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November 6, 2006

11.06.06

You suddenly discover that you're lost...

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Ted: Finding the Way Back Home

"There he goes again."

"Yeah, been doing that ever since I started here. Every day, four or five times a day. Just wanders back and forth from one end of town to the other."

"I saw him in the same clothes yesterday, and the day before. Is he homeless?"

"Nope. Lives in the group home down by Tanner's place."

"Fucking weird. Wait here."

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"Hey buddy, you lost? Looking for something?"

"That's it! I'm lost! Where's Marie? Where's Steve? How long have I been gone? You're the first one to speak to me in three years, please, you gotta help me!"

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Jim: A Three-Hour Lesson

”Okay,” the professor said. “Let’s try this again. The way we calculate amperes is by multiplying horsepower by 746 and then dividing the result by the efficiency percentage of the circuit.”

“Is that for alternating current?” I asked.

The professor shook his head and sighed. “That’s a corollary of Ohm’s Law for direct current.”

“So…”

“So for a single phase alternating current, you also need to multiply the divisor by the power factor.”

“I’m not sure what all this means,” I mumbled.

“What it means,” the professor replied. “Is that you need to pedal that bamboo and coconut bike faster.”

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Tanya: Lost

She’d told them that there would be dire consequences if she didn’t get a pony for Christmas. She’d warned them. And then they’d had the nerve to ground her when she threw a tantrum.

Running away would show them, she thought, slipping into Kensington Gardens. She’d run away with Peter and his boys, just like in the storybook. They’d grow old alone, and she’d stay young forever.

She pulled her woolen coat around her and curled up by the famous statue. He’d be along any time now. She stared into the treeline, waiting, as the cold crept into her bones.

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David: Clarity

The lawman tracked the killer from Tombstone toward Yuma. Following the trail of corpses was easy; finding his own name carved into each was hard. The lawman promised himself that when it was over, he’d crawl into a bottle to stay.

It ended tonight. He’d spied the killer’s campfire. He crept through the dark, among the rocks and cacti, intent on the figure on the bedroll. He drew his pistol. No trial for this one. He reached out to shake the killer’s shoulder. He wanted him to die awake.

He felt the barrel press against the back of his head.

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Stacy: Your "Lost" Is Someone Else's "Found"

Bright lights, rending metal, and I knew nothing else.

I opened my eyes to a bright, warm place. Stretched to the horizon was a line of people, silent, staring ahead.

I walked for a time, past the neverending queue. Occasionally, I’d look into a face, but all eyes were on the misty horizon.

The line ended abruptly next to a pair of gates, one white, one black. The old gentleman standing between them peered at me curiously over half-glasses.

“I’m sorry,” he said, mournfully, “but you’re lost.”

“Not really,” I said, slipping back through reality to the land of summer

Read more from Stacy's .

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