The Epochracy Files

by Chele Pedersen Smith

  “And in Janet’s presence too,” Lyr marveled, wiping her eyes with her forearm.

  Inot dabbed her lashes. “It’s like she rewarded us for helping. Do you think it’s an offering, you know, to help fund new solutions?”

  “We can’t keep it! Are you crazy? That would feel so…betraying.”

  “But if she wants us to replenish the food supply, that’s not cheap.”

  “True. Maybe you’re right.” Lyr peered inside the makeshift box. “And Inot, what do you know. Here’s the little key.”

  “Amazing! Hmm, so if she left the key inside, then she didn’t really want the diary read?”

  Lyr shrugged. “I would’ve bet all the diamonds in the world that Rose did it to be mean, but they seemed to make amends, so if she did, it was to help. If Janet donated, I think she just wanted a hard worker to find it. And by making it a little tougher to open, she knew the right person would take it seriously and go the end of the earth to help save it. Maybe it explains it in the torn pages. What does it say?”

  Inot unfolded the paper. “Hmmm, it’s different handwriting,” she frowned. “And it’s dated 2065.”

  “The year we were born!” Lyrehc’s mouth gaped.

  “To Inot Mahgirb. What, me?? How?” Flustered, the note fluttered down and she steadied her shock by grasping Janet’s headstone.

  Lyrehc fetched it. Deciphering the strange scrawl, she read, “Janet never had girls to pass this onto, so she gave the pin to my grandmother, her best friend Marcie Edmundesen. The legacy has had strict instructions to pass the owl onto our daughters for wisdom and the courage to screech, not remain silent. Janet added to the tradition by passing pristine seed packets on to every generation, but sadly, not all have believed in the cause.

  Since grandmother only had sons she was happy to gift the stick pin to me to carry on. It wasn’t until my granddaughter Rehtaeh was born in 2039 that I had a beneficiary but she refused to take up any material possessions and became a space hippie. But save the day! Her college roommate Esile married Rehtaeh’s brother, my grandson Nelg Mahgirb, an ambitious inventor.”

  “Pixelated Populations! My parents? Aunt Rae?” Inot gulped. “What else does it say?”

  “Nelg took the cause so seriously, he became an environmentalist, and when they had a daughter, I finally had a pin recipient. The torch is in your hand. And so Inot, I hereby bequeath you the owl, my dear great-granddaughter. And more importantly, please assist your family in planting the packets to help the world flourish before it’s extinct. Sincerely, Great-Gramma Terra.”

  “For real? I’m related to Marcie?” Feeling faint, Inot plopped down on the ground, forgetting to be concerned about disturbing the dead.

  “Seems so. I’m jealous. And look!” Lyr said, pointing to the grave Inot was sitting on. “Marcie Edmundsen Matthews. You’re related to Janet’s kids too. So Marcie was the one to marry Lance!”

  Inot looked behind her and noticed additional Matthews’ plots.

  “Wow, so the diary was meant for me!” Innie got up and meandered among her ancestors, caressing their headstones. She stopped when she found Terra’s a few rows over.

  “Did you ever meet her?” Lyr asked.

  “Not that I remember. She died when I was a baby. This is just so…mindboggling. The seeds must be what enabled Dad to invent the water fruit in the first place.” Suddenly she was worried. “Oh no, aren’t they considered a GMO?”

  “Well, not all genetically modified items are bad. Take hybrid flowers or the cross bred fruits we learned in science. Plumcots, nectarines. They were real. Just a different breed. And in cases of famine, it’s better than starving.”

  “There’s so many gray areas. No wonder not everyone was up for fighting it.”

  “You’re lucky. Now that the seeds and pin are yours, what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to Disney World. The one on Pluto!” Inot announced with a grin. Then she turned grave. “I’ll give the seeds to my dad, of course. Your mom and the team will help revive them; we will too, right? I’ll keep the owl safe and then we’ll hit the amusement park.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Less burdened, the girls placed the block of pages back into the diary.

  Lyrehc took out a cloth she brought from home and wrapped the journal snug a bug. Ceremonially setting it into the ground, they replaced the grass clumps.

  “This feels right,” Lyr confirmed.

  “Yeah. She must be happy to have it back. But are you sure you want to part with it?”

  “It’s precious, but it belongs here,” Lyr stated. “Or with you.”

  “I think it’s right where it’s meant to be,” Inot agreed, looping arms with her best friend.

  They stood in sacred silence.

  After an appropriate amount of time, they gathered their things.

  “Seems fitting. This place is a botanical garden,” Lyr noted as they glided out.

  “Well, what’s left of one. Maybe we can bring it back to life.” Inot refolded her letter.

  “Well it is in your genes. Hey, there’s more on the back of the third page,” Lyr pointed.

  Innie flipped it over and saw the tiny looped script they had grown accustomed to in the last few days. Examining the sheets, they peeled away a fourth page, more perplexed than ever.

  “April 7th, 1985!” Lyr exclaimed. “Where are these coming from?”

  Shuffling them in order, Inot narrated, “We tied the knot! Does the number sound familiar, diary? It’s our first can drive $47.85. We joked in college about marrying on that date so we knew we had to keep it.

  It’s a good thing we didn’t go with our second fundraiser amount: $33.05. We’d have to wait til the new millennium.”

  The girls floated home as Inot continued.

  “Daddy walked me down the aisle. I’m so glad we knocked down the wall between us. And I wore the owl on a satin sash. The diamonds are no longer tied to evil; instead it’s a sign of honesty, hope and wisdom. And since it’s an heirloom, it never was tied to daddy’s company after all. My lineage lies in jewelers.

  I’m saving the pin to pass onto my daughter, if I have one someday. And if not, a niece or granddaughter or even a great.

  Gray Matter played the reception. Grayson didn’t mind jamming one bit. Besides, every time he plays, I feel like a fainting fan girl again. Marcie was my maid of honor. And get this— Rose was a bridesmaid. She didn’t give me a hard time when I chose my colors either. Funny how things turn out. Rose caught the bouquet and Tommy came out of the woodwork to catch the garter. Nobody remembers inviting him, but he had a blast putting the garter on Rose and then she slide it up his leg. It was a riot. After we could all breathe again, they shared a dance. Rumor has it they’re engaged. Tommy was a changed man senior year. No one knows why. He’s Daddy’s CPA now, can you believe it? He won a scholarship to UConn and majored in accounting. He buckled down, and buttoned up.”

  The girls shared a knowing smile as Lyrehc wrapped it up.

  “April 6th. Just a quick jot, Diary. I think our paper relationship is coming to an end. I’m on my honeymoon after all. We’re in Hawaii. It’s a paradise here and a win-win because we love scuba diving and it gives us a chance to examine the coral reefs up close and personal. We are working on ways to preserve them. I think we’ll plan a trip to Australia next. I’m so glad we both majored in environmental science. We have a fun competitiveness. We work for different companies but have the same goal. A living world.”

  Author’s note:

  The Backstories: An Illusion to the Delusions

  Thanks for coming along for the ride! I treasure my readers and I’m glad you took the trip through time with me into different decades.

  To add to the twists, I had a guest author join us. I met Michael R. Young in Creative Writing II fall of 2017. It’s always a joy to meet other writers who love words as much as I do. He’s putting together a fascinating memoir. Michael’s had some unusual careers and ha
s met interesting people.

  In Parlor Game, the original notion of a man so immersed in his fantasy world it consumes him literally when he jumps into a book came to me in a dream in 1986. I had just married a man who loved to read fantasy novels and he occasionally played Dungeons and Dragons. I wrote the story shortly after. Luckily, his habit wasn’t nearly as bad as Ed’s, although he did forget to pick me up after work once. Thank goodness I’m nothing like screechy Roxi.

  The story is a fabricated fairy tale based on my imagination, but guess what? The Menorah Tree is real!

  When I needed a tree for Edison to journey through, an intriguing sight came to mind. This massive arborage sits behind my town’s city hall. Such an unusual shape, it had my admiration the moment we moved here.

  While its huge knotholes are a haven for squirrels, we can’t really walk through the barked arch like Ed did. Hmm, since adding it to the story, it has piqued my need to go into town and see for myself! Last spring (2017) I snapped this picture for a photography class, but it was very icy and I couldn’t go near the trunk.

  I don’t know its official genus but I’m thrilled the special piece of nature found its way into my story. If anyone happens to know the kind of tree it is, feel free to email me at the address at the end of the book.

  So, how did we get to the 1930s? Time Hop’s travel itinerary was booked from a creative writing prompt in February 2016, based on the painting Subway Entrance 1938 by Mark Rothko. Writing late one night to make the deadline for a workshop, I had no idea what Rooney’s mission would be. Flailing and feeling punchy at one o’clock in the morning, suddenly all the grumblings about the less-than-stellar choices we had for presidential hopefuls popped into my mind and Bam! Problem solved.

  Of course it’s all in jest, which is what satire is. A president has the most stressful job in the world. It’s not one I would ever want. I respect them even if I’m not on board with everything they do, or don’t do.

  If you were rooting for a female commander-in Chief, perhaps you noticed the nod and likelihood of a Madame President in Chronicle of the Century. (The gals from Roaring Twenties would be pleased, which by the way, was inspired by Edward Hopper’s painting, Chop Suey, a prompt in CW II.)

  Hopping back to 2078, I wrote the original story in 1978 at age thirteen, then called, The Diary of Janet Marsh. For some reason, since it was set a hundred years ahead, I thought it would be neat if the 2078 names were spelled backward. Some are humorously fitting. (I left the “th” together in the principal’s name for esthetically sound reasons.)

  I had a blast filling in forty years of technology and updating—or backdating—the trinkets in the trunk. I created the snobby clique and Grayson and renamed Janet’s ridiculous crush as Tommy and added more to him and the entries.

  If your head has ever been filled with a toxic tympanic symphony like in Ear Worm, you know the power negative people have over you. They really sneak in and do damage, much like a computer virus. Be sure to arm yourself. Don’t believe their words. If you can, snip the lines of communications. Mine was a bit tricky but I’m happy to say I finally set the earworm free. And I’m the one who’s a butterfly for it.

  I hope you enjoyed these stories and characters as much as I had fun creating their worlds.

  For updates on new titles or to post a review, follow me on my Amazon Author Page, Goodreads Author Page, Book Bub and/or my Facebook group, Chele's Galaxy.

  Have questions, tree trivia, or a favorite character or scene? I’d love to know. Drop an email at:

  cpsmithbooks22@gmail.com

  Other Titles

  Behind Frenemy Lines

  The Pearly Gates Phone Company