Summer’s here: the sun is shining, the kids are playing, the West Nile mosquitoes are hovering in clouds of death. For many, the Summer is a time for travel, whether it is to a far off location or just to one’s “happy place”.

At Local Color, we asked our readers to send in their stories about travel. We left the interpretation of the word “travel” to the discretion of the authors.

In response, we got Grays by Christian Verotik, a journey through the relationship between us and our alien overlords; Kelly L.’s Wayworn City, a trip through the remains of a past age; and J. Robert Novak’s (I Believe in) Travelin’ Light, in which the narrator prepares to venture far from home.

These stories can be found here.

We’d like to thank the contributors, and to remind everyone that we are always accepting fiction, as well as essay submissions.

By Christian Verotik

(EDITOR’S NOTE: This piece is several years old by now and was developed in Verotik’s writing group. He’s kept it to himself, but felt ready to reveal it. I hope you like it as much as we do. — Charlie)

They live in a glass house, with a floor made up of stones, but they need not fear. It works well for the woman, for she does not like to be the one to throw objects of reality, and she does not fear him, for he knows better than to throw his stones in their house made of glass. So, together they live, trapped in a life inside a glass house. It isn’t so bad for her, as she knows that she need never fear, for the reason stated earlier. He is the one who must forever walk on eggshells, for she can react in her own way, but he is never allowed to act in his way. It’s not all pleasantry for her though, for you see, she absolutely abhors him. He once loved her, but he’s no longer sure of that word, mostly because all the stones must forever lay on the ground, never to be touched by his hands. This is the life they live, inside their glass house, all because they live in fear of the L-word.

It started innocently enough. She was recovering from a bad marriage, he recovering from a bad case of alcoholism. Both were in need of companionship and a shoulder to lean on. They met mostly by chance, one fine Spring day, and they both seemed almost happy for a time. This was before they ever thought about the abysmal L-word. Together, they built up a fine house for themselves, a beautiful looking house made of fine glass, with pretty-colored stones to make up the floor. They quickly moved into their new home, never thinking about the repercussions of what would happen should they ever happen upon the L-word.

For months on end, they lived together in happiness. Mostly because they could look out their many windows to see the world outside, but they need never fear that world outside ever again. Both of them wanted to lock themselves away from the outside world, and they seemed to have done that task together. Then, the nagging started. Then, the abuse started. She wanted to control his every thought and action. He wanted to pound his fists against the walls and throw his stones, but he could not. She grew angry any time he did not follow her instructions or live his life around her. Her anger came out by ignoring him, by avoiding him. It was the worst anger in the world for a man who reacted by throwing stones. He wanted nothing more than to pick up the stones along the floor and begin to fling them this way and that, but he had to always remain calm, for he knew better than to ever break the precious glass. This is the way they lived for many months on end, and they were no longer happy in the least.

Finally, one day, she had had enough and decided to leave. It being her right to decide to do this and not his because he lived with the all-consuming need to throw just one stone, but this he could never do. So, he always stayed, and now, she decided to go. She opened one glass window and prepared to step out, when she stopped and sniffed the outside breeze blowing in, it froze her. “It… It smells of something…” she gasped, “Yes… it is… it is the smell of L.” She slowly let herself back into the house. She glared at the man who she had learned to abhor, but still she closed the window and sat down on the couch.

When finally she talked to the man again, she explained that she had never before thought about the world outside of their glass house, that it was full of the L-word. The man began to tremble a bit, “Not the L-word! I had never even stopped to consider the L-word! How did the world become so infected with L since our time in this house?” It was the end of the discussion, and from that moment onward, they learned to hate each other more and more.

He would yell and yell at the top of his lungs, but she locked herself away where the noise could not reach her, and since the stones were out of the question, he was left with no choice in the matter, except to suffer. She came to grow angrier and angrier more often with the man, not even stopping to try to understand the little things or tiny mistakes which he did; her anger at him was now all-consuming. This was the life they led. Many times they wanted to get out of this lifestyle, but every time they thought about it, the realization came about what was out there, they thought about L.

He came to fear L so much, that he made the decision in his mind to never leave her, no matter how painful it became, a life of helplessness was better than a life of L. She was not so sure in her mind. She couldn’t stand the thought of one more night in the glass house or one more day spent with him, and believed that nothing could be worse. Nothing, that is, until she reached her head through an open window and smelled the L-word on the breeze. Every time, that smell. She recoiled in fear and set firm in her mind that she could last a little longer with him. She kept fooling herself into believing that one day the L-word would not permeate the outside world so heavily, and she could finally leave her sickening life behind. He had no such false pretenses left in his mind, he knew that the L would never go away again, and sometimes he wondered what would be worse, for her to leave or to face this tortuous life one more day? He never fooled himself for long, he could never face L, and deep down he hoped she would never leave, because this life could never be as bad as L. Besides, this wouldn’t be such a bad life at all, if only he could throw just one stone…

by J. Robert Novak

(Editor intro: In this short science-fiction piece, J. Robert Novak proves that there are some things that science can’t fix.)

Dr. Schneider was, as they say, washed up.

Oh, sure, in his prime, he was considered to be one of the pioneers of robotics, cybernetics, and artificial intelligence. He did, after all, create the computer that beat Grandmaster Ivan Rasputichivichinski in Chutes & Ladders. His research did lead to advancements in prosthetic toes (with 13 points of articulation!). He even designed the new robots, the ones completely indistinguishable from, well, the old robots. His name was once synonymous with “the future”.

That was, however, in the past. At the present, his name was slowly fading into the abysmal obscurity that dooms many who peak early. He sat in his dusty laboratory. His equipment, once state-of-the-art, was now the robotics equivalent of Tinker-Toys. His investors were not happy, and they were threatening to sell all of his equipment for scrap, tear down his laboratory, and retire him to St. Turing’s Home for Obselete Inventors.

Dr. Schneider had one last chance, though. The 120th annual Robotics, Cybernetics, and Artificial Intelligences Expostition (or RoboCyboArtifExpo 120, as those “in the know” called it) was tomorrow, and he had an idea.

The good doctor had just read Richard Kemosabe’s book, One Dad, Two Dad, Red Dad, Blue Dad. In this tome, Mr. Kemosabe told that the rich investor was the one that took ridiculously stupid risks, the one who was not afraid of failure, the one who looked at each failure as an opportunity. Dr. Schneider took this lesson to heart. He applied this lesson, not to economics, but to robotics. He had built something that would either redeem his name or damn it permanently. He looked under the black tarp , smiled, and went to bed, eager for the next day’s demonstration.

*****************
The sun set. The moon rose, hung in the air for a time, got bored with all that, and sank down below the horizon. The sun, seeing that the moon had left, glad it would not have to talk to that whiny bastard, rose. The robotic roosters outside Dr. Schneider’s lab detected the sun’s light with their optical sensors and made a sound approximating the sound of their feather-and-blood counterparts.

The doctor got up, prepared himself by doing numerous ordinary, habitual things, too mundane to catalogue here, and loaded his invention in his trailer. He looked under the tarp one last time, smiled, and was off to reclaim his former glory.

**************
The RoboCyboArtifExpo 120 was a bustling ant farm of scientific academia. Professor Neuburg has here with is automatic fly-swatter. Doctors May and Dontelli had brought a Robo pet, or rather, a pet to keep your robot company. The brilliant Dr. Lohman had built a computer that she claimed could defeat the old Schneider model at Chutes & Ladders, a testament to Schneider’s continued influence on the world of technology. In other words, the most important things happening in technology were in this room.

But none of these things were as important as the thing that hummed to itself under Schneider’s black tarp.

Misters Blake, McCoy, Masters, and Hever, the representatives of the corporation that supported Schneider’s work, walked past. The corporation had it’s hands in the pockets of many of these scientists, so the RoboCyboArtifExpo was a good way for the company to catalogue it’s investments and decide who was an asset and who was a liability. These man applauded while looking at the automatic fly swatter. They giggled with glee as a display robot hugged its new Robo pet. They played a few games of Chutes & Ladders, and though they were each disappointed at their losses to the computer, none could argue against it’s artificial genius.

Finally, they came to doctor Schneider. “Well, Dr. Schneider? What do you have to show us?”

The doctor cleared his throat, confidently. “Gentlemen,” he began. “What you are about to see and hear will revolutionize the world of music. Prepare to be…AMAZED!!!!”

From under the tarp, a steady beep began to rhythmically pulse.
“I was thinking, sirs, that robots had been used for everything. They wash our cars, do our laundry, make our food, and now even swat our flies. However, while they have also made our music, there is one genre that, until now, they have never touched. And that’s why, today, I give to you…”
Wth that, he yanked the tarp off of his creation.
“THE REGGAETRON 2000!!!”

The robot was tall and silver. It was completely naked, save for a yellow and green knit cap that covered black rubber tubes running from its head. From its chest, a steady reggae beat issued. The robot smelled…funny.

“Well, Reggaetron 2000…say something!”

The robot paused. Then, in a staccato, monotone voice, it said, “HELLO MON THERE BE A WHOLE LOT O TECHNOLOGY G’WAN.”

Dr. Schneider looked at the men. “Well, gentlemen? What do you think?”

There was silence, a silence that was louder that the crowds of people at the other exhibits. Dr. Schneider beamed. He knew that his invention had rendered the men speechless. Now, all there was to do was to collect the new funds the company would send his way.

A minute later, the men spoke.

“Preposterous!” shouted Mr. Blake.

“Retarded!” yelled Mr. McCoy.

“Blasphemous!” screeched Mr. Masters.

“What the fuck!?!” boomed Mr. Hever.

******************

The next day, the doctor sat with his robot on the corner of Argyle and Orchard Dale, where his laboratory had, the day before, stood. He kept himself warm with the burning pages of Mr. Kemosabe’s book.

“HEY MON DO YOU WANT TO SMOKE DIS SHIT?”

The Doctor sighed. “Just shut up.”

The robot buzzed. “I ‘EAR YA MON I ‘EAR YA,” it said, taking a hit on a digital spliff.