GUiOPERA Xi

Emotional Techno Fiction – Historical/Cyber Noir 
[LATEST UPLOAD: Friday November 1, 2019 – 8:00 am Central Time]

CHAPTER ZERO

PART ONE
LONDON 1865

The calamity of London streets comforted Queenie. The cacophony of commerce, power, and poverty moved in time with Queenie’s rushing mind and thrashing will. Its pulse—was her pulse.

At the ripe ol’ age of thirty-three, she still hadn’t figured out why life continued to betray her to her face.

“Eat it, love, it only looks bad,” Queenie said. As she said it, she felt a sinking feeling. Looking back up at her, confused eyes framed in black hair. He was only one, the meat which she could smell from up here would be good for his innards, toughen him up, Queenie told herself.

Queenie tried not to screw up her face as she looked at her piece of meat, which was smaller than her son’s. The only way the child was going to eat it was if she did. “Look, son!”

The mother took a deep breath and then held it until it felt like her head was going to explode.

It was then she heard it, an inkling in her outer sphere, the space where one’s aura illuminates as it beams brilliance of one’s hopes and intentions for others and the world to see.

“What’s the matter, mummy?” Tiger tugged on her coat.  

“Nothing Tiger!” Queenie blew hard as she heaved for air, and slapped her boy’s hand, sending the piece of rotten meat to the ground. “We’re going to America to find your father! No son of mine will be a bastard! An orphan, maybe but not a bleeding bastard!” The irony of her statement amused her for a second.

And with that, the mother took her son’s hand and led him down the street to the wharf.

It seemed like the music was coming from there…

PART TWO
MISSISSIPPI 1865

The rustling leaves in the hot wind reminded Tiker of less humid times. London, this time of year, was perfect, with its mild weather, and so what was he doing in the stinking July Mississippi heat.

This and other thoughts crossed his mind as he sat in the shade of a magnolia tree. Without warning, Tiker threw his right hand as if jabbing someone, instead of a fist, in his hand was a pen. And in his lap, paper with the Botham Printers logo at the bottom of the page.

If he was looking for inspiration, he mightn’t want to look up. The field in which Tiker sat rose to a summit where horses grazed next to a wagon. Under the wagon, men lay resting. In the driver’s seat, a boy.

The men under the wagon were former black slaves. The boy in the driver’s seat was a cripple. Tiker nodded as he thought about his situation, and again, he threw out his arm to prepare for writing.

But the void of a mind amok because of a nagging conscience and a heart that yearned for something he left back in London held his hand hostage.

“Dear Queenie,” Tiker uttered the words. “I came to these Americas to find my father…” Tiker’s hand scrawled the words, and then he looked at the page with discernment of a scholar.

He wanted to write more, but an overwhelming feeling swept the landscape—blurring everything, stunning ‘em into a state of exhilaration. And when the euphoric feeling subsided, music was all around him.

PART THREE
MISSISSIPPI 2019

In the glare of multiple screens, a guy who looks more like someone’s dad than a rogue agent from the Cold War known as the Poet Soldier tinkers with the story. A comma here, and an em-dash there… because as a self-taught writer who learned by watching YouTube videos, he doesn’t really get the difference between a comma and semicolon. Plus, the em-dash (—) looks sleeker than (;), which reminds him of being kicked in the guts. That’s what a semicolon looks like—some poor bugger getting a swift kick in the midriff.

Anyways, it was 2019 and not the early eighties, and communicating covertly was so much simpler. But because it was now carried out in plain sight and everyone was crazy and overtly crazy in the medium (online) in which comms were carried out, life was never dull. But deciphering messages was, in fact, more challenging than before the world-wide-web.

Long story short, in the early parts of the 21st century, the current Poet Soldier developed the GUiOPERA, a cloaking device for housing and broadcasting messages complete with nuances and faux pas for the all to enjoy. Those in on the joke, those waiting for the punchline and those who are the brunt of it.

And recent events called for a GUiOPERA to recalibrate society’s equilibrium after a prolonged period of uncertainty. Peace, Positivity, and Prosperity for the masses were at the top of the Poet Soldier’s agenda.

He replayed the YouTube video again. Post Malone’s auto-tuned lyric clung to the melancholic melody like Marshall Mathers’ AKA Eminem’s defiant “I’m not afraid,” penetrated hearts and minds years before.

One more read through, and the links were inserted anchoring sentiment and consolidating the message for 2019’s Chapter Zero of GUiOpera Xi in the LATEST UPLOAD.

Note: Emotional Techno Fiction is a sub-genre of Metafiction, a construct of Postmodernism. 

GO Xi CHAPTER [0] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11]

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