Authorship
by Savannah Stutevoss
University of the Incarnate Word
Savannah Stutevoss is an English Major with a Pre-Law Concentration at the University of the Incarnate Word who will graduate in 2023. Her favorite genre is Science Fiction, particularly Isaac Asimov, but she loves writing O’Henry type short stories and romantic poems. In the future, she hopes to either attend law school or a Creative Writing MFA program. Writing has always been dear to her heart, and she wishes to possibly follow both career paths.
I.
I took a sip of my coffee. I refused to drink it black. Only the writers in the movies did that, and I wasn’t about to identify as a Hallmark main character. Cream and sugar for me, please. I had been writing for what felt like centuries, and I was perfectly content with doing so. Every day I would sit at my mahogany wood desk with my favorite red mug. There was a fake hydrangea plant in the corner, dyed a permanently bright blue. I couldn’t recall who gave it to me. People were always giving me things. My family would fuss about me being “boarded up in that miserable place” and try and send me “housewarming” gifts. A package or two would come and I would thank the well-meaning sender and remind them that I always kept the heater on in the winter. As much as I joked in real life, my stories tended to be melancholy. I liked it that way. I preferred to live happily and channel my negative emotions into narratives.
It was mid-afternoon and I was just about done with a chapter. The sky outside was growing dark, and my body shivered with a chill as snowflakes began to fall. I went downstairs and put a log in the fireplace. I was glad I had stocked my pantry with food; I would most likely be snowed in for a few days. I didn’t mind. My chocolate lab had passed away a couple of years ago and I didn’t have the heart to replace her. I called my mom a couple of times a month, Dad had passed back in 03’ from lung cancer. My sister and her family lived in Wichita, they had twin boys I saw every couple of months. I loved my life in my little cabin in Wyoming. “Jerry” my mother used to say, “the world is going to forget you exist out there!” I didn’t mind. I had enough friends with all my readers who sent me emails. I tried to open a few a week, but the little red notification circle was steadily climbing at 5000 plus messages. Other than that, my only other communication was with my agent, James Dyer. James had found me when I was a baby author, fresh out of school. At the time, I was broke and stuck writing crappy song lyrics for underground indie artists. I owed James my success and wealth. I make enough money writing to where I can afford to live practically anywhere, but the cold winters here and the silence of the vast tundra go hand in hand with my creative mind. I’ve seen elks outside my window countless times. Wolves, bears, foxes. It’s the life I had always dreamed of.
As I sat and reminisced, I looked over at the picture frame with the picture of me and James at Disney World. “I really ought to give him a call” I thought. I picked up my cell and dialed his number. “Weird.” I said out loud. There was a strange dial tone at the end of the line. I didn’t think that it had snowed enough for the power lines to go out. Oh well, maybe he was busy. I made some popcorn and curled up on the couch to watch a movie. The fireplace eventually lulled me to sleep. One of the benefits of living alone was that the couch was as much of a bed as any could be. It was the same thing each night, and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. I woke up in the morning to a beautiful winter landscape perfect for any Christmas card. My coffeemaker was automatically wafting the sweet aroma of coffee through my house. As I poured myself a cup, I looked over yesterday’s work and prepared myself to write again. Contentedness. There was nothing else in the world I could ever need.
II.
“Aw Jesus, man. Couldn't you have brought him in better shape?” the man speaking wore a lab coat. He also wore gloves, but one had been discarded in order to better type on his high-tech iPad. The man he was speaking to could have been any random guy walking down the street, other than the fact that he was extremely muscular. Even though it was summertime in Miami, he wore long, dark pants and a long sleeve shirt. He scowled. Both men looked down at the lump of what looked like another man on the ground before them. He looked extremely out of place in contrast to the lab and its modern, shiny appearance. There was blood running down his cheek, and his eye was beginning to turn a deep shade of violet. He was not moving. The man dressed for a more Northern state kicked him gently, “Look, Dyer, he fought me for around 45 minutes. This was the best I could do without giving him brain damage”.
Dyer grunted. “Get him settled in”, he replied.
The lab door opened, and a nurse came in with a loading cart. With the assistance of the burly man, the lump was thrown onto the cart and wheeled away. Dyer sighed. Exiting out of a different door, he entered a polished white hallway. He walked past about six doors before he badged into the one on the right. A different, older nurse was waiting for him there. There was not much to note in the room except a woman on a hospital bed. She was hooked up to equipment but otherwise looked as if she was just sleeping.
The nurse said, “She is only working at half capacity, sir. She won't be done until about three months at this rate”.
Dyer shrugged. The new arrival today and the three awaited tomorrow would be enough to cover her slowness. “Turn up her clock” he ordered, “maybe three days instead of one”.
He knew the dangers of it. He didn’t care. He sighed again. He was an incredibly busy man. He left the room and walked down the rest of the long hall. Doors upon doors upon doors, each with someone inside, hooked up to machines. Dyer finally reached the end of the hall and got into the elevator. Going one floor up, he stepped out into what could have been any modern office space. He looked entirely out of place in his lab coat amongst the ties and skirts. Some workers in there were editing stacks and stacks of papers, while others talked on long, corded phones.
Dyer walked over to an official-looking man. “How’s the advertisements coming along?” he asked.
“Good,” said the man, whose name was Frank. “We went with the more eye-catching design with an empty profile picture with the words ‘Are you America’s next top author?’. We already ordered 5,000 copies to be put up in major cities across the nation”. He smiled proudly and held up a copy.
“Good, good” replied Dyer, absentmindedly. He didn’t look at the poster. His plan to extend the company was running quite smoothly. There was just one more important facet left: clients. They had enough of everything except that! And of course, the extraction could always be modified and upgraded. Maybe add different locations and more family history. Hell, maybe he could find a way to add family members to the simulation. Dyer’s mind raced excitedly as he walked back to the elevator. Just then, his tablet beeped. It was a message from the younger nurse from earlier. “Subject 73 has been connected and is commencing extraction”. Dyer smiled. It would all be alright.
III.
Emilia tilted her head back and forth. Her reflection in the mirror did the exact same. The dress was simple but pretty. Her mother had always told her that she looked good in black. The neckline was just low enough to be scandalous, but the gown was long enough to retain her dignity. It would have to do for tonight’s event. Another gala. She pretended to hate them, but secretly she loved the attention. It was all she had ever lived for. One day in the fourth grade she had spilled glue all over her best friend Ruby’s dress because she looked prettier than Emilia did. In high school, she made her mother purchase all the expensive dresses in town so that she could look better than everyone else at the senior prom. Now, she had finally found her fame as a renowned author. Her novel Out of the Stars had been the most read and praised book of the year. She had become a household name. She sat at her desk and smiled to herself. And to believe she hadn’t written a single word! She laughed out loud. Her phone buzzed on the table, signifying that the limo was waiting outside of her penthouse apartment. It was slightly drizzly outside, and Emilia was annoyed. Thank God the drive to the hall where the gala was being held was not long. Her phone rang again. It was Dr. Dyer. “Hey Doc, make it quick cause I’m about to leave” she answered rudely.
“Emilia. We’re going to pull the plug on Jerry.” Dyer sounded uncharacteristically sad.
Emilia rolled her eyes. She didn’t have time to entertain his pity antics for more money.
“So?” she retorted.
“Well, I was just letting you know since he was your first connection, you know for sentiment and stuff” He paused and swallowed hard. “You kinda owe everything to him”.
Emilia did not care. “That’s literally what I paid for! Just find me someone else soon. You know my publisher wants a new book stat”.
She hung up. She hardly remembered what Jerry looked like. She had only seen him once when she first arrived at the Doc’s lab. He had assured her that Jerry was one of the best writers they had. She had chosen a winter wonderland for him to write in, just like the vacation house her mother had always taken her to during Christmas break. It had only been a couple of weeks, and Out of the Stars had appeared. Emilia was grateful, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t done her part. Doc wouldn’t have gotten his black market of sorts off the ground without Emilia and her mother’s money. And when Doc found out that the minds of those hooked up to the extractor couldn’t be salvaged, she didn’t care, and it was too late to turn back anyway.
There was the building now. The limo slowed and Emilia could see all the cameras and excited fans outside of her window. She stepped out of the cab and was immediately surrounded by flashing lights. “Tell us your secret!” they begged. She smiled coyly and waved. Her mother had always told her that in life, it was better to leave the words to the smart people, and to always keep her mouth shut.