Tuesday, February 15, 2011

VD2011: And Yet I Wonder

Most years when I have my act together, I try to make a special project for Valentine’s Day. Most years, I’ve written stories.

I’ve written about Buddha and black market love tokens, Robotic dating services gone awry, hell hounds that encourage safer sex, and human-alien hybridization to cure over-active empathy.

I hope you’ll love this story. It’s about a monster.


God. I don’t even know what to write. They’re going to kill me.

I told the lady I wanted to write my story, so I guess I’ll focus on that. Hope I finish it before they come for me.

Calm down, calm down, calm down.

I’m Giselle PĂ©ronne. Everyone calls me Gis. I’m a twenty-five year old demisexual woman.

On February 14th, I walked to the store to pick up some supplies. I’ve hated everyone so long I didn’t have any reason to worry about the monster. How many of you even know how easy it is for misanthropes to shop on Valentine’s now? And, no, not all demisexuals hate humanity.

I picked up my groceries and a bottle of wine to celebrate my blissfully safe holiday. When I walked out of the store, I spotted a dark-haired woman.

She walked her baby in a carriage. The monster ran up to her and its mouth engulfed her head. The woman fell over. I caught a glimpse of the pool of blood around her head.

I guessed she died, but didn’t stick around to find out. If love for a child was enough to tempt the monster, even someone like me might be in danger.

My heart raced and I walked home as fast as I dared.

I locked and bolted the door behind me and turned all the lights out. I never heard whether it was attracted to lights, but I took no chances.

I drifted off to sleep and woke up several hours later. The sun had set while I dozed. I turned the TV on.

“The monster has been sighted in Chelsea. Viewers are advised to stay indoors.”

I flicked the TV off and breathed a sigh of relief. Nowhere near my house. I needed a cigarette. I pulled the pack out of my purse and stepped outside.

The neighbors’ voices carried through the quiet. Arguing again. Great holiday for it, but I didn’t want to hear it. I walked up the street and lit the cigarette.

The clock had struck nine and the city feigned abandonment. No cars on the road and just me outside. I never heard leaves rustling in the city before.

I shivered—half with cold, half with a feeling of creeping doom.

Somehow, I knew. Maybe it’s just confirmation bias, but I knew it would show. It did and I knew I couldn’t get away.

My heart pounded. I tried to think. What could I do? The craziest thought popped in my head: “What if I loved myself and it?”

I held my breath and focused all my vague misplaced love. It walked closer. I lost my nerve for a moment and closed my eyes.

Breathe in, breath out, love. Breath in, breath out, love. Love, love, love, LOVE.

The breeze hit my face. I opened my eyes. I couldn’t see the monster anywhere.

“What the—”

I looked down.

My arms— covered in thick black fur.

I ran home and peered in the mirror. Somehow, the monster merged with me or I merged with it.

“Wow, everyone’s going to be so happy,” I thought. “Except me.” I sighed.

My life as a human ended, so I figured I may as well enjoy my wine before I let everyone know the good news.

I took my time and then tried teleporting. It’s not as easy as the monster made it look. In six attempts, I made it close enough to a TV station to walk the rest of the way.

The street was empty. I banged on the window.

“Hello! I’m not the monster. I know I look like it, but I’m not. I need to talk to you!”

I felt a slight sting on my neck and fell to the ground. I woke up in a prison cell. Probably a few hours later.

Someone had handcuffed me. I stumbled to the bars.

“Hey! I need to talk to someone. I’m not the monster!”

Police milled about the station. They all ignored me.

“Hey! Come on! “

I yelled for maybe ten minutes. An officer approached the bars, but not very close. She’d pinned her wiry brown hair under her hat. Her name tag read ‘Pam Baker.’ Pam looked 40, or maybe 30 and a heavy smoker.

“Are you in charge around here?”

She pointed to the bars. Someone had threaded them with a glowing blue wire. “That’s to keep you from teleporting. Corridor Stamp Corp. says that’ll keep you in. No more phasey-woo.”

“I’m not the monster. I—I dunno, I absorbed it or something. It won’t eat anyone again.”

“Sure, doll. I’m not going to get close enough to the bars to find out whether you’re telling the truth or not.”

I swore. “Come on. At least tell me what’s going to happen to me.”

“I don’t know. That’s up to Corridor. Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll get a huge fine for creating you in the first place no matter what happens so you’ll get your revenge. Sort of.”

“Damn it,” I said. “That’s not revenge. That’s a slap on the wrist!” Well, I might have said a few other words.

“Sorry. Nothing I can do. I’m just in charge around here.”

“Can you at least get me a paper and a pen. I want to tell my story.”

“Sure, whatever.”

She walked away. I had no confidence in her. I collapsed on the floor near the bars and listened.

I only picked up bits and pieces.

“I wonder if—”

“—execu—”

“It’s so—”

“—all these years—”

I wanted to cry. Did this monster even have tears? Yes. Thick cloudy tears pooled on the concrete around my head.

Pam returned and tossed a pen and a pad in the cell.

I scribbled out what you’re reading. If anyone can read this, I’ll be surprised. Corridor didn’t design this hand with writing in mind. I guess they designed it with lawsuit-free hugs in mind.

That’s my story and I don’t know what else I should say.

They’re going to kill me. If you’re reading this, they’ve already killed me. Maybe you’ve killed me. So, my final message to you all … to all of humanity:

I love you all. I hate you all. It’s all hopeless. And yet … I wonder.

Torn newspaper page with picture of a shaggy humanoid monster with vaguely heart-shaped eyes. Headline: Valentine Monster Escapes! Subhead: Anti-teleportation field fails, monster still missing. Body: Chicago, Illinois. The dreaded Valentine's Day Monster escaped confinement in Brooklyn early this morning. The creature, first created ten years ago in a lab for Corridor Stamp Corp., has focused its attacks on happy couples in love on Valentine's Day. Police spokesperson Gerald Keating announced the creature left a note behind. The contents of the note have not been revealed to the public, but insiders suggest the veracity of the note is considered questionable.
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Saturday, February 12, 2011

Bedtime Stories for Weird Kids: Rendezvous with Grandma

Premise suggested by Matt Staggs.

“Don’t squirm. And remember what I told you. Grandma hates—”

“Viv. She likes being called Viv.”

“Ok. Viv hates the retirement home just like you do so don’t give her a hard time about it, ok?”

“Sure, mom.”

The train stopped and Tirzah and Kath stepped onto the platform.


Kath looked over the sitting area for her mother. She spotted Viv in the bright orange jumper Kath had tried to throw out several times. It made her mother look like a convict.

Viv waved. She scrunched down to do it. The wave was more for Tirzah than for Kath.

Tirzah pulled Kath’s arm forward. “C’mon, mom.”

Viv had saved them seats. Kath chose a different seat and pulled out her cell.

“Sorry, mom. I told you I would have to do some business while Ti—we visit you.”

“It’s ok, dear.”

Kath put her ear buds in and put on music. The chairs were incomprehensibly uncomfortable. Kath tolerated it for ten minutes. “Uh, I’ll be back in a few, mom.”


“Well, now that your mother’s out of the way, do you want to go on an adventure?”

Tirzah scrunched her nose. “An adventure? What kind of adventure can we go on without leaving the building?”

Viv laughed. “I didn’t say we wouldn’t leave the building, but I can think of one adventure we can have without leaving.” She winked at her granddaughter.

Tirzah eyed Viv suspiciously. “Ok, you’ve got my attention. What did you have in mind?”


Viv led Tirzah down a corridor. Her forcefield cane buzzed the floor lightly every other step.

They played nonchalant while passing nurses, orderlies, and janitorial staff.

“Where are we going, Viv?” Tirzah asked when the last of the staff was out of sight.

“The coast is clear?”

“Yeah.”

Viv thumped a laundry chute door with her cane. “Ready?”

“Are we really—” Tirzah’s eyes grew wide.

“Sure are, kiddo.”

Viv twisted her cane off and jumped in the laundry chute. Tirzah jumped in after her.

The laundry chute had smooth metal walls and evened out to a slight precipice every few floors.

“Oh my god,” Tirzah shouted, “This is like the biggest slide ever!”

Viv squealed with delight.


Kath dried her hands with a sigh and walked out of the restroom. She didn’t have any new messages on her cell. No interesting news stories. The celebs were all quiet.

She walked to the sitting room. She couldn’t see Tirzah anywhere. Viv was out of sight too.

“God damn it. Where did those two—”

The front door busted open. Twenty armored teenagers stormed in.

Kath dropped to the floor. “What the fu—”

The elderly and their visitors stopped and looked at the entrance.

One of the two youths pulled a device from his pocket and pressed a button.

The visitors and elderly gasped.

“WE ARE THE YOUTH LIBERATION FRONT. YOU ARE PAWNS OF YOUTH OPPRESSION. YOU WILL COMPLY WITH OUR ORDERS. WE WILL NOT HARM YOU.”


Tirzah landed on Viv in a laundry cart.

“That was so much fun, Viv. Can we do it again?”

“Sure thing, Tirzah,” she laughed. “You know you’re my favorite granddaughter.” She pulled herself up and rolled over the cart’s edge.

“I’m your only granddaughter, Viv.”

Viv laughed. “The only one you know about anyway. Here, grab my hand.”

Tirzah grabbed the old woman’s hand and pulled herself out of the cart.

A klaxon sounded twice.

“Whoops. Looks like we’re in for it now, pardner.”

Tirzah giggled.

“THIS BUILDING IS UNDER THE CONTROL OF THE YOUTH LIBERATION FRONT. YOU ARE PAWNS—”

Viv swore.

Tirzah pulled out her cell. “No signal. Check yours.”

“Me either. Looks like we’re in a whole different sort of trouble, kiddo.”

“Must be the Faraday shield,” Tirzah said.

“I always thought it was a stupid idea to install those in buildings. The temptation to use them is never a good idea.”

The laundrobots nearby paid no attention to the interlopers or the announcements.

“I have an idea,” Viv said. She popped the back off her cell and fiddled with the controls.

She reattached the back, taped the phone to the body of a laundrobot, and broke the bot’s case open.

Viv poked inside the bot, set a few controls, and closed it back up.

“Alright, get on with you,” she kicked the bot lightly.

It rolled away.

“Well, we can wait here if you want,” Viv said.

Tirzah looked depressed.

“Or we could try to stage a rescue?”

“Yay! Let’s do that.”

“You’ve got the right stuff, kid.”

Viv and Tirzah pried the doors off a cabinet with the Elderly Riot Supply kit. They pulled out the crowd control net and a few Zap guns.

“Hey, these things have been stunted. Nothing above a 2,” Tirzah pouted.

“It’s ok, kid. You can still rapid fire them. Harder to kill someone, but we don’t have to do everything on our first adventure.”

Viv and Tirzah took the elevator. When it reached -10, the elevator stopped.

“Looks like they figured out the elevator,” Viv said. She twisted her cane back on, selected the extensor, and lifted the elevator ceiling tile.

“Hold onto me,” she said.

Tirzah grabbed Viv’s waist. Viv collapsed her cane and aimed it at the floor. She hacked the cane control and pressed the button. The two shot up through the ceiling and grabbed onto the roof.

“Whoa. That was almost as much fun as the chute.”

Viv and Tirzah scrambled to the shaft ladder and climbed up.

“Maybe it would have been better if you’d gone first,” Viv said.

Tirzah laughed. “I don’t know. You’re like some kind of action hero, Viv.”

Viv pulled her cane out and pushed herself up with it. “Glad you’ve got so much confidence in me.”

A door ten floors up opened and the shaft echoed with YLF charges.

Viv’s cane slipped and she teetered. “I’m going to fall dear, step as far to the—”

Tirzah crumpled under Viv. They fell several feet.


Tirzah woke on a suspensogurney with a nurse standing over her.

The nurse wore a beard and has his nose pierced. “Just hold still, dear. I’ve got to finish your scan.”

Kath held her hand.

“Is Viv ok?” Tirzah asked.

“Oh, she’s fine, baby,” Kath said. “She fell on you though.”

“What happened?”

“The call your grandmother made went through and the police filled the home with sleeping gas.”

“The scan shows she’s ok. A few bruises, but no broken bones, internal bleeding, or concussion. Lucky kid,” the nurse said.

“Thanks, Anso,” Kath said.

Tirzah crawled over the edge of the gurney and stood on the floor. “Viv?”

“Hey there, dear,” Viv said. She shuffled toward Tirzah. “Broke my cane on the way down,” she laughed.

Tirzah hugged her grandmother’s waist and looked up. “Can we go on another adventure soon, Viv?”

“Only if you promise we can break out of this joint for our adventure. The laundry chutes aren’t as fun your second time, I promise.”

#76

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Friday, February 4, 2011

Bedtime Stories for Weird Kids: Transformations

Humans imagine wizards to be wizened old men. This is an unfortunate misunderstanding, though not as unfortunate as their view of mermaids.

No, wizards have chubby little torsos and long spindly limbs. They look at humans like we’d look at homo heidelbergensis.

Wizards often live high in the mountains and send their children to far away schools. Emma Lee Tannon, a young wizard, couldn’t go to school. Her father decided she needed more time, but she could study using internet courses while he tended to his day business.

Three months into her course on transformations, the course started on living transformation. After months of practice, Emma transformed rocks into cabbage and bread into lava like second nature. Her father hadn’t been pleased she had practiced the bread-into-lava thing at the table.

She barely wait to try living transformations. Emma practiced the spell several dozen times before skipping down the mountain to find a victim. Father forbade her to transform goats.

A little town of humans perched on a nob of the mountain. Emma had seen it many times before, but never went inside. She sneaked through the brush and looked around. One very short nobby human chopped wood.

Emma pulled her want out and spoke the incantation. The human wobbled and made strange noises.

It fell over.

“Hm. I’ll just have to try again,” she said.


“How did your school go today, dear?” Father said.

“It went great. I’m nearly done with all my homework.”

“Emma Lee.”

“Yes, father?”

“You have to take responsibility for your actions, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”


Emma marched down the mountain and rounded up all of the humans she’d transformed. She wasn’t really sure how her father had even noticed the difference.

They didn’t look so different with chicken heads.

When they were all rounded up and she’d walked them home, she set out some corn. She laughed to see them bend at the waist and peck at it.

#75

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Sunday, January 30, 2011

Bedtime Stories for Weird Kids: Dreaming of You

“Hey, I need to talk to the manager on duty,” I said. I didn’t recognize the voice so it was probably one of the new employees.

“Can do,” she said.

I hadn’t heard the hold music in about six months. Easy listening covers of Elton John hits ruin my hold experience.

“Hello?” Jack was on duty.

“Hey, Jack. I need to call out today.”

“Who is this?” he sounded confused.

“It’s Angela.”

“Sh—. No, Angela. Unless you’re bleeding, I need you in here today.”

“None of my clothes—”

“Have you turned on the TV?”

“No.”

“Well, turn it on, and then put on whatever you can manage and I’ll bring you some clothes in the back plaza ten minutes before your shift starts.”


I drove more cautiously than usual on the way to work. I’d checked my license and it had changed too, but what I put on didn’t really count as ‘clothed.’

The world didn’t notice, though. They had other things on their mind than the sight of a burly hairy man barely wearing a pink robe.

Jack stood outside the back door when I arrived. He had a bundle of clothes and looked nervous.

I pulled up alongside him and rolled the window down.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding. Uh, I was expecting you to be a bit smaller, and I’m guessing you’ll need shoes too.”

“Yeah.”

Five minutes later, he had a pile of clothes more appropriately sized and some shoes.

I think I felt more self-conscious changing in the plaza than I ever had before. Wrong parts.


I don’t think I’ve ever had a weirder day at work. Everyone walked around wide-eyed, head down.

Most of my customers called me ma’am. I took my name tag off and borrowed Mike’s tag since he’d called out.

They still called me ma’am.

At 3:30 PM, Jack told me to take my break.


Only about one in every hundred people had switched genders. The news said about half of all people had experienced some side effect or another, though.

And all the dogs and cats could talk.

I walked out of the store and decided I felt like deli subs for lunch.

A few minutes into my walk, I spotted a nose-less, ear-less, but still completely male Mike. I squinted to get a better look. That bastard. He called out like he had a major problem!

I wanted to haul off and punch him, but I noticed a dog. I don’t know if I thought the dog might be a witness against me, or if I really just wanted to talk to a dog.

“Hey there, pup,” I said to the Boston-Terrier. “My name’s Angela. What’s yours?”

I knelt down beside him.

“My name,” he said in the most cutesy-wootsiest voice I’d ever heard, “is Shut Up. And some other things. I forget. Snacky-wacky?”

“Sorry, Shut Up. I haven’t got anything on me, but if you’re still around after I finish my lunch, maybe I’ll bring you some.”

“Thanks!”

Some old guy with a long beard and a cane shuffled in my general direction. I’d lost track of Mike so I walked toward the deli.

A camera crew had set up a scene with a reporter. I tried dodging their scene—no sense in being a jerk—but they stopped me.

“Ma’am, can I ask you a few questions?”

“How can you tell I’m a woman?”

“Your clothes all look like they haven’t been washed yet. I just guessed.”

“Oh. Well, I guess—”

A little boy shrieked behind us.

The reporter and camera crew swung to face the boy’s scream. The old guy flew. He’d tucked his cane under his arm, and his long beard flipped in the wind.

I ducked behind the camera crew. They weren’t interested in me anymore. Their new story was better.

It all seemed pretty familiar, so I dropped to the ground and posed like one of those sky divers you see in photos. I flexed my mind a particular way and, sure enough, floated awkwardly into the sky.

My dream flight had always been clunky. I landed as softly as I could on top of a building. I made a very loud WHUMP when I hit.

I touched the roof, ran my fingers over the rough concrete. It felt so solid. But if I had my dream powers there, I must have been asleep. Right?

If I was sleeping then, none of us have ever woken since. I switch gender every other day, Mike loses and gains body parts. Jack wakes up as a two-year-old some days.

And that old guy? Well, if you stick around here long enough, I’m sure you’ll see him.

#74

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Friday, January 21, 2011

Bedtime Stories for Weird Kids: The Fight

“Felicia isn’t going to like this,” Chris said. He wiped his paint-stained hand on his jeans.

“And that only matters because you’ve got a thing for her,” Ant said.

Sal scowled. “Leave him alone, Ant.” She picked up the red spray paint, closed one eye, and waved the can on an arc over the wall.

She put her finger on the button, and sprayed the arc.

Harmony and Felicia walked around the corner.

Chris lost his grip on the yellow paint and just barely avoided knocking the nozzle off. He swore quietly. “Hey, Felicia!” He waved.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re making a new dream. It’s just something to pass the time,” Ant said.

“Does it have to be downtown?” Felicia smirked. “We don’t want to tip them off, you know.”

“It’s not going to tip them off, Fel,” Ant said.

“What does it do?”

“Ask Sal. It’s her design.”

Sal raised her eyebrows slightly. “It makes chain restaurants and coffee smell less attractive.”

“Like how much?” Felicia said.

“I dunno. It won’t make them smell like sewage … probably.”

Felicia laughed. “How close is it?”

“Five minutes maybe? Depends on how fast your boy gets his part done,” Sal nodded at Chris.

“Ooooh, so tempting,” Felicia said. “I’m going to go grab some chain coffee while it still smells good. I’ll help you cast it when I get back. You want some, Chrissy?”

“Sure thing, Felicia. The usual.”


The five joined arms and hummed. They fell into a rhythmic pattern and their voices grew loud.

The moment passed. They opened their eyes and breathed sighs of relief. The mural had already faded. Brief traces of yellow, green, and red marked the mortar between the bricks, but no one would notice.

Chris reached for his coffee and wrinkled his nose. “I think we might have done too good a job.”

Harmony bent over and smelled Felicia’s cup. “Oh, it’s not that bad.”

A large crunch sounded nearby.

Sal swore. “Did that sound like—”

“The coffee place?” Felicia asked. “Yeah. Pull out your sleeping pills, people!”

Chris swallowed his dry. Sal, Felicia, and Harmony took theirs with Felicia’s coffee, and Ant took his with bottled water.

They ran to a hotel and took the elevator to the top floor.

“Hey, I think we can conk out in this broom closet,” Harmony squeaked.

The group piled in the closet.

Chris slumped into the corner and Felicia sat against him. Sal and Harmony giggled picked another corner. Ant’s eyes fluttered and he collapsed on the cement floor.

The Monster Coffee’s golem rumbled through the city streets. It stopped outside the hotel briefly. It considered the probable consequences of attacking a hotel when the hotel developed its own golem.

The hotel’s golem crumbled at its sickly white edges. It stomped slowly toward Monster Coffee.

Monster Coffee held a fist up high and brought it down slightly. Then it looked around as if it couldn’t see Hotel. It peered at the plaza intently for thirty seconds before it gave up and walked back to the store.


Two hours later, Felicia roused. “Well, I’m not going to tell you ‘I told you so,’” she said. “But I did tell you so.”

Chris’s eyes fluttered. “Hi, Fel,” he said.

“You sound drunk,” she said.

“I wish. Can’t we find something else to take next time?”

“Nothing else works that fast. We can take the slow route when the leader of this mutiny doesn’t trigger guardians.”

“Hey,” Sal sounded hurt. “You’re probably right.”

“So,” Ant said. “When does the real fight start?”

#73

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Friday, January 14, 2011

Bedtime Stories for the ADD: Humane

“So, the ship is stocked and everything is loaded and configured to spec. We’re done, right?” trainee logistics officer Hannah Shelling said.

“Not quite,” Chief Jackie Reed said.


“Set course for Beta Reticulae, Mr. Christopher.”

“Yes, sir,” Daniel said. He used Maere’s constant and a few modified equations of his own. The course plotted was elegant and deceptively simple. “Course plotted, sir.”

“Ahead full,” the captain said.

He engaged the Watson’s engines. The Watson left the system in a streak of light.


Daniel Christopher’s shift ended and he walked to his quarters. This would be his first longterm tour out of the system. He’d already clashed with first officer Craig’s over some minor disagreement. He needed to make a good impression, get on Craig’s good side. Otherwise, the next two years could destroy his career while boring him to tears.

He plopped on his regulation rack and turned the light out. Through his uniform, he felt a squarish bit of paper under him. He turned the light back on and turned over.

Special Orders: Lieutenant Daniel Christopher

He turned the envelope over, tore the flap open, and pulled a sheet from the envelope. All the identifying marks were absent. An admiral had signed it. When he finished the letter, he was to burn it.


“We’ve got to deliver these daffy letters to every bunk on the ship?”

“They’ve got to be the right letters too or there’ll be trouble.”

“They all say the same thing. What’s the point?”

“Not quite, Shelling. What if you got one of these letters and it had someone else’s name on it?”

“Oh,” Shelling swore. “Yeah, that would be a problem.”


Dear Lt. Daniels,

It will doubtlessly surprise you to know that you are the only human on board the Watson.

All your fellow crew and officers are androids.

You would have figured it out eventually, but in order to prevent problems later, we decided it was best to let you know now—

“Well, damn. That makes a lot of sense already, I guess.”


“So, why do we do it?” Shelling said.

“The androids make braver decisions,” Reed said, “When they think they’re the only human and they have to make up for all the inhumanity around them.”

“Huh.”

“Turns out it’s the same for humans too.”

“Are you saying—”

“I’m not saying anything,” Reed said. She pulled a cigar out, trimmed it, and lit up. “I’m not saying anything at all.”

#72

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Friday, January 7, 2011

Bedtime Stories for the ADD: Meat

A bit of space dust hit the ship.

I sounded an alarm and set micromechanicals to patch the hole.

It feels weird not breathing. I wasn’t told that. It’d been twenty-two years and I still felt like the moment right after I go under the water.

My non-existent lungs told me I was fine.

My heart should have raced when we were hit. It didn’t. Not a heart. Just synapses.

All I ever wanted was to be a hero. The feel of justified adrenaline running through me. But so much of emotion is meat. I just don’t feel it anymore.

#71

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