I'm still kicking
and writing.
Let’s start with why I’ve been MIA on social media, and the newsletter.
A couple of weeks ago underwent a heart ablation for WPW.
Good news, I lived. Better news. No more WPW symptoms.
What is WPW?
Well, its full name is Wolff-Parkinson-White (WPW) syndrome. In many cases, this condition will cause supraventricular tachycardia. Meaning my heart would go from a normal rhythm, to super sonic, (Often between 150 to 200bpm) without warning.
In the past, these episodes would last from 5 to 20 minutes. Often around the 5 minute mark. However, over the years, they have been triggered more and more often. One such episode happened in late January and lasted around an hour.
Slowly, I pulled back from social media, the newsletter, and writing to focus on other things. (like seeing a doctor, and making appointments for the procedure.)
I spent a week keeping activity limited as recommended by my doctor. Returned to work and slowly started to push myself. First back into the routine that I’ve been following for some time.
Last weekend, I was able to to go hard and work on setting up the garden. Several times I almost stopped a movement knowing in the past it was a trigger that would send the BPM from 80 to 180.
It never happened. Each time I would push just a little farther. Move a bit quicker. Lift more, twist, reach, shovel, and heave dirt.
And though I have given many reminders that I’m not as young as I wish, or as fit as I once was. At no time did my heart feel like it was going to explode.
What’s Next?
More writing. What else?
I stated a little story as a way to keep myself sharp while this was all going on. Worked on a few paragraphs here and there. It’s turning into a unique Dystopian Speculative Thriller.
As treat, I’m going to share the first (Rough draft) chapter. I hope you enjoy it.
Chapter 1 - Eve
The boy swings the branch, and in my head, he isn’t just a child on a gray platform. He’s a Guardian. The branch is a silver pike, and he’s holding the line against a pack of Feral Snarlers, the wild, four-legged beasts the history streams say used to tear people apart after the fall, and before Harmony.
Low to the ground, teeth like jagged glass, I think, my finger twitching against my thigh to feel the words. They move in the shadows of the old world, waiting for a single gap in the formation.
A White Coat turns. The boy freezes. The pike becomes a broken branch again.
I turn away as the White Coat notices the young boy. It’s polite not to stare as someone gets redirected. Instead, I pretend to be interested in the train platform. White and gray concrete surrounds me. Eight pillars on each side and three deep hold up the matching concrete ceiling.
A few others stand around, all keeping a six-foot distance between us as expected.
Light footsteps can be heard as others turn and move away from the boy and the White Coat. It’s not a written rule, though the way we all respond, you’d think otherwise.
My imagination was much like his when I was that age. Turning mundane objects into items different from what the rest of society sees them as. I was naïve back then.
I let my eyes shift in the boy’s direction, not to watch, but to check the time.
8:19am
The train will arrive in a minute or less. I’ll have to pretend the flat architecture of the train platform is something to study for only a moment or two longer.
“Eve,” a high-pitched voice says softly from behind me.
My lips form a smile as I recognize the voice. With a slow turn, to not look too excited I find Maz. “Greetings, Maz,” I say, the words feeling warmer than any I’ve spoken all day. “How are you this fine morning?”
She slides into my space, whittling the six-foot gap down to four. As Social Friends, we’re allowed this narrow overlap of air, a small mercy of the rules that I find myself clinging to this morning.
Her blue eyes flick up to me as she takes a moment to push her brown curls away from her face and says, “I’m doing well. Now, enough with the proper greeting. Today’s the day, right? You’re taking the PATH.”
If I’m fortunate enough to be granted a child permit, I do hope she turns out like Maz. Smart, proper most of the time, but not afraid to get straight to what she wants. Even at ten years old, I can tell. She has a bright future here with Harmony.
“Yes, I’m heading there now.”
The final word leaves my lips as the train comes around the bend a few dozen meters away. The hum of the mag lift engaging arrives a heartbeat later.
“That’s so exciting,” Maz says. “Do you know what you’re going to pick?”
My mind blanks as I stare at her. “I only get to pick if I’ve scored high enough in multiple roles. That’s not common, you know.”
Maz glances at the boy and the White Coat for a moment before whispering. “I think you’d be great at storytelling.”
My eyes widen and move quickly around, checking for anyone close by. “Maz, you can’t say things like that out here. The stories I make up are just for you. Remember.”
“I remember,” she says, looking at her feet. “I’m sorry, Eve.”
Letters form into words. Words into lines. None of which I’m allowed to create. I still remember the first time I traced a word in the dirt.
Just four crooked letters, scratched behind the storage shed where no one could see. My heart hammered so loudly I was sure it would echo off the brick. I kept glancing over my shoulder, half expecting a White Coat to step out of the alley with a citation pad already in hand.
The marks looked wrong. Uneven. Fragile. One good breeze and they’d be gone.
I erased them with my shoe, just to be safe.
Storytellers are the only ones allowed to leave marks that last. Books, streams, archived history. If they aren’t sanctioned by Harmony, they only lead to harm.
“It’s okay, Maz. I’m not mad.”
She glances up, giving me her ‘I’m sorry’ look she uses on her father. “I promise to be more careful, Eve. I’ll recite the ten laws tonight, so I don’t forget.”
Ten laws govern us. I don’t need to recite them. I feel them every time my fingers itch to write.
There’s no faster way to earn a citation than carving your own words into something that remembers.
“That will be a productive use of your time.”
The twitch at the corner of her lips is enough to let me know she won’t recite anything tonight. Her gaze drifts to the concrete floor as she asks, “Eve, what assignment do you think you’ll be given?”
She’s not interested in the assignment. “Maz, no matter what position I get, I’ll still tell you stories.”
She looks up, her eyes glisten with a tear that hasn’t fallen. “You promise?”
“Promise.”
Her eyes drift down to my productivity watch, and she notices the orange face. “What’s orange mean?” She asks as she tilts her head to get a better view.
With a minor pull of my gray sleeve, I show her the message. “Since I’m taking the test, my productivity isn’t being measured today.”
A short chime rings out, alerting us it’s time to board the train.
“I need to go,” I tell her. A strange sensation to pull her in and squeeze her like my mother used to do to me hits me in the chest.
In the last two minutes, I’ve felt the urge to break the law twice. I can feel the heat of the violation rising in my chest like a fever. It’s the PATH. This exam is a weight, and under that pressure, my mind is fracturing into these... irregularities. I need to focus. I need to be productive.
Maz gives me a brief smile and steps back, saying, “May your day be productive.”
“As well as you,” I say back.
I turn on my heel and move for the open door on the train. It’s a short ride across the city to the Central building.
Everyone in Elm takes their exams there. Along with any other official business. There’s only two times I can think of when going there is a good day. To take your exam. And to apply for a family license.
My productivity watch is a comforting orange glow. I’ve done everything right today. I’ve been polite. I’ve kept my distance. I’ve ignored the boy.
My finger twitches against my leg, tracing a shape I refuse to name. I ignore that, too.
“Today will be a productive day,” I whisper.