Doran Tom Miller's Star-Born Universe - Episode One

The Necessity
1. Auflage 2021
ISBN: 978-1-922565-28-0
Verlag: Vivid Publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 120 Seiten

The world is breaking down, but Tom Miller might just be able to fix it... Tom Miller is an ambitious, introverted - very introverted - young man living in the outskirts of Los Angeles. With help from his intangible, adversarial companion Greyum, Tom invents an ingenious flying car. This exciting invention brings unforeseen consequences for the duo (and not just its explosion by the US Air Force). Tom becomes an astronaut, a maximum-security prisoner and a NASA employee, hindered by Greyum at every turn. Facing opposition from within and without, Tom must conquer the darker side of himself to recreate his invention, prove himself and realise his dreams. With shades of Douglas Coupland and The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, Tom Miller's Star-Born Universe is a poignant, dryly-funny novel about mental issues, innovation and perseverance.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Doran, Peter

Leseproben

Chapter 1

Not long from now, in a galaxy not far, far away…

Daaar!

STAR CAUSE…

Dar… dar.. da-da-da-daaaar-da-da.. da-da-da-daaaar-da-da.. da-da-da-daar…

EPISODE 1…

THE NECESSITY…

The human race is in trouble.

Their home planet, Earth, is undergoing climatic change as a result of their civilization’s reliance on the burning of fossil fuels to survive.

The planet’s leaders appear reluctant, if not helpless, to resolve the problem. They promise change in response to public concern, but allow the unsustainable consumption of natural resources to continue. As a growing number of the species’ brightest intellects work to avert the looming climate catastrophe, primarily by trying to convince leaders of the seriousness of the problem, elsewhere an unimaginable solution is being developed by a less likely citizen, a dreamer of universal proportions…whose brain makes him a… hmmmmm… what’s the word I’m looking for?…

“Dumb ass,” yelled the driver behind Tom. “Move your dumb ass forward!”

The abuse jolted Tom out of his daydream and left him briefly confused.

Searching for the source or justification for this abuse, Tom eventually noticed the car in front had moved forward by no more than a single car length.

“Ah yes. But of course,” Tom said as he realized the distance between cars was great enough for the driver behind to show off their lack of patience and let Tom know the internationally-recognized American standard of acceptable driving in a traffic jam was not being followed.

“Oh, now I get it, Greyum,” Tom said. “Yeah, right. So the car horn I’ve been ignoring was just for me – not for me and everybody else causing the traffic jam.”

The car horn and the abuse continued blaring until Tom begrudgingly acknowledged the crime he was guilty of.

He waved his hand out the window as a sign of apology.

“Okay, okay, I’m moving forward,” Tom said while making eye contact through the rear-view mirror with the abusive driver behind him. “You impatient old fossil,” he added under his breath.

The insult produced a fleeting burst of confidence in Tom. This unfamiliar confidence was quickly replaced with an all too well-known fear, and Tom closed the windows and relocked the already-locked car doors.

The intensity of the situation had passed, but the fear lingered.

“Sorry, Greyum, I was enjoying the positive direction our conversation was heading in,” Tom said to the rear-view mirror. “You probably hated it,” he added with a concern-easing chuckle. “I’d love to get back to the story. I mean, there was so much to tell – before we were rudely interrupted. Now, instead I’m going to have to concentrate on this traffic or old fossil back there will wet his fossilized pants.”

Less than ten seconds later and the task of concentrating on the traffic had Tom extremely agitated.

“I’m hearing you, Greyum. We are definitely not traveling at the speed of light, and based on our current motionless state, we never will be.”

Then his anger turned physical and he hit his car horn, adding to the traffic jam’s inharmonious trumpeting. The release of anger allowed a calmer voice to resume the dialogue.

“Okay, take a chill pill, Greyum. I know how much you want me to go all road-rage at the moment. I mean, let’s face it: sitting in traffic can drive most people to think, say or do things in the heat of the moment that don’t represent who they are or what they stand for. I bet most people find themselves dying just a little bit faster each time they encounter this suck-hole situation. When it’s bumper to bumper like this, with no sign of escape, I mean it feels like we’re trapped. If my car broke down right now I would…”

Shifting anxiously in his seat, the situation appeared to be getting the better of Tom.

“Well, I don’t know what I would do,” he said, fear taking over.

A survival instinct stepped in, and Tom took on an urgent tone.

“Come on, Greyum. Remember, I can put an end to all this.”

With all urgency seemingly downgraded by this declaration, Tom jokingly added, “Jeepers, you can be so forgetful, Greyum. I swear, you would forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on.”

At this point Greyum may have leaned over to punch Tom in the arm, but Greyum wasn’t the physical type.

‘Greyum’ was merely the name Tom had given to the dark side (or very grey side) of the grey matter that was his brain.

“Relax, Greyum. I can be forgetful too. Like, sure, there are times when you take over completely and I can’t breathe, but then I remember I just have to learn to live with you, and live for the moments when I am giving you a good old fashioned ass-whooping,” said the pale faced, blue eyed, brown haired, twenty-one-year old Tom, who wasn’t the most physical type himself, having only a minimal amount of flesh on a slender frame complete with rounded shoulders and bowed legs. Tom’s act of talking to oneself nonsensically was seen but not heard by the other motorists. They assumed a sensible telephone conversation was taking place, so the act went unreported to the relevant authorities, and Tom and his ‘special’ brain were free to carry on not making sense.

“You know what I’m saying, Greyum?” asked Tom, and answered before Greyum could get a word in. “I’m saying creative elements are always working to overcome destructive elements. You know what I mean Greyum?”

Again the questioner was, just as quickly, the answerer. “I mean no more destructive traffic jams. I mean no more…” Tom paused for thought. “No more smog – smog is destructive. Exhaust fumes everywhere, infecting the already ailing health of the breathable air.”

A longer pause indicated the ramble was running out of elements.

“Radio…” Another pause. “Wait a second.”

“Radio is creative!” he finished rousingly, and lovingly pushed a pre-set button on the dashboard. The selection produced an ironic result, but Tom immediately joined in with the chorus.

Tom proceeded to sing ‘Two out of three ain’t bad’ so off-key, it left no doubt the singer did not possess a special talent as a performer. And yet, Tom’s performance made him smile, which was uplifting enough to prompt a humorous anecdote.

“Hey Greyum, how long has it been since we’ve had meatloaf for dinner?” asked Tom jovially, then laughed. “Oh, come on. You didn’t find that funny, Greyum?”

“Oh. So you thought it was funnier when I was saying fossil a lot. Well, I don’t know where you get your sense of humor from, buddy, but it needs a lot of work.”

Tom’s mood showed more signs of improvement as he finally broke free from the grip of the far reaching traffic. He meandered his way through a maze of residential streets until he arrived at his home and pulled into the driveway.

Tom Miller lived by himself in a relatively quiet neighborhood in Glendora on the outskirts of Los Angeles.

He parked in his usual spot, off to the side of the main driveway, on a strip of gravel he had created a few years earlier, and with a long-winded sigh, mentally prepared for his daily ritual of walking into an empty house.

As he entered the large family home, the latest popular music could be heard echoing down the hallway. The music was a deliberate ploy to deter would-be criminals, but also served to drown out the eerie silence that came from living all alone in his not-so-cozy four bedrooms plus study home.

Tom turned off the stereo equipment and frowned deeply, suddenly lonely.

A sense of company was quickly re-established via the ritual activation of the television.

“Hello, Mr. TV. What’s news?” asked Tom as he selected the news channel.

“Hello, Mr. Floor. How are you feeling today?” he asked with an open-hand gesture towards his feet. “Downtrodden. Like you are being walked all over,” Tom answered on behalf of the floor. “Trust me, I know how you feel.”

“Hello. Is Mr Wall there?” asked Tom, pressing his ear against the nearest wall. “Hello. Is Mrs. Wall there?” Growing amused, Tom asked a third time. “Hello. Are there any Walls there?”

“Okay, fine. Don’t talk to me, then. But I know you are all just being super shy like me, because, let’s face the facts here…” Tom smiled and pointed upward. “That roof isn’t holding itself up.”

The routine always brought a smile to Tom’s face until the lack of backing laughter sunk in.

“Are you saying the joke is getting old Greyum?”

“Yeah. Well, so are you,” Tom quipped, unimpressed. Tom stood up, half-listening to the news of the day, and his mind began wandering as usual.

Having been denied lunch on this particular day, his first thought was of dinner.

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