Lost in My Cloud
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This is how you create your own tablet.
1. Grab many handfuls of the sponge plant*
2. Mold and flatten the mass to the width of your thumb**
3. Lay it out on the surface of the any flat surface of rock on a sunny day***
4. Write on it with your fingers, using shorty-hand****
5. It will harden and stick permanently so others can read your story****
*The sponge plant will have the consistency of something the True Originals called “clay” from our planet called “Earth”
**The sponge plant will also harden into small thin tubes with a pointed tip, if shaped that way and left to dry in the sun for a long time, allowing you to form something once known as a “stylus” to write thinly rather than use your fingers
***Always write on your tablet before it hardens in the light and heat
****Shorty-hand is known also as phonography, meaning the hand recording the sounds of the universal language known only by the True Originals and some Originals
*****A tablet will resemble a dark colored material once known as “flexiplantastic” from the Hope
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I had read this common tablet many times. The instructions are found in many places. Some have slight differences such as extra instructions on the kinds of messages to leave.
I don’t know what clay is, but I remember Earth because I am one of the True Originals. It was the place where most of us came from, in the Hope. I also know what a stylus is. They were also once called pens. I used them for writing onto the original tablet which would light up.
Originally a tablet was a flat square made of flexi and some metal. It was the way Hope would give you information by text or sounds or images. You could use it to contact someone to share information by voice or written words, or even by recording images real or made up. Those messages could happen in real time for a conversation without having to be in front of one another. Now you could only see messages from the past. As one of True Originals, I know what we lost.
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My name is Isabella. Your name is Francisco. This story is meant for you. You are my son. You are reading it to give me faith that you know that I loved you. You and I were on the Hope fleeing a dying Earth near the end. You were placed into stasis for the centuries we would be traveling to the best estimated equivalent of a home world. Your last vision of me was when I set you down in the chamber to reassure you we would be fine. You were only six years old at the time. You should remember that I told you I loved you, that everything would be fine, and that soon we would be reunited. Recall also my last kiss for you. Always remember me.
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My name is Pancho, or Paco, but my real name is Francisco. My mother’s name was Isabella. She was a botanist on the Hope.
I call my cloud Gaggle. I am one of the True Originals, so I write these records down in hope of finding my mother, who is also a True Original. I also write to teach others about our story because I see many more of the News now. I want them to know who we were before the Clouds.
I know many years have now passed since I was awakened from the Hope, but I cannot tell how long. I do not know how many days make a human year here on this planet. There are thicker hairs on my arms and legs now, so think of myself possibly as a teenager, based on how I remember other Originals. I was sleeping when the cloud took me so I could not check any tablet for the date. I was unable to see or hear anyone. The first thing I remember was waking up alone, inside a Cloud.
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It is important to explain the Clouds. Mom always said that data is critical, because it lets you understand what is happening. For anyone with their own Cloud, they can check their facts against mine if we record our observations on our tablets. Please write down what you note and what you think, because without the Hope, we have to rely on messages to each other so we can learn.
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My cloud is comprised of many tiny bits that are silver. They are much smaller than the thickness of a hair. Sometimes they clump together to form a solid. Sometimes they flow together in a smooth mass like a liquid. Other times they separate quite far from each other like a mist or a gas. Each bit is able to somehow float above the ground. The entire being seems like a swarm of extremely small creatures we named insects, but they are not any of the species we brought on the Hope. Also, they are not groups of separate creatures, they are one being, made of many small parts. More importantly, they are one mind.
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There are many Clouds. Some have their own humans. Others have several. It is difficult for me to tell my Cloud apart when they merge together or pass in front of one another.
During those rare moments I do get to speak with another True Original sometimes I learn something, but many times I learn nothing. Some of those people are mean. Others, like most of the Originals, do not want to talk, or can’t, or maybe they are too sad. Perhaps some have forgotten.
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The News are different. I am not sure they can talk. Maybe they can talk with their Cloud. Although they have a human shape, they are too tall to be considered an Original. They also are so different. I have seen some which are strange colors, like turquoise and silver. Others are all covered in fine hair. Some of them has skin that seems like scales on a water creature we True Originals knew as “fish.”
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This is my first memory after the chamber. I awoke alone, on the ground. I was inside a cloud because everything was hazy, like a fog or a mist, except I was not wet. I did not have any clothes on, but I did not feel cold or hot, just confused. I felt okay, not sick or tired.
I stood. No one was around. I was frightened because I called for my mother but no one came. I started to cry and stayed there a few moments panicked.
My mother had taught me to breathe correctly and focus my mind when I became overwhelmed. I began to do as I was taught and gather my mind. I knew that in any crisis scientists would gather information and form hypotheses and theories.
Finally I calmed down enough to walk. After a few steps I ended up at the edge of my cloud, but I could not walk past it. It felt like a wire mesh or a metal fabric. I could not see past it. It was maybe 60 steps across the diameter. When I reached up I could not touch the top, but it did curve. I imagined myself inside a dome made of steam.
The ground was spongy and mostly flat. It was the same temperature as my body. It did not feel like earth, more like a sand mixed with powder. It was dry and not sticky, coming off my skin easily when I blew.
I decided not to taste the soil, although that would have been possibly useful data. I was worried it might be toxic, even though I knew some powders can kill you just by breathing them in. Yet I felt okay, although I was starting to get thirsty…
…My cloud is coming so I have to end this tablet. — Paco
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