Day Fifteen : Incongruous - Maybe Yes, Maybe No

Incongruous

Definition: 

lacking congruity: as

a : not harmonious : incompatible

b : not conforming : disagreeing

c : inconsistent within itself

d : lacking propriety : unsuitable

Incongruous is a spin-off of its antonym, congruous, which means "in agreement, harmony, or
correspondence." Etymologists are in agreement about the origin of both words: they trace to the
Latin congruus, from the verb congruere, which means "to come together" or "to agree."

I sat in the third floor cafe - the outside wall of which was all glass and so allowed the patrons of said
cafe to relax and spy on the world below. 

I looked glumly out the window and watched as one particularly portly gentleman’s jacket went from
dark grey, to a loud check pattern, red and white candy stripes and then returned to a somber grey
once he reached the other side of the road. The zebra crossing under his feet had pulsed white,
lava red and then rainbow neon as he had made his way across it. 

I banged my head on the table and groaned. This was not going to be easy to fix. Reality leaks
were insidious, tricky and appeared to have a mind of their own. They did not like following the rules
and seemed to take joy in messing up the structure of everything around them. They didn’t appear to
be inherently malicious but they left unattended they could be dangerous. 

My assistant came running up behind me. I pulled out a chair and he slumped gratefully into it. 

“Well?” I asked. “What did the diagnostic say?” I asked, bracing myself for the answer.

He grabbed various bits of print outs, his tablet and some loose post it notes. Also a used plastic
water bottle that was clearly no longer filled with water. Instead it contained a dark blue liquid that
seemed to sparkle with the rainbow gleam of an oil slick if the light hit it just right. 

A dark blue colour resulting from on site testing was not a good sign. 

“It’s a probability issue.” my assistant said, shoving his messy blond hair out his eyes. “Basically, that
area is experiencing several potential possible realities that have concertinaed themselves over that
patch of road. It’s why there are no major discrepancies in the reality presented at the time and
because as people pass through one to the other it’s not really a whole other reality, just  slightly
different version of their current one, they’re automatically assimilating their experiences and
therefore won’t notice anything different as they walk through.” he paused. “Luckily.”

I thought it through. “So if it’s multiple versions of the same reality - and we make the assumption that
they’re being generated by,” I shrugged, “let’s say a question with several answers for want of a better
phrase then that means…” My face dropped, “oh no. please no.”

“I’m afraid so.” my assistant said glumly. “Taking into account all the variables, the fact that the same
fixed number of multiple realities are on a repeating cycle - meaning that it’s being generated by one
small issue rather than several large ones which would generate more realities, the relatively small
impact that it is having on a localised area - this all leads to the cause of the issue being an individual….”

I groaned. “Don’t say it.”

“It’s a Schrodinger.” he said apologetically. 

Schrodinger probably wasn’t the most accurate thing to call them, but it kind of fit and, let’s be honest,
it’s an awesome word in and of itself - even if it does call to mind extremely pissed off cats. 

Humans are complicated creatures - we say something when we mean something else entirely, we
pretend to be fine when we’re miserable, we lie to ourselves all the time about our actions, we’re just
not honest beings. We’re convoluted. Which is all well and good as, somehow, despite our glaring
social inconsistencies, it all works because we ride the emotional ocean flow together. It’s a
harmonious dishonesty if you like. 

Then you get some individuals where their pure contradiction is just too strong. The divide between
what they want and what they do is too abrupt, their very self seems to be at war with itself within
them. 

If their conflict becomes too strong within them (for example when they have a serious decision to
make and they don’t know what to do, so they turn it over and over in their head, going through the
various options, all the while battling their own nature which is already at odds with itself and this has
just added an oil tanker to the fire already burning out of control)  it starts to spread out between the
gaps in their psyche, acting like some sort of emotional gravity well and pulling the surrounding reality
in towards them and distorting it, shredding it so that other realities - representations of the choices
they could make start to seep through the tears.

However, as society dictates from an early age that to stand out and cause a scene makes you a
terrible human being, on a par with, possibly, the Marquis de Sade (really, such an attention seeker)
then of course, nobody shows their hideous inner conflict on their face. We maintain an expression of
polite neutrality at all times whilst out in the savage and unpredictable jungle that is modern society. 

Which means that locating and isolating a Schrodinger before something bad happens is almost next
to impossible. 

I groaned. “Why us?”

“Once the realities start dying out then it’ll be a bit easier.” my assistant offered. “They have to be
nearby to cause the disturbance after all.”

“This is one of the busiest intersections in town.” I argued petulantly. “And how knows how long it will
take them to whittle down their choices? If they take too long the anomaly could go out of control and
start dragging people in - and we don’t know what happens to those who go into a potential reality
and who don’t come out again before it dies out. Plus you know what a pain in the arse management
are with timekeeping. Who knows how long just waiting for the will take?”

I sighed and stared out the window again at the changing zebra crossing. Rainbow Neon, Magma,
White, Blue, Neon, Magma, White. 

Blue, Neon, Magma, White. 

Neon, Magma, White, Neon, White

Neon. White. Neon. White.

“Shit.” I slammed my palms on the table and stood up so hard my chair fell with a clatter to the ground
behind me. I started running for the door. 

“Come on.” I shouted to my bemused assistant. “Forget what i said - we’re out of time!”

We pounded down the stairs and out onto the street below, dashing straight for the blinking crossing.
It was still alternating between neon and white so we still had time. 

I glanced all around me at the passersby. Shit, I still couldn't tell which one it was. 

“Switch over to downtime now.” I ordered my assistant.

He fumbled with his phone and then swiped down. Instantly all the pedestrians, shop keepers,
stall owners and cars around us vanished. The colours leached from our surrounding leaving us in a
dark and empty grey world. Only the sound of our heavy breathing could be heard as we looked
frantically around us. There was no one to be seen. 

The only colour in the entire world was the rotating light of the crossing and the gentle shimmering
blue glow of the reality tear as it stretched up to the heavens.

Up.

I looked up. A shadowy figure stood atop the roof of the building by the side of the crossing. 

“Shit.” I said succinctly and started running for the building. “Try and find something to break their fall.”

“What the hell am I supposed to find here?!” he demanded, shouting after me and gesturing at the
deserted street.

“Just do it!” I shouted back in the manner of all bosses, everywhere. I yanked the door open and
ran for the stairs. Of course the elevators don’t work in downtime. Nothing electronic does. No we
don’t know why. Besides, why make my life easy?

I ran up the stairs, once again mentally thanking my evil work appointed personal trainer for the
hours and hours of cardio she made me do. 

I kept glancing sideways out of the windows as i ran up and up and up the winding stairs. 

White. Neon. White. Neon

Nearly there.

Neon. White. Neon.

One more floor.

White. White 

White

I surged through the fire door onto the roof, just in time to see the young woman at the edge of the
roof take a deep breath in and then gently lean forward.

I did not stop running. I lunged forward, grabbing at her dress as her body shifted over the side.
The weight of it slammed me against the wall surrounding the edge, scraping the skin off of my knees
and probably my shins would be flaunting all shades of blue tomorrow. But i had her.

I threw my weight backwards, hauling her back off the ledge. We landed hard. My arse was going to
match my fetchingly blue shins tomorrow. Heh, who said I couldn't coordinate? 

The young woman landed on top of me. She was dressed business smart, quite feminine and at one
point her makeup had been expertly applied. Her mascara must not have been waterproof however,
as it had slid in streaks down her face. Unless, of course, she had cried so hard that not even today’s
most cutting edge make up science could stand against it. 

She blinked at me, bewildered at the turn of events that had led her not to be splattered like a jam
sandwich on the pavement, all worries now left behind, but instead lying crookedly in a sweaty, out of
breath, a stranger's arms. 

There was an awkward pause. 

My brain scrambled desperately for clues. A people person i was not. How had my mentor handled
this? Oh yes. 

“Fancy a new job?”