Post Number Three: A Story.

As I sat across from my brother at the kitchen table, watching him play a video game on his computer, I thought of Aunt Shelby, who loved to say, “It’s the computers that’ll run the world someday, if I could take a guess.”  I hoped she was wrong.
You might be wondering who I am.  Well, my name is Bella Wrinkle.  I’m thirteen years old, and my brother George is fifteen.  We live with our parents in an apartment just off the main road, surrounded by restaurants, cheap supermarkets, and traffic.  My mom is all for saving money, homeschooling us someday, and maybe moving to a less central place, but these goals were more of a dream than anything else.  We couldn’t seem to make much headway doing any of them.  Not that we didn’t try, of course.  There was just too much to spend money on, and not enough money to spend on everything, and in the end we were just as centrally located and not home-schooled as ever before.  Pa is a cashier at Walmart, and our Aunt Shelby, our only other relative nearby, lives in the apartment next door and works as a clothing designer.  My brother George took coding lessons once and liked them, but in the later months he wanted to spend his money on a new computer and quit the lessons.  
I looked down at my homework before me. “What’s "a" times "x" if you don’t know what "a" is or what "x" is?”
George’s eyes stayed on the screen. “Hmm. . . what?”
I began to repeat myself but stopped, seeing that he was indeed at an engaging point in the game.  I knew the feeling of not wanting to be disturbed, so I wrote down my best guess, "ax", and closed the cover of my math book with a thump.
“Done, Bella?” Ma’s voice drifted in from the kitchen, where she was preparing a dinner of chicken nuggets.
“Yes!” I grinned ear to ear.  I disliked math greatly. “Can I play Spiderville?”
“Sure.  There’s half an hour until dinner.”
I got out the computer, humming quietly to myself.  I might hope that computers didn’t end up running the world, but I sure did love to play video games.  

I had played through Spiderville several times already, but it never seemed to get old.  Maybe the trials of the spider-like character helped me be more content with my own life.
In the game, I made my representation, (an alien creature resembling a spider,) run over to the next storefront in the market.  The story went that I was an alien come to earth by accident on a space-ship I had thought was going to Spiderville, my homeworld.  I now had to figure out how to return to my planet, and it was turning out to be quite the process.  I already tried talking some people into taking me home, but they were hesitant and asked for an exorbitant amount of money.  It was clear that I either had to find a job willing to take me or build my own space-ship.  The problem was, Space-ships required a minimum of two people to drive them, and I was having quite the time convincing anyone to ride with a strange alien creature to a strange alien planet.  I wasn't too worried  about the space-ship, it was already halfway done, but nobody wanted to be my co-driver.
I paid for the next piece of my space-ship and left the repair shop, leaving the cashiers whispering curiously behind me.  I was getting discouraged at the amount of people who distrusted and disliked me because of my spider-like appearance.  However, I was determined to make at least one friend; one who would go with me to Spiderville.  Then it wouldn’t matter what all the rest of these earth-people thought of me. I walked to the edge of the city and climbed nimbly over the wall (one of my unique spider capabilities).  The landscape was hot and desert-like, so different from the wet, jungle-y planet I came from.  I imagined that my character would feel homesick when he saw the dry land.
A few miles distant from the city, I saw my space-ship construction on the horizon.  It wasn’t much yet; it looked like a water tower and a mechanic's garage combined, but I was proud of the progress I had made, since I had, after all, started with nothing at all.  I walked up to the space-ship and installed the new piece with the press of a button.  By then, it was night, and I made my character fall asleep in the web he had made.  It was optional not to sleep at night, but I did not like the consequences of being tired and of low energy the next day.  As the screen faded to blackness, I looked over at my brother’s game.  He, too, was playing Spiderville.  I watched as he made the same mistake I had done at the beginning of the game: arguing the space-ship driver of the ship that brought the innocent spider to earth.
“Don’t argue with him,” I warned. “ He doesn't like spiders.”
George stared at the computer. “But I need him to take me back.”
“Yes, but. . .” I was interrupted as George’s screen flashed white light and emitted a piercing scream.  Of course we knew what it was; someone in the game had let out a Flyswatter, the universal weapon of the futuristic Earth.  It looked like a small Iphone, but it acted like a bomb.  What’s more, spiders are especially susceptible to the weapon.
As the screen cleared, George made his character climb up over a wall and flee away out of range.
“What was that??  Someone fired at me!” he said angrily.  I nodded wisely as another Flyswatter went off, shooting a fountain of white light into the air above the wall.  The scream of the weapon was more muffled now, but the spider’s “anxiety level” went up by two.  If the anxiety got too high, the game would be over.
“Want a hint?” I offered, as George looked around for a safe place.
“No. . . no, I got it.” Just then, another Flyswatter was heard, this one closer.
“Hey kids, turn down the volume, please!” Ma called.
I reached for the volume control, since my brother was too busy with the game.  George let go of the mouse so I could get to the keyboard and used the arrows; awkward, but usually doable.  Unfortunately, at that moment, a Flyswatter came flying over the wall and lay there threateningly, about to go off.  George grabbed for the mouse and knocked my arm.
“Ow!” I yelled, jerking my hands from the keyboard, and in the process pushing several strange buttons on the computer instead of the volume control.  The sounds of the game stopped, and the game vanished to be replaced by a few complicated websites full of long red and blue code sentences, none of which made any sense to me.   
“Hey, what?” George stared at the code. “What was that?”
“I pushed something,” I explained, tactfully refraining from saying that it was really his fault anyway.
George peered at the lines intently. “What does this mean?”
“I don’t know.  Say, where’d the game go?  I wanted to see you finish!”
“Finish?”
“Well, you know, get to a safe spot.” I turned back to my own computer as my character had woken up a long time ago.
“Oh.  I probably would have died, anyway.”
I knew better. “It’s surprisingly hard to kill that spider.  I haven’t died once all this time.  I think the game is meant to last a lot longer than the usual. . . sometimes it’s kind of like a movie.”
“Hm.  Okay, that makes sense.” George fiddled with the code, and I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or to himself. “This goes here, that goes there. . .”
Suddenly, the code reversed itself and turned green.  George grinned.
I returned my attention to my space-ship, examining it for missing pieces.  Let’s see. . . I needed a three-inch metal cord, and a few sound-proof panels for the roof, and an indicator light.  Then I could begin piecing together the control room, which sounded fun.  It was the trips to the city I disliked, where the people stared at you and acted like you were more of a museum artifact than a person.  Thankfully this was the last trip I would have to make for awhile.
When I got to the city and entered the market, I looked around.  The store to my right, “Stella’s Space-ships” sold space-ship parts, but I had tried that store before and the owners had refused to sell pieces to a spider.  Perhaps the store over at the end of the market would be nice.  However, I saw a sign on the door that said, “sold out of electrical parts. Sorry for inconvenience” and I knew that wouldn’t work.  My heart sank.  I might have to go to the next city, and I knew that one even less than this one.
The door to “Stella’s Space-ships” opened, and one of the owners stepped outside.  I prepared to flee, but he smiled at me and seemed quite friendly.
“Good morning!” said the owner. “Do you need anything?  We’ve got all kinds of parts.”
He must’ve seen my hesitation and an awkward pause ensued.  Finally, he added, “By the way. . . I’m sorry I yelled at you the other day.  I thought you were. . . well, I thought you were. . . well, a dangerous sort of spider, you know.”
I didn’t know what to say. “Oh. . . I, um, well, that is, I’m not very dangerous, I think.”
Another awkward pause.  I said, “Do you have any indicator lights?”
Relieved, the man nodded. “Yes, lots, and any color you want!  Three dollars a light, and if you buy eight, one is free!”
I almost laughed.  The deals here were ridiculous, compared to the sensible Spiderville prices.  Everything was more complicated here.  “I only need one, a red one, please.”
I followed him inside to pick out one with the right connection.  I was glad at least someone had changed their mind about me.  Sadly, the store had neither the three-inch cord or the sound-proof panels, and I had to keep going.  Thankfully since neither one was electrical,  it would be worth looking in the other store for.  I paid for the light and exited, hoping very much that the next store would have the pieces.
The interior of the store was dark as I entered, especially in contrast with the glaring sunlight outside.  I saw pieces of space-ships everywhere.
As I looked about for the desired parts, one of the customers near me dropped a metal object on the ground.  It landed with a tremendous clatter, bounced high into the air, and rolled sedately out the door.  The customer made no attempt to stop it or retrieve the part, but stood staring blankly after it.  I, on the other hand, instinctively lunged forward out the door and glanced around for the piece.
I saw it, glinting in the sun, just as it rolled under a wagon selling apples.  I followed it, but when I reached the cart, my character refused to bend down and look underneath it.  I supposed that was not part of the game.  But, as I turned back, I saw the customer who had lost the piece standing where he had been standing before, still staring fixedly out the door.  I tried to talk to him.
“Hi, there.  I see you lost something.  Can I help?”
For a moment, he continued to stare, and I feared that he was bugged.  Then, he suddenly came to life and looked at me.
“Oh!  I didn’t see you there.  How can I be of assistance to you?”
“I’m sorry; you misunderstood me.  I asked if there was anything I could do for you, cause I noticed that you lost something.” At this point, I expected him to look at me funny and say, “Nothing.  Don’t sting me or something, okay?” like most people did.  Instead, he pointed at the wagon.
“It went under there, I think.  Oh, there it goes!”
Startled, we both watched as the piece tumbled out from underneath the wagon.  Before we could do anything, a passing merchant looked at it curiously and picked it up, apparently claiming it as his.  The customer rushed forward as the merchant began to eagerly talk an innocent bystander into buying the piece.
“Oh, please don’t!” said the customer, trying to pluck the piece out of the merchant’s hand. “It wasn’t paid for—oh, I didn’t mean to drop it—”
For just then the piece, being so pulled in opposite directions, slipped to the ground, bounced a couple times, and began to roll.  I, who had been watching the conversation from the doorway, made a terrific lunge and caught up the piece.  However, no matter how hard I tried to hold it, it filtered through my hands and fell, rolling onward towards its destination.  I could only watch as it rolled away into a crowd of people congregated around a stand selling yummy breads.
The customer and the merchant brushed past me and plunged into the crowd, scattering bread-buyers as they felt around for the shiny part.  I followed more sedately, reached out a long arm, and took up the piece from under the stand, holding it out of the reach of the merchant and customer.  The bread Baker approached, looking anything but friendly.
“Now see here, you all.  This is a bread bakery, not a mechanics’.  You’re disturbing the peace.”
“Disturbing the piece, you mean!” I laughed. “This is . . .”
The merchant interrupted. “I’d like to know when stealing was allowed in the marketplace. . .”
 “I wasn’t stealing!” cried the customer, “I didn’t know you wanted it, and, oh dear, I didn’t mean anything—”
The bread Baker, no doubt touched by the customer’s obvious innocence, said in a gentler tone, “Well, now, you needn’t upset yourself.  I’m sure you’re not at fault here.  The rest of you can figure it out for yourselves.  The bread’s burning.”
He headed back into the Bakery, and I handed the piece to the customer. “Here you are.”
He took it almost wonderingly.  The merchant spluttered indignantly, “That’s mine!”
I looked at him. “It was dropped, you see.  Accidental, you know.  Is that a sufficient explanation?”
He looked at me. “How am I supposed to know that you—a spider—would tell me the truth?”
It frustrated me beyond compare how much people distrusted spiders. “Listen, if you won’t believe me, how am I supposed to explain that it’s not yours?”
For a moment, he looked puzzled.  Then he said, “Well, you don’t have to tell me.  I will ask him.” He turned to the customer. “How would you explain the fact that that piece of machinery is yours?”
The customer seemed incapable of a response. “I, um, well, I don’t know. . .”
Triumphant, the merchant looked my way. “I knew it!”
I didn’t know what to say again.  The poor customer, comprehending that he had made a mistake, tried again. “Well, I didn’t mean it that way exactly.  I think there was a misunderstanding.  If only I hadn’t dropped it, you wouldn’t have picked it up, and—”
“I don’t understand.” said the merchant, settling his voluminous turban-like headdress back into place.
“Well, um, let’s see where was I—”
I jumped in. “You dropped it and he picked it up. . .”
“Oh, yes, you picked it up, and—”
“What is this about me picking things up?” said the merchant.  Behind us, I could see the bread-customers cautiously drifting back to the bread.
“Well, you picked up the piece. . .”
“I don’t know what you mean.  I picked up nothing.”
I hoped the next part would jog his memory. “Then you began to sell it to a bystander. . .”
“I did no such thing.  What are you talking about?”
The customer and I looked at each other, confused.  Why would he not remember?
“The piece here is not yours to sell really, because—”
The merchant looked at us like we were crazy. “Well, I never tried to sell it.  I don’t even know what it is!  I must be going now.  Good-bye.”
The customer and I exchanged glances of incredulity. “What was that about?” I asked, as the merchant walked off.
“I don’t know.” said the customer. “Perhaps he forgot?”
“Why would he forget?” I wondered.  
“Well . . .I don’t know.” he replied again. “Thank you for helping.”  
The customer began drifting back towards the store with me in tow.  Inside, I approached the register (I wasn’t sure why, but I did.  It was part of the program of the game) and who should be standing there but my old space-ship driver.  We stared at each other, then he yelled,
“It’s a dangerous spider!”
I (Bella, once more in control) ran out the door, not wishing to see what transpired inside after that.  Why did they have to put that person in there?  I had almost begun to think that I would get the parts I needed, now that the whole merchant thing was taken care of.
“I didn’t think that would happen.”
I looked up from the game and looked at George, who had spoken.  Then, on a sudden suspicion, I exclaimed, “George!  What are you doing?”
George grinned sheepishly. “See, look at this.”  He moved a piece of code.
On my screen, I saw the Bread Baker open a huge bag of flour, and a cloud of flour rose up from the bag, turned into snowflakes and drifted to the ground.  The baker didn’t notice.
“What!” I exclaimed. “So that merchant was you?”
“Not exactly.  I found I can influence people’s brains but not their movements, so making him forget the piece of machinery (or whatever that was) was easy.  Just trying to help you. . .”
I wasn’t sure whether to be angry that he had tweaked the game or grateful that he had made the merchant handily forget the piece, but as I was considering, the space-ship driver charged out of the door, waving a Flyswatter.
“Wait, can you make him forget?”  
“Well, that was my fault.  He wasn’t even supposed to be there in the store.  It was an accident.” George scrolled down his screen to see more code. “He’s programmed to throw Flyswatters whenever he sees you.”
“Then put him back!” I ordered. “He’s disrupting the marketplace.”
I dodged Flyswatters as they flew through the air and exploded, sending sellers, buyers, and bystanders running madly in all directions.
“I don’t really know how.  I didn’t mean to put him there in the first place, and I’m not sure how to reverse or erase.” said George, opening a new page of code and searching through it.  “Let’s see here.  It was just over this way. . .”
“If I get out of sight he would stop, then, right?” I asked, fleeing from the market in the hopes that the chaos would die down.  Unfortunately the irate space-ship driver only followed me through the city.
“Ya, that might work.  Climb a wall or something.” said George.
That was a good idea.  I scrambled up the wall of a nearby house and somehow got onto the roof, where the space-ship driver couldn’t follow me.  Successfully out of range, I gave a sigh of relief as the light flashes stopped.
But what was this?  I couldn’t believe my eyes as the driver floated up above the roof like a balloon.
“George, he’s got flying powers now.  You must have done something wrong.”
George glanced at my screen. “You’re right.  How did that happen?”
“Well, you’re the one coding him.” I ran up the roof line, hoping to outdistance my pursuer with pure speed.
“I’m not coding. . .” George paused, as though just getting an idea. “Hmm, I could re-code him, couldn’t I.  Interesting.” 
I half slid, half ran down the other side of the roof, hearing Flyswatters going off behind me. “Whatever it is, do hurry.  This isn’t part of the game.”
Out the corner of my eye, I saw George begin typing code lines. “This should work.  Just a minute.”
The space-ship driver appeared above the peak of the roof, aiming the next bomb.  He must have an infinite store of the things.  I dropped off the roof and into the narrow street between two rows of houses, hoping that he would have a harder time aiming at me if I wasn’t in plain sight on the rooftop.  I fled down the street as fast as the game would let me.  The spider’s anxiety level was depressingly high.  
“How’s that?” asked George.  I heard a loud thud behind me as the space-ship driver tumbled off the roof after me.  I couldn’t see anything different about him.  “What happened?” I wondered.
“He shouldn’t be able to fly anymore.  Try climbing something.”
At that moment, I realized two things.  One, the space-ship driver now had a clear shot from him to me, and two, my anxiety couldn’t stand another Flyswatter.  I jumped for the wall as he hurled the weapon hard at me.  It missed but lay on the ground, ready to explode.  I knew I could never make it out of range fast enough.
On the roof, I realized with surprise that my character was still living.  The Flyswatter had not gone off.
“I disabled it.” remarked George. “I guess I can when it’s just lying there like that.  Now stay there and don’t—”
However, it was too late.  I had peered over the edge of the roof to see the disabled Flyswatter, and the space-ship driver must have seen his one chance for victory.  He raised a new Flyswatter.
I thought I was dead, but suddenly a surprised look came over his face. “Who are you?  What am I doing here?”
“He forgot!” I yelled.  George laughed. “I found his inner programming.  Finally!  I think I need to retake my coding lessons.”
The space-ship driver must have forgotten that he had even asked why he was here, for he automatically turned and headed off to where he was really supposed to be.
“Wow!  What a day!” I said. “You should probably put everything back the way it was, George.”
“I’m working on it.  He goes over there. . .”
“Dinner time, kids!” called Ma.
Reluctantly I exited the game and turned off the computer.  It had been fun, and I was excited to play again.  Maybe one of the people I met today would be my friend.  You never knew what would happen in the game of Spiderville.

The End.

 

Thank you for reading!  It means a lot, and I look forward to sharing more of my writing with you.  Have a great day!