Prompt 1: Week of 14 November 2010

"What if some technology that we have today could have been used long before it was invented?"

Submissions are due 22 November at 12:00 A.M.

Congratulations to Gabe

Gabriel Reynolds wins Round 0, making him the inaugural winner of Good Words Don't!

0. Gabriel Reynolds

They say that time passes slowly in the Hotel7, but Daniel didn’t mind so much. The opportunity to enjoy a few thoughts was something he cherished. His mind hopped around in list-like form. I’m alone. He was. I’m so far from home. He was. Then the clencher: Will home ever be home again? That was still in the air – there was still time for him to change his mind. As stupid a decision it would be, it was still an option.

The air-conditioning murmured its everyday gospel of luxury. The hotel room mirror sat on the dresser like a window into tedium. TV off, window closed, walls silent. Daniel felt like the room didn’t even know he was there. Sounds about right, he thought with satisfaction. They paid good money for me to be a secret. He was studying his suit in the mirror when he heard the doorknob turn. I ought to focus on what I’m here for, he thought, continuing to do absolutely nothing. The door opened and closed quietly as another man walked into the room, sharply dressed and armed with a black briefcase. Daniel didn’t look up as the man moved to the chair next to him and sat down; that he noted the man’s attire was incidental. Looks like we’re both dressed to impress. Daniel wasn’t impressed.

He listened as the man rummaged through the briefcase, considering how the stupid decision he had considered earlier was no longer an option. No going back now. His muscles tensed. Maybe it’s better that way. His eyes stayed straight ahead as a blank notepad was placed in front of him, followed shortly by a golden pen. Daniel had to suppress a chuckle at the memory of the seminar where they were told they weren’t allowed to bring anything with them when they travelled – “Not even a pen.” The memory subsided as a soft ticking sound grew louder; Daniel knew without looking exactly what the man had just produced from his case. He exhaled pensively. The two silently braced themselves as the second man hovered his thumb over the only button on the golden stopwatch.

For a few seconds, time passed even more slowly. The thumb fell, and the clock shot out a high-pitched harmony neither man could consciously perceive.

Daniel’s regained consciousness to the sight of the pad in front of him, filled to the last page with his furiously scribbled writing. It remained there for only a second before his nameless partner retrieved the pad with silent efficiency. He felt the throbbing cramp in his hand and the waterfall of sweat on his forehead – both familiar, both signs that he had done everything he had come to do. That’s really it, he thought. That’s really everything I prepared for. He remembered the countless laboratory hours spent in unconscious states, writing words he had been told he would never read, waking up each time with the cramped hand and the sopping brow. The procedures that had trained his brain to obey the unheard harmony would never be important again. It was a strange realization – I’ll never have to do that again. Relief and disappointment all at once.

The second man looked over the notepad and, satisfied with the document, returned it to his case. The watch and pen followed. He left without making any motions that could be mistaken for good-bye.

Daniel closed his eyes. They had told him time and time again, but he still had to tell himself: His world was gone, an alternate future to a present that had just changed for good. He told himself again: It’s better this way.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a gunshot from the hallway. Daniel bolted into awareness and listened for anything else.

Nothing.

He crept to the door. Listened.

Nothing.

He creaked the door open.

The barrel of a gun pointed directly at his face. He looked at the face above the gun.

“Two things,” the stranger started. “One: this is what you would look like in forty years if I didn’t kill you right now.”

Daniel blinked.

“Second,” the man continued. “It’s better this way.” Daniel fired.

Time passed slowly outside the Hotel7.

0.Dave

Mark, a former developer of a powerful software company, awaits a meeting with a top executive of a competing firm. Daniel, the executive steps into the room after two determined knocks. Mark invites him in and motions him to sit down next to the bed. Daniel withdraws a few writing tools and signs to Mark to divulge the code secrets in the notebook. The executive times Mark’s response, suspicious that the room may be a set-up; he fears a bugged room. Daniel will promptly leave after twenty minutes in order to avoid a potential bust; the time is a careful calculated risk. Concerned that he will not be paid for insufficient information, Mark scribbles furiously on the pad to disclose all pertinent material.

0. Nixon Ball

“OK, the usual place?”

“Yep. Can’t wait. See you there.”

“Bye”

Michael hung up without saying goodbye. He never said goodbye. He hated prolonging their conversation outside the hotel room. As long as their interactions stayed contained in that world, he could live with himself; but if those worlds combined, his universe would come crashing down. He then strolled out of CVS with the supplies in hand and headed home to have dinner with his wife and kids.

He sat at the table chewing his food, an actor on in a play. Playing the role of “devoted husband and father”, but really he knew who he was deep inside. Following dinner while the kids watched TV he cleaned dishes with his ever distant wife, all the while filled with the anticipation of the evening. When the time was right he faked a phone call from work, said that he was needed at the firm, and headed to the hotel, where Versacci would be waiting for him.

He entered the fancy hotel room, still wearing his finely tailored suit and saw his partner sitting at the table, in an equally nice suit Michael had bought for these occasions.

“Are you ready?” Versacci asked.

“I’ve been waiting for this all week,” responded Michael.

“So have I, none of my other clients fetishes are quit so unique,” said Versacci, slyly indicating the pen, notepad, and stop watch.

“Well, you know what I like,” Michael grinned.

“Well then are you ready?” Versacci inquired.

“Ready,” Michael replied.

Versacci started the stop watch and Michael began to scribble furiously. Versacci said, “C’mon Michael if you don’t finish drawing up those legal forms, I’m going to have to punish you.”

And late that night, he did.

And they lived happily ever after.

0. Gregory M.

The room was oppressively dank. Carl sat huddled against one wall, opposite the only door. There were no windows. Every so often, he judged it was perhaps two hours, that door would open. He used to be horrified to see the crack of light in the doorway growing wider—but a strange numbness to the fear had come over him.

            The interrogations weren’t usually as bad as he thought they would be. It was always a different man; few asked many questions. Most had thick, sausage-like fingers that seemed to be designed for pounding. Carl judged he had been in the dark, drafty cell for less than a day, since he had been fed only once and still wasn’t too hungry.

            He had known this was coming, though. He knew that at some point, they would catch up to him. But he hadn’t let any information out: he hadn’t sold his true value—his knowledge—for relief from bodily pain. For this he was proud of himself. It was the way he was raised, integrity. He chuckled out loud. Integrity in some things, at least.

            The door opened quickly. A tall, thin man stepped into the room and walked directly across the floor to where Carl was huddled. He bent over and looked at Carl with a look of conceit. Carl resisted his urge to spit in this man’s face. It was too cliché, and the other ‘interrogators’ had only ever grown more aggravated by it.

            “You’ve been quiet. You can talk to me; do you know why you’re here?” Said the anonymous man.

            “I’m here because you think I’m the reason you’re out five million,” said Carl belligerently.

            “That’s right, Carl. We do think that. In fact, you could say we know that. And you’re going to help us get it back.”

            “I’m a schoolteacher. You knew my name, so you probably knew that too. Your fat-fingered henchmen haven’t told me how you know about me, but you do. Why me?”
            “Listen Carl, I haven’t much time. I’ve let you stay here this long only out of kindness. Let’s leave it at that my men and I can track accounts from Thailand to the Ivory Coast to Texas. You think you’re a maverick, but you’re not.”

            “I have no interest in Thai money.”

            “Shut it with the wisecracks. I came here to give you two options. Either way, you’ll be out of here today.”

            “I’d like to get out of here, sure.” Carl refused to look the man in the face anymore.

            “Your first option: we take you out of here immediately. I’m hungry now, so we can stop at a steakhouse. We’ll drive thirty miles North to a small farm owned by a very friendly farmer who can’t see past his nose. There, in his fields, I will shoot you in the temple. Quick, painless. My men will dispose of you at their leisure.” The shadowed man betrayed a faint smile.

            “…” Carl scratched his nose then punched the man in the chin. The man bent backwards and recovered himself for a few seconds.

            “Your second option: you get a cut.”
            “A cut where?”

            “A cut of the money. You’ll be responsible for us getting our money back, so you should deserve some. Fair?”

            “If I were responsible, it’d be fair.”

            “But you’d have to come with us. You made the trail hard to follow, so we’ll need your help overseas. Afterward, you’ll get one million.”

            “A million? You must be desperate.”

            “I am desperate, Carl, and if you don’t want to help us we’ll dispose of you as per option one.”

            “How do I know you’d give me anything if I were to help you?” Carl was beginning to stand up.

            “I might not. I think I will, but I might bump it down to a couple hundred grand. Or a couple grand. We’ll see how I feel later, but I think I’d owe you.”

            “I know how to get your money.” Carl half expected a pat on the back, half expected a bullet to the chest.

            “Excellent. Go to the hotel where we found you today, to the same room. I’ll send someone to monitor you. Wait for me there.”

            “So I’m just supposed to go without telling anyone?”

            “That would also be less than ideal. Your family would doubtless summon a search for you, cause too much commotion.”

“Then what…?”
“Before we leave the hotel, I’ll give you a few seconds to write a note to your family. Forty seconds, actually. I’ll make sure it’s suitable, then we’ll leave.”

            “Why can’t I have more time? What could I possibly write in forty seconds?”

            “You’ll think of what to write. If I gave you more time, you’d say it wrong.”