The Brotherhood does everything by the book.
Whenever there is a question, they consult it for answers.
They always find the answer in the book.
What to plant.
How to pray.
When to sleep.
The book has always had all the answers to their questions.
Brother Timothy made a copy of it.
The book did not change over time, like some doppelganger.
“What if we only know questions to ask it?” asked Timothy. “Can we think up a question it can’t answer?”
The book had an answer for that: “Flip the book. Front cover is yes, back cover is no.”
Tag: science fiction
Wine Press
The Brotherhood awakens, goes through their routine of prayers and morning meal, and then they head to the winery.
Grapes are pressed, casks filled and rolled carefully into the cave.
A barrel gets loose. Father Michael is crushed to death.
The brothers carry his body to the yard, dig a hole, and lower his naked body within.
Dirt is piled over him, and they return to work.
The next morning, they awaken, and Father Michael leads them in prayers.
Was he revived by the yard?
Replaced somehow?
Nobody knows. Nobody asks.
“Amen,” he says, and they head to the winery.
Recordkeeping
The Brotherhood has existed for longer than anyone can remember.
Record-keeping is limited to crops and other essential weather observations.
The brothers themselves are encouraged to not remember their pasts or how they got there.
Just follow the commands within the book, do your chores, and try not to kill each other.
None can remember any new brothers coming to the brotherhood, nor when they arrived themselves.
One lifts up their cowl… then another…
Brother William and Brother Timothy are the same.
“Lower your hoods,” hisses Brother Fredric. “The book commands it.”
(God forbid they realize they have no bellybuttons.)
Outside
Once, there was a hill, and on that hill lived a group of monks.
They called themselves The Brotherhood.
Their camp consisted of a dormitory, winery, prayer hall, and kitchen.
Vineyards surrounded their camp, and there were caves in the hill to store wine.
The weather was always pleasant and warm.
A river ran nearby. They used it for irrigation, but never drinking. They had wells for that.
And every question they had, it was answered by a book.
The book. The only book.
The wine was the best ever made.
But, the brotherhood didn’t drink.
Such a waste, right?
Bubbly
Okay, so, like I came to this school because they have a good fashion and design program, and it’s got five kegs in the party meter, but, man, tuition was expensive and my parents couldn’t afford it all, so I got a work-study thing going with this scientist in a lab and he’s got all kinda of tubes and wires and vats with bubbly green goo in them and she shouts DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING but, like, this place could use a designer’s touch, maybe some more light, and I see this switch on the wall, so I pull it dow-
One Voice
The book commands The People to speak with one voice.
“Does this mean only one of us speaks?” asks Brother Timothy. “Or does the book want us to speak the same way?”
Brother Timothy is from Brookyln.
Brother Eustus is from Waco.
Brother Philip is from Chicago.
None of them have the same accent, although they do of Eustus’ thick Southern drawl from time to time.
The brothers all turn to Brother Maynard.
He is clutching his ventriloquist’s dummy, trembling with fear.
“Brother Woodenhead can take a vow of silence!” he whimpers.
They toss the robed dummy into the fireplace.
Limits
Mom said that life is all about limits.
Some of are hard limits, like the speed of light.
Others are soft limits, like the speed limit on the highway. You can go faster than that, although you might get pulled over.
With experience, you learn which limits are hard and which are soft.
The cop isn’t impressed by my story, and he hands me a ticket for speeding.
I thank him and check the cargo.
The hyperdrive in the trailer is fine.
The boys at the lab are going to love this one, I think, and start the truck up.
What a beautiful day!
Wally practically danced into the room, soaking wet and smiling as wide at his dripping hat.
“What a beautiful day!” he sang, gritting his teeth madly.
Down in the basement, Clem the Maintenance Supervisor watched in shock as the Sarcasm Compensator shook and rattled, glowing slightly red before spitting out a steaming ingot CLANK!
Clem put it on the cart with the other ingots, where they’d wait for the school to pick them up.
Sometimes, he’d pocket a really good ingot and sell it to a kid at a comedy club.
As if they needed any more sarcasm, right?
CLANK!
Silence
When I first saw “Soylent Green” I watched it with my mute pal Bobby Greene and said “Hey, that’s about you… Soylent Green, Bobby Greene?”
Bobby flapped his hands at me, but I never learned any of that sign language crap.
“Write it down, jackass,” I growled, and he picked up a steno pad and scribbled out FUCK YOU in big letters.
We watched the rest of the movie, Edward G. Robinson dies and Charlton Heston finds out the secret about Soylent Green.
YUCK wrote Bobby.
So, I killed him. Cooked and ate him too.
Hey, Soylent Greene is delicious!
Biography
I woke up this morning to discover I had an exact duplicate.
We quickly confirmed similar memory and appearance, but had no idea when or how the duplication took place.
Also, we both insist we are the original me, even though I know it’s me.
We reach for my wallet at the same time.
It’s a fair fight. We’ve evenly matched, reach and strength, and then everything goes black as my lights are punched out.
I’m sure I clocked him hard, too.
When I wake up, he’s gone.
My wallet’s still here.
And that’s how I got this black eye.