Thursday, August 27, 2015

Thursday Taster 58: Parallel Slip

 Hello and welcome to a new Thursday Taster, the day when awesome writers all over the blogosphere come together to give you tasty bits of their last fiction. You can find the list here.
After his little Synapse-Spinash, Jonas is having another funny word problem.

"But you said you like books," Jonas said.
"But if we make a mess, we'll get in trouble," I said.
"Can you see something about time travel," Jonas said looking at the edge of each book at his nose level.
He was so into it. I wondered what he did before I came along.
"I'm not sure how to search for it," I said.
"Just look at everything,"Jonas said. "What's this long word?" He was pointing at a thick book.
"Psychoanalysis," I said.
"What does it mean?" He asked.
"It's a sort of science where you talk about old memories to someone and they try to understand your problems," I said.
"Sound like fun," Jonas answered. "But I don't like words with too many later because I always say them wrong and mum makes me repeat."
I was funny how listening to Jonas made me understand a lot of things. You could almost guess how complicated something was just by the length of the word, easy, four letters, difficult, nine letter, complicated, already eleven, so it might be that something complicated was more difficult than something difficult.
"What is the long world for time travel?" Jonas asked.
"I'm not sure, maybe, general relativity," I said but at the same time wasn't it einstein who demonstrated that time travel was impossible.
I was sure that time travel was impossible, it had to be the calendar in the universe, it didn't start with the birth of Christ like it did here, it was something else entirely. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed to be the only explanation. I needed more knowledge.
"Ok, let's try to find this book, you take the everything to the ground and I look from here," I moved my hand at about the hight of his eyes, " to the ceiling."
"Ok, but I can't read fast," Jonas said.
"The more you will read, the faster you'll read," I answered trying to look at the shelve behind the closest book tower without making it fall on Jonas.
"Really?" I asked with a large smile on his face.
"Of course, the more you do something, anything at all, the better you get at it," I said.
"So you mean if I play soccer a lot I can get good at it?" Jonas asked.
"Yes, absolutely," I answered.
"But you know they don't want to let me play anyway because I can't kick the ball straight," Jonas answered. "They say I can't do it because I'm a nerve."
"A nerve?"
"You don't know nerves?" Jonas asked.
The only nerves I knew about where the one linking every part of my body to my brain and spinal cord to transfer information.
"Yes, Tom, the one you saw earlier he called me that because his dad said that, when someone is really smart in a very bad way about stupid things like maths or grammar that's what they are called."
"Oh you mean nerd," I said, "and that's not a bad thing."


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