Schrodinger's Pawn
This was written for my HSC Major Work for English Extension Two. I recieved a 48/50, but am pretty sure I lost the marks in the essay component of it, as I suck dramatically at essays. I wanted to see what people thought of it, as the total amount of people (excluding my teachers) who have seen it is about five. Personally, I hate showing people things that I have done, even my parents hadn't seen this until it was finished and only because my teachers gave me an ultimatum to do it. Anyway, it was written in three sections, but six parts, and here is part one of Schrodinger's Pawn.
*Warning* : There is some adult language, particuarly in the later parts. Most of it is PG-rated basically, but there's the occasional swearing. While it doesn't really matter all that much, I know that some people can be a bit iffy about these things whether personal or they're protecting children or something, so I thought I'd just give you a heads up. Also, it deals with abuse and death themes, so you have been warned.
*_*
OPEN GAME:
Anthropic principle.
If the laws of the Universe were not helpful to intelligent creatures in order to ask about the initial conditions of the Universe, intelligent life would never have asked the question in the first place. Or in other words, the laws of the Universe are the way they are because if they weren't - no intelligent beings would be able to consider these laws at all.
Pawn to C4
“Arico!”
Ignore her, keep walking, Bishop to-
“Ascolta!” Ignore her, keep walking - she will go away.
-Bishop to G5.
“I’ve got news from Roma, tua Famiglia.”
He halted. She had got his attention, watching him from across the creek.
“What news?” He turned his head towards her, chocolate eyes fixed on her blue.
“Your mamma is returning. Due Settimane.”
Two weeks. He fixed a scowl. She frowned.
“Arico, she is your madre.”
“Being my mother doesn’t stop me hating her.”
Knight to H3.
*
SMACK!
He shot upright, sheets crumpled, bare chest heaving for air. A red mark blossomed along his diaphragm, along with a dull pounding ache.
Jillian sat next to him smiling politely, her fairy dress twisted around her knees. A fly swatter was clamped in her right hand. She looked so deceptively innocent.
“Good morning Lucas, it’s time for breakfast.”
She was six and a half.
“Mum says you have to make eggs for us both. There’s no more cereal.”
A very smart six-and-a-half. Lucas swore there was a middle-aged woman locked up in that little head of his sister’s. He squinted at her.
“Alright. Go set up if you want.”
She scampered off the bed and ran down the hall, thumping with each step. Silence, then a clang as she dropped the frypan. Lucas’ head fell into his hands and he peered at the dull red glow of the alarm clock through his fingers.
7:14 and twenty-four seconds.
He rolled sideways out of bed.
*
Due settimane, due settimane, due…
His eyes flicked up from the frosted creek into her gaze. Not even the chill of a Tuscan winter could distract them from the silence hanging in the air. When she spoke, it was without anger, hostility or blame, just a whispered, “You’ve never explained why.”
He stayed silent, keep your distance.
“You don’t hide anything from me. Except this. The one thing you’ve never ever said- why you hate your mother.”
“One day Alessandra, not now.”
“Ever?”
“Si, prometto. Which day is she back?”
“It’ll be a Wednesday. Two weeks Wednesday.”
“That’s the day of the finals.”
“Then you grit your teeth and bear it. Stop worrying about her, start thinking strategy.”
“Mi chiamo strategia. After all, I’m junior grandmaster.”
She grinned.
“Grand you are.”
Capture on D6.
*
The eggs swam in their sea of A2 protein filled milk- Jillian had insisted on extra. She was only just tall enough standing on the stool to peer over the edge of the counter.
She wasn’t a tall kid.
He nudged the slop with the spatula and she stood on tiptoe to see over the rim of the pan.
“Careful Jilly, you’ll burn your face off.”
She pulled back slightly and looked up at him, amber eyes wide.
“Milk,” she stated.
“There’s enough in there already.”
“No silly boy, milk for the Milo.”
It wasn’t encouraging for a seventeen year old male to be called “silly boy” by his younger sister, who was currently crouched in the fridge attempting to tug a milk carton out from under cold spaghetti. Tulle bunched on the ground at her feet, a pink marshmallow’s attempt at strength. She heaved and straightened- triumphant grin on her face as she clutched a full carton of the same damn milk.
He grimaced at his mother’s insistence of ‘healthy’ items. She believed there was a mathematical approach to personal well being and it was her opinion that carrot juice and beta casein milk was imperative. In his opinion, carrot juice and beta casein milk could get screwed. All growing boys needed were meat, pizza and Coke. Diet Coke at best.
Oh, and eggs.
“Lucas Peterson you’re burning our breakfast.”
He started at her words; she was again on the stool, staring over the pan, waving away lazy smoke tendrils that spiralled towards the white ceiling.
Sitting at the table, he with one ankle tucked behind the other while she swung her legs enthusiastically and an early morning Australian sun seeping through the back window, Lucas thought about his Physics report, due in four weeks. He contemplated how he would go about his first sentence when Jillian piped up.
“You look pensive.”
Six.
“Just schoolwork.”
“Physics?”
Six and a half to be fair.
“On Einstein still?”
“Yeah.”
“I read something about Einstein. On Google.”
“And what did you read?”
Her eyes grew wide as she remembered. The swinging motion intensified.
“I don’t really know what it meant, but it was something to do with relations and quondam.”
Lucas suppressed laughter. “Wh-what?”
“Quondam,” she replied. “His theory on relations had something to do with matter and it was useful to quondam physics. Big stuff.” It was at that precise moment that her swinging foot collided with his knee.
“Oh sorry Lucas. You know, all that relations stuff, it involves fate.”
“Fate?” he asked, rubbing his calf lightly. Yeah, that would bruise. He didn’t mind though.
“M-hmm,” she replied, hopping off the chair. She collected her plate and shuffled to the kitchen. “People have often thought it’s set out for us, but not quondam theory. It says our choices decide our actions.” She disappeared around the corner. “What if I hadn’t kicked you?”
“I wouldn’t bruise.”
“And so your life takes a new path. Whether I kick you or not will say whether or not you’ll bruise. New fate. And I- I bruise my toe.” Her little voice was carrying from beyond the kitchen ledge, giving the impression the inanimate object was conversing with him.
She appeared again to collect her glass.
“Jillian, why do these choices change fate?”
“I don’t know.” She bit her lip thoughtfully. “I don’t even think the scientists know that. It’s said that the atoms of everything have wave and particle qualities. This causes change in the atom’s layout and different choices.”
“But that’s just a theory. Isn’t it?”
“Unless it happens. Then it’s real… but we’ll never know will we? We only know what we’ve chosen.”
There was a pause.
…
“One minute and twenty-four seconds,” she stated.
“What’s one minute and twenty-four seconds?”
“I don’t remember. But it’s important.”
_-*-_
Nineteen years earlier:
Patrizio Terramo was reading the morning paper when his wife entered.
“Buon giorno Adrienna. My, you don’t look well today.”
She smiled.
“I’m fine, besides- work needs me.”
“Work! One day our child will need you, and you’ll abandon work.”
She snorted.
“Don’t be stupid, you know I don’t want children. I would never be a good mother.”
“You’d never know until you tried.”
Adrienna walked out of the room.