Good morning!
Lil Uzi Vert dropped a new album called Eternal Atake and this tweet I made seems to resonate with fans of the genre Uzi’s working in.
We thought the new crop of rappers whose names start with “Lil” were done there, but Lil Baby and Lil Uzi Vert seem to be doing just fine, the latter of which moving 325k units first week!
All that water (read: jewelry) Uzi talks about on Eternal Atake brought to mind a short story of mine called Watered Down.
Here’s a fun, 525-word science-fiction bit to get your week started. I imagine this is set in 2050 where flying cars are normal and people have bluetooth in their teeth. Enjoy.
In the studio, Aziza turned her head like a dramatic Bollywood actress. Her eyes found her sister’s, plastered upon a mock-up of a billboard. Miritha Mahdi was a star. There was no stopping her now.
Hey,” Miritha Mahdi said, “you remember that Afsan Piazi kid from high school?”
“Yeah, what about him?” Aziza said.
“I just saw online — and, I don’t believe it — but he’s just been sentenced to the waters,” Miritha said.
“Shut the front door. For what?” Aziza said.
“I don’t know — wait. The writer said he was found guilty of reeling on the set of his last movie. Can you believe this guy? Hack stuff. That’s hack stuff,” Miritha said.
“Get off your high horse. There’s no such thing as a ‘hack’ anymore,” Aziza said.
“Yes, yes, there is. You just don’t know what you’re talking about. I feel bad for him. He had the biggest crush on me when we were younger,” Miritha said.
“I thought you dated?” Aziza said.
Miritha choked, put her hands to her throat.
“Ew. No thanks. I’d rather date my dad,” Miritha said, walked into the dressing room.
“Are you done?” Aziza said.
Aziza followed Miritha into the trailer, couldn’t believe what she looked at. Miritha stood there with her eyes rolled into the back of her skull. Her body stood deathly still as the tips of her fingers were touching the screen of her phone — upon which a video was streaming. In the video, people were acting and dancing and singing. It dawned on Aziza — there, in white light — that what Miritha was doing was illegal. It’s called reeling — an act of illegally downloading content that is only available on a streaming basis via a paid subscription service and immediately becoming programmed to act as well if not better than those dead people on the screen.
Aziza stood there, watched Miritha, knew there was nothing she could do. When Miritha was done, she let out a shrill gasp, almost hit her head on the ceiling when Aziza coughed.
“I saw everything,” Aziza said.
“Action,” Miritha said.
She brushed past Aziza, felt her shoulder push against Aziza’s, walked into the scene.
Miritha stepped into the line of focus. A single tear started to wilt like a neglected rose.
“It was the summer of 1963, when everybody called me Baby and it didn't occur to me to mind. It was before Kennedy got shot, before The Beatles, when I wanted to join the Peace Corps and I didn't think I'd ever find a guy as great as my dad.”
It was only when everybody clapped that she vanished into thin air, like some kind of magic trick. There were a few gasps and sounds of astonishment from the cast and crew, but they were the young ones.
The ones in the know, including Aziza, knew the truth. They knew in this society, the way the world worked, they were all writers, directors and stars of their own lives.
Miritha’s own revelation only occurred years and years later within the stringent confines of imprisonment in some towering castle by the deep blue sea when she croaked out, “Cut.”
