Follower

How may followers do you have, we'd ask each other online. The higher the number the more important we felt. It was a game. Then in 2007, my words went out around the world, and touched a few like thinkers. We began to talk, plan, dream of our ideal existence. The power of the internet was all we needed. It's like the new religion, someone joked. We believed in mega pixels.

After several years, our group became a number to be reckoned with. Small changes were seen in the way the World Government dealt with problems we pointed out. Dreams grew. We became bold, posted pictures, plastered lists of our followers on each others blogs. Government tried to direct our actions. Freedom of speech was our right we blogged. We're bigger than the real world. We rule space.

Then it began.

On Monday, I noticed a few were missing from my list. This didn't alarm me. Words can become misunderstood. Some may have felt neglected. Internet glich I decided.

On Tuesday, twice as many were gone. My cyberworld, I realized was shrinking. Perhaps, I was becoming a bit to radical, living in the mind a bit too much. I sent out a kinder, gentler post on loving my fellow human.

Wednesday there was a power outage. I spent the time outside, tending the organic garden, and greasing the windmill.  Thoughts of my friends across the web, spun like gossamer threads through my mind. They were as real to me as the spider who hovered over my squash.We hadn't quite perfected living off the grid, couldn't really if we wanted to stay connected to like minded people, people who were more than mere bodies.

Back onlineThursday, I began to worry. Half my list, 6,000 were gone. I did a few calculations. Being one of the smallest members of the Idealist Movement, if this were happening to all, then more than 10,000,000 were no longer communicating.

Friday, I was all alone. My followers had vanished. It left me speechless, fingers frozen over the keyboard. Where were they?

Saturday, I sent out a message. Where are you? Do you still exist? Do I still exist?

On Sunday, my belief in the Blog World crumbled. I went off the grid, pulled out an ancient book, looking for a solution, someone to follow. My finger traced words. I moved to my laptop and began to type.

God, if you can hear me, please answer.

The Promise of Rain

We were in the middle of a field searching for four leaf clovers at his insistence when the rain came. He wanted a child and this was his way of insuring its future? He wanted a sign. Well, this was a sign. Anger narrowed my eyes, darkened my vision like the graying sky. We should be sowing crops. What did this man have to offer? Why was I here? Our gazes met and I looked away.

Luck evaded us. Debts were high. Even the sun deserted us, yet, he never quit believing in something, in us. Why I wasn’t sure. Did I want to stay, right now or forever? I didn’t believe in taking chances. He was reckless, always dreaming and though we were soaked his callused fingers kept skimming the vegetation.

“Stupid,” I said.

He twisted from me and I saw for the first time the slump that often pained my shoulders, but never his. Defeat, resignation knotted his turned back. My hands clutched the ground as it dropped beneath me, though it didn’t really, it was only my heart. Was he giving up?

Thunder sounded, shocked me from my thoughts. He jumped to his feet. I reached out, grabbed a hand, pulled him down, felt the soft caress of lips wet with passion, and tasted the essence of the day. My hands undressed us. Mud coated the blush of bare limbs. He watched my every movement, let me decide where this was going.

"Stupid," I said, "Not to plant seed when rain's promised."

He plucked a clover from the meadow. It had four leaves. I held his gaze. The green matched the dreams in his eyes. He tucked it in my hair. Heat warmed the earth upon which we lay.