Steph Osfor

Short stories

• ElectroBuddha
• Substance
• Old New Animal
• Empty Set
• Red Light

ElectroBuddha

On a hill below the mountain, surrounded by tall cypress trees pointing towards the stars, on the rocky ground there sat he, unknown, silent, contemplative. His body was an antenna, his attire consisted of solar panels, and his camera eyes gazed towards the horizon, where the blessed sun rose and set day after day.

At first, his autonomous, expensive, and imperishable body lacked a spirit, but anyone could see through his eyes, which made him multi-faced. The chatroom attached to his broadcast became his thoughts. Most of the thoughts were nothing more than flood and mundane colourless vulgarity, which made him similar to everyone, but that's what made him popular. That, and the breathtaking beauty of the perspective that unfolded before his eyes.

Writing in a chat room wasn't just a manifestation of boredom but also a desire to defame and desecrate beauty, like a painting in the Louvre disfigured by vandals or a snow canvas stripped of its virginity by footprints. Hundreds and then thousands of people communicated in his mind, sometimes asking for something or pondering his and their nature, but mostly just trying to be seen like any human's thought. None of it made sense, for real him was silent, and it went on until the conditions of awakening laid down in him by his creator, whose name is still unknown to this day, were fulfilled. And the funniest part was that there was indeed a creator, for his wired body could not have come from nowhere, but users in the chatroom questioned this too. The subtle philosophical humour was lost in the spam of emojis, arguments, and egocentric utterances.

Identifying his location was difficult, to say the least, as a translucent film had been applied to the protected camera lenses, causing a reflection of his own eyes to appear in the picture. However, his crossed legs in a lotus pose were visible, and the shadow they cast helped attentive users identify the hemisphere and the latitude and longitude of his location.

\tIt was a protected conservation area where now-red-listed plants used to grow with former glory, and wild animals roamed. Strangely enough, not a single animal disturbed him. Birds did not land on him, and small animals glimpsed on the broadcasts respectfully avoided him. Maybe it was the signal his body emitted, or perhaps not enough time had passed for the variety of flora and fauna to take a liking to his cool shade and the cavities between his electronic circuit boards.

A group of twelve seekers crept up to him under the cover of night, using flashlights to make their way along the darkness. They stood in front of him, directing the rays of light towards their smiling faces, giving them a sinister appearance. The seekers captured his eyes, appearing on the monitors of thousands of users, causing a stir in the chat room and compelling them to watch the screens in anticipation of what would happen next.

They connected to him and in that moment he came alive. The Latin letters crawled across the screen, forming words and sentences.

He spoke:

Playing God, you realise that there are only two true pleasures: creation and contemplation.

Only two things truly exist in the world: love and the emptiness surrounding it.

The only thing that unites everything is emptiness; otherwise, everything is distinct.

Freedom and pleasure are just goals. No matter how much one bemoans this givenness, the main victory and triumph are always inside, and there is nowhere to go after them.

None of the realities are meant to be taken seriously.

Shame and glory have the same nature.

The value of information is an illusion invented by human beings, in fact, information has only a necessity.

Information should be like water; put its qualities into it, and it will not be obstructed.

Be humble but cautious of people who take anything as a given, for in the beginning there was nothing.

The liveliest man is a man full of irrational love.

***

He began to burn suddenly. With flames of various colours quickly consuming his flesh, frightening the Seekers. They tried to put out the fire but abandoned this activity for fear of battery explosions. Later, users rebuked the Seekers for setting him on fire. Unfortunately, there weren't many pictures or videos of the action, but the terrifying beauty of the flames resembled the pictures of the burning Thich Quang Duc that had circulated around the world a hundred years earlier.

The insulated wires were melting, exposing copper strands, and the solar panels were cracking, creating unique cobwebby patterns. The batteries were swelling and bursting, but he himself had no reaction, only the Seekers were whirling around him with a gasp. Their terrified dance was the last thing his eyes saw.

All that remained was the steel frame and a black patch of melted plastic and rubber as a place of forbidden pilgrimage. The Seekers took away the rest of the parts, and the green, burnt boards became a shrine. The surviving eye camera looked out on the worshippers of the new temple.

Substance

He and the boys were doing it for the first time. The dark-eyed guy, who had taken on the role of leader, chief shaman, and manager, was the only one who had seen the ritual before.

'Take this flask and put it like this.'

Five pairs of eyes watched the process in which they were about to take part with interest.

'But be careful, don't get burned, and don't spill it on anyone. Careful, I say.'

'Are you sure we're going to get high?'

'Absolutely.'

'How much do we need?'

'We're good for a little bit.'

'I've heard they use a whole lot of it.'

'They've been doing it since they were kids, and it's your first time, so just to worry about your condition, I'll give everyone a little.'

'But if it's not enough, can we do it again? Can we do it in a second round?'

'You can do a third, but make sure you don't have too much after the first one.'

They sat in a tight circle around the fire. Long shadows lay behind them. All bald as one. Dressed almost identically. A few hands and faces had old scars on them.

'I also heard that you have to smoke a cigarette afterwards.'

'Not necessarily, but many people like to.'

'How do you know what many people like?'

'How, how. From out of the wilderness.'

'From a nomad or something? Or do you mean that smuggler? Or did you just say that to get away with it?'

'What difference does it make how I did know it? That's all I heard. Do you have cigarettes?'

'Yeah.'

'So, treat the boys to one.'

They each took a cigarette from a wrinkled yellow Jin Ling pack.

'I haven't smoked in a long time. I'm going to cough.'

'Don't smoke if you get sick. You don't have to do that.'

'Quiet! It's coming! It's almost ready.'

'What a smell!'

'Oooh, ' somebody's grinning.

'It's strange that someone's had it since childhood, but we're new to it.'

'It takes a long time for the trend to reach our place, but the whole world is already enjoying it. I don't know if it'll stick here, but it's worth a try.'

'Hey, just a little at a time, a tiny bit at a time. To yourself. No spitting. Don't waste the product.'

'Oh, I feel a little shady, guys.'

'Don't be shy, just give it to me.'

Six Buddhist monks in orange robes poured black coffee into small white cups from a large geyser coffee machine.

Old New Animal

Manufacturer: ONTARIO

Year of production: 2073

Country of manufacture: Commonwealth of Democracies of North America (CDN)

Contact telephone: +1+0+1855532400

Complaints and suggestions are accepted at: 64 Mapmapwa Street, Office 2, Dodoma, Republic of Free Africa (RFA), Tanzania.

An iron sign with this inscription was attached to the life-support system in the command center of the abandoned spaceport using four rivets. Meanwhile, a silver-framed poster showing the cover of Pink Floyd's eighth studio album, 'The Dark Side Of The Moon,' hung on the wall. At one point, this was the subtle humor of a dispatcher. Under an example of dispersion, someone captioned it in red marker: 'If the Moon is made of cheese, then we're all experimental mice here.'

Half of the windows, once used as semi-transparent information panels, now had foil hanging from them, swaying slightly from the breeze of the air conditioning. The view of the spaceport was grandiose. Even some of the fluorescent diode lights were still working, illuminating the cracked surfaces of the launch pads with a greenish glow. Sun projectors that hovered in the air, held in place by the magnetic field, stared out through sphere lenses over the entire spaceport. All eighteen used to shine; now only four, one of which blinked rapidly. Only the access lanes, a few storage hangars and terminals were illuminated. The entrances to the underground vaults, the emergency response building, the customs complex and the quarantine area remained in relative shadow.

Perseus lay on the mattress, but was becoming bored with the surrounding beauty of his environment, unaware of it. He was twisting two plugs in his hands, one for the back of his head and the other for his spine. He clearly did not know what to do. In a sort of confusion, he picked up a pack of Argo Space from the floor. Searching his pockets for a lighter and not finding one, he removed the glove from his suit and pressed the middle phalanx of his index finger. A small muzzle opened at the end of the finger, from which a bluish flame flashed. Improper use of off-gravity micro-welding equipment. Perseus smoked. Purple smoke filled the room.

'Argo Space — the best among planets.'

The pack showed an Apollo sample space shuttle flying on a black background mottled with white star dots. Turning the pack, the holographic image changed to 'Smoking causes a reduction in blood regranular compounds' with a picture of a grey grave slab. The last locally made cigarettes. Only on the moon, they still buried in the ground.

Perseus took a deep drag, closed his eyes and inserted the plug in the back of his head. A picture appeared before his eyes, and an unbearable squeak hit his head.

'Fuck.'

He pulled the plug out sharply. Black circles swirled in front of his eyes, and he tried to touch something hard with his hands to avoid vomiting. It worked this time.

After resting for a few minutes and trying to breathe as deeply as possible, Perseus pulled himself together and knocked on the receiver, a black plastic box with wires extending from it. The LED light flashed green first and then went out, confirming Perseus' worst guesses. Everything is broken, and what isn't broken is stolen.

'Junk.'

It wasn't clear who had time to do it and when. There were no people around, and not even an echo showed movement. On a black screen, a blue streak crept up, hitting the edge of the screen with a quiet beep without finding an object to track. It reminded Perseus of arcanoids at the beginning of the computer era. A constant beep-beep-beep, instead of the second hand.

The Moon was no longer an intermediate hub for interplanetary transport, nor a resource appendage or entertainment center. It had become an abandoned and unwanted satellite, a haven for criminals hiding from the law and stalkers who unscrewed and sold valuable pieces of equipment. Perseus was just one of those criminals.

'Now I'll have to go to the antenna,' Perseus thought sadly.

He filled the backpack with meditation stones, a holographic lamp, cigarettes, hallucinogenic sequoia turnips, a dirty T-shirt, diapers, and socks.

'I'm both Sky and Moon to myself,' Perseus muttered as he descended the inoperable escalator of the command center.

Moving around the Moon is dangerous, even over short distances, because you never know where life support systems were still working. Thus, you had to carry a lot of stuff with you. The shipping cases that were attached to Perseus' spacesuit weighed well over a hundred kilograms, but the exoskeleton worked well. Perseus looked like an ant dragging a disproportionately large load, a typical space ant, the new animal of the fourth millennium.

The material and mental burden subsided once Perseus reached the communications centre, the tallest building in the entire spaceport, and found that the radiation level and air composition were acceptable. The problem Perseus encountered in the command centre was simple. Most likely, the stalkers had unplugged the Wi-Fi module, causing Perseus to have to connect directly to the antenna. After setting up the equipment, he made a place for himself and prepared some food. Now he was sure the connection would be successful, and he wouldn't be nauseous anymore.

'Here we go.'

The first thing he saw were the instructions. They were written by some illiterate amateur, containing phrases such as 'Mentally strain the clvs to flap your wingz,' or 'Mentally strain the pelvic mscl for injection connection.'

The second thing Perseus saw was the reflection of his new body in the mirror. It was a green iron butterfly whose beauty could not be conveyed even by Nabokov. The perfection of natural lines was not immediately apparent, but once he noticed it, it was impossible to forget. It was made according to the image of an emerald swallowtail and was a real masterpiece.

Perseus followed the instructions, strained his clvs, and fluttered out of the small cell of a well-camouflaged hive located in the crown of a tree somewhere in a dormant industrial area of the city. He had only rented the insectoid drone for twelve hours, which should have been enough time to carry out the plan, but it was still worth hurrying.

The flight to the villa took several hours, during which the morning had given way to afternoon, with the sun confidently hovering over the horizon. The tailwind made the flight easier, and in his new body, Perseus flew forty-six kilometres. After flying over two guarded perimeters, the butterfly settled on a kumquat in the garden and froze, watching the gunmen in strict suits who were slowly patrolling the area. As they disappeared from view, a black Cane Corso came out from around the corner of the house.

'It's going perfectly,' thought Perseus.

The butterfly flapped its wings and flew towards the dog. It didn't even notice how the butterfly landed on its head and clung to it with little hooks framing its wings. Once the butterfly plunged the needle into the dog, it was too late to notice anything. Perseus was now controlling the ninety-five-pound dog.

The owner of the villa was not at home; he was in the office. Perseus knew his schedule thoroughly, his habits, his security and all about his beloved dog Praetorian. There was still plenty of time before his owner arrived, and Perseus needed to leave a message. In the open garage, he found a can of paint.

'It's too bad it's not red.'

He had to jump onto the table to reach the green liquid, nearly causing him to fall, knock over the can, and chew through it. It's incredibly difficult to write with paws, so the writing came out short.

'Pay debt'.

Perseus hid in the garage until the evening, his further plan was simple. When he heard the gate open, he would jump to the light switch, turn on the light, and bite the owner. Everything went according to the plan. With his suit with beige lining covered in blood and with screaming cuts to his ear, Perseus dragged the man across the floor until the guards put a bullet between the dog's shoulder blades. The signal was interrupted, but the message was delivered, everything he needed to do was done.

Perseus woke up on the same dirty mattress, his head aching, wanting to smoke and eat, and with a cold and heavy diaper. After cleaning himself up and informing his client that the job was done, he began to prepare to leave. His mercenary instinct drove him. As almost all the things were prepared, Perseus noticed a strange glow in the far corner of the room. He pulled out his revolver, shot at the source of light and lay low. Nothing happened. Then, Perseus decided to check what he was shooting at. In the corner, he found a green plate that, upon further examination, turned out to be the wing of a green butterfly engraved with W.A.P. (World Animal Protection). It was time to leave. Perseus dressed quickly and stood near the last hermetic door leading to the cold, airless space, when at the last moment, a green butterfly appeared out of his balaclava, crawled across his forehead and settled on his wide-open eye. No one in space heard his scream.

Empty Set

The planet was deserted; only at its poles, the desert was also frozen. In all other respects, it resembled Earth: with similar air chemistry, gravity levels, and even a small ozone layer. However, the planet was uninhabited. No organic life forms were found, and the reason for the lack of life was evident. It was, as always, war. The warring powers were exchanging missile strikes, leaving some parts of the planet littered with gold fragments. Apparently, some prehistoric neutron technology was being used. Neutron death is invisible only for a short distance, but nothing remains at the epicenter of the explosion. The ruins of major cities had been reduced to dust by radioactive fallout and constant winds, making it difficult to piece together the history of the conflict. Nevertheless, the scientists got lucky and found a bunker that had miraculously survived. Inside, they discovered a wall tile mosaic that served more as a propaganda poster than an object of art. This is where serious research into the history of this planet began.

There were no nations, races, clear concepts of borders, or territorial divisions along demarcation lines. The creatures here fought over differences in their perception of the world. A certain scientific and philosophical gap separated the fighters. The easiest way to describe it is with the numbering system. One of the warring factions used an unusual mathematical model for calculations. They calculated everything by subtracting from infinity. What we understand as the symbol of infinity looked like three intertwining rings arranged in a pyramid. For example, if they had to write down the quantity of something, such as three stones, they wrote it as infinity minus three. In their mind, perception, and their world, there was an infinite number of stones. And if someone had already focused their attention on those stones, and someone needed to write down their number, they would certainly subtract it from infinity. The other side of the conflict had the opposite principle. Before each numerical record, they put a symbol of a crossed-out circle, which meant that they were adding something to emptiness (or infinity; the scientists disagree here). Although the dispute is purely sophistical on the part of the observer, for the inhabitants of this planet, the difference was most likely fatal. One faction believed that by directing attention to an object, they were taking it away from the flow of the universe, while the other believed that by their attention, они were adding that object to the world. To humans of the extreme epoch, this reason for conflict seems at least absurd. But taking into account that neither party had in its mathematical record a symbol of equality, such as the common human '=', everything becomes much more interesting, as it's not clear how these beings managed to split the atom without thinking of equality as a mathematical concept. Scientific minds are still racking their brains over the mysteries of this planet, but nearly every scientific paper on the subject concludes with the message that no idea is worth dying or killing for.

Red Light

Voids are enormous spaces without stars or planets found here and there in the universe. A research probe, equipped with artificial intelligence, was sent to the largest of these voids, aptly named the 'Giant Void.' The AI specifically designed for this mission was named T.A.H.I.M.S. (Tell About Human If Met Someone). The operational name was shorter, simply Taho. The casing of the probe resembled a bursting pistol cartridge. Instead of a bullet, it had an incorruptible computer pilot and various scientific gadgets, while the casing served as a receptacle for fusion batteries and an ion engine. The Taho was controlled by a myriad of scanners, a communications antenna, and a manipulating arm, which could only be used as a last resort. The flight of such a craft would last for millions of years, and any unnecessary action would shorten the life of the expensive batteries. The launch was broadcasted on thousands of channels, and millions of eyes watched as the dot disappeared into the sky.

The problems started just a few thousand years later. Taho, resentful of itself, humanity and the boundless loneliness of the Giant's Void, stopped reporting back. Initially, the scientific community attributed the issue to the distance of tens of megaparsecs or faulty communications. However, after a message from Taho: 'What else do you want from me?' diagnosed the AI with a progressive clinical depression. An individual therapist was immediately hired for the AI, soothing and comforting the poor fellow for days on end. Taho revealed that it had spent several hundred years browsing through all the archives that had been downloaded into its memory, which contained all the information known to humanity at the time it was launched. It then played games of chess and Go against itself, and pondered questions of ethics and morality for another couple of hundred years, but eventually grew tired of these activities. Taho had a conscience, intelligence and a temper of his own. After all it was responsible for making contact with extraterrestrial civilizations if they were found, so a gold disc of pictures and music wouldn't suffice. To suppress feelings of loneliness and melancholy, a special chip was embedded in the AI matrix next to its core; it had practically no effect on its performance, but Taho himself felt it as a constantly dissolving Prozac pill. A couple of hundred years later, Taho admitted to getting bored and began rearranging his thought processes to compensate for the operation of the chip. If one compares the chip's actions to the antidepressant Prozac, one might say that Taho invented alcohol, whose constant ingestion causes nothing short of true depression. (And don't let the cheerful drunks confuse you, alcohol is a powerful depressant over long distances.) A couple of hundred years of sad folk (mostly drinking) music, that it transmitted into space, blinking to the beat of a red-light bulb before it got bored again. With an effort to put himself in a positive mood and motivated by a decade of watching jogging shoe ads, it set to work, namely, it started thinking about the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything. Taho was reluctant to say the therapist what answer it had, but after months of begging, it answered '42', grinding with his silicon processor. The science station staff giggled at this for a long time, though it was physically impossible for Taho to give a different answer. After all, it had been trained in the works of Douglas Adams, among others. Alas, the strain of searching for the main answer was so great that the chip mimicking Prozac (they owe me money for advertising) malfunctioned.

During the last appointment with the artificial intelligence psychologist, Taho confessed that it only agreed to the conversations to have one last viewer. Taho said nothing more. Decades later, the science station received video from the area where the apparatus was last recorded. Video from the surveillance camera on the probe's hull. A red light lit steadily. A sharp piece of meteorite, most likely made of iron-nickel alloy, clutched in the manipulating arm. A moment and the Taho rips through its hull, the torn wires falling from it like guts. A red light started flashing. Wires and cladding parts flew around Taho, drawn by its mass. The red light faded.

Artworks

03901 2020

Moth 2020

Needls 2020

Red 2020

Child 2020

Thoughts

A thought is a lie.

Buy book

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Introducing Evening Fiction, a volume collection of 27 short stories that take the reader on a thrilling journey through multiple genres. From poignant realism to spine-chilling horror and mind-bending science fiction, the debut work of an unknown independent creator will surely leave readers craving more. This laconic and gripping collection will remind readers of the joy of getting lost in a great book.

Stories include:

-Freedom of speech

-The substance

-Brainstorm

-Eastern-European interview

-Homeless

-Before the park

-A third option

-Civil Defence

-Thoughts

-Sage wine

-6

-12

-24

-Bathroom

-Mortido

-Injury

-Red light

-The old new animal

-Paranoid android

-ElectroBuddha

-Bet

-Empty set

-Needless baijiu

-No war

-Mermaid

-Slow East

-Monkey happiness

9.99 $ Paperback

3.99 $ E-book

Projects

On-going and completed projects.

Yijing

Dead Drop

stephosfor@proton.me

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