Creative Writing

Time Traveling Plastic Turtles

So, I guess you could say this is the year 4173, the glory years, the ten-year mark of the A.I. takeover. My name is Elly and I am fifteen years old. I am petite with dark blue hair and bright hazel eyes. Throughout my existence, life has just come easy to me. Since the A.I. bots have taken over all the working-class industries, people no longer complain about having to go to work or do anything in general. The A.I bots are willing to do most tasks for us, such as making the meals of your choice, flying us places (since teleportation is proven to be impossible) and they even are willing to just hang out with us. I think it’s incredibly interesting that the A.I. bots are programmed to display emotions; however, they cannot contain emotions (have empathy). At my house, my parents have an A.I. bot, her name is Olive. They kind of treat her as a “pet,” I have only heard about that term in history webpages. Apparently, back in the 2000s, a pet was a domesticated animal. I find this so interesting because these days we don’t even have any domesticated animals left, in fact, we don’t have any animals left. All the animals died off when the Apocalypse occurred in the year 3048, basically this scientist created this gas which was supposed to make you immortal. Well, the gas made people hallucinate these crazy ideas and eventually an enormous, unnecessary war broke out across half the world. Everyone started calling it an apocalypse because half of the human existence died off with all the animals that they killed.

Regardless of that depressing part of history, I find history to be incredibly fascinating. That is why I am on the hunt to discover time travel. I would love to go back to the 2010’s, such a decade of possibilities! I honestly love the “college phase,” I think a young adult’s struggle through college is so inspirational. I’m fairly sure, although I’ll have to check my history sites later but the last person to go to college was in the year 3007. Present day, people are not required to work, therefore, education is only required until we’re 16. I consider myself to be pretty smart though because I’ve read so much information about history and the “ways of the past.” I secretly have been speaking with Olive about creating a time travel machine and she has been collecting parts over the past month to build this thing. There is one last part that we have yet to obtain or I guess you could say…steal. I have only been to the Gallery of Historic Keys once and I know exactly what key I need to start this time machine. It’s located on the far back wall, surrounded by bulletproof glass. Rumor has it that this key was used to smuggle drugs into the United States during the 2010s, there is a pink little plastic turtle in where this powdery substance was transported. I think it’s pure genius because it looks like sand and that makes complete sense if it’s a beach keychain. I always try to make up stories about who this key might have belonged to. I think it belonged to this “innocent” looking perfect tanned, blond, teenage girl but instead she turns out to be part of the largest drug cartel in the country. Anyways, I need to figure out how to steal this key without anyone noticing.

I can just imagine how amazing it will be to go back in history and experience all the struggles of middle class citizens. I can’t believe how much stress they were probably experiencing, going through school all to work at some boring job for basically the rest of their lives. I wonder if what their mentality was because if that was me, I’m not quite sure if it’s worth it. I feel like if I was in their position I would just not go to college and find a way to travel without worrying about money. Oh, which brings me to say, money does not exist present day because the A.I. bots basically work for free since they don’t have a conscious and can’t understand the aspect of getting a reward (getting paid). So, tomorrow is the day, that I will steal the turtle key and discover time travel.

 

Authors Note

Hmm..well, “Time Traveling Plastic Turtles” sounds like a captivating title. I don’t exactly have a concrete storyline in my head, I’m just going to write from my stream of consciousness. Alright, what’s an interesting topic? Time travel. Or more specifically the concept of time traveling back to present day 2017. I like the name Ellie, but I’m going to switch it up and have it spelled “Elly.” She’s going to have dark blue hair and lots of spunk. A badass 15-year-old, ready to change the world. Hmm…what will the future look like 2000 years later, definitely A.I. technology will take over the working middle class industries. Okay, I have to incorporate this turtle key somehow in this crazy futuristic piece. Perfect, it’ll turn on the time machine. Now I’m going to end the story on a highly anticipated note, maybe I’ll continue it later.

 

 

 

Kombacha Vibes & Corporate Meetings

“Olive, are you excited for your first day of school tomorrow? It’ll be rad, you know, something that you’ve never experienced before.”

“I guess so…” I say pondering into my kale and goat cheese salad, throwing a quick glance to my mother.

“Oh you’ll be fine! Look at you, only sixteen years old and already well travelled as well as cultured. Besides, the only thing you need to know in life is basically something that you’ve already done, be able to run the largest marijuana cartel out in the wild west!”

“Oh my god Bowen! Our business is sold, we’re starting new, like normal people remember?” My mother, Indigo retorts tossing her long dark hair accessorized with feathers and turquoise beads behind her slender shoulders. Her eyes still hold a hint of youthful fun, glancing at my father with his messy sun kissed curls and bare earth hardened feet.

I slip my salad bowl into the mosaic sink, grab a jar of kombacha from the refrigerator and quickly make my way upstairs. I flop down on my quilted bedspread and stare up into the depths of my moon and star tapestry. When I was younger I used to sleep on the top of our trailer, staring out into the vastness of outer space and boy do I miss it. Now that I look back on it, I miss a lot of things from where I used to live.

I moved to Boston, MA last month from travelling through the west with my parents. My parents were the biggest marijuana lords in that area. I loved the sweltering days in the desert and the dry, cool air in the mountains. My soul craves the sweet sunshine, the juicy tomatoes in the farm stands and the slowed down vibes of the west. Every place we travelled we were met with warmth and laughter that would leave an unforgettable tingling in your ears for days after.

I unscrew the kombacha jar, my hands numbing as a crisp fall draft blows through my open window. I get up to close the window, observing the busy sidewalks below, people in their best suits and ties, rushing home from corporate meetings. Black heels clicking against the concrete, sounds like a hidden sense of power and authority. People buried in their phones, talking a mile a minute, pushing through the crowds, not even looking up to cross the busy intersection. Horns blare, the soundtrack to a city that comes alive at night.

The door opens and closes with a small click, “Olive, Melody and her mother, Serenity are coming to stay with us for a while. Just until Serenity can secure a job offer. I’m sure you’ll be okay with this, you and Melody used to hangout all the time out in Colorado, you were trailer buddies!”

My heart skips a beat and I feel a wide smile spreading from cheek to dimpled cheek. Melody with her dirty blond dreads and carefree demeanor. “Of course, Melody’s rad as hell!” I respond with pent up enthusiasm.

My mother’s hazel eyes light up. “Now there’s that energy that I used to feel.”

My electric green eyes cloud and my shoulders slump. “Mom, I miss the way we used to live. We’re so easy going in a chaotic mess of designer business suits. It just doesn’t make sense to me. Money doesn’t make your soul as happy as living freely does.”

My mother slowly puts her soft, warm hand in mine and an expression of uncertainty flick across her face. “Honestly, Olive, the fact that your father has decided to settle down to live a normal life is very disappointing to me. I loved when we wandered and didn’t have a care in the world. I have an overwhelming feeling though that I sense from your father.”

Hope floods my being, “You do? What are you thinking.”

“I think we’ll be making another move my love, back to the infinite sunsets, rainbow farm stands and spiritual drum circles.”

 

Authors Note

Trying to accurately portray Olive is more difficult than I thought. I want her to give off an essence of carefree, hippie vibes. Alright, hmm, her parents will be named Bowen and Indigo. They’re going to be youthful, spiritual and attractive. I used to go to a small hippie-like college in Maine before I transferred to Plymouth State University. Everyone always used to drink kombacha and walk around barefoot. We also had a sun shrine and a meditation circle. That’s definitely the type of character that Olive will be. Then I’m going to throw this beautiful, organic character into the corporate, hectic lifestyle of the Boston area. She’s going to have a close relationship with her mother because they have similar qualities. Plot twist, her best friend from her trailer days is coming to live with her. Will this be a good thing? I’m not sure, what if Melody has changed to conform to this new corporate lifestyle?

 

 

The Days That Never End

 

Do you ever have one of those days? You know, the ones that never seem to end. It’s like you look at the office clock and its noon and then you feel like a couple hours past, so you look again and it’s 12:15pm. Well that’s how my day is progressing. I’ve been at the office job for two whole years. Two whole years of bullshit busy work and the most annoying coworkers. I have pent up energy. From sitting at this damn desk, searching for something to do. My boss is looking over my end of term report. The one where I evaluate my work progress.

 

“Danny, your report sucks, I need you to redo it from the beginning.”

 

My blood is boiling and my hands tremble as I walk into the shabby office. Full of McDonald’s bags and cigarette burns. His flabby chin shakes as he grabs an XL mountain dew. The ones from the gas station. My insides twist as the unnatural lime green soda drips down his chin into the collar of his XL beige shirt. I work too damn hard for this bastard. He inherited money from his parents. Living off their hard work. Never gives credit to his employees. I’m done.

 

“I quit.”

 

Adrenaline surges through my body, fiery hot like whiskey straight. I hop into my red corvette, turn the stereo up to the soundtrack of a broken artist. Scream at the top of my lungs, screeching through a NO U-TURN sign, laughing like a maniac. The white heat of summer leaving a trail of sweat dripping down my back.

 

Where do I drive to?

 

I drive until the deafening playlist has faded. Until I can no longer envision the sticky, lime green soda engraved in the flabby pockets of his chin. I feel like all my senses are on high alert. Is this what a manic episode feels like? My bad luck as construction work blocks the path to my house, my safe haven. The burning of hunger grasping my stomach as I watch the never ending line of blue-collar cars. Honking fills the air as I try to press on the gas pedal, only to look down and realize that my car has run out of gas. In the middle of the interstate, on the most humid day of the summer. My mind is racing, thoughts flying in an angry whirlwind.

 

When will this day ever end?

 

 

Authors Note

 

As I am reading through the comments that my classmates and professor have written on my “rage” piece, I have decided to dramatically change this piece for the better. I want to add more emphasis on the abstraction “rage,” I want the reader to really feel the emotion and burning taste of the whiskey. I also decided to format the piece a little more creatively, I feel like that adds to the racing thoughts and attitude of the narrator. I want the piece to feel almost like a rant that keeps building, as if this is the most stressful day of the narrator’s life. I will name the narrator Danny and he will quit his boring job. Raging at the fact that he worked for a terrible boss for two years. He will be free and unleash his wild side. His happy rage turns to an angry rage as he gets caught up in construction and he runs out of gas. I feel like this piece describes the abstraction rage in a more beneficial manner. I added more detail, background story, however, I did decide to keep the part about driving. I also wanted the day to feel like an endless journey of bad luck.

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