SkiSharp

Ever since I was a little girl, I would ask “What If” to the point it would get the better of me. From eating bugs and dirt, to jumping from trees like a squirrel, I was always off trying something or doing something that I was not supposed to. It was “Valery, stop!” or “Valery, No!” by third grade, I’m sure I would have thought “No Stop” was my middle name instead of “Rachel”. This curiosity, while not a great trait to have to keep me out of the nurses or principal’s office, was great in high school science teacher harnessed my undying inquiring nature. First mixing together just common chemicals, watching stuff dissolve and dry ice melting. Then moving through sulfur-water reactions, and purple iodine smoke. I fell in love with chemistry. I may have gone a bit crazy at times, but I did well enough to get a scholarship at the local state university. It was this triad of my love of chemistry, my careless curious nature, and the location of the university that drove me

I grab and dawn the head seat and take a deep breath and say, “Okay computer, run simulation 2-9-1.” As I open my eyes, I see the crystal blue waters of the ocean. Above me are memorizing patterns of small waves. Off in the distance, a small boat with a diving opening on the bottom bobs and sways in the playful waves. Looking down, I can see the vibrant spread of a coral reef below me. The bright green of lobe and yellows of elkhorn, to the deep blues of organ pipe and dossal tones of the slab corals, punctuated by the rich reds of the anatomies and precious coral, all mixing and interlocking with each other. Gazing out into the waters, different schools of fish are rendered each interacting much like they would in the real ocean. My avatar sits nearly stationary in the water. My hair moving slowly in front of my face with the blond strands with purple tips dancing up and down. Taking a breath, I take in the feel of the water and take stock of how much these VR computers have come

The floorboards groan under the weight. My flashlight swivels towards the sounds; it’s beam piercing the dusty air. In its path, it hits a patch of rusty red and black fur lay in the way of the floor. “Augh. Turn that darn thing off, Ralph,” the young vulpine cries, “You’re messing up my night-vision.” “Sorry Frank,” my ears flatten back and I overt my light, “you know I have a hard time seeing at night.” “Turn that thing off, or just try to keep that thing away from me,” Frank demands. I comply turning off the lamp and adjusting my glasses at his request, “I, just heard a noise.” “Yeah, that’s just me and my paw,” Frank sneered, “I swear you’re the blindest husky I know.” “How could I know? I thought it was the monster,” I say towards the white little league shirt that I could make out on Frank, “I mean the smell of mold and decay is completely plugging up my noise.” “No duh, this place has been closed for decades,” the fox says sliding over a fallen over chinet cabinet

“It was just a sketch. I swear it was,” A thin ravaged badger says on the witness stand. His fur burned to flesh in areas. The suit he wore tattered and burned much more than he was. His eyes beam to the crowded courtroom “Is that so Mr. Woodbridge?” the vulpine prosecutor “I must say, it is an impeccable amount of detail for something as mundane as a bar napkin. Quite the cartographer, if you say this is just a sketch.” “Yes,” he coughs, “um, thank you. Though I don’t know what you mean by that,” the badger says looking away from his accuser and his accusations, tapping a large claw on the witness stand. “I think you do,” the fox smiles, “While I’ve never been to Marquee Gulch, the county does have plats of it. Or, as the court is well aware, what is left of it.” “I don’t see what that has to do with the sketch,” He says back to fox. “I think you do,” the fox says turning around at the bushveld badger, narrowing his gaze. He knew the canines in the audience could

I brush my blond hair back only for it to dangle back loose again. Oh, of course, I forgotten. I try again, this time looping the wayward strand behind my ear, slightly further up my head, careful not to knock out my wireless ear buds. I feel the swelling of the nerves in my stomach from the stress of this ordeal. I try to relax with the sway of the boat as it leaves the pier for Bainbridge Island. Standing for the past half hour on the bus downtown has put a strain on my paws, especially today as they are jammed into a pair of custom business flats. A trip like this a few years ago, while just as long, wouldn’t have been a lot easier than it is today. While being on the water fells right, it’s the stares of other passengers that I’m still getting use to. I circle the deck looking for place to sit alone. Eventually I spy an open booth, I rush over and pull into it, being sure to have ample room for my tail. Looking out the window, I see the rainy morning mist clinging