himself, he could feel all the lives that had been contained in the loop, the lives lived over and over again, variations and repetitions, held by the peaches of immortality, escaping, slipping away like fish through a net, and his mind was the peaches and the peaches were his mind and they were taking each other apart and everything was being released and his last thought, confused and full of light, was oh the peaches are sweet .
Afternotes
This story came from one of those thought chains we all engage in—what might we have done if we'd been able to change some life decisions? It's one of those obsessive games we play over and over in our heads, and so many speculative fiction stories center around time travelers going back and manipulating the past with their knowledge. What would happen if you were able to do it, time and time again? Would it, in the end, become as meaningless as it seems to have for Fred and the others?
Another influence that shaped it is Fritz Leiber's novel, The Sinful Ones , which also appeared under the title, You're All Alone , and in which some people are more awake than others and able to exist outside of the daily life that everyone else grinds through. Leiber says: "What if the whole world were like a waxworks museum? In motion, of course, like clockworks, but utterly mindless, purposeless, mechanical. What if he, a wax figure like the others, had suddenly come alive and stepped out of his place, and the whole show was going on without him, because it was just a machines and didn't care or know whether he was there or not?"
The idea terrified me. It still does.
The story was submitted to Lightspeed Magazine , but editor John Joseph Adams felt it was more fantasy than SF, and the story ended up in Lightspeed 's companion publication at the time, Fantasy Magazine , under the title, "The Immortality Game." As the former fiction editor of Fantasy , I was glad to have a story in there before the publication was merged into Lightspeed .
Close Your Eyes
T he story might begin like this:
"Thank you for bringing me some water," Lewis said as Amber neared the kitchen table. "Thank you for working to pay the rent on our house, because otherwise we wouldn't have access to the water that comes free with it."
"Fuck you," Amber said. She was tired of this tune, tired of its tension clamping down on her neck muscles, gripping like lightning-laden wire along her inner arms.
This morning Lewis wore an unexpected, Dr. Seuss-bright tie, along with the usual plain white shirt and stiff new jeans. The cat strode across the fabric, peppermint-striped hat tilted, infinitely more carefree than her younger brother. Lewis folded his fingers, thumbs pressed together, pointed towards himself.
"No, I mean it," Lewis said. "Thank you."
She thumped the glass down near his elbow, settled to sprinkle salt substitute over her own microwaved sausage-in-an-egg-in-a-biscuit. Lewis had the same, plus a paper cup holding a dozen horse-sized pills, and two glasses of oily liquid.
After three bites of sausage, he methodically downed the pills, first using the vitamin-ade, then the water. He did it with a frown, looking into the distance as though examining himself in the bathroom mirror while shaving.
Was she supposed to ask why he was wearing a tie? What sort of scheme was he involved with now? How much of her money or energy or patience or love would it consume?
She was never sure how much of his hostility was humor, but the majority was genuine rancor at being unemployed, dependent on her.
"I'm staying late at the hospital after my treatment this afternoon," Lewis said. "Using the spare time you so generously provide me with to read to children. I'm sure you'll agree it's a valuable use of my time, a contribution to society that you're sponsoring."
She wavered between opting to swat back the hostility or ignore his tone. She didn't want to fight. "What are you reading to them?"
He gestured at the tie. "This sort
Afternotes
This story came from one of those thought chains we all engage in—what might we have done if we'd been able to change some life decisions? It's one of those obsessive games we play over and over in our heads, and so many speculative fiction stories center around time travelers going back and manipulating the past with their knowledge. What would happen if you were able to do it, time and time again? Would it, in the end, become as meaningless as it seems to have for Fred and the others?
Another influence that shaped it is Fritz Leiber's novel, The Sinful Ones , which also appeared under the title, You're All Alone , and in which some people are more awake than others and able to exist outside of the daily life that everyone else grinds through. Leiber says: "What if the whole world were like a waxworks museum? In motion, of course, like clockworks, but utterly mindless, purposeless, mechanical. What if he, a wax figure like the others, had suddenly come alive and stepped out of his place, and the whole show was going on without him, because it was just a machines and didn't care or know whether he was there or not?"
The idea terrified me. It still does.
The story was submitted to Lightspeed Magazine , but editor John Joseph Adams felt it was more fantasy than SF, and the story ended up in Lightspeed 's companion publication at the time, Fantasy Magazine , under the title, "The Immortality Game." As the former fiction editor of Fantasy , I was glad to have a story in there before the publication was merged into Lightspeed .
Close Your Eyes
T he story might begin like this:
"Thank you for bringing me some water," Lewis said as Amber neared the kitchen table. "Thank you for working to pay the rent on our house, because otherwise we wouldn't have access to the water that comes free with it."
"Fuck you," Amber said. She was tired of this tune, tired of its tension clamping down on her neck muscles, gripping like lightning-laden wire along her inner arms.
This morning Lewis wore an unexpected, Dr. Seuss-bright tie, along with the usual plain white shirt and stiff new jeans. The cat strode across the fabric, peppermint-striped hat tilted, infinitely more carefree than her younger brother. Lewis folded his fingers, thumbs pressed together, pointed towards himself.
"No, I mean it," Lewis said. "Thank you."
She thumped the glass down near his elbow, settled to sprinkle salt substitute over her own microwaved sausage-in-an-egg-in-a-biscuit. Lewis had the same, plus a paper cup holding a dozen horse-sized pills, and two glasses of oily liquid.
After three bites of sausage, he methodically downed the pills, first using the vitamin-ade, then the water. He did it with a frown, looking into the distance as though examining himself in the bathroom mirror while shaving.
Was she supposed to ask why he was wearing a tie? What sort of scheme was he involved with now? How much of her money or energy or patience or love would it consume?
She was never sure how much of his hostility was humor, but the majority was genuine rancor at being unemployed, dependent on her.
"I'm staying late at the hospital after my treatment this afternoon," Lewis said. "Using the spare time you so generously provide me with to read to children. I'm sure you'll agree it's a valuable use of my time, a contribution to society that you're sponsoring."
She wavered between opting to swat back the hostility or ignore his tone. She didn't want to fight. "What are you reading to them?"
He gestured at the tie. "This sort
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