Lots of Monkeys

“Change?” he asks.

Before I can reply, he’s asked again, this time with an outstretched hand.

“Change?”

It’s sort of like a game we play.  So far it’s been:

Me 347

The Homeless 3

And I pull my cap down around my ears because it’s really, really cold.

So, I’ve got an urban fantasy, a hard sci fi, and now I’m looking for a fluffy fantasy novel that doesn’t have a drow in it.

I have a couple of young adult novels, the Alchemyst being one of them, but I’m sort of at a loss at my discovery that reading lots of books at once allows me to read them faster.  One would think that I would have discovered this by now.

I’m reading a lot, mainly to get the writing juices flowing.

If you don’t read, you can’t write.

Been a while since I had any sort of dream that I can remember.  Even longer since it was anything fantastical and not some sort of strange metaphor laden minefield.

Ahem.

In any case, it started in an agrarian style earth, only the clothing was very modern.  It focused on a boy that wanted to see the stars.  As time went one I began to realize that this was a future earth, only aliens have arrived and they have prevented humans from using modern technology for some reason.  Most of the population of Earth is focused on subsistence farming, as the aliens have outlawed “modern” technolog.  The farming is done with simple tools, and there are domesticated animals like oxen.

Humans that did not want to live this simple lifestyle were allowed to work in large modern cities that were actually prisons.  They provided much of the amenities that we have today, although you cannot leave once you decide to live in the modern era.

One way or another, the boy ends up on a space elevator, past the shield that prevents humans from leaving the Earth, only to find that there are no aliens at all and the whole thing has been set up by humans from the future that wanted to prevent what happened to their Earth.  I’m assuming that there’s little to no causality and there are alternate timelines created.

There are pieces—more like remnants, really—everywhere.  Tiny things.  Things she would have missed on the way out.  To be honest, they had stopped showing up after the first year.  After the second, they were scooped up and thrown into trash or donated to Goodwill if they were feasible.  After a while I didn’t think about it.  I just threw them out.

Old makeup. A sock that wasn’t mine.  Pencils, everywhere.

But the large orange coat was a surprise.

It was a summer when I found it, hidden as it was behind plastic and cloth and boxes.  It was hung away for winter, two winters ago.  A long knit rainbow scarf hung around the neck, and all of it was in a too small canvas garment bag.

It had been in the closet for a while, clearly.  It still hung there waiting, a huge orange monstrosity made out of wool and buttons.

When I found it, I stared.  For a second, I considered it a coat I had bought and stored.  But it wasn’t mine.

Then, suddenly, it was hers.  I didn’t remember.  I forgot to remember.

Or did remember to forget?