In the Case of Mathematics vs. Gods, Religions and Other Worldly Philosophies, brings the splendor of ancient myths into a 21st century setting; riddled with action, adventure, comedy and vices; assembled in such away to make one question the nature of reality.
As it stands the story is finished; its broken into three acts with five chapters per act. The plan is to post a chapter a week, giving readers the chance to check out the entire first act of the book while I'm bogged down waiting for the lighting speed of the copyright office to finish processing. So, without further adieu, I give chapter 1 of In the Case of Mathematics vs. Gods, Religions and Other Worldly Philosophies
In the Case of Mathematics VS. Gods, Religions and Other Worldly Philosophies
Act i
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
(chorus)
Fates funny little games
Whatever could they mean
The day started as any average Thursday would; just like the ones that preceded it, but nothing like any Thursday that would ever follow it. On this particular Thursday the sun rose quiet ordinarily and decided to be of a fairly mild temperature; in hopes of not offending those who are prone to complain about the erratic behavior of the weather. The clouds were sporadic; the ones that decided to even appear on this day were solely concerned with, meandering about the sky, reminding you of their presence, while maintaining a lack of formality and not incurring anyone’s attention for too long. The wind had been reduced from the night before; replaced with a slight breeze that would brush by you like a passing stranger in a crowded airport, intent on getting to its plane never to acknowledge your presence again. Even the humidity kept its distance, as if hesitant to bother, for fear of receiving a restraining order.
It is interesting to note that when a day goes to such far-reaching efforts to maintain the guise of average, that fate usually has a completely different concept of how that day should behave; it sometimes will involve setting forth a course of events that can irrevocably alter the foundation of existence.
Pan Thedias, completely unaware of the commonplace façade of a day forming around her, reached out from under her covers to end the irritating buzz of the alarm clock, just as it began its first "BBBBZZZZTTTT," to mark the coming of 6:00am. Then, as was common practice for Pan, she dipped her feet off the bed and into the reassuring carpeting of her floor, arched her back and released a stretch; readying herself for whatever the day had would bring. As she rose from her bed and began the trek toward her bathroom, Pan removed her cell phone from its resting place, on her night stand; checking it for missed calls, voice mails, text messages and emails. And as all ways there were none.
Upon reaching the bathroom, Pan started the warm water in the shower and stopped to look in the mirror. After ruffling the tangle of auburn hair out of her face, she checked to make sure everything on her body was where she had left it the night before and reassure herself that her metabolism had not stopped yet; allowing her diet of fast food and workahol to settle in places she had never agreed to undergo such changes.
Feeling satisfied that she’d kept the fear of a few extra pounds at bay another day, Pan made her way into the waiting steam of the shower.
Once she had adequately cleaned the night away, she began her routine of; brushing teeth, getting dressed in work clothes (laid out the night before), combing her hair and the tedious dulling of her appearance with make-up. That is not to say that Pan was an unattractive woman, who was beyond the salvage of make-up; in reality she had a penetrating natural beauty, comparable to an oceanic sunset, with acrobatic dolphins and glowing clouds. Unfortunately, Pan had not felt beautiful in years and had resolved to dull her appearance down to the standards of the masses in hopes of fitting in.
Something was, different today. Pan couldn’t tell why, but after finishing her make-up she was completely unsatisfied; there was a nagging feeling that something was missing; something was off. She didn’t want to be dreary today; Pan wanted a sense of herself today. After a thorough examination of her face in the mirror, she came to the decision that her eye shadow was what she needed because any other color would simply make her deep green eyes too highlighted. Her foundation was drab enough to battle back her natural beauty, but not strong enough to achieve a definitive victory over it. Her lips looked like two, dead, fat earthworms lying under her nose.
Lips were the problem; Pan wiped off the lipstick she had applied and reached into her counter drawer to remove a slightly dusty, some-what faded make-up box that hadn’t seen the light of day for a long time. Inside the seemingly forgotten box lied a deep red lipstick; intense enough to make Pans lips glow ever so slightly and draw in any wandering eyes. After applying it and re-critiquing her appearance in the mirror, the feeling subsided and she decided that was exactly what she had needed today.
Satisfied the gnawing emptiness inside was fulfilled; Pan left the bathroom with the attitude that today would be an exceptional day. With the slightest hint, of almost excitement, she checked her phone again: No new messages.
Feeling a little disappointed, Pan allowed herself to slip back into the usual routine with the passing of the lipstick excitement. She glanced at the clock on the night stand and was surprised to see the time was 6:37am; her little lipstick party had set her back two minutes on her daily routine; she reasoned it would not prove to be a problem given, she was always fifteen minutes early to work.
Determined not to let this flare of her wild side get the best of her, Pan made her way down the stairs to the living room. Setting her phone down on her desk, she began to load her briefcase with the necessary paperwork of the day. Once this had been achieved, it was time to leave the comfort of home; with briefcase in hand and purse over shoulder, she went forth to the car and began her drive to work.
Pan had been on the road nearly ten minutes when it occurred to her, she hadn’t checked her phone when she reached her car. By this point in the drive she had nearly arrived at her daily coffee house stop, but she was still far enough for the feeling, she really should check her phone, to take hold. This allowed her reasoning to rationalize; if she hadn’t checked her phone upon entering the car, there should be no harm in checking it now. In a very uncharacteristic move, Pan reached one hand into the front pouch of her purse, her phone’s pouch, and found it empty. This discovery was enough to draw her attention away from driving and predominantly to the purse. With one hand on the wheel to keep the car steady, her eyes and freehand were tasked with the responsibility of riffling through the purse. After checking every pouch, pocket and opening, rechecking them and finally giving it one more good over, Pan admitted defeat and consented she had left her phone sitting at home on her desk.
As she stared at the purse, the internal debate began whether to return home and retrieve the phone or press on to work. There should not be anything important missed; she could check her email and voice mail when she got to work. This idea did not reassure the feeling in her gut, which rebutted with the argument; her text messages and missed calls could not be checked from work; which clearly meant if she didn’t go home and check them then they certainly had a little red light flashing to indicate there was indeed one of said forms of communication waiting. and re-critiquing her appearance in the mirror, the feeling subsided and she decided that was exactly what she had needed today.
It is interesting to note that when a day goes to such far-reaching efforts to maintain the guise of average, that fate usually has a completely different concept of how that day should behave; it sometimes will involve setting forth a course of events that can irrevocably alter the foundation of existence.
Pan Thedias, completely unaware of the commonplace façade of a day forming around her, reached out from under her covers to end the irritating buzz of the alarm clock, just as it began its first "BBBBZZZZTTTT," to mark the coming of 6:00am. Then, as was common practice for Pan, she dipped her feet off the bed and into the reassuring carpeting of her floor, arched her back and released a stretch; readying herself for whatever the day had would bring. As she rose from her bed and began the trek toward her bathroom, Pan removed her cell phone from its resting place, on her night stand; checking it for missed calls, voice mails, text messages and emails. And as all ways there were none.
Upon reaching the bathroom, Pan started the warm water in the shower and stopped to look in the mirror. After ruffling the tangle of auburn hair out of her face, she checked to make sure everything on her body was where she had left it the night before and reassure herself that her metabolism had not stopped yet; allowing her diet of fast food and workahol to settle in places she had never agreed to undergo such changes.
Feeling satisfied that she’d kept the fear of a few extra pounds at bay another day, Pan made her way into the waiting steam of the shower.
Once she had adequately cleaned the night away, she began her routine of; brushing teeth, getting dressed in work clothes (laid out the night before), combing her hair and the tedious dulling of her appearance with make-up. That is not to say that Pan was an unattractive woman, who was beyond the salvage of make-up; in reality she had a penetrating natural beauty, comparable to an oceanic sunset, with acrobatic dolphins and glowing clouds. Unfortunately, Pan had not felt beautiful in years and had resolved to dull her appearance down to the standards of the masses in hopes of fitting in.
Something was, different today. Pan couldn’t tell why, but after finishing her make-up she was completely unsatisfied; there was a nagging feeling that something was missing; something was off. She didn’t want to be dreary today; Pan wanted a sense of herself today. After a thorough examination of her face in the mirror, she came to the decision that her eye shadow was what she needed because any other color would simply make her deep green eyes too highlighted. Her foundation was drab enough to battle back her natural beauty, but not strong enough to achieve a definitive victory over it. Her lips looked like two, dead, fat earthworms lying under her nose.
Lips were the problem; Pan wiped off the lipstick she had applied and reached into her counter drawer to remove a slightly dusty, some-what faded make-up box that hadn’t seen the light of day for a long time. Inside the seemingly forgotten box lied a deep red lipstick; intense enough to make Pans lips glow ever so slightly and draw in any wandering eyes. After applying it and re-critiquing her appearance in the mirror, the feeling subsided and she decided that was exactly what she had needed today.
Satisfied the gnawing emptiness inside was fulfilled; Pan left the bathroom with the attitude that today would be an exceptional day. With the slightest hint, of almost excitement, she checked her phone again: No new messages.
Feeling a little disappointed, Pan allowed herself to slip back into the usual routine with the passing of the lipstick excitement. She glanced at the clock on the night stand and was surprised to see the time was 6:37am; her little lipstick party had set her back two minutes on her daily routine; she reasoned it would not prove to be a problem given, she was always fifteen minutes early to work.
Determined not to let this flare of her wild side get the best of her, Pan made her way down the stairs to the living room. Setting her phone down on her desk, she began to load her briefcase with the necessary paperwork of the day. Once this had been achieved, it was time to leave the comfort of home; with briefcase in hand and purse over shoulder, she went forth to the car and began her drive to work.
Pan had been on the road nearly ten minutes when it occurred to her, she hadn’t checked her phone when she reached her car. By this point in the drive she had nearly arrived at her daily coffee house stop, but she was still far enough for the feeling, she really should check her phone, to take hold. This allowed her reasoning to rationalize; if she hadn’t checked her phone upon entering the car, there should be no harm in checking it now. In a very uncharacteristic move, Pan reached one hand into the front pouch of her purse, her phone’s pouch, and found it empty. This discovery was enough to draw her attention away from driving and predominantly to the purse. With one hand on the wheel to keep the car steady, her eyes and freehand were tasked with the responsibility of riffling through the purse. After checking every pouch, pocket and opening, rechecking them and finally giving it one more good over, Pan admitted defeat and consented she had left her phone sitting at home on her desk.
As she stared at the purse, the internal debate began whether to return home and retrieve the phone or press on to work. There should not be anything important missed; she could check her email and voice mail when she got to work. This idea did not reassure the feeling in her gut, which rebutted with the argument; her text messages and missed calls could not be checked from work; which clearly meant if she didn’t go home and check them then they certainly had a little red light flashing to indicate there was indeed one of said forms of communication waiting. and re-critiquing her appearance in the mirror, the feeling subsided and she decided that was exactly what she had needed today.
This is ridiculous, she thought. Of course Pan knew this feeling was the same one that had made her question her appearance this morning; it had been responsible for her swar wray with the lipstick; it set her routine off schedule; it broke her concentration; it made her forget the cell phone.
She would leave the phone at home; she came to this decision just in time to pull her eyes away from her purse and see her coffee shop pass by on the left and the red light she should be stopping for, pass over her in a chorus of profanities, explicit hand gestures and horns. Damn feelings.
She would leave the phone at home; she came to this decision just in time to pull her eyes away from her purse and see her coffee shop pass by on the left and the red light she should be stopping for, pass over her in a chorus of profanities, explicit hand gestures and horns. Damn feelings.
The next intersection was used as a turn around so Pan could return to her coffee shop, knowing whole heartedly her day couldn’t be started without it.
She fell into line at JavaBuzz; behind the rest of the herd waiting for their morning fuel. Her mind was focused on the flashing red light of her phone, the light which, she was becoming more and more convinced with each passing moment, had to be flashing.
"Hello. Welcome to JavaBuzz. Would you like to try one of our new Orange Citrus Mocha Cherry Chip blended iced coffee? It’s the flavor of the month and earns you double punches on your punch card," a robotic voice, which had no business hiding in a body so clearly wired on three shots of espresso too many, greeted Pan as she approached the counter. The voice belonged to a baristo named Jeff, nothing special to look at, but someone who she had seen in working the store for a few months.
"No thank you," she replied, puckering her lips, fishing for a compliment, "I will just have my usual."
Jeff stared blankly at her for moment, then that moment met a second moment, which ultimately gave birth to an illegitimately conceived third moment accompanied by a blink, before replying hesitantly, "ugh…is that a blended mocha?"
"No silly," her confidence would not fall, not after the sacrifice of her phone and time to achieve it. She was going to get a compliment or be damned, "a grande espresso latte, no whip and a plain bagel with light cream cheese."
"Oh. Okay. Name Please."
Her confidence had sprung a leak, "It’s Pan."
"Alright, I have a grande espresso latte for Pam with a plain bagel and a side of cream 5 cheese. Anything else?"
"No, it’s Pan."
"Pam?"
"Pan."
"Pam?"
"PAN, P-A-N." She replied slowly and clearly.
"Pan?"
"Yes," she sighed.
"Like the thing you cook in?"
"Well, um, yes I suppose…"
"Huh, weird. Your total is five seventy-five."
"Okay, and did you get the light cream cheese?"
"No, did you want light?"
"Yes please."
"Okay, so bagel with light cream cheese and a grande espresso?"
"Yes."
"Five seventy-five."
Fairly deflated, she handed over her debit card.
Jeff looked it over, replying, "Huh, that is your real name, who woulda thought."
Pan made her way over to the corner to wait for her order. While waiting, her mind began wandering again and it wasn’t long until it wandered to the red light of her phone. She felt this was becoming absurd; it wasn’t as if any of her "friends" would have called or text: and even if they did it would only be because they needed something from her. Who was it she wanted to hear from so bad? That was the answer, because if it was somebody she wanted to hear from, she knew who it had to be; it was the person she had wanted to hear from for the last seven years. The person she had never been ready to stop hearing from, but forced herself to drive thoughts of away.
"Pam"
Oh sure, he managed to creep his way into her mind every now and again. He’d weasel his way in with that sly smile, which said, he-was-guilty-of-something-but-you-will-never-know-what-it-is-and-even-if-you-did-you-couldn’t-help-but-like-him-more. Her thoughts made their way to his unkempt black hair, always attractive no matter how unprofessional. And his eyes. Those cool gray eyes that could calm any level of anger yet to be witnessed.
"Pam"
Rio Dythrab was his name and he was Pan’s college boyfriend. They met her freshman year and were the classic case of opposites attracting. She was the uptight bookworm, fresh from her honor classes in high school and being a Saluditorian; he was the son of a famous actress who believed in honoring free spirits.
"PAM? Regular latte, bagel with cream cheese, last call!" bellowed an irritated baristo making drinks.
Pulled from her day dream she looked to the counter.
"Oh, I think that’s mine," she replied.
"You Pam?"
"No, I’m Pan but they may have spelled my name wrong."
"Well this says Pam so…I don’t know what to tell you."
"It’s my order; here you can check my receipt."
The clerk snatched the receipt and stared skeptically at it, "Hey Jeff! Is this hers?"
"Who’s "hers?"
"It’s me Jeff," she replied, leaning over the counter, "You just helped me a few minutes ago."
She fell into line at JavaBuzz; behind the rest of the herd waiting for their morning fuel. Her mind was focused on the flashing red light of her phone, the light which, she was becoming more and more convinced with each passing moment, had to be flashing.
"Hello. Welcome to JavaBuzz. Would you like to try one of our new Orange Citrus Mocha Cherry Chip blended iced coffee? It’s the flavor of the month and earns you double punches on your punch card," a robotic voice, which had no business hiding in a body so clearly wired on three shots of espresso too many, greeted Pan as she approached the counter. The voice belonged to a baristo named Jeff, nothing special to look at, but someone who she had seen in working the store for a few months.
"No thank you," she replied, puckering her lips, fishing for a compliment, "I will just have my usual."
Jeff stared blankly at her for moment, then that moment met a second moment, which ultimately gave birth to an illegitimately conceived third moment accompanied by a blink, before replying hesitantly, "ugh…is that a blended mocha?"
"No silly," her confidence would not fall, not after the sacrifice of her phone and time to achieve it. She was going to get a compliment or be damned, "a grande espresso latte, no whip and a plain bagel with light cream cheese."
"Oh. Okay. Name Please."
Her confidence had sprung a leak, "It’s Pan."
"Alright, I have a grande espresso latte for Pam with a plain bagel and a side of cream 5 cheese. Anything else?"
"No, it’s Pan."
"Pam?"
"Pan."
"Pam?"
"PAN, P-A-N." She replied slowly and clearly.
"Pan?"
"Yes," she sighed.
"Like the thing you cook in?"
"Well, um, yes I suppose…"
"Huh, weird. Your total is five seventy-five."
"Okay, and did you get the light cream cheese?"
"No, did you want light?"
"Yes please."
"Okay, so bagel with light cream cheese and a grande espresso?"
"Yes."
"Five seventy-five."
Fairly deflated, she handed over her debit card.
Jeff looked it over, replying, "Huh, that is your real name, who woulda thought."
Pan made her way over to the corner to wait for her order. While waiting, her mind began wandering again and it wasn’t long until it wandered to the red light of her phone. She felt this was becoming absurd; it wasn’t as if any of her "friends" would have called or text: and even if they did it would only be because they needed something from her. Who was it she wanted to hear from so bad? That was the answer, because if it was somebody she wanted to hear from, she knew who it had to be; it was the person she had wanted to hear from for the last seven years. The person she had never been ready to stop hearing from, but forced herself to drive thoughts of away.
"Pam"
Oh sure, he managed to creep his way into her mind every now and again. He’d weasel his way in with that sly smile, which said, he-was-guilty-of-something-but-you-will-never-know-what-it-is-and-even-if-you-did-you-couldn’t-help-but-like-him-more. Her thoughts made their way to his unkempt black hair, always attractive no matter how unprofessional. And his eyes. Those cool gray eyes that could calm any level of anger yet to be witnessed.
"Pam"
Rio Dythrab was his name and he was Pan’s college boyfriend. They met her freshman year and were the classic case of opposites attracting. She was the uptight bookworm, fresh from her honor classes in high school and being a Saluditorian; he was the son of a famous actress who believed in honoring free spirits.
"PAM? Regular latte, bagel with cream cheese, last call!" bellowed an irritated baristo making drinks.
Pulled from her day dream she looked to the counter.
"Oh, I think that’s mine," she replied.
"You Pam?"
"No, I’m Pan but they may have spelled my name wrong."
"Well this says Pam so…I don’t know what to tell you."
"It’s my order; here you can check my receipt."
The clerk snatched the receipt and stared skeptically at it, "Hey Jeff! Is this hers?"
"Who’s "hers?"
"It’s me Jeff," she replied, leaning over the counter, "You just helped me a few minutes ago."
The blank stare of his face raised doubt that Jeff even knew where he was, "who are you?"
"I’m Pan!" the frustration was becoming difficult to hide.
"Well, this order is for Pam."
"But, you called me Pam at first," the response was forced through her teeth.
"Did you correct me?"
"Yes!"
"Then I should have written it down as Pan…"
"Yes, you should have!"
"So…this order is for Pam…"Jeff’s robotic voice echoing a point he had already made.
That was enough, "Look! It’s my order, no one else is claiming it, no one here is Pam, just let me take my damn order!"
The creator of the coffee stepped back into the conversation, "Ma’am, there is no reason to be upset, we are working as fast as possible. You aren’t the only customer; speaking of which, Jeff help the line, I can handle this. Look ma’am, I will give you the order, but if Pam comes looking for her food I’m blaming you."
"FINE," exasperated, Pan took her, now cold coffee with whip and equally cold bagel, which had been inexplicably toasted, but at least was accompanied with light cream cheese.
She hadn’t even made it into her car before Rio’s face came swaggering back to her thoughts. His face had an annoying way of popping up from time to time. Maybe it was because she had yet to be in a real relationship since they parted ways. Maybe it was because he was the only person to regularly make her go out and experience life beyond school and work. Maybe it was because she had kept the same phone number since they were together and always hoped that one night he might pick up the phone and maybe, just maybe, call her; the way she had thought of calling him so many times before.
The flashing red light was back, blinking its insensitive chromatic taunt. The feeling had now taken up a firm residence in her mind and was prepared to declare squatters rights if anyone wanted to reason it away. It knew, there was a message waiting on the phone, and it was making certain Pan new it too. It was off this knowledge, the feeling was able to introduce an idea: the message was from him. Why else would it be nagging so intently at her if it wasn’t from him? Then came the feeling’s opportunity for the coux de gras of arguments: what if he changed? What if, after all these years he had settled down, turned his back on the party scene and wanted her back?
Pan checked the time. If she hurried, she should be able to make it home, grab the phone and get to work at eight am exactly. With a certainty she couldn’t pinpoint, yet was definitely there, Pan turned around and rushed home to claim her phone; wondering if, after all this time, Rio was somewhere thinking about her at this exact same moment too.
He wasn’t.
And there was no message waiting. Just the sneering flash of a mocking green light.
Pan decided she really did not care for the color green.
The one aspect her feeling had been completely right about was being able to make it to work on time. She walked through the doors of her eighty-some-odd-floor office building at 8 am exactly, and advanced on another Thursday at work; all dim-witted feelings behind her: she hoped.
***
Why couldn’t she get him out of her head? When it ended between them, she had been the one to leave him. They had made it through college happily enough, and even had a good run for a few years after, but when Pan had wanted to start settling down, Rio hadn’t been interested. Partying every night, drinking, clubbing, sleeping all day; it is fun for awhile but people have to grow up at some point.
Then again, if your movie star mommy bank rolled every one of your whims, maybe you didn’t have too. He never finished anything in his life, not a job, not school, not even a project. All he ever did was what he wanted to be doing. It was infuriating.
But it was also the last time Pan had been happy. Not the kind of happiness one feels when their favorite team wins the championship, or the kind you get for finding an extra twenty in your pocket, but true happiness; the real kind, where you are perfectly content and if the world were to meet its demise you would be fine with it, because nothing else could be better than that one moment.
"Ugh! God!" she sighed as she heaved back in her chair.
The portly, little fellow Toby , in the cubicle next to Pan’s, peaked his little, bald, red head into her doorway.
"Everything alright over there?" he inquired.
"Oh yes, I just can’t seem to focus on anything for some reason," it was true enough.
Toby scooted his way into her cubicle, the light reflecting off of his shiny skull; Pan had never realized before just how much his head looked like a pimple about to pop. Not just his face, but his whole entire head (she bet Rio would have spotted it right away).
"When I find I can’t focus, I play a sudoku. It always realigns my center."
"Is that so?" she replied, mindlessly clicking her mouse.
"Oh, it truly does. It’s just so relaxing, but at the same time it exercises the mind. It’s a blast, really! Maybe you should try one sometime!"
"I’ve tried sudoku before Toby, it doesn’t help me. They’re too easy."
"Oh, you’re probably just not doing the right ones, here," he said pulling a sudoku booklet from his breast pocket, "have this one, I’ve got plenty more."
"Thanks Toby."
"No problem, happy to help."
It seemed the conversation had ended, but Toby wasn’t leaving. Pan waited and Toby stood. Continued waiting, continued standing. It was awkward.
"Something else on your mind Toby?"
"I’m just curious if you did something different today?"
Uncertain of his meaning, Pan inquired, "What do you mean?"
"You don’t look like you. You look kind of…I don’t know…different?"
Dread swam through Pan, this is where the attention is going to come from? Fat little pimple head? She couldn’t have it.
"Nope. Nothing different. Same old, average, everyday me."
"hmmmmm, I coulda sworn something was different…"
Maybe it was her eyes playing tricks on her, but that head looked ready to pop all over her.
"Nope, absolutely nothing different, but we’d better get back to work so we don’t get into trouble"
"Okay…"Toby’s response trailed off as he made his way back to his cubicle.
And there Pan was again, alone with nothing but her thoughts of Rio. This was intolerable, she broke it off, they wanted different things; she told him to call when he was ready to grow up.
Apparently he hadn’t grown up because he never called, and she would know because she had the same number, not because of him of course; it was a business decision…mostly.
Work was getting her nowhere; she looked down at the sudoku Toby gave her and thought about how mind numbingly easy those would be; that definitely wouldn’t help.
Pan turned to her fall back form of entertainment in these situations: playing with numbers and equations. As full as her head could become at times, the only way she could always count on clearing it has been to fill it with numbers. Mathematical proofs were some of her favorites, seeing how it works, why it works, making sure it works. It was something she could get completely immersed into, and she did. Rio wasn’t a thought anymore. Diabolical green lights were left behind. Bursting pimple heads were not related to numbers.
In a short amount of time Pan had gone through a number of proofs and started to notice, what seemed to be a pattern buried within all of them. Nothing seemed significant yet, but that didn’t change the fact that it was there. Something struck her; if she was able to recognize the pattern, perhaps she could do something with the pattern.
A whole new world was opening up before Pan’s very eyes. She was finding sense and logic where before there was only uncertainty and skepticism. Her attention remained glued to the pattern for the next four hours. She happily forfeited her lunch break to continue work on this brand new discovery. She wasn’t sure where the pattern was taking her, but she was positive she was still following it; using pre existing mathematical proofs to extrapolate upon the pattern, until finally it ended.
The computer screen was filled with a language, foreign to anybody less than a mathelete. The end result was unclear at first; Pan hadn’t even realized she was working toward an end, it just kind of happened. Now, that it was complete she could read it from beginning to end and decipher what it meant.
The product left here in total awe; it was impossible that she had done this, much less that it was right. She checked it again, still flawless. The third check elicited a primordial fear to rise up because the answer was the same.
There was no way Pan had just done what philosophers, scientist and religious figure heads have been trying to do since the beginning of recorded history.
Pan had mathematically, flawlessly and beyond any argument disproved the existence of God.
"I’m Pan!" the frustration was becoming difficult to hide.
"Well, this order is for Pam."
"But, you called me Pam at first," the response was forced through her teeth.
"Did you correct me?"
"Yes!"
"Then I should have written it down as Pan…"
"Yes, you should have!"
"So…this order is for Pam…"Jeff’s robotic voice echoing a point he had already made.
That was enough, "Look! It’s my order, no one else is claiming it, no one here is Pam, just let me take my damn order!"
The creator of the coffee stepped back into the conversation, "Ma’am, there is no reason to be upset, we are working as fast as possible. You aren’t the only customer; speaking of which, Jeff help the line, I can handle this. Look ma’am, I will give you the order, but if Pam comes looking for her food I’m blaming you."
"FINE," exasperated, Pan took her, now cold coffee with whip and equally cold bagel, which had been inexplicably toasted, but at least was accompanied with light cream cheese.
She hadn’t even made it into her car before Rio’s face came swaggering back to her thoughts. His face had an annoying way of popping up from time to time. Maybe it was because she had yet to be in a real relationship since they parted ways. Maybe it was because he was the only person to regularly make her go out and experience life beyond school and work. Maybe it was because she had kept the same phone number since they were together and always hoped that one night he might pick up the phone and maybe, just maybe, call her; the way she had thought of calling him so many times before.
The flashing red light was back, blinking its insensitive chromatic taunt. The feeling had now taken up a firm residence in her mind and was prepared to declare squatters rights if anyone wanted to reason it away. It knew, there was a message waiting on the phone, and it was making certain Pan new it too. It was off this knowledge, the feeling was able to introduce an idea: the message was from him. Why else would it be nagging so intently at her if it wasn’t from him? Then came the feeling’s opportunity for the coux de gras of arguments: what if he changed? What if, after all these years he had settled down, turned his back on the party scene and wanted her back?
Pan checked the time. If she hurried, she should be able to make it home, grab the phone and get to work at eight am exactly. With a certainty she couldn’t pinpoint, yet was definitely there, Pan turned around and rushed home to claim her phone; wondering if, after all this time, Rio was somewhere thinking about her at this exact same moment too.
He wasn’t.
And there was no message waiting. Just the sneering flash of a mocking green light.
Pan decided she really did not care for the color green.
The one aspect her feeling had been completely right about was being able to make it to work on time. She walked through the doors of her eighty-some-odd-floor office building at 8 am exactly, and advanced on another Thursday at work; all dim-witted feelings behind her: she hoped.
***
Pan was employed by Sci-Volution Advancements; a company started by the government, whose purpose was to further development in the fields of science and mathematics; essentially taking whatever breakthroughs have been made, breaking it down, proving it can be recreated by an un bias third party and slapping a seal of approval that it is a scientific/mathematical advancement. If someone developed a new light bulb, Sci-Volution says if it illuminates. If a new fuel type was created, Sci-Volution made sure it could be recreated.
Making the breakthroughs is not Pan’s job; in fact she never even saw what the breakthroughs were. Pan receives a file and checks the particular mathematical formulas used in a given portion of a discovery, never knowing what breakthroughs (or lack thereof) the numbers belonged to. Pan determined if advancements worked or not: the power of a god was hers and she never thought anything of it. The temptation to fudge a fact here, skew a number there, never entered Pan’s mind; the numbers (or lack thereof) never lied, they were always right; she neither validated nor invalidated anything, she just made sure the numbers did. Essentially, she was a human spell-check for math; the only reason a computer did not hold her job is because the formulas sometimes required independent thinking; an ability, believed, not privy to a program.
Even if she was alone, even if her "friends" never called, even if that atrocious green light continued to flash, Pan could always take refuge in the consistency of numbers…most of the time. Unfortunately the numbers were not helping today. She found herself starring at the computer screen for long periods of time, allowing her mind to wander. Regrettably her mind had a one way ticket to the subject of Rio and it wasn’t about to trade it for anything else. Making the breakthroughs is not Pan’s job; in fact she never even saw what the breakthroughs were. Pan receives a file and checks the particular mathematical formulas used in a given portion of a discovery, never knowing what breakthroughs (or lack thereof) the numbers belonged to. Pan determined if advancements worked or not: the power of a god was hers and she never thought anything of it. The temptation to fudge a fact here, skew a number there, never entered Pan’s mind; the numbers (or lack thereof) never lied, they were always right; she neither validated nor invalidated anything, she just made sure the numbers did. Essentially, she was a human spell-check for math; the only reason a computer did not hold her job is because the formulas sometimes required independent thinking; an ability, believed, not privy to a program.
Why couldn’t she get him out of her head? When it ended between them, she had been the one to leave him. They had made it through college happily enough, and even had a good run for a few years after, but when Pan had wanted to start settling down, Rio hadn’t been interested. Partying every night, drinking, clubbing, sleeping all day; it is fun for awhile but people have to grow up at some point.
Then again, if your movie star mommy bank rolled every one of your whims, maybe you didn’t have too. He never finished anything in his life, not a job, not school, not even a project. All he ever did was what he wanted to be doing. It was infuriating.
But it was also the last time Pan had been happy. Not the kind of happiness one feels when their favorite team wins the championship, or the kind you get for finding an extra twenty in your pocket, but true happiness; the real kind, where you are perfectly content and if the world were to meet its demise you would be fine with it, because nothing else could be better than that one moment.
"Ugh! God!" she sighed as she heaved back in her chair.
The portly, little fellow Toby , in the cubicle next to Pan’s, peaked his little, bald, red head into her doorway.
"Everything alright over there?" he inquired.
"Oh yes, I just can’t seem to focus on anything for some reason," it was true enough.
Toby scooted his way into her cubicle, the light reflecting off of his shiny skull; Pan had never realized before just how much his head looked like a pimple about to pop. Not just his face, but his whole entire head (she bet Rio would have spotted it right away).
"When I find I can’t focus, I play a sudoku. It always realigns my center."
"Is that so?" she replied, mindlessly clicking her mouse.
"Oh, it truly does. It’s just so relaxing, but at the same time it exercises the mind. It’s a blast, really! Maybe you should try one sometime!"
"I’ve tried sudoku before Toby, it doesn’t help me. They’re too easy."
"Oh, you’re probably just not doing the right ones, here," he said pulling a sudoku booklet from his breast pocket, "have this one, I’ve got plenty more."
"Thanks Toby."
"No problem, happy to help."
It seemed the conversation had ended, but Toby wasn’t leaving. Pan waited and Toby stood. Continued waiting, continued standing. It was awkward.
"Something else on your mind Toby?"
"I’m just curious if you did something different today?"
Uncertain of his meaning, Pan inquired, "What do you mean?"
"You don’t look like you. You look kind of…I don’t know…different?"
Dread swam through Pan, this is where the attention is going to come from? Fat little pimple head? She couldn’t have it.
"Nope. Nothing different. Same old, average, everyday me."
"hmmmmm, I coulda sworn something was different…"
Maybe it was her eyes playing tricks on her, but that head looked ready to pop all over her.
"Nope, absolutely nothing different, but we’d better get back to work so we don’t get into trouble"
"Okay…"Toby’s response trailed off as he made his way back to his cubicle.
And there Pan was again, alone with nothing but her thoughts of Rio. This was intolerable, she broke it off, they wanted different things; she told him to call when he was ready to grow up.
Apparently he hadn’t grown up because he never called, and she would know because she had the same number, not because of him of course; it was a business decision…mostly.
Work was getting her nowhere; she looked down at the sudoku Toby gave her and thought about how mind numbingly easy those would be; that definitely wouldn’t help.
Pan turned to her fall back form of entertainment in these situations: playing with numbers and equations. As full as her head could become at times, the only way she could always count on clearing it has been to fill it with numbers. Mathematical proofs were some of her favorites, seeing how it works, why it works, making sure it works. It was something she could get completely immersed into, and she did. Rio wasn’t a thought anymore. Diabolical green lights were left behind. Bursting pimple heads were not related to numbers.
In a short amount of time Pan had gone through a number of proofs and started to notice, what seemed to be a pattern buried within all of them. Nothing seemed significant yet, but that didn’t change the fact that it was there. Something struck her; if she was able to recognize the pattern, perhaps she could do something with the pattern.
A whole new world was opening up before Pan’s very eyes. She was finding sense and logic where before there was only uncertainty and skepticism. Her attention remained glued to the pattern for the next four hours. She happily forfeited her lunch break to continue work on this brand new discovery. She wasn’t sure where the pattern was taking her, but she was positive she was still following it; using pre existing mathematical proofs to extrapolate upon the pattern, until finally it ended.
The computer screen was filled with a language, foreign to anybody less than a mathelete. The end result was unclear at first; Pan hadn’t even realized she was working toward an end, it just kind of happened. Now, that it was complete she could read it from beginning to end and decipher what it meant.
The product left here in total awe; it was impossible that she had done this, much less that it was right. She checked it again, still flawless. The third check elicited a primordial fear to rise up because the answer was the same.
There was no way Pan had just done what philosophers, scientist and religious figure heads have been trying to do since the beginning of recorded history.
Pan had mathematically, flawlessly and beyond any argument disproved the existence of God.
By: Michael Wilshire
Nice man, blog could use some personalitation, but its a good start to what will probably be a life long pursuit ;)
ReplyDeleteLove it brudda!!
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