By Greg Pak
I decided I was going to be a writer at the age of nine. So throughout grade school, middle school, high school and college, I wrote constantly — first with $1.49 Shaeffer fountain pens on three hole paper in blue denim binders, later on my mom’s massive Selectric typewriter and on the Mac Plus with the awesome 50mb Total Peripherals external hard drive that I lugged back and forth from college.
While poking through boxes in storage over the last few months, I found a number of files and notebooks containing hundreds of pages of these old stories. And, unsurprisingly, most of them are kind of fun but pretty horrible. But here and there something… almost… good glimmered through. Eventually, I’m hoping to release a ebook anthology of the best of these stories with commentary as a window into one writer’s beginnings.
But in the meantime, just for kicks, here’s the best short story I wrote during my thirteenth year on the planet, when Ray Bradbury was my literary hero, people still called Asian people “Orientals,” and Defender Stargate was the most awesome video game anyone had ever seen.
Enjoy!
By Greg Pak
05.16.1982
“Hey, Jackie!”
A small skeletal boy ran from a large cardboard box to the tall girl.
“Jackie!” he shouted. “Are we gonna play the game today? We gonna play the game?”
“Maybe,” said the tall girl curtly.
The boy silenced and fell into step behind her. They walked on through the charred field, passing the scraggly trees and piles of broken down automobiles and derelict washing machines.
“Well, I sure hope we do,” said the small boy, kicking the cracked ground. “There ain’t nothing else to do around here. Nothin’.”
“Shut up,” said the girl.
The boy did.
Soon they reached a red car. It was only a little rusted, and its shiny paint glinted in the burning sun. It was much better off than the others around it and stood alone, like a regal king surrounded by peasants.
“David!” cried the girl. “We’re going to play the game!”
A short, fat boy threw open the car door and puffed to the side to stand at attention. A long, muscular leg passed from the blackness, fluidly followed by the rest of the boy. The brown feet lifted dust from the ground as the tall black boy shaded his face with a hand, squinting.
“Good,” he said.
The four children walked on.
Two more joined them as they passed a large, sickly tree, and a frail Oriental girl slipped into the group as they passed by her.
“Wait!” said the tall girl sharply.
The crowd shuffled to a halt.
“Judy,” the tall girl snarled, “can’t come.”
The frail girl’s face crumpled.
“I– I won’t make a mistake, Jackie,” she said softly. “I swear…”
“You’d better not,” the black boy cut in.
“She won’t have a chance to end our game this time,” the tall girl said. “She’s not going.”
The black boy looked at the livid face of the tall girl, and the crestfallen one of the frail girl.
“Yes, she is,” he announced. “Come on, Judy.”
The frail girl smiled gratefully and the group moved on, relieved of its tensions. The tall girl strode on ahead, seething with anger.
“There it is!” shouted the skeletal child suddenly. “There it is!”
And indeed it was. The tall, tubular, stainless surface of the toy shone gloriously, glinting in the sunlight. It seemed to be a thousand feet high, its top narrowing off to a sharp point, its bottom flattened, a door sitting there. The entire object was a silvery metallic color, seemingly perfect with the exception of one blemish, a square of chipped paint, remnants of a blue, white and red emblem.
“Shut up,” said the tall girl. “We can see it.”
The group slowly began to pick up speed, walking faster. Suddenly they broke into a run, a laughing, screaming mass of children hurtling down the hill. They were all running, all except the tall girl.
She walked slowly, unhurried, and was just starting down the jagged, grassy hill when the others reached the toy’s base, laughing. They suddenly realized she was not there and looked up expectantly. The tall girl was walking. It seemed as if she was walking very slowly, taking her time as she glanced about nonchalantly. The other children seemed let down somewhat, their dreams lessened a bit by the girl’s indifference.
But soon even she arrived, stepping over a piece of charred wood poking up from the grass. The children parted to let her through to the door. She produced a yellow card, dramatically, and made a show of pushing it into the slot to the side of the door. A second passed, a second weighted with tension, excitement, and even doubt. Would it open? Would it work? Or is it the end? The end of the game? But it seemed as if it was not the end, for the door whirred and slid open.
The interior was sparkling clean, as usual, and all of its instruments were in their proper place. The pile of white sticks sat where it should, too; the round one up on the top. The sticks were brittle, curved strangely, and all different sizes.
“Good,” said the tall girl. “Aren’t you glad it let us in?”
The children all mumbled their yesses, and meant it.
“Good. Now get to your stations.”
The girl stood back and the children filed in solemnly, taking seats in front of various consoles. The girl strode in after the last child and took a seat in front of the largest screen. She studied her dials, levers, and buttons for a second.
“All ready?” she asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Yes.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Right.”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go.”
The tall girl glanced around at her crew. They crouched over their instruments intently, awaiting her word. She let the tension hang before complying, enjoying it.
“Ten,” she proclaimed finally.
“Nine.”
“Eight.”
“Seven.”
“Six.”
The frail girl halted for a second, remembering the mistake of the last voyage. She re-checked her number, making sure.
“Five,” she said.
“Four,” said the black boy, and he winked at the frail girl. She smiled faintly, but bravely.
“Three,” said the tall girl.
“Two.”
“One.”
“Zero.”
“BLAST OFF!” shouted the skeletal boy excitedly.
The tall girl pulled back the red lever and the toy rumbled. It trembled and then roared. It came to life and hurled itself skyward.
“We’re above ground,” announced the frail girl.
“Altitude?”
“1000… 1100… 1200… 1500… 2000…”
“Breaking through the atmosphere shortly. Ready shields.”
The small boy pushed a green button, and a faint whirring could be heard over the roar.
“Breaking through 15 seconds and counting.”
“Man guns — in case.”
The black boy flipped a switch and a screen appeared in front of him, while a joystick rose from the floor.
“Meteors in path,” he announced.
The tall girl began to speak, but a cry interrupted her.
“Breaking through — Now!”
The roar increased to a deafening intensity, and all of the children tensed for the shock. And it came. They seemed to be pressed to the backs of the chairs, plastered for a brief second. They were all dead for a fraction of a moment, and then–
“Meteors striking ship!”
The black boy began to shift the joystick back and forth, striking a red button every few seconds. Sweat popped forth upon the skin of his forehead, and his face intensified. Then, a few seconds later…
“Clear of meteor belt.”
The tension dropped, but the excitement did not. Oh, it was a glorious game, the game they played. It held everything, all worldly emotions of their world. Terror, tension, excitement, every joy, it was all there. Most of all it was terror, though. sheer terror, horribly exciting. Yes, it was glorious, and it was death defying. For the duration of the game, they were all God. All immortal, all omnipotent. Death was nonexistent, yet it was appallingly close. The game was excitement, the game was terror, the game was magic. Simply, the game was Fun. Glorious, incredible Fun. It was the Game.
But the aliens came next; they all knew this part.
“Guns up.”
All of the children were suddenly armed with invisible arsenal — the screens lit up and the joysticks rose. The aliens appeared on the screens. The terrible, horrible aliens, faceless heads covered with opaque bubbles, all clinging to guns with spindly arms.
“Fire.”
Suddenly silence filled the room. All the children whirled their joysticks, slapping the red buttons, while the tall girl guided them through the alien swarm, firing only occasionally, selectively.
“We’re hit!” shouted a child.
“Check damage status,” ordered the tall girl.
The skeletal boy punched a blue button, and the alien swarm disappeared from his screen momentarily.
“Minimal,” he announced. “Small injury to right engine.”
The tall girl made a few adjustments on her console.
“Engines favoring the right,” she announced. “Continue fire; we’re going to land. Prepare for reentry.”
“Check,” said the black boy.
The children continued to decimate the alien ranks while the tall girl slowly maneuvered their craft into the landing position.
“We’ve been shot from behind!” the frail girl cried. “Deadened center engine!”
“Bomb ’em,” commanded the tall girl.
The other girl nodded, pushing a white button. An eyescope lowered in front of her, a trigger handle dangling from it. She grasped the handle and put her face to the scope.
The scope was covered by a dozen white dots and one large red one. She balked, remembering her last mistake, but then began. She moved her joystick carefully until she covered the red dot with the little firing “X.”
“Ship covered,” she announced. “The bombs will not affect us.”
“Fire.”
The girl quickly snapped the trigger back three times. Three flashes blinked blindingly through the room, and then nothing.
The screens were emptied of aliens, only black, starry void.
There was a sudden exhaling of air. The entire crew had been holding their breaths. The formality of the game suddenly was gone, it seemed.
“Good job, Judy!” the tall girl exclaimed.
The frail girl nodded, accepting the compliment.
The roar of reentry suddenly broken in, and they were silenced.
Then they were back on the ground. Back to the safe, real ground. They all sat stil for a second before breathing, then they were still, simply enjoying breathing. The game was over, truly over this time. The children were relieved, but regretful. It was such a good game.
Slowly they filed out, and the children stood on the warm brown ground and rolled in the fresh green grass, laughing. It had been a very good game today, and they would remember it often. They could play now, though, and they did.
But the tall girl stood back, standing over a pile of white, brittle sticks. She had not noticed these before, but here they were. She bent suddenly. What is that? Yes, there, under the hand-like branches? She bent to take it gently from the joints.
The children turned to see the tall girl walking forward and were silent as she stood.
“Let’s play a game,” she said.
They all stared as she uncovered the round object in her hand.
“A ball.”
And they all knew that this game would be very good.