Last week I posted this story with a happy ending. This week the version has an unhappy ending.
Comment here; let me know which one you like better.
Thoughts Are Things, Version 2
The planet circled its primary the same as usual, spinning on its axis, morning and evening, coming and going. The people too, rising with the sun, going to bed at night. No one knew it was coming. They were at work, or grocery shopping, or making love when it happened, the planetary explosion. Bits of planet were scattered across the solar system, some caught in the gravitational pull of the asteroid belt, some, spinning out of control, caught in the tail of a passing comet, on to new places.
The thoughts that were cut short, they traveled too, out, out into the solar system, the galaxy, the universe. Thoughts are things, some of them reached Earth. Most of them passed unknowing through the population, the wavelengths wrong for the person they hit, lost forever. But one man, one man only had the right brainwave frequency and the right frame of mind for the thought that found him.
He was at work, an engineering firm. He was junior most, so while he did the menial tasks required of him, hoping for a future with more interesting projects, his mind was open, idle, ready to receive. The thought entered his mind and he was able to catch it. He stopped the fiddly work he was doing, grabbed a clean sheet of paper and began sketching.
Working through his break and his lunch hour, and into the evening, he thoughtlessly said good night to those around him as he drew the wondrous diagrams. When he finished, late that night he looked up from his drafting table, back nearly frozen into place from the many hours of hunching over the board.
How, he thought to himself, how will the boss take these? Will he even look? He rolled the drawings up, put them into a tube and capped it. He took it home with him, there was no way he was going to leave them sitting around.
He hardly slept that night, the memory of the diagrams burned in his mind like phosphorus, glowing in their splendor. He hurried to work in the morning, skipping the usual morning pleasantries in the drafting room. He appeared at his boss’ secretary’s desk before she had her first cup of coffee.
“Is Mr. Jamison in? I’d like to see him about an idea.”
“He’s not in yet,” she said, reaching over and turning on her computer. “Can I make an appointment for you?”
Swallowing his disappointment, “Yes, please, Ellen that would be good.”
Later in the day, he was ushered into Jamison’s office. “Mr. Jamison, thank you for seeing me. I have an idea.”
“Nice to see you too Tony, we haven’t had the chance to talk since the firm hired you.” He got up from behind his desk to shake Tony’s hand. What do you have?”
Tony walked to the conference table, “I had an idea yesterday; it wouldn’t let me alone so I drafted it up.” Taking the plans out of the tube, he unrolled them onto the table. “Take a look.”
Mr. Jamison scanned the drawings quickly, turning to Tony after flipping through all of the drawings. “I’m disappointed with you, we had high aspirations; that’s why we hired you, and this work is pure science fiction.”
Tony’s heart skipped a beat, his stomach tightened. “You don’ think this is a good idea?”
He waved his hand at the drawings, “These are a waste of time. I hope you haven’t used company time to work on these.” His eyes bored right into Tony.
Tony picked up the drawings, rolling them quickly and stuffing them into the tube. “No sir, sorry, it won’t happen again.”
“Stick to your assigned work son, that’s the way to advance here.”
Tony nodded and left the office.
He spent the next few years shopping the drawings around, trying to get someone to take an interest. Finally he started building the thing himself, in a rented warehouse, in his spare time. He became obsessed with it, declining invitations for after work drinks, turning down proposed dates, all to spend every moment building his vision.
His obsession showed at work and they never advanced him in the company. He never married, or had children and eventually, all of his friends dropped away. He began living in the warehouse, selling his house for the money to pour into his project.
He was found by the management company, the rent upaid for three months, come to evict him, dead on the floor beside the machine.
They called 911, and waited outside, the smell was overpowering.
His co-workers read of his death in the newspaper. “Poor guy,” Jamison said to his secretary. “He had such promise when we hired him.”
The machine was dismantled and the management company sold it for scrap to cover the back rent and cost of clean-up.
The End
807 Words
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