back at me, angry and annoyed, and to my surprise a bit scared. I ducked my head under the main computer console. I hoped I’d been able to hide my own fear from her. The circuits and cables under the console were a mess of colours and shapes. I’d be lying if I said I recognized them all. I suddenly felt a sharp burning coming from my thumb. I’d managed to slice a gash lengthwise down my thumb. The scarlet blood oozed out. I didn’t have time to stop and bandage it. After a few seconds the light green circuit boards were covered in my blood. I felt a bump against my leg, Jet had dumped our box of spares next to me. She’d also donned her bulletproof jacket and I could see her autopistol strapped to her thigh.
Jet hated guns.
Oh fuck.
Sled shook and vibrated. The pirates had attached their breaching pod. Sled still had her armour belt from her days patrolling the orbitals of the United Nations jurisdiction. The armour should buy us enough time. I really wished I’d been allowed to keep the quartet of missile launchers and double rail guns.
Guess I was going to have to do this the old fashioned way. Whatever that meant.
Day 8 – Den
The coyotes had dared invade our den. Intrude into our cave, our sanctum, our temple, but most importantly our home.
The blood rage coursed through our pack, we acted as one. I’d never seen such savagery from my fellow wolves. A red mist hung over the cave, as we fought them off. I saw my father fall after personally killing five of the invaders, his throat, torn out. My mother died standing over his body, leaving two more coyotes dead, with a third lame. My sister easily finished it off. My left flank was torn open, my blood running freely from it. I left a trail of iron red behind me, my blood mixed in with those I’d slain. I saw a small coyote leap for my sister. It all seemed to be happening so slowly. I used my remaining strength to intercept the coyote. I knocked him down and broke his neck with my jaws.
There were still so many coyotes, and so few wolves. I could feel my time in this world ending. As my eyes closed, almost lost to despair, I saw my brother and his pack arrive at the last moment. All was not lost.
Day 9 – Bucket
There is a hole in the bucket. There is a hole in the boy’s bucket. How does the boy know this you ask? Well… There would appear to be cold water streaming from said hole and onto the boys feet. Drenching his shoes and socks. The boy is standing in the middle of the street, rather embarrassed by the hole in his bucket. He could stop and try to plug the hole with something. But what? His red and blue checkered handkerchief was in his other shorts at home. Dad was always impressing on the boy the importance of having a handkerchief on your person. The boy had always scoffed at this “But why Dad? Why does one always need to have a handkerchief?”
Now the boy knew why. But that didn’t answer the dilemma that had been presented to the boy. How to stop the hole before all the water ran out? He could use his finger.
No.
That wouldn’t work. He needed both hands to carry the bucket.
The hot summer sun kept beating down on the boy. By now a whole crowd had gathered to see what the boy with the hole in his bucket would do. There was a buzzing in the crowd as they started murmuring amongst themselves.
What would the boy do?
Day 10 – Silo
Jake looked out through the cockpit of his Zero Frame as the crew chief disconnected the last of the umbilicals. Vereviel started stirring to life as the fusion reactor and elemental engine reached peak output. Through his pilot implants Jake felt the muscle fibres running through Vereviel’s body flex and test themselves. A mental prompt was all that was needed to bring up the full list of the armaments that currently equipped Vereviel. Two 90mm short rifles under each arm. The elegant curved blade hanging from Vereviel’s waist. And finally the massive two-handed mace on the back hardpoint.
The doors of the launch silo opened, sunlight danced off of the interior until it bathed the cockpit sensors in warmth. By the time the light was being displayed on the panoramic cockpit display, it was nothing more than artificial code conveying a sense of the outside world.
The crew chief flashed a thumbs-up, and then launched Vereviel – and Jake – up and through the launch silo, the sudden acceleration pressing him into the Zero Frame’s pilot cradle. Even with his enhanced physiology the acceleration was brutal, the momentum from the launch carried Vereviel 15 meters into the air. Using Vereviel’s maneuvering thrusters Jake was able to steer the massive bipedal war machine to where he wanted it to land. The enemy golems engaged in this final attack against House Erasmus were caught unprepared and unaware of the Zero Frame.
As Jake closed in on his first target from the air, he showered the golem with a volley of 90mm shells. Only the first few had done damage to the golem’s armour, the remainder of the rounds impacted the golem’s shielded arms as it turned towards Vereviel. In those few seconds the golem was blind as it tried to protect it’s vulnerable head. It was the only opening Jake needed. Vereviel easily absorbed the impact by landing in a crouch. Vereviel reached to the back hardpoint with its right arm, and grabbed the massive mace there. The Zero Frame sprung forward and swung the mace perpendicular to the ground and knocked the golem off of its feet. Two steps later Vereviel was standing over the golem and driving the mace downwards finishing it off.
Vereviel stood and turned to face the remaining golems. Its eye sensors started to glow red. Jake and Verviel charged as one.
Day 11 – Stew
The day had finally arrived. Today was the final of the Great North-Western Stew-off. My restaurant – The Stewery – was going head-to-head with our archrivals and perennial second-placers Stew Some More. If I could cinch this victory, not only would I bag the $1,000 first-place prize, but The Stewery would go down as having the best stew in the North-West.
The gas stove was just about right and I started browning the chopped onions. I looked over to see Stewie doing the same. The smirk on his face triggered a wave of suspicion in the back of my mind. But I put those thoughts aside as I started preparing the fresh vegetables. Carrots, potatoes, baby marrow and pumpkin for the stewing pot. My beef and vegetable stew was legendary in these parts, and I knew it was nigh-unbeatable.
It was then that I noticed Stewie cutting the skirt beef in the same manner I was, and the ingredients on his table matched mine exactly. My eyes narrowed, he may be able to copy my recipe, but without the secret ingredient Stewie would never be able to go toe-to-toe with me.
*Flash*
The glint of a small bottle on his table caught my eye. Sonfabitch! How! Impossible. Right there on his table was a bottle of paprika and white pepper. How? Betrayal? Surely!
I looked into the crowd and met the eyes of my business partner and co-owner of The Stewery. In that moment I knew I’d been betrayed.
Stewie’s cocky smile turned into a full-blown grin as he added the now-not-so-secret ingredients. As he stirred the pot I let my mask of confusion and anger slide off. I smiled. I turned to Stewie and slowly showed him the two bottles on my table.
Paprika.
And star-anise.
His eyes widened, his grin turned to anger, and then fury.
I’d been expecting this betrayal.
Now victory would be mine.
Day 12 – Post
There is something special about receiving an actual piece of post. And not just a bill from some company, or your credit card statement. An actual letter.
The ivory coloured envelope feels heavy in my hands. The texture slightly rough. Almost as if it were handmade instead of having been extruded from a machine in a factory somewhere.
On the front of the envelope is my name. In an elaborate, cursive handwriting, done with a pen that I suspect cost a considerable sum. Each line flowing, yet deliberate.
I pull open the envelope, careful not to tear it. Inside, a single piece of thick paper. Folded once. I can smell perfume on the page as I pull it out. Vanilla with a hint of sweetness.
Opening the piece of paper, I’m surprised to see no writing on it. Who’d go to all this effort of sending me this letter, and not write an actual message?
As I put the page and envelope down, I suddenly feel drowsy. Sitting down on my chair, I can’t seem to keep my eyes open.
I snap awake. I’m still in my chair. I’m still in my home. I’m drenched in sweat. Looking around I see a figure standing by the window. As it turns to me, I realize that it’s time to repay a debt I owe.
Day 13 – Cheerios
Fleet Captain Isiah Hendricks looked at the distant twin white-yellow suns. They’d done it. After 10-years of travelling through the deep black ocean of space, they’d arrived at – Cheerios.
On the bridge of the Traveller his bridge crew went about their duties. The quiet hum of his crew working was a pleasing sound. Each member of the crew was the best of the best. They’d spent the 10-years before their journey, training and preparing for every eventuality. Three years into their journey they’d finally received confirmation of the name of their destination. Cheerios.
Hendricks eyes narrowed. This was what happened when you left naming a brand new solar system up to the general population. At least Cheerios had won. The second-place name was Bewbs. Hendricks rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. Small wonder they’d even been able to make it here.
Day 14 – Fog
The early morning sun rising about the ocean horizon was quickly obscured by a deep, grey fog bank. I stared into the distance, watching the fog draw closer and closer until it engulfed me in what felt like oblivion.
I could still hear the breaking waves of the ocean, but it seemed muffled and distant. I could smell the salty brine of the ocean, but it was diluted by the fresh, clean fog.
The fog caressed my face, like a familiar lover, familiar, yet somehow hesitant.
I let my upper body fall down, I spread my arms out to either side of me, and grabbed two handfuls of sand, and slowly let the sand run between my fingers. The slightly coarse sand itched as it ran through my fingers.
I closed my eyes for a moment, but when I opened them again I saw blue sky above me. Sitting up I could see the tide starting to recede, the fog was gone, in the distance a seagull screamed into the air, unnoticed.
Day 15 – Boots
She took everything in the divorce. Just left me a pair of boots.
And not a nice pair either. These boots were soft as a pair of moccasins, achieved after many, many, many hours of marching. With that dull-brown lustre that only well-looked after leather has. Those are the type of boots that when you see them you know the wearer means business. I haven’t needed a pair of boots like that in a very long time.
So when I walked into the bar in Munich with those boots on, everything went very quiet. It still had the same stale beer smell from when I was last here with my soon-to-be-ex wife. The music was the same too. That Euro-electronic trash that the Germans seemed to never get enough of.
Hans’ eyes widened the moment he saw me, and he knew trouble was only a few seconds away. He tried to get away from me, the crowd wasn’t parting for him the way they were for me.
By the time I’d caught up to him sweat was pouring down his face, and his favourite cologne wasn’t enough to hide the smell of fear that hung over him.
He slipped on something, and in his panic tried to scrabble away from me. I grabbed hold of his foot and pulled him towards me. His face cracked against the ground, and as he looked over his shoulder at me, I could see blood pouring from his nose. It hadn’t been my intention to break his nose, but I certainly wasn’t feeling guilty about it.
I held up my hands in a peaceable manner, it didn’t do much to alleviate the sense of concern I saw on Hans’ face.
“Relax Hans, I’m just here to thank you. You did me a favour!” I shouted, attempting to make myself heard.
His look of dumbfounded silence told me he didn’t quite understand.
“You did me a favour! My divorce! I’m here to thank you, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me!”
Hans’ fear turned to confusion, then surprise and then finally relief.
I held out my hand to help him up.
“Really? You aren’t mad!?” he seemed genuinely happy about this turn of events.
I let him have a few moments of relief before I sucker-punched him and properly broke his nose. The crunch of the cartilage breaking was quite satisfying.
“No. I’m not mad. I’m fucking spewing.”
Day 16 – Meadows
The sounds of the wind blowing through the long, yellow prairie grass put me at ease. It felt like a distant deity was whispering to me. Sharing the secrets of existence, only I was unable to comprehend it’s cyclopean language.
What could this entity be trying to tell?
How did we come to be? What lies ahead of us? Would I be able to decipher this message?
I snap a piece of grass off as far down as I could reach. I start absently chewing on it, the wholesome grainy taste instantly reassuring.
I let my mind drift off as my body keeps walking through the tall grass.
In that moment I can feel someone walking beside me. Feel is the wrong way to describe. I just know.
The presence reaches out to me, and more than anything I want to reach back to them. But the moment passes, and the very thought seems to never have existed.
Day 17 – Hockey
Before I completely lose my balance I’m able to slap the ball towards my teammate.
I then proceed to, as the young kids say these days, eat it.
By the time the forward momentum from my fall has ended, both hands and elbows have long astroturf burns. Astroturf is what happens when someone figures out that they can replace perfectly normal and fine grass with a synthetic, plastic grass. Sure, it means the playing surface is faster, more even, and lets you play in pretty much any weather.
But the consequence of that is when you “eat it”, it hurts like a motherfucker. The artificial-lime-green-almost-grass is very effective at scraping just the first layer of skin off any exposed body parts. Leaving all of the nerves and sensitive layers of your skin exposed.
On the bright-side, my teammate manages to score a goal and lock up the game for us. Yay.
