Just when I think I’ve stopped changing, something occurs that shifts everything to the stranger and stranger said Alice rabbit hole. Bobby called them extensions of the third strand, I call them Apps or somewhat lightheartedly, upgrades to Joeys LUNA Apocalyptic Survival game.

  ‘Now Joey, we think it’s great you’re so enthusiastic about your survival game with that woman so we’ve paid for an upgrade but we also want you to balance it out with your work with the AI instructor, PAL, okay?”

  ‘Aw dad, I appreciate the upgrade, but this game is intense! It’s like its simulating a real live event and we’re getting to make the rules. Today I’m making her spit grow plants faster!’First of all, I don’t think anything like this is going on since LUNA, the quantum computer on the moon, seems to be controlled by a world consortium and no mention of anything like this so far anywhere. Watchers of ThirdEye are encouraged to participate with ideas for episodes but nothing that would come close to anything this advanced.

  This isn’t as farfetched as it sounds. As mentioned earlier we watched every sci-fi movie that we could find until things went dark. It was something we had in common that we shared together and talked a lot about. Beginning in 2032, AI became highly regulated. Once that happened, rogue actors began multiple encrypted dark sites with their own Mesh and satellites, where the gaming freaks could work together to create simulations of whatever they desired in 3D and as a bonus for the hefty fee of membership, a DIY glucose drip IV was soon dropped off by drone so they could spend days inside. The X-STREAM fantasy brothels were a favorite. Countries looking for reasons to attract people and their money relaxed regs and recreated the favorite settings in real time. As the gaming peoples tastes evolved, so did the real ones. And no push back by authorities, seeing it as a drug for the masses.

  The dreams have slowed to a crawl. Somehow, I feel, more balanced, at peace, always looking forward to our walks. I think the difference is that my emotionally sensitive human has reached a truce with the other because I’m more comfortable with following what my heightened senses are telling me. My old Jenna likes to write this but is now edited a little by what seems the wiser overlord. Ha, ha, just kidding/not. The new narrative. I figure one of these days either something from that outside world will land here and give me a choice, either come with us or stay and face whatever or Joeys parents will pull the plug and tell him no more creating utopias until he catches up with his virtual Math lessons.

  Like me, Fubar can’t wait to take the walk in the morning when the heat isn’t so bad. I walk fast, I walk slow, all senses tuned to the woods. The sound is changing, not whirring anymore but a mix of everything including an unknown sound. Now I think its more like two miles away which would put it near an old nuclear silo. Or again, ha, ha, it could be Joeys moms mix master. We have been seeing more birds, still not like before but at least now there’s always tweeting around the farm which is really nice! The vegetables are doing well except the lettuce which gets moldy quick if it rains.

  Having accepted the new narrative, my expectations have risen. It’s like, okay, lets try this, so I make a list of what I want in the drop, say it out loud~ ‘I wish with all my heart and soul that I receive these following items in the next drop’, show the list to the screen and post it on my message board out by the garden. And of course it works. Last drop I got beans, peas, spinach and kale. And brown sugar, green tea and a bread mix with yeast!

  But even stranger are the results of my ongoing experiment with just thinking it. I didn’t include powdered eggs on the list but thought them on before I showed it to the screen, recited the list and posted it. And I got a half pound little bucket of it! So next drop, its all think wishing.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  And a day after I got the beans, I watched The Word, a mother and her two young kids tending their small garden and her saying that it was a sacred act and I agree. She said that people got too far away from the source, depended on others sometimes in other countries for their food which was like going to church expecting to be able to talk to god directly when you could do it anytime. And that if you wanted to know what the future was going to be than you should read the first book of the Oracle Trilogy to which I responded to the screen, okay I want one, send one in the next drop. But I think I’m doing a pretty damn good job without a book, but any help would be awesome. She did say that makeshift greenhouses were good to keep things from either drying out or getting to wet but you have to ventilate them, so they don’t get too hot.

  So, because there was a large roll of clear poly in the barn that I don’t remember being there, I decided to try. What ended up was something that looked like a teepee with wings. I used the stack of old uncut poles that Bobby cut for a new fence, scraps of lumber hanging around, old rope, zip ties and the poly and made something that I could walk into and easily take the one side off for ventilating.

  I made a raised bed like the woman had and planted the beans, three in each mound. But I had another sudden epiphany. I laughed at it but went ahead and did it. I first washed the beans than put them in my mouth and swished them around, let them stay in there with my saliva, then spit planted them in the holes of the mounds. That was this morning. Just before this writing as twilight was settling in, I went out to close the flap just in case the temperature dropped any. Just when I get use to the new normal another thing comes that reorders everything. I’ve been planting since a little girl so am used to the natural laws of horticulture, so I caught my breath for a few seconds when I saw the new sprouts already a few inches tall.

  So, I put a saliva soaked bean in my cupped hand filled with soil and watched it grow! In twenty minutes, it had sprouted, an hour into a small sprout with tiny flowers. Whoa! I’m not calling it a miracle because like I said earlier, part of the new narrative that keeps surprising me to no end! Because Bobby never mentioned this. So not just slower but different?

  So what’s next! Okay, abiding by the new narrative of miracles being normal, I’m asking here to have my Bobby back! If you can fit him into a large drop sack, so be it! Or like those old AI video or picture generators, here’s the description. Joey, you listening?

  ‘As I lay on the bed very still, letting go of the day’s work, the night light showing Fubar on the stuffed chair, front legs out stretching after a few mile walk, a can of tuna and some mouse hunting. I’ve been yawning for an hour after a good workout, the hot hose shower and dinner of scrambled eggs and hash browns from a can. I can smell the damp woods and hear the nocturnal voices increasing as the hazy almost full Green Corn Moon appears above the horizon of dead stumps, creating really bizarre shadows, anyone of them possibly a lab mutant. Within a few minutes I’m slowly fading into REM when my senses pick up something not accustomed to, an alert jarring entry into dreamtime. Then it stops so I figure okay but before I return to falling from this reality to another, an over whelming sensation of Bobby's scent, breathing on the nape of my neck, a gentle touch on my right thigh, then his hand through my falling hair. I hear the faintest of words, more like breath. .jen..i’m always with you…soon. My body reverberates with his higher frequency, acting as a balm for past anxieties. My breathing is full, gentle, easy. We have become one, for a journey into dreamland.