“A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.” —Robert A. Heinlein, Time Enough For Love
Welcome to the Renaissance Humans Newsletter, where I focus on sense-making and story-telling in the turbulent twenties. The Renaissance (“rebirth,” in French) spanned from the 14th to the 17th century and marked a period of cultural, artistic, and intellectual renewal in Europe. A Renaissance Human fosters curiosity, creativity, critical thinking, and character in a journey of never-ending learning. They cultivate Mind, Body, and Spirit, in service of Community, and oriented to the Transcendentals.
This is my entry to a new short story contest called “Twist in the Tale.” The prompts were Thriller (Characterized by fast pacing, heightened suspense, and a plot that keeps readers or viewers on the edge of their seats. These stories often involve crime, espionage, or psychological tension. Book examples: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson, Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn. Movie examples: Inception or Seven.), Paranormal Thriller (Thrillers that incorporate supernatural elements, blending suspense with paranormal occurrences or abilities.), and Unexplained Disappearance.
500 word limit. Challenging to create anything, much less thrills. A few days ago I was helping my daughter with her English essay, and the minimum length was 500 words. I thought, I can’t even clear my frickin’ throat in 500 words! But, constraints cultivate creativity. And this is a relative metric. I just finished a 100 word story, and that makes 500 seems positively luxurious.
Voicemail Transcript of Charlotte Wilkerson: December 21, 2020, 7:56pm
“Hey, Lottie. I know I’m not supposed to call anymore.
Last time. Scout’s honor.
I did it.
Stole it tonight. When I was walking out, alarms blazing in the Italian wing, the docent of the exhibit said something to me. Old woman, probably a cat lady.
“Parents will do things for their children that they would never do for themselves.”
I was mad for a moment, until I realized she was right. Thought it was sadness on her face, but now I can see it for what it was. Pity.
Like she knew what I had planned.
Our sweet Jess has been gone for two hundred and four days, Lottie. Six months, twenty-one days, seven hours, and twelve minutes. No one, not even the FBI, can explain how a ten-year-old girl disappears from the top of a Ferris wheel, in front of dozens of witnesses. How does a world like that remotely make sense?”
“I’m going into the church now. I hope the priest isn’t here. I don’t know what I’ll do. I teach engineering, for goodness sake. I don’t believe in god, or any of this nonsense. But I do know Alichino is behind her disappearance. I’m sure of it. Deep down, at the cellular level. Yes, a demon from the Renaissance took our daughter.
Yes, I know how I sound.
You know it’s cost me everything. My job. My reputation. Us.
I don’t care anymore.
I blew past caring months ago. If everything works out tonight, I’ll meet this blasted demon. I’ve got it all set up—the location, the dagger, and the casting sand. Don’t want to tell you what I did to get this stuff. It’s consecrated in the burial chamber under the Giza Pyramid. Let’s just say it helps weaken the veil between planes.
But none of it will work without the timing. The conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter happens once about every twenty years, but this particular one hasn’t happened in almost four hundred. The ritual—I had it translated by three different interpreters. I know it’s right.
OK, the coast is clear. It’s quiet. Beautiful stone carvings—you’d like it here. I’m sprinkling the sand. The dagger is gorgeous, Lottie—wish you could see it. Filigreed gold, Damascus steel. Don’t make ‘em like this anymore. No time to admire it. We’re getting our girl back. Tonight.
Someone’s banging on the doors now. They’re coming.
Can I do it? One thing to read about it. Another to talk about it.
But now, can I go through with it?”
“Arrrgh. Fuck.”
“Oh wow. That’s…. Did you…. did you know. The average adult male contains five point seven liters, or approximately twelve pints of blood? Oh, honey, that’s cold.”
(Muffled) “Dad? Dad! What happened?”
“Lottie, Lottie. It worked. She’s back. The debt to Alichino is mine now.
Take care of our baby.”
Well done!
I finished reading that with 'holy shit' on my tongue. It escalated so quickly! Well written, man.