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Late Night Rock sorting - 982 words - NANO event Coffee theme


Massa stared at the strange substance in front of him, it's bitter, tangy scent wafting past him on it's steam. It was warm in the cup, staining the uninsulated porcelain an amber brown. It was new to him, this liquid that the people around him drank, this strange fluid that seemed to bring even the most exhausted Labtech back from the grave of their fatigue. He looked at it uncertainly. The smell of it made him almost queasy. He stalled, bringing it to his desk where his new rock collection lay strewn like the aftermath of a hurricane. He set it down in an empty space and sat on his chair, looking at his rocks.
He had just gotten these new cases, and he needed to sort through them and catalog them and make sure they went with the correct other rocks in his collection- the few he had anyway. He'd only been hatched two weeks now- not nearly enough time to pick up much of anything. He'd gotten what he'd had by asking politely and taking whatever low-quality rocks the lab techs had managed to procure to keep him happy. But now, they had given him a large present. He was... grateful? Grateful, yes, that was... probably... the emotion he was feeling. 2 weeks was apparently a big milestone for him - something about being fully stable and hatched. To Massa, it was merely another day of (welcome) existence. They all seemed the same in the end. However, they had presented him these cases of rocks- probably dug out of someone's closet from the looks of the dust on their covers- and he would humor them.
But again, these rocks were not properly organized yet. There were so many, and most had no proper readable labels. He would have to do it all himself. He would have started earlier but the tests that they wanted to run on him had taken too long. Now? Now it was late and sleep called to him.
Which was why he had dared to find himself some of this magical, dark, earthy liquid that the techs called 'Coffee'. Coffee... Coffee. Why was it called that? Did it, perhaps, make one cough? Or was it derived from coughing? That was stupid and unsanitary. He looked it up on his computer. It turned out, Coffee had nothing to do with coughing, and everything to do with a bean or berry of some sort. He turned off his computer and frowned at the screen. It made no sense. So many things that people did made no sense. He stared back at the coffee, into it's darkly swirling and warm depths. Berry, bean, or nothing at all, it still looked suspect. He frowned at his table. Could he not do it tomorrow?
Likely not. He had been told that he would be very busy come tomorrow, and he believed it. He wanted his rocks nice and organized as soon as possible, and that meant waking up. And, so he was told, waking up meant coffee.
Massa took the mug into his hands, frowned down at it, and closed his eyes.
Well. he thought, unsure of what to expect,
Here goes wakefulness...
He screwed up his courage and took a good-sized sip. He choked at the sudden bitterness and heat. How was it still so hot? He sputtered, glaring at the cup and its surprise. If this was what the techs drank every morning, no wonder they said it woke them, with a kick like that. How could anybody tolerate the bitter flavor? Perhaps they tasted things differently than he did? He doubted it- he had no other evidence to suggest that his sense of taste worked differently than those around him. He looked warily back into the cup, the coffee swirling innocently as if it had not just burned his tongue and zapped him with sharp bitterness.
Despite the flavor still dancing merrily and caustically in his mouth and nose, despite his disgust at the flavor and texture and color of the stuff, he wanted... more. Almost embarrassed, he took another sip. The kick wasn't so strong this time and, on it's second go, the taste wasn't so bracing. In fact, on his third sip, it wasn't so bad. At the end of the cup, he wished for just a little bit more, but a strange feeling of activity had come over him. He had to go. He had to do something. He had to MOVE. Wasn't that what he had drunk the coffee for? To gain energy?
He sat down and began cataloging his rocks.

~~~

The clock ticked to dawn as Massa finished cataloging his rocks, setting the last one down carefully in its display case. His head hurt and he was tired. He knew he should lay down, but he didn't want to. He wanted to keep going and going, but there was nothing else to do now. He was still feeling the caffiene, perhaps even still on the main rush of it. Sparks- literal sparks- flew from his body and he crackled with charge.
Now that he wasn't cataloging rocks, he noticed it and realized that randomly sparking was probably not a good thing- though it was, for some reason- funny. His head pounded harder and he began to feel sick. He headed for the bathroom in the hallway, seeking water. As he splashed his face in the sink, he caught a glimpse of his young face in the mirror. He looked awful.
As he walked back to his room, he felt another strange feeling coming over him. He felt almost like a marionette whose strings had been cut. He fell onto his bed as his caffiene levels crashed, feeling horribly miserable. He glared at the empty coffee mug, it's Manifest Inc. Logo staring innocently at him. He was not, he decided, doing that again.

Scintillate - Nano Perfection - 861 words

Massa had a rare and surprisingly attractive grin on his face as he moved his new crystal under his room light and looked into it's scintillating depths. He'd been very good lately, and had been given an allowance and a pass to go to the market and buy something. He had thought about buying some candy, had thought harder about buying a few small rock specimens- he wanted to save his money like a rational person should.
But then he had seen it, the crystal. It had been so beautiful and eye catching, he couldn't leave it be. He had to buy it, even though he had to spend all of his money- both freshly given and saved. He'd stared at it all the way to the complex, had thought about it all through classes, and now, in his room, he just looked at it and marveled in it's beauty.
It was a brilliant spring green, as close to radiant as something could get without actually glowing. It darkened to a light emerald at it's stony grey base. Inside, he could swear that there were no flaws, nothing to mar it's glorious clarity.
Massa loved crystals as a rule. He had a few in his collection, but nothing as spectacular as this one. It filled him with an unaccustomed emotion.
Joy.
It was hard to explain why he was so taken by it. It showed no magical or supernatural properties. As far as Massa could tell, it was merely stone and naturally forming crystal. He had not identified it completely yet, but he was certain that it was not inducing anything in him or resonating with his abilities. It was normal, as crystals went.
So why couldnt he take his eyes from it? Why did he keep turning it over and over in his hands? Why did looking at it make him smile? He brought it closer to his eyes to see deeper within it.
It was so amazingly and improbably clear. Yet, that remarkable clarity was because of predictable factors in the environment in which it formed, the materials that had met upon the rock and reacted together to form an ionic compound- a crystal. They had such regular and perfect structures, occasionally marred by flaws, yet those flaws only accentuated their perfection, bringing out the colors hidden in their intricate lattice. He was sure there were imperfections he couldn't see that made it shimmer so greenly in the light, small particles caught in the bonds. But it didn't matter. This crystal was perfection. It was his, and it was perfect, well worth the buy.
Why couldn't people be as predictable as stones? The right combination of events could lead to perfection in a stone. But was there a combination of events that could lead to perfection in people? What was perfection for a person? Massa knew some of the the answer- Manifesting. Obviously, though, that was only a part of it. As for the rest, he was unsure. He didn't know what his final perfect terminus would be. He was a person, and not as predictable as stones.

Yet... He looked at one of his protruding crystals, comparing them to the one he had bought. He was part stone, a manifest born of a stony, desolate place. Should he not be closer to crystalline perfection than other manifests or normals? He smiled at the protrustion and looked back at the crystal. Yes, he should. Others were hard to understand because, for the most part, they were flesh. Flesh was unpredictable and strange.

But he was part flesh too! He frowned up, almost longingly, at the crystal. Would he be crippled by his blood and muscle? Would he never find the perfection this crystal had attained? He sat up and carefully placed it on his desk, intending to put it aside to prepare for the next day. But still, he couldn't take his eyes from it. He refused to believe he could not be like that crystal. He felt such a deep connection to it. A kinship, perhaps, though it was not the sort of crystal from the world that he embodied. Something similar, perhaps, without the electrical or sonic properties.

If he and it were kin, then he could be as it was- perfect. He could be more than it- powerful. And alive.

And then he realized, in a flash, what perfection would be for him. It was so simple, it just never had had words before. He knew what he wanted to be.
He wanted to be calm and neutral and precise in every way. A true scientist, not caring about silly things like morals (though where morals fit into his passion- multi-world geology he didn't know) or other people's elusive feelings (or his own). He would be strong and resilient like weathered stone, but yet he would be alive. His heart would beat, feeding a brain and organs. They were the flaws in his crystal that gave him the color of intelligence, because for all of it's structural perfection and chemical predictability, there was one thing- just one thing in Massa's mind- that it critically lacked.
Thought.

Singing Stone ~ NANO Anger ~ 2584 words

The night after Massa the conceptual Manifest had mused on Death, he felt slightly perturbed. It was harder than he had realized to find the information he needed. He had been hoping for it to come up in class today, but the class had focused on the 'meter' of the writing. He liked poetic meter- it brought order to something as chaotic as art. But there had been no meter in the story that he could see, and, though they briefly discussed philosophy and psychology as it related to the characters, he left unsatisfied. There wasn't the discussion of death that he wanted. The day whirled by. Finals were approaching and he had to prepare. By the time he had the free time to ask what questions he wanted to ask, he was in his room, closing a book long after lights out.
He sent an Email to the people he was supposed to go to with questions. It was short for him- he normally wrote out clear, concise paragraphs. Every suggestion and comment and question needed to be backed up with evidence or at least a well-thought out reason of some sort because otherwise he did not feel confident at all. It felt wrong to have no support behind this question, but he could find nothing. The email was only a few words.
"What is death?" it asked. Short. Clear. Concise. The best he could do.

~~~~
The next day came and went, hectic as ever. He worked hard on his homework and, finally, after lights out, turned on his computer on a whim to check his email.
He had a response.

-"That is a very good question, young manifest, one that countless philosophers on countless worlds have tried to answer for countless millenia. I don't think anybody really knows.
For me, death is nothing important. I live, and then I die. Philosophers don't tend to live happy lives, I've noticed. No wonder, if they think about death all the time!
Best not to think about it too much just yet. Take my philosophy class and we can talk!"-

Massa glared at the email. It hadn't answered his question. It hadn't encouraged him to think about the question. It had rambled on in that obnoxious way that other people did and, worst of all, had advertised. Massa hated advertisements, so very much. He deleted it with a vehement stab of the finger and shut off his computer.

Fine. So. No answers were forthcoming. That was just fine.

~~~~
Massa tried to convince himself that he was fine. He was not angry. The teacher was obviously desperate for students. He was better than such fleshy emotions as anger, being a rock.
But he woke up the next morning feeling a grumbling that was not the result of hunger or staying up late. It was a growing annoyance at the world for not answering his burning question. Death was not the sort of thing you could just experiment with. Too many differences. You would have to control for kind of death and personality of person and that was as impossible to Massa as figuring out the people's minds in the first place. Plus, controlling for manner of death would only be feasable if you were doing the killing, and Massa knew he was many things, but not- NOT- a murderer. Massa loved science, but there was a reason he remained with his kin- rock and crystal. No death there.
That was the problem. It all kept looping around to that. He didn't understand death. He didn't want to try it himself, and he had no idea how you went around asking about that sort of thing. And, his one try at actually asking the question had turned up a non answer. He didn't care about all those damn philosophers and worlds and all of that other nonsense! He cared about death, for some reason.

He knew he should let it go. It wasn't that important. He knew it wasn't that important. But he felt it was important. He didn't know why. Why was this question so important? Why did he care so much about it?
The morning, started with grumbling and a frustrated throw of the next day's clothing across the room, was not going well.
It only got worse in classes. Yes, it was nearing the weekend, but things were hectic. He was being prepared for the universe outside, and that was a huge burden to take on. He was moody in his first class, though it was actually not a bad class. Most students complained about math in the morning- not Massa. It was better than coffee (ick) or any other morning item. It woke him up, made him feel energized, and made him feel good.
But today he just wasn't feeling it. He was feeling lightning bolts towards that obnoxious teacher with their philosophy garble and non-answer advertisements. Lightning bolts was the best way to describe a frustrated anger that made him spark and shock anything he touched.
The next class, though, made him feel even more pissy than before. By class three, he wasn't even paying attention. He was just thinking about how angry he was.
Lunchtime saw him snappish and mean. His acquaintances were treated to Massa at his nastiest and only the annoying girl he had once punched in the face (and who had, for some reason, decided they were friends) would eat with him today. She may have thought she was making things better, but her peppy, cheery, happy, carefree chatty WONT-EVER-SHUT-UP attitude wore on Massa until he wanted to strangle the obnoxious manifest. Fortunately, he was saved by the bell, which he wanted to zap into a molten pile of slag as well. Actually, everybody. All of them, talking and making so much unnecessary noise. He wanted them to go away.
The next class was fitness class, the one he usually hated. Yet, ironically, it was the one that salvaged the day. They were learning how to hit a punching bag today, one of those big things that hung from the ceiling. He had his own punching bag (because nobody wanted to partner with him) and, from the moment he threw the first punch with a glove-covered hand, he felt better. He beat that punching bag, over and over. Sparks flew as snarls erupted from the boys mouth.
The punching bag became more than that- it became a symbol. It was the frustrating question of death, the non-answer he had recieved, the annoying girl at lunch. It became the universe in general, and the things Massa didn't understand. He punched it all through class, even when the coach had moved the rest of the class on to another activity. Massa was so focused that he didn't notice them at all. In fact, he was so focussed that he lost track of time, and when the bell rang to mark the next class period, he literally jumped back, startled, the punching bag scorched by a sudden burst of electricity. He stared at it, and poked it. It still held. He gave it a smile and patted it like a friend, feeling more like himself, before going off to the rest of his day.
The day went rather well after that. The sandbag left him tired, but not too bad. He supposed this must be those endorphins that he had heard about. He felt as though he had somehow released something that had built up. Electricity, maybe? Wrath? Did anger work like his electricity? If so, that was something he would have to look into. If it was like his powers, then he could understand it. It would be one step closer to comprehending the minds of everybody else.
He pondered this possibility thoughout class, and so was a bit spaced out for the rest of the day. Dinner also passed meditatively, the endorphins still making him buzz with tired contentment. Anger was such a strange emotion, wasn't it? It caused one to do odd things, like punch people. He wondered why, out of all of the emotions he knew people displayed, did he really mainly have that? Anger and scorn. Less anger, and more scorn, but the point was, why did he understand it when he didn't think he had the other basic emotions? He didn't think he had love: his love for his collection didn't count, he didn't think. He didn't have... actually, he didn't know he didn't have. Only that he didn't understand. If he had anger, maybe he just needed to activate the other emotions, like turning a switch on and off. Maybe he could be like the other manifests and children. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be, but the thought that maybe he wasn't so different after all, at his most basic level... Well it was nice to have that option.
As he left dinner for his room and homework, he remained in his happy endorphin and fatigue fueled postive haze.
That is, until the goat-man crossed the threshold into the hallway. Massa did not know who they were, but they stopped in front of the boy and squinted at him through brilliant eyes.
"Oh! You're Massa, aren't you!"
Massa nodded. "Yes."
"Thinking about taking my class next semester?" asked the satyr, an older gentleman with stately horns.
"Hmm?" Massa wasn't sure what the man was talking about.
"You got my email right? I mean, I think you should take it! You've got the mind for philosophy and the grades to get in! I bet you'd love it..."
The anger came back with a vengeance, and Massa felt the air around him grow tense and stretched by static electricity. THIS was the a*****e who had answered his question with an advertisement. THIS was the a*****e who had wasted his time and ruined his day. "You didn't answer my question, Sir." Massa said through clenched teeth, trying to keep himself under control, "I asked you a question and you did not answer it."
"Well, no." said the teacher, scratching one furry ear, "But thats not a question you can answer in an email, you know? Its the sort of thing that philosophers cant make up their minds about. It'd need a thousand or more emails, back and forth, just to establish that we're talking about death in the same way. Seriously, take my class."
"Will I find the answer there?" Massa was trying to let the endorphins win their battle. He was trying not to severely shock a teacher and get in horrible trouble. He was trying to be good. He wanted this man to go away and leave him be.
"No, but you might find the question."
Massa had had enough. "Forget it, sir. I don't think you want me in your class." He walked away quickly and rudely, but in his mind, rude was better than zapping the teacher and getting into trouble or, worse, seriously hurting him. Massa felt more charged than he had ever felt before, and that was bad. He needed to let it out somehow, but he had to get to his room first.
"Why not?"
Massa turned around to look at him. "I'm a scientist." he said curtly, and hurried away before the teacher could respond.

~~~
Back in his room, he tried to focus on homework. That didn't work out. He tried to calm himself by re-sorting his rock collection, but when his touch made one of his rocks glow briefly with energy, he put that away too. He was too charged up with anger, too frustrated and roiling like lightning in a stormcloud. He knew how his powers worked- He produced electricity that was stored in crystal matrices in his body. They were far from perfect, but considering that he was based off the age of Spire, he was told this would likely change as he manifested further. He built up charge, and then he would release it. Before, it had always been a matter of using his powers on something grounded, but now it wasn't working. He had too much, and it was held inside him too strongly.
Suddenly, he had an idea- or perhaps not so suddenly. It was an idea that had been brewing inside for some time.

Massa slipped out of his room into the Young manifests complex's campus. He wasn't supposed to be out so late- not because the place was dangerous or because they didn't want him to meet the night shift residents- on the contrary, there were events he was supposed to go to to meet them, events he tried to be conveniently ornery or sick for. They just wanted him to get a good night's sleep, and he supposed he was thankful for their concern.
Either way, he could get in trouble for sneaking around unescorted, but this was something he wanted to try on his own.
He slipped into the open door of the conservatory, looking around warily. It was empty and dimmed, no classes there, no watchers lurking in the shadows.
Good. He stepped onto the stage and thought about his plan.

He had been told what they knew about the place he was inspired by. Spire was a land of floating natural stone castles that hovered over a great glowing ball of green. It was a place of silence and isolation, characterized by it's strange rock formations, floating rocks, and peculiar conductive crystals- crystals that sang when they released their stored energy.

He had wondered if maybe he should sing, himself, to relieve himself when he was charged, but he had never needed it before, and so it had never been relevant to come here before.

Now that he was here, facing the empty room, he couldn't help but feel a little stage fright. He had never sung in his life, and didn't know any music. But Massa was a scientist- and he had to try this. The experiment gave him something stable to turn to, something that had nothing to do with his pissyness at the world.

He opened his mouth and started to sing. It was an off-key rhyme he had heard one of the younger manifests sing. He didn't know the words, replacing them with humms. He could feel something stir inside of him, but little else happened.

Intrigued and encouraged, he kept trying to sing, running through what little music he knew. When it happened, it was like when an aeroplane takes off- a gradual increase in the potency of his voice, a gradual ease of singing and a lapsing of words. And then, suddenly, it took off, crackling energy coming out, through his feet into the ground below, his voice ringing with clear crisp notes. It felt good to sing, now, though words were no longer there. Meaning, too, was absent. It was simply singing, and he resonated with it deep into his core.

Finally, he slumped, panting. He felt a rare emotion bubbling up inside of him, a mixture of giddiness and joy that was very alien in the stone boy's mind. He felt freer than he ever had before as the echoes of his 'song' passed by and through him in the otherwise silent theatre. He recovered his breath and slipped away into the night.

He returned to his room, and, leaving homework untouched, turned off his lights and collapsed into his bed, drifting to sleep and the weekend beyond on a raft of relaxed comfort.

The Experiment ~NANO ANTICIPATION ~ 597 words

Massa adjusted his goggles and protective gear- he wasn't sure he would need them, but better safe than sorry. That much, he understood and could respect of the restrictions that were placed on people of science. His heart raced as he checked over his experiment set up on his lab bench. He wanted to start it now, but it had to be perfect. Not a tube or support on his project could be out of place. He had to show what he could do, and his had to be the best of them all- He was unbound by personal interactions or hindering emotions, and so he had spent all of his time on this project, unlike the other participants, who had pissed away their time doing things like playing games or other frivolous things. His had to be better. His had to be impressive. It all had to work without a hitch, and he had to be meticulous in his checking. At the same time though, he was posessed with a sort of impatience. He wanted it to happen- He wanted it to happen now, no more endless preparation. Now.
Soon he told himself, carefully adjusting his dials and equipment until he was satisfied, Be patient, Massa. He stood back to survey the whole thing and, with a pleased nod, began the processes, the video recording device- checked and rechecked- catching everything that would happen.
His mouth was dry as he fumbled with the prepared vials of substances, placing them where they needed to go. He cursed silently at his fumbling hands: they seemed to shake with a strange, repressed electricity. But it was not electricity- he knew electricity. It was something else, an emotion, one he was uncertain about. It was one he thought he might have felt before, a feeling of standing on the edge of the universe before some great and life-changing event. But, though his every movement felt like an eternity, the preparations were at last complete. He was almost reluctant to start the demonstration. His gut clenched- what if something went wrong? What if he had miscalculated? What if he hadn't accounted for some important thing or other? What if he was unlucky and this demonstration went wrong? What if it failed to work, fizzling out pathetically into nothing? What if it went horribly wrong and exploded? Massa swallowed the 'what ifs'- they were- ultimately- useless. He loosed the single spark that would set everything into motion, holding his breath as it all began.

His spark set off a reaction in a flask that had just needed a littleextra energy. Gas from that flask was funneled into another flask where it reacted to form a brightly colored deposit and a second gas, which became a translucent magenta liquid as it was forced through a tube, dripping on an ordinary coin from some world. Suddenly, as the liquid pooled around the coin- there was a brilliant flash of light. In the wake of the light, the flask was smoke-stained and blackened, but completely empty. Or it seemed that way, until, with a theatrical tilt of the flask, he produced the coin, but it was now a brilliant crimson. He bowed to the recording device.
Really, it was little more than a magic trick done with chemistry, but as the little red light on the device blinked off and left him alone in the room with it's chemical and smokey smells, he felt a sense of sudden relief. All had worked according to plan. His project had worked. Why had he been so worried?