Housecall – Part 3
Remember all that excitement I felt at finding a way to use the dead time between calls at my job as a chance to create words and ideas?
Well, nope.
It’s beyond frustrating to be a nine to five slave in this economy. In this world where employees have no rights, no bargaining power, and no real options.
Sure, I could walk out. I could quit. But it would be weeks before I found a replacement job. Weeks, possibly months. There’s no guarantee it would be fast enough to save my marriage. No guarantee it would be fast enough to allow me to keep the car running, the lights on, the bills paid, or the book release on schedule.
Writing makes me no money yet. This blog is guaranteed to make me nothing, ever. Yet I have no resources to change matters, no ability to move things in a way that will allow me to have full command of my productive time.
All of it is gated by money, which is gated by my job, which prevents me from having enough time to create the writing I need to start making money, which would allow me to quit the job that is keeping me from writing. Which is providing me with the money I need to turn my writing career on.
Oh no I’ve gone cross-eyed.
Yesterday was…. bad. Really, really bad.
Today isn’t much better. But I’m writing, and that’s not nothing.
I didn’t get editing done, and that’s going to make Sunday all the more difficult. But I’m writing. I’m putting one foot in front of the other. One word after the next. If I do that long enough, I’ll have what they call ‘a career’.
Housecall – Part 3
The tiny, floating dragon never failed to astonish me, and the display had grabbed the full attention of the wounded, dying young boy who had come here out of bald necessity.
It’s eyes swirled through a kaleidoscope of colors, almost faster than their eyes could track. The tiny figure of the dragon, intricately rendered in organic nanofibers, began to expand. The body bowed, swelling from within as though it had become an organic balloon.
The organic material brick I had held out to the small figure began to swirl along the surface, the nearly invisible wave of nano-workers harvesting the material like a colony of microscopic ants. The surface bubbled and pocked, and the dragon continued to swell until it was nearly twice it’s original size.
Slowly, the whirling lights of the tiny dragon’s eyes began to slow, the pockmarked surface of the organic brick stopped vanishing, and the engorged dragon began to float towards the small boy whose eyes were wide with fear and wonder. I held a hand out, placing it on his shoulder to reassure him as well as keep him from moving away from the dragon. It would keep tracking him until it completed it’s mission, but bloated as it was it would take far too long to be of any use.
The boy shook, and I called gently to him, turning his face towards mine.
“You’re going to be just fine Gavin. I won’t leave you alone. You’ve nothing to be frightened of.”
The hardened youth would have denied it to his grave, but I could tell I’d managed to keep him from bolting. To the uninitiated, the entire process could be overwhelming.
The dragon-balloon finally drifted down towards the knife wound, the coating enveloping the gaping wound as cleanly as a second skin, and Gavin let out a gasp of pain and squeezed the hand I had on his face with painful intensity.
I never broke eye contact, never showed weakness or nervousness. All I did was breath, encouraging him to maintain a steady rhythm. His eyes never left my own, and despite the pain I knew he was trying his best to manage, I could also see the hitches he had been fighting to hide begin to leave.
His color was improving, changing from the several shades paler it had been into a deeper luster.
The pain eventually morphed into wonder, and I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped when I saw the confused question that painted his features. He looked hurt, and I pulled my hand and his down from his face as I gave it a quick squeeze to rob the laughter of any sting.
The brick was mostly gone, and had resumed it’s steady decline into nothing as the dragon plied it’s trade.
As the moments turned into minutes, Gavin began to swing his arms about experimentally. I could see the slightly golden hue along his arteries and veins as the hordes of tightly controlled nanomachines which would branch out as directed by the dragon, repairing any damage that existed, reinforcing everything which wasn’t damaged.
Gavin was about to find out that he could run faster, jump higher, and fight harder than he ever thought possible. I’d have to keep my eyes on him to make sure the procedure didn’t produce a tyrant. I’d had that problem before, and Agatha still refused to change her ways after all these years. I wouldn’t be responsible for another.
To be continued…
Nanofully,
Justin
