Caribbean stories of the dead
“I Trudie, remember you are to write our story. It seems like you have forgotten. Why are you out here watering plants and pulling weeds when there are more important tasks to take care of?”
The ‘voice’ startled me. What was that? What story? Am I losing it? Again? It took a bit rolling back of the memory tape for me to recall, “Oh it's you all, my dead friends. Yes, I was to continue story two but I have been busy.”
“We noticed. Busy writing other things and forgetting where your loyalty lies.”
“Don’t start with me!” I was speaking to the spokeswoman of the group.
She was young and beautiful with a smart mouth, I realized it when they had first spoken to me.
“Oh and by the way, do not use that horrible title again. Caribbean Stories of the Dead. Really? Who do you think will read that? Your aim is to scare people or tell stories that they will read and enjoy but still get the message?”
“We plan on being famous. This is our third do over. We chose you. You better get this right.”
What is this world coming to when the dead start giving orders. I side-eyed the group. They were not the boss of me; I control that pen, well, keyboard. They can talk from now into the next eternity, I did not have to listen.
“Oh and by the way, get with it, girl. Use words that younger people can understand. They do not want to hear about any consciousness and metaphysical and esotericism and mysticism. Use the language of the day. Use technologyspeak. Go digital in your talk.”
“I thought I was digital. After all I am not writing with a quill pen on parchment paper.”
“We mean use words like metaverse, artificial intelligence, virtual reality, augmented reality, blockchain…Yeah we like that one. Talk about blockchain.”
“Block who? You mean building blocks?”
“Le sigh! We left this physical plan about two or three centuries ago and we know more about what is happening today than you. You have us wondering if we chose the right ghost writer.”
They all burst out laughing.
“Dumb it down for her, M.” A new voice. I didn’t even ask it to introduce itself. They were part of the same energy.
I was at the old plantation house again last week. I go there every week for class, trying to learn a thing or two about a thing or two.
After the session, I approached my car. I had parked it nearer to the building this time. Fool me once….. It was quiet — energy-wise. I figured they were busy elsewhere.
Pulling open the driver door, I settled myself into the seat and that was when I felt them, their energy. They were all bundled in the backseat of my car.
“We are going with you.”
“Going with me? I am not sure if I want strangers in my house. Do not let me have to take out my sage when I get there.”
After promising to behave, we set off.
Since our initial conversation on the way home, they had been so quiet that I did not even remember them until today in the garden.
“Simply put, blockchain is data you add to, you cannot change it nor can you remove any of the data already stored there. Blockchains are driven by a common agreement so no one can decide to change any data that has been previously added. You know what data is, right?”
I stupzed. And they laughed. Again.
“We want our story added to a blockchain of data. We want to tell people about the life over here. We want them to stop fearing death. I want them to believe that everything is eternal. Those are the pieces of data we want to add to this chain. Many before us have spoken and written about it. Many before you have spoken and written about it. Nothing is new except that this is a new way of relating it.”
“When we are done with this chain talk, we can move on,” M continued. “The real fun will be talking about virtual reality, augmented reality and extended reality.”
I stupzed. I did not wait to hear them laugh.
I. Trudie Palmer
*to kiss or suck one’s teeth. It is rude and many a bottom have been spanked for stupzing within the earshot of elders, especially if they were correcting or admonishing to you.