One of the things I enjoyed about my former writer’s group was the 20 minute writing exercises which began every session. Now, to help get me going before working on the latest short story or novel project, I’ve started pulling writing up writing exercises based on images from Michael Whelan’s latest collection Beyond Science Fiction.
I’ve decided to share these exercises here. They’re the roughest of rough, but hopefully folks will enjoy them.
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Steps to the Ocean
by Andrija Popovic (c) 2018
(Inspired by Michael Whelan’s painting “Passage: The Redstep“)
“This wasn’t meant for us. For humans.” Sidiel gazed up the stairs and through the great sea wall onto the rising sun. Each step, six inches tall but a good four feet wide, gradually rose from the eastern gate of the inner wall. The slope, so gentle it felt almost like walking up a ramp, gradually lifted the hundred or so star walkers into a polished, rectangular opening in the walls.
“This wasn’t meant as a stair, originally.” Ginnea walked beside her. Most of the stair climbers wore stretch robes, ungirded and lose enough to hide one’s identity. She supposed it was a supplication. The climb was a rite of faith for some. The sea was the great world eater, swallower of civilizations. We’re they seeking to be swallowed as well?
The two of them wore practical climbing sandals with good, firm grips. They wrapped their tunics up tight, keeping their legs clear and arms open so the sea wind could wick sweat away. The bandoleer bags over their shoulders, belted in the front, gave them quick access to food, water, and link panels. Ginnea read from one as they progressed.
“What was it, then?”
“Gear tracks.” She pointed up along the stairs. “Once, generations ago, there was a rolling lift here. It rode along the stairs and carried people back and forth between the inner and outer walls. Says it was dismantled when they needed parts to fix one of the pumping stations.”
“And this is all that’s left.” Sidel imagined the great, rumbling platform traversing the chasm between inner and outer walls, safely carrying passengers over the overflow moat and up to ferrocrete walls. Rough, undecorated ‘crete covered the sides facing the city. No attention was paid to aesthetics. So long as the walls held, the drains could drip rust and great streaks of calcium could leak down the blocks.
Yet the passage was smooth as glass. Sun reflected against the towering entrance. The stairs themselves were polished, likely by years of footsteps mirroring their own. Why keep the passage so neat? For the mechanism that once carried people up and down the stairs.
“Too many questions,” said Sidel. She took Ginnea’s hand in hers.
“Too much lost.” Ginnea stared up, gawking. “It has to be at least a hundred meters high. More.” She slung her link panel. “I should look it up.”
“Not yet. Just look.” Sidel remembered looking from the gallery stretched atop the inner sea wall and down on to the stairs. The climbers were ants on the smooth, glassy steps. So tiny against the reflections of the sun. Now they were the ants, just entering the polished opening to the sea. “Twenty steps left.”
“Twenty steps.” Hands clasped, they walked and counted, until they reached the last step and stood outside the city’s great defense against the rising sea.
Ginnea stumbled, and leaned against Sidel for support. Vast. The word did not mean anything until they looked out onto the ocean. From the waves lapping against the artificial tide pools, to the tiny white crests dotting deep waves in the distance, to the faint line of the horizon, they saw nothing but water.
“It’s so blue.” Sidel shook her head. “I always expected it to be darker. Greener.” She took Ginnea’s hand and walked from the stairs onto the shore of the first tide pool. All along the outer wall stretched a series of rectangular catch pools, about ten paces wide and thirty paces long. The pools were terraced; after the first set, another set were built several feet below the surface, followed by another, until the catchpools could no longer be seen.
“Support.” Ginnea peered into the pool. “The bottom of the wall facing the ocean gets thicker the deeper it goes. Mini-walls, stretching to the bottom of the ocean. On top of them, they put these tide pools. We must be at low tide. The ocean has only crested the second pool.” Around them, the walkers separated along the artificial shoreline. A few immediately began walking along the wall, following the weather-beaten concrete, one hand touching the wall itself.
Others walked to various pools and dropped their robes. Naked, they strode out along the pools, until the ocean crashed at their knees. A few sat, hands clasped in prayer while a brave handful dove right into the sea, swimming out past the pools to bob in the ocean like birds on the waves. Sidel glanced down into the pool. The water inside was still clear. Sea grasses clung to the bottom, fronds stretched upwards. A small, yellow fish darted between the grasses, searching for food.
“There’s life.” Sidel breathed in the ocean winds. The salt tasted wonderful; it tickled her nose.
“Yes.” Ginnea raised her link panel, snapping photos of the horizon, the pools, and Sidel. “So, I heard there are cities out there. Floating cities. They follow great schools of fish along the ocean currents, and dive the shores for supplies. They catch fleets occasionally run into their cutters.” Ginnea tucked her panel away. “I wonder what it would be like living there.”
“I’d be curious…” Sidel unsealed her sandals and hissed as her bare feet touched the polished ‘crete. She didn’t expect it to be so cool, despite the direct sun. “Shall we?”
“Just a bit.” Ginnea undid her sandals and tied them to her bandoleer. “To see how the water is.”
“Right. Just to see how the water is.” They sat down, together, beside one of the pools and dipped their feet into the water. It was cold, at first. Colder than the stones. The grasses tickled them. Sidel meeped when a fish darted up and nibbled at a callous on her toe. Ginnea laughed, until her own toes were being tended by little fish.
They sat together, watching the sun rise, letting their legs touch under the waves. Ginnea rested her head on Sidel’s shoulder, and Sidel hugged Ginneas waist. Around them, the ocean sang.
“Shall we go in?” Sidel was already undoing her tunic and bandoleer.
“Yes.” Ginnea skinned out of her clothes. Together, they counted: “Three. Two. One” and dove into the infinite sea.
Biomechanoid Blues 