Friday, June 19, 2015

The Story of Sun Fleas - Lema's Music Box




Since the first maps were drawn circa 2012, an unexpectedly large number of recently-sentient puppets, appliances, machines, curiosity seekers, outcasts, and animatronic robots have been making pilgrimages to Pumpkin Town. What was once the best kept secret spot for those who truly believed became a cartoon version of the legend of its own mecca. Perhaps it was their fault, broadcasting that all are welcomed here to stay without giving a thought to the logistical nightmare caused when many thousands took them seriously all at once. Many of the recently-arrived had little to no choice. It was go to Pumpkin Town, or face a desperate and dangerous life on the road. It's difficult enough to be a human in such circumstances, and puppets and appliances recently endowed with consciousness were faring far worse. They certainly couldn't stay where they were, though some maintained a vigorous devotion to their former owners, if they had any; concepts of 'the Master' flourished in a few subcultures. They spoke among themselves about the twisted pumpkin magic which was bringing them all to life, but none could discover the source of it; only swapping around rumors mixed with philosophies for some peace of mind and insight here or there. Pumpkin Town had first flourished, then began to choke as new and larger buildings, built to combat overcrowding, started to violently interrupt the sky. Exhaust fumes from some of the inhabitants created a cycle of pollution. The Pumpkin Town Council tried first to adapt to the times, then to recapture the past as it spiraled away. A meme sprang up among the radio communities on the south side and before long, the newer generation was referring to their home as Pumpkin City.

The humans wandered in, as they usually eventually do. First were the craftsmen. Watchmakers and inventors, collectors and tinkerers, and the like. In the beginning, they had come for their own diverse reasons. Some were eccentrics on the fringe of human society, and offered their services to the machines in exchange for belonging in a new community. Some just wanted to set up shop and make a living. Later human arrivals had more sinister motives - to exploit the machines and learn the secrets of the magic which made them come alive so as to harness it for their own ends. This was in part motivated by a paranoia regarding the machines, which these humans referred to disparagingly as the things. They could not be trusted; how could we know they are truly alive, or self-aware? The means by which they come alive must be dangerous. Better dominate them before they dominate us. They were eventually joined by an entourage of bankers and business types. No humans truly knew the source of the twisted pumpkin magic, although some claimed to, and others made great strides in the right direction. To the credit of the Pumpkin Council, however, they did not gain a disproportionate measure of political or economic power. There were relatively few of them. Making any kind of contact with the sentient objects of Pumpkin City was overwhelmingly frightening and outlandish for most. The widespread panic that had ensued as hundreds of thousands of appliances, machines, puppets, toys, and other objects began waking up and disappearing was not easily forgotten in the public consciousness. Among other humans, those who were trying to operate business ventures inside the city were effectively shunned and shadowbanned, requiring them to appeal to the black market instead.

Alcemen Sotus was an inventor who lived in a small human neighborhood of the city. He had come long before the mad rush, as a teenager. His father, a laborer, had died while working on a large suspension bridge as Alcemen was entering college. His mother had run off long before that. 
Alcemen had had the good fortune, though, of being privy to his television coming alive when he was a small child. He had awoken in the night to a low scuffling sound, and found it pushing his desk chair over toward the door in order to hop up and open it.
"Hey," the television had whispered kindly, "hey, no hard feelings or anything. We had some fun together."
Too shocked to be properly terrified, Alcemen thought he was dreaming.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Oh, um, Pumpkin Town," the television replied confidently. "It's actually not far from here. Uh, north by northeast if I'm not mistaken. Follow the ridge for a while. You wanna go?"
Alcemen shook his head no.
"Okay, alright. I don't know if I get cartoons out there anyway," the television shrugged. He hopped gracefully up onto the chair and bumped the door handle, swinging it open. "I'll see you around, kid," and he sort of waddled out the door and down the hall. Alcemen could hear a soft thumping as he descended the stairs, and watched him bump along the sidewalk from his window until he was out of sight. Naturally, his father didn't believe him in the morning, thinking instead that the set had been stolen. Alcemen couldn't quite believe himself, but there was no denying the missing television. By the time these types of things started happening en masse, he was already well sunk into his new life, and his father wasn't around for him to say 'I told you so'. The experience stuck with him like tough epoxy, and after dropping out of college several days into his first semester, Alcemen left on a hiking trip across the mountain ranges where he grew up in an effort to rethink life. One afternoon, in a state of existential shock, had been lead to Pumpkin Town by a cheerful, rusty stove who had discovered him setting up his camp and insisted he have better sleeping quarters.


Alcemen had received some insurance money from the accident, and coupled it with his self-studied engineering knowledge and sharp mechanical mind to set himself up in a house on the outskirts of town. He lived in solitude, working on ideas for devices (in those days he obsessed over designing better safety gear for crewmen), and repairing the sentient machines like a doctor. He regarded them blithely but cautiously, unsure of their true nature, and often of his own sanity. He had indeed seen some die. Having always been a bit peculiar, Alcemen eventually found his freedom in their world, and preferred it to the one he had abandoned. He grew to dislike human society outright,, and enjoyed the fact that it was difficult for anybody to find him way up here. Pumpkin Town was still off the map at that point. No one came knocking, besides the occasional object in need of some repair, and Alcemen sustained himself on his patch of land for many years.

In his early forties, Alcemen met the woman who would become the mother of his child and simultaneously break his heart. She was a young transient named Ioa (pronounced, ee-oh-ah). At a young age, Ioa had run away from an oppressive home life, and coupled street performing arts with mischief and thievery to get by as she traveled around. Her puppets and and some of her props had come to life one afternoon during a show and terrified a group of people to the point that they ran her out of town and tried to burn several of the puppets. Objects endowed with consciousness due to twisted pumpkin magic always hear the call of Pumpkin Town and Ioa chose to join them on their journey, looking forward to living in a secret place beyond the reach of the human world that was her enemy. The shock of such a thing happening did not overwhelm her excitement and general willingness to accept reality-breaking things. Pints of a liquid drug called Komolap, which gave its imbibers a mildly addictive high coupled with weak temporary telekinetic abilities at the cost of a few brain cells, soaked her early years. Alcemen was well known in the town by the time she arrived, and the two eventually met. They shared similar backgrounds as deliberate waifs, and a similar distaste for the company of normal society. They could console each other and share experiences of living in such bizarre times. Alcemen saw her as a miracle entering into his lonely existence, and at the beginning, Ioa saw him as the only person she had really managed to connect with in many, many years. Not very long after their meeting, Ioa became pregnant with their daughter, Lema; and not very long after Lema's second birthday, Ioa, feeling increasingly unstable inwardly,  ran away leaving behind the child.


Alcemen's sorrowful reaction to the loss of yet another person in his life was counterbalanced this time by Lema's existence. She needed him even more than he needed her, and in fact he was well enough off to be able to take proper care of her by himself. She was his darling, his lifelong devotion, his companion. Late at night he would tinker with inventions for her, creating toys, puzzles, and music boxes. She did not, however, favor the dolls he would make, preferring instead to play with the sentient ones they would meet from time to time. He rather resented this and as she grew, Alcemen began to ruminate more on the contrast between her and the things. The sentient objects did not grow or age. They did not need to eat. They still slept, which Alcemen found both fascinating and absurdly unnecessary. They existed in a wholly alien perpetuity; though still subject to injury or death they did not appear to experience pain intensely, if at all. Currency, barter, and occupation were still concepts their society hung onto for some reason, albeit in a much more lackadaisical way. He repaired them out of life necessity and out of eccentric curiosity. He had helped them maintain longer lifespans than he could ever hope to; some of the old computers had explained that they were several hundred years old, but were they really alive? He knew Lema was alive. That she had a mind, a spirit (whatever that was), and a self-awareness. He was alive; but the concept itself seemed to be dissolving through his hands. The fascination with the objects that had started in his boyhood was inverting and eating itself.

The question plagued poor Alcemen, yet outwardly he remained solid. His machine-building interests now turned toward automatons, both as an effort to answer his riddles and an effort to provide toys and distractions that would gently guide the curious Lema away from fraternizing too much with the sentient objects. He became protective of her, encouraging her to spend more time at home; as an excuse procuring musical instruments for her to practice and adopting her a stray kitten whom she named Muffins. Pumpkin Town was on its way to being fully discovered by now. More and more objects were arriving, expanding the area of the town and crowding in on the sparse human settlements which were also springing up. Alcemen was unaware of the widespread panic that was beginning back in the human world, but could have guessed it if he'd cared to. His concern was that Lema grow up with what he considered to be a proper understanding of life. It bothered him greatly how much more easily she accepted the objects as true beings. He had once shouted at her all the way home when he found her and another girl at a nearby river, showing a vacuum cleaner and a small gaggle of clock radios how fishing worked. His limited engagement with the citizenry of Pumpkin City as a type of doctor now became almost nonexistent.

Determined to impress upon Lema that the objects were not alive in the way that she was, Alcemen, now fifty-six, set out to demonstrate this point by endeavoring to at last create an apparently living machine of his own, letting the fact of his making one show that there was no actual life inside; that these things were "coming to life" and gaining lifelike abilities through an explainable mechanism, not this nonsense about twisted pumpkin magic. The machine was to simultaneously be a gift for her thirteenth birthday; she did indeed love his inventions so. And she admired him, demanding and stoic as he could be at times. He sought an analogy in the form of Muffins the cat. Alcemen considered Muffins to represent the defining split between humans and the objects. Plants and animals to him were like objects that were actually alive, though lacking self-awareness, and objects were like animals who weren't even alive or aware at all, despite appearances. In his mind, he would be able to illustrate concept this very clearly to her by comparing Muffins and his flawless, lifeless, mechanical counterpart. Lema needed to understand that they were humans living inside a society of nothing more than strange machines.

Alcemen began spending longer and longer nights in his workshop studying Muffins, making anatomical drawings and prototypes. He built skeletons and electrical components; synthesized a type of fur out of the bark of a hoavi tree. The work was more complex and irksome than anticipated. Early designs behaved too crudely, and lacked the sophisticated fluid motion of the living cat. Alcemen swung between desperation and determination as his designs improved in small leaps. Finally, a week removed from Lema's birthday, he had constructed himself into a stalemate. The mechanical cat was nearly perfect, not quite good enough for him, but good enough to achieve his first priority of a gift for his daughter. During trials, Muffins had been startled and aggressive toward the other, but when they were in the same room it was difficult to tell which was which. That much was accomplished, yet Alcemen had not proven to himself that the sentient objects building an increasingly larger city around him were undoubtedly mere robots of bizarre and clever design. In spite of so much struggle to create a cat, Alcemen had gleaned very little clues as to the inner mechanisms and processes by which the objects appeared to mimic life. He was feigning confidence the effectiveness of his lesson to Lema, yet remained convinced of its' truth. 


Late one night, as Alcemen was cleaning some pieces of the tail, he again heard a low scuffling sound. One of his voltage testers slid itself off the high shelf and bounced onto the desk.
"Wooah, hey man, wow, what a trip!" The voltage tester exclaimed. "Hey, I like testing voltages and all but I'm going to step out for a little bit, okay?" It started loping itself toward the open window. Alcemen stared back at it, then crossed the room in a few brisk strides.
"Look, pal, I don't want any trouble," said the voltage tester.
"What are you, really?" asked Alcemen
"Um, I'm a voltage tester, I, uh...I don't really know what you're asking," it replied, considering itself with a few shrug-like movements of its wires.
"How did you do that?" demanded Alcemen.
"Do what?" replied the voltage tester.
Alcemen picked up a large desk vice that was sitting nearby. He considered its inanimatcy. He felt its weight in his hand. He thought about Ioa and his father. Then, in one swift movement, he brought the vice down on the voltage tester. It barely made an utterance as it was crushed. Alcemen stood for a long time with his hand holding down tightly, like a man with a very dangerous spider caught underneath an upturned jar. He thought about Lema. At last he lifted up the vice. The voltage tester lay smashed beneath it, unmoving, unspeaking, lifeless.


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