A sci-fi, political short story I wrote a few years ago

I was reminded of it when I read a post about ending the ban on Federal funding for embryonic stem-cell research. I wrote it around the time of the 2006 campaign, which I figured would mark a huge progressive change in the government once the bastards got impeached and Nancy Pelosi became president. The story seems tiny bit less naive now, so I feel like posting it. Your critism will be graciously accepted:

The 100th Anniversary

Snow had started to fall as Conyers Malone walked through the front door of his Nana’s old-fashion terrestrial home. A few flakes had landed on his hand and he watched how quickly the complicated, hexagonal designs melted to water. It had been over a year since he’d been in this place.

“Nana”, he shouted as he spread his arms wide, inviting a hug, which she accommodated.

“I’m so glad to see, you, Conyers.” The tiny woman said in a voice stronger than would be expected for her years. “I’m so glad you could make it here.”

“I wouldn’t pass up a reason to see my Nana again,” he replied. “We just spent a week on Mars, y’know. Nancy’s with the grandchildren. Resting from the trip… she thinks.” He chuckled. “So what’s the big mystery? You said you needed to tell me something.”

“Well I know you’ve been on Mars and I want to hear all about that first.” She spoke in that deliberate, schoolmarmy tone that always made him feel like he was eight years old.
“Tell me about those Martian people.”

“Alright!” Her grandson replied, suddenly more animated “The trip was great! The Martians are extremely cool people. They can fix whatever ails you. Technology we don’t have here yet.”

“Well I’ve had everything fixed several times and I’m just tired of being around. I don’t think I’d be interested,” she said smiling. “I don’t want to have anything fixed again.”

“Don’t talk that way, Nana.” He paused, then looked at her solemnly and said, “Really?”

“Yes. I’m tired, dear. Most folks don’t wait this long before they lose interest.”

Conyers thought about the conversation he’d had with his father many years before, conversations about how odd it was that Nana was still hanging on. Most folks “retire”-- the same word as the old one but with a slightly different meaning – in their early hundreds. They were as fit as they were in their youth after having various organs fixed at various times but spiritually they were tired. It was as though they had finally learned too much about life to retain any further interest in it. Their emotional machinery was just worn out, to put it bluntly, and they chose a special regimen of a medication that would keep them symptom-free, masking the decline in physical health, and accelerating it at the same time.

“Well.” He made a deep sigh. “So how long… do you have?”

“I don’t know yet. There’s nothing definite, just that I’m ‘off the reservation’ as they say. But I don’t think it’ll be long. The doctor told me what his guess was. But I don’t want to… ”

“Well then. About Mars.” He interrupted as her voice trailed. He wanted to return to the subject of Nana’s retirement but he figured the travel stories would give him a breather.
“The Martians, as I said, are just great. They’re a lot like us, but I don’t think anyone’s figured out why yet. Y’know, they’ve been around for a million years and they’ve been monitoring us all this time but they didn’t feel comfortable revealing their existence to us until the Department of Peace and all that.”

“I remember their first appearance. I was stunned for days,” she said laughing. “He was a great president but he looked just so horribly awkward with those aliens.” She laughed.

Conyers went on to describe the various resorts on Mars, what the canals look like, the Martians’ musical and artistic tastes, how an individual Martian’s surprising ease in certain social situations contrasts with his awkward cluelessness in others. Nana listened eagerly.
“Martians live well into their five hundreds, y’know.” Why, he wondered, does the subject keep returning to the issue he didn’t want to talk about.

“Oh I know, Conyers. But I’m overdue by Earth standards.” She replied solemnly.

“Can I ask why now, Nana? I’m not criticizing and I’m certainly happy you’ve been around so long. But I’ve wondered why.”

“Well, I suppose that gets to the point then, dear. I’ve been waiting. You’ll think I’m silly or demented.” She made a crooked smile.

“Now, now, Nana. You know mental illness was cured half a century ago. And you can’t have the Alzheimer’s because I know you were vaccinated for it. So what ‘silly’ thing were you waiting for?”

“Well it’s a long story,” she said, sitting back in her comfortable chair. “You know I was married once… before I met your grandfather.”

“Yes. I do.” He closed his eyes tightly. “ ‘Richard Puccini’ was his name, right? You rarely mentioned him.” His brow had furrowed.

“Yes! That was his name. Ricky!” She was please that he had remembered. “His name was ‘Ricky.’ And today, Conyers, would’ve been our hundredth anniversary.”

Conyers looked stunned, probably not as much as Nana had when the Martians had first appeared, but stunned and a little bit resentful. Had she carried a torch for this guy all along, all the time she had raised so many children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and great great grandchildren? What about granddad, who had “retired” decades ago?

“Now don’t think I didn’t love your grandfather,” she said, as though she knew his thoughts. “I had a good life with him and every one of our children was a blessing. But a small part of me has always been waiting and at some point I decided I wouldn’t retire until I’d seen this day.”

Conyers resentment melted at the sound of her voice and the woeful expression on her face. She was no longer that strong, forceful woman who had taken him on many trips when he was a child. She was frail now. Frailer than any other time he’d seen her before. Frailer than when he had first opened her front door only minutes earlier. Her eyes were beginning to glisten.

“You can’t imagine what life was like back then, in that century,” She continued. “Education was terrible. The system was broken. I was a teacher and I was thinking of quitting. They made it so hard to teach children. I don’t know why. We had just gotten married and Ricky needed extra money. He hadn’t gotten a raise in years. In those days, people had to pay big insurance companies for their health care and were often refused anyway. A lot of people had no health care at all. The government was making it worse. They didn’t even want to research the sorts of things that have been keeping me alive all these years.
“So to make ends meet, Ricky joined the National Guard. He was supposed to be gone weekends and a few weeks in the summer, but they sent him to Iraq.”

Conyers’ face had screwed up as though he were hearing the report of a fatal accident. He had studied that period in school and it made him shudder. It must’ve been a real struggle back in those days, he thought.

“We played a recording of ‘our song’ the night before he shipped out.” Her voice now changed to high-pitched, unsteady singing. “You’ll remember me/when the West Wind blows/Among the fields of barley....” She reached for a tissue to blow her nose.
“That night, the night before he shipped out,” she continued, “He said something silly to me. The sort of thing people in love say to each other that’s just silly to everybody else. I had been begging him to promise he’d come back alive and whole, and he did promise that, but he had to make a joke of it. He said ‘I promise I’ll be around for our 100th anniversary.’”

“He died over there, in that pointless war,” She continued after a moment. “We were first told he died a certain way and then another and then a different way. When his body was brought back, we couldn’t see it. We had no open casket. Finally I decided that for some unknown reason – and there were many unexplained things back then – they were lying about his death. I had this notion that he had escaped death and was hiding some place. I decided he would be coming home alive some day. So I guess I’ve been waiting.”

“But Nana,” Conyers spoke softly and carefully. “Nana, you know he’s not…. By the way, I’ve been to what was Iraq myself and it’s a beautiful place. The children there greet visitors with flowers and candies.”

“Of course I know he’s really gone, dear.” She reached out and grasped both of Conyers’ hands, as though to show that her grip on them was as firm as her grip on reality. “I’m not really crazy, I’m just a sentimental old fool. Ricky’s gone and so are the fascists – we weren’t supposed to call them that – who sent him to that pointless war. So many died. Both our own and so many, many Iraqi people, who never meant us any harm, you know.”

Conyers was trying to remember his history. He knew what “fascists” were and remembered they had taken over the governments of Germany, Italy and Spain and later the United States, England and Australia but he wasn’t sure of the timeline. He would have to check his history knowledgebase later but these details weren’t important now.

She continued, with some difficulty. “I just don’t want to think…” She sniffled. “I just didn’t want to think that he died because I didn’t want to think he died… for nothing.
“The war was so horrible, so unnecessary, so pointless. People got fed up with it, finally. Those years after the fascists fell from power were difficult times. There was a lot to fix in the world and the memory of that war was what kept us all going. ’Never again!’ we would say.” She emphasized the chant with a raised fist and a stern expression. Then she asked Conyers if he could stay for dinner.

“Of course, Nana” he replied. Her face was expectant as she wiped an errant tear from her cheek. He got up and bent down to embrace her.
“Let’s have dinner,” he stage whispered. “And you can tell me more about Ricky.” With that hug and the sound of her long-departed first husband’s name, she finally began to cry.
He could feel her body shaking as she sobbed. With her trembling voice, she spoke in his ear, “I just didn’t want to think he died for nothing, is all. So I waited. I know it’s stupid but I did.”
“No it’s not, Nana” He tried to sound reassuring. “No it’s not.”

Conyers didn’t eat much of his dinner, owing to the distraction of his Nana’s storytelling. She talked of the old days and about her life with Ricky and showed him old photographs. As the evening wore on, he lost any resentment he might have harbored to his own curiosity and his beloved Nana’s enthusiasm.

There was no knock on the door that evening. No surprising arrival. Outside, the snow continued, each perfect, unique flake falling one onto another, ensuring that tomorrow would be a glorious winter’s day.

:)

I was encouraged to see mention of spirit, though you don't imply anything beyond emotional tiredness in it. I know that subject isn't all that well-received in sci-fi, but it was still nice to see.

I don't really have any critiques. I do write, though I have my weaknesses, such as good descriptions of a scene and so forth. I thought yours were strong, leaving much to the imagination. There's probably a word for that technique and one I could work on as well. In that vein, I do have to ask if the lack of more physical descriptions of the two characters is accepted in short stories? I still can't always figure out where to do that in my stories or to what detail.

Overall, I enjoyed it and got enough of the references to the politics without the names. How long did you take writing it and any rewrites?

Thanks for posting :hi:

It only took me a couple of hours to write and it's pretty much the same as the day I wrote it. I later added the note about there being no knock on the door because on rereading I thought it needed that sort of Rod Serling-style epilogue to convince readers that if they thought this story was going to end neatly, they were mistaken, and that if they didn't think it would end neatly, they probably should have. ;-)
It's not very descriptive because I wanted to tell the story and establish the characters mostly through dialogue. Where complex exposition was needed, I had to switch to just describing the dialogue or the main character's thoughts. The whole "retirement" concept would have become cumbersome to expose in dialogue alone.
Thanks for reading it. Because it's so minimalistic, I've wondered whether people actually catch on to what's occurring in the story and whether it makes any sense to them. I try not to say too much but then I worry I haven't said enough.
:hi: