DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Jinx, v. 1, issue 2, whole no. 2, March 1942

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Jinx, v. 1, issue 2, whole no. 2, March 1942

Page 5

JINX  page 5
"The Little People"
by Fred W. Fischer
He was lost.  Sleep wandered down the corridors of his mind and fogged the actuality of his awakening.  Overhead was the sun, under his naked feet was the lush grass.  In the air was the aroma of fresh and growing things.
But the sun was green, the grass was pale yellow, and the trees were of an orange hue.
My eyes! he thought. My eyes! And then he remembered:
The truck had swerved as purposefully as if destined to strike him down, and the brief slamming of brakes and shrilling of skidding tires were his las memories. Agony had drowned him in wave after wave.
This, then , was death! 
This, too, was reincarnation.
He was practical, though. There was no point in useless reminiscences or even a temporary nostalgia for his old self, his old life -- he was happy to be rid of that diseased body, that penurious existence.
But whether he was happy to be wherever he now was, remained to be seen.  He must undoubtedly be somewhere else than where his life had once been snuffed out. Some other planet, surely, claimed his now. That was the only possible explanation for a green sun, for faded yellow grass, for orange colored trees and shrubs.
Was he a child, or a man? At what point in a new existence did a person become conscious of a previous one? He thought it logical to suppose that people were reincarnated as children, and therefore he was not at all surprised when he looked at his hands, which he out stretched before him, and found them to be very small.  Children had hands of that size, all, right, but seldom did children's hands seem so capable looking.  And certainly he had never seen hands of ghastly a color. Violet! 
A little violet man, he!
A little violet man, or a little violet child. On another planet than Earth, he surmised.
Was it Mars? was it Saturn? Was it -- His knowledge of astronomy had always been slight.  He supposed that now he would never know where he was. Of course, he couldn't be on Earth. Things just weren't done there in such horrible colors. But wait a minute! Hadn't he read somewhere that all people didn't see the same colors, the same sizes, the same outlines? That dogs or cats or rats might seem some color as green, which would have seen as red, or blue maybe? He pushed the thought away from him.  After all, he did have hands, and they were human-looking enough although very small.
How large (or how small) was he, anyway, he had no standards to go by. The grass or whatever it was upon which he tred, was like a velvet carpet. He was surrounded by enormous, luxuriant trees and shrubs of familiar shapes and outlines but of rather larger dimensions than those to which he was accustomed, and their size baffled his attempts to identify them. And this thick, swordlike growth that grew all about him in such utter confusion, waist-high and so thick that he had to thread his way through it; it looked almost like grass, many times magnified. But that was ridiculous, of course. There probably wasn't any kind of grass on Mars - or Saturn, or wherever he was --  unless one would call that mossy carpet under his feet grass.  It looked and felt more like some sort of soft, fungoid growth.
He wished he would meet some more people. Presumably he could orient himself to some extent as soon as he made contact with others like himself. The thought of companionship lent a sharpness to his hearing, and he imagined that he heard voices conversing in the distance. The voices were pitched very low, and rumbled rather like thunder, but yet there was a conversational not to the sounds, and he strode resolutely toward them.
It was not long before he realized that those voices could not possibly belong to beings of his own dimension. He could almost make out the words of the unseen speakers, now, but that terrific basso rumbling could only come from creatures many times his own size. Experimentally, he spoke himself. "Hello," he said, stopping in his tracks.  It sounded the same as always.
"Why," he remarked, "I speak English." The thought amused him and he reasoned

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JINX page 5 "The Little People" by Fred W. Fischer He was lost. Sleep wandered down the corridors of his mind and fogged the actuality of his awakening. Overhead was the sun, under his naked feet was the lush grass. In the air was the aroma of fresh and growing things. But the sun was green, the grass was pale yellow, and the trees were of an orange hue. My eyes! he thought. My eyes! And then he remembered: The truck had swerved as purposefully as if destined to strike him down, and the brief slamming of brakes and shrilling of skidding tires were his las memories. Agony had drowned him in wave after wave. This, then , was death! This, too, was reincarnation. He was practical, though. There was no point in useless reminiscences or even a temporary nostalgia for his old self, his old life -- he was happy to be rid of that diseased body, that penurious existence. But whether he was happy to be wherever he now was, remained to be seen. He must undoubtedly be somewhere else than where his life had once been snuffed out. Some other planet, surely, claimed his now. That was the only possible explanation for a green sun, for faded yellow grass, for orange colored trees and shrubs. Was he a child, or a man? At what point in a new existence did a person become conscious of a previous one? He thought it logical to suppose that people were reincarnated as children, and therefore he was not at all surprised when he looked at his hands, which he out stretched before him, and found them to be very small. Children had hands of that size, all, right, but seldom did children's hands seem so capable looking. And certainly he had never seen hands of ghastly a color. Violet! A little violet man, he! A little violet man, or a little violet child. On another planet than Earth, he surmised. Was it Mars? was it Saturn? Was it -- His knowledge of astronomy had always been slight. He supposed that now he would never know where he was. Of course, he couldn't be on Earth. Things just weren't done there in such horrible colors. But wait a minute! Hadn't he read somewhere that all people didn't see the same colors, the same sizes, the same outlines? That dogs or cats or rats might seem some color as green, which would have seen as red, or blue maybe? He pushed the thought away from him. After all, he did have hands, and they were human-looking enough although very small. How large (or how small) was he, anyway, he had no standards to go by. The grass or whatever it was upon which he tred, was like a velvet carpet. He was surrounded by enormous, luxuriant trees and shrubs of familiar shapes and outlines but of rather larger dimensions than those to which he was accustomed, and their size baffled his attempts to identify them. And this thick, swordlike growth that grew all about him in such utter confusion, waist-high and so thick that he had to thread his way through it; it looked almost like grass, many times magnified. But that was ridiculous, of course. There probably wasn't any kind of grass on Mars - or Saturn, or wherever he was -- unless one would call that mossy carpet under his feet grass. It looked and felt more like some sort of soft, fungoid growth. He wished he would meet some more people. Presumably he could orient himself to some extent as soon as he made contact with others like himself. The thought of companionship lent a sharpness to his hearing, and he imagined that he heard voices conversing in the distance. The voices were pitched very low, and rumbled rather like thunder, but yet there was a conversational not to the sounds, and he strode resolutely toward them. It was not long before he realized that those voices could not possibly belong to beings of his own dimension. He could almost make out the words of the unseen speakers, now, but that terrific basso rumbling could only come from creatures many times his own size. Experimentally, he spoke himself. "Hello," he said, stopping in his tracks. It sounded the same as always. "Why," he remarked, "I speak English." The thought amused him and he reasoned