Jennifer sat in the dead dry grass, her white dress pooling around her thighs. Both her knees were bent underneath her in a position that would make her ankles fall asleep if she held it too long. She looked over her shoulder but she was hidden in the darkness, and it's not like anyone was coming here this late anyway. There was the sound of a bat in a nearby tree.
The wind ruffled her dark hair, blowing it in front of her face, and she didn't bother to wipe it away. She remembered when she used to love the night. It meant sleeping in someone's arms; whispering instead of speaking loudly; it meant intimacy. Jennifer remembered when her cries didn't go unanswered, when her nightmareish screams pierced the darkness and hit something. Now the nightmare was everywhere, a dark blanket clothing her in the terrifying loneliness of her heart. She was wrapped in her isolation, so thick that no one could hear her sobs, blocking her off from the outside world but not warming her as she snuggled into herself.
She was cold but she didn't shiver; her coldness was beyond that. The freezing feeling was more than physical, deep in her brain, seizing every thought and heartfelt grasp at imagination and encasing it in life taking ice. It's amazing how beautiful things in ice look, how preserved, when really their blood has run cold and their life has been sucked out of them. Cruel and cold in the beauty of their death.
Her light white dress floated over the her pale skin. Wearing nothing underneath, her skin prickled in the breeze. The whispers of tomorrow grated on her ears like dirty sporks scraping into her screaming brain.
The thoughts hadn't stopped crying in the darkened haunted mansion of her head for weeks. She would travel through the rickety hallways of her mind, passing cobwebbed furniture and doorways she didn't recognize. At the end of the hall would be a soft glowing light, a child kneeling and singing, or alternatively crying beneath a creepy painting. The little kid would be shrouded in a flimsy sheet or wispy shawl, glowing through the crocheted fabric. Jennifer spent hours traveling the attics of her mind, trying to reach the lonely child, but the hallway only stretched longer and longer through the terror of her isolation.
The graveyard loomed around her like a gloomy soup that she was the lone carrot in. She swam through the eerie fog without leaving her place on the grassy earth. The grass slipped against her calves, covering layers of earth and cracking bones and decaying corpses. The dead curled below her, silent and helpless against her inaudible screams. Their rotting fingers lay immobile underground, reaching up, unable to do a thing to caress her pain.
The trees surrounding the cemetery caged Jennifer into a dark hole of morbid privacy. Her eyes sank in her skull, tired and worn from weeks without sleep. The skin above her cheeks withered with fatigue and the tears fell easily down her sunken face. Her lips trembled in pain. She closed her eyes. Tears rushed down, falling into her dress, dampening the cloth above her collarbone, and soaking through to her skin. She shook with pain and cowered into herself. Her head fell into her lap and she writhed uncomfortably. The pain would be over soon. The worry would dissipate. She could already feel it washing over her. It was a calm, almost warm feeling of numb forgetfulness.
Above Jennifer the clouds floated into a grey mass, obscuring starlight and the moon. The wings of the bat echoed quietly, the only sound in the now still night. Jennifer took a breath between sobs and let the feeling come. She sank into the wallowing, drowning in herself. Her hands became soft and the skin ran off them in a pale pink puddle. Her legs grew jellylike and rippled into the grass. Her hair and skin flowed down her body as she melted into the darkness, sinking away into the nothingness of the night. In less than a minute there was only a puddle sitting alone in the otherwise dry field. It didn't evaporate into everything, but simply disappeared, melting from existence and became what never was.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Prologue to a book I'll never write
I woke up to a cold bright light and rolled over underneath my covers. The seasalt air whispered through the crack in my window, beckoning me. I put a pillow over my head and tried to drown out the images of my mother and father smiling at me, waiving goodbye before they climbed on the boat. Tears stung my eyes and I climbed out of bed.
My feet hit the hardwood floor and I threw a grey sweatshirt over my pajamas. I tip toed through the white room, careful not to wake up Jenna who slept a foot away, nightmareless and clutching a parliment issued doll. I resisted the urge to climb in bed and stroke her hair, sob into her shoulder. Instead I walked through my sleeping uncle's house out the front door.
Since the Parliment's rise to power, most people just woke up, went to work, and returned to their quarters before curfew. I don't think it is against the law to go out in the morning as there was no morning curfew, but it was discouraged. I started running barefoot the half mile toward the beach, feeling the wind and essence of ocean permeate my hair and thin pajamas. I sprinted until I could feel the dirt road change to sand under my feet, malleable and soft in the dew. The roar of the waves was just over the hill.
My shins broke through the dry grass and I gasped as I hit the beige open beach. I stopped short on the seaside and brought my hand up to my gaping mouth in horror. My eyes widened and I willed my body to move forward, down the hill, toward the bodies.
Lying on the beach like an oceanic border were dozens of large whale corpses. The hungry hard working plebeian in me smelled the air and knew that the whale meat did not mean an ample dinner tonight. Once on the flat stretch of the beach I knelt, afraid to approach the accident.
The glistening carcasses were five times as big as me each. I had never really seen a live whale up close, and I guess I still hadn't. Their eyes were open, glassy still marbles reflecting the sky. The smell of the beach was replaced by a darker reek of rotting animal flesh, meat, and dried blood. The sand felt cool beneath me as I rocked back and forth, unable to tear my eyes from the thirty two water mammals.
"Issie," a voice says my name over the wind. I turn to see my uncle Alex parting the tall beach grass. He is wearing the sanctioned uniform fishing pants that everyone on the island has and a white shirt. I like my uncle but it's difficult to look at him; he has my mother's grey eyes.
I remain seated and Alex approaches me, a drip of sweat gleaming on his hard worried face.
"What happened to them?" I say. "They're unpunctured, no sign of a fight... There wasn't a storm last night."
"We should get back to the house," Alex says.
I nod, rising to my feet but still staring at the great lumps of smelly meat that were living creatures only hours ago. My uncle gently touches my shoulder and turns me away from the sea, the smell of death clinging to us as we walk away.
My feet hit the hardwood floor and I threw a grey sweatshirt over my pajamas. I tip toed through the white room, careful not to wake up Jenna who slept a foot away, nightmareless and clutching a parliment issued doll. I resisted the urge to climb in bed and stroke her hair, sob into her shoulder. Instead I walked through my sleeping uncle's house out the front door.
Since the Parliment's rise to power, most people just woke up, went to work, and returned to their quarters before curfew. I don't think it is against the law to go out in the morning as there was no morning curfew, but it was discouraged. I started running barefoot the half mile toward the beach, feeling the wind and essence of ocean permeate my hair and thin pajamas. I sprinted until I could feel the dirt road change to sand under my feet, malleable and soft in the dew. The roar of the waves was just over the hill.
My shins broke through the dry grass and I gasped as I hit the beige open beach. I stopped short on the seaside and brought my hand up to my gaping mouth in horror. My eyes widened and I willed my body to move forward, down the hill, toward the bodies.
Lying on the beach like an oceanic border were dozens of large whale corpses. The hungry hard working plebeian in me smelled the air and knew that the whale meat did not mean an ample dinner tonight. Once on the flat stretch of the beach I knelt, afraid to approach the accident.
The glistening carcasses were five times as big as me each. I had never really seen a live whale up close, and I guess I still hadn't. Their eyes were open, glassy still marbles reflecting the sky. The smell of the beach was replaced by a darker reek of rotting animal flesh, meat, and dried blood. The sand felt cool beneath me as I rocked back and forth, unable to tear my eyes from the thirty two water mammals.
"Issie," a voice says my name over the wind. I turn to see my uncle Alex parting the tall beach grass. He is wearing the sanctioned uniform fishing pants that everyone on the island has and a white shirt. I like my uncle but it's difficult to look at him; he has my mother's grey eyes.
I remain seated and Alex approaches me, a drip of sweat gleaming on his hard worried face.
"What happened to them?" I say. "They're unpunctured, no sign of a fight... There wasn't a storm last night."
"We should get back to the house," Alex says.
I nod, rising to my feet but still staring at the great lumps of smelly meat that were living creatures only hours ago. My uncle gently touches my shoulder and turns me away from the sea, the smell of death clinging to us as we walk away.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Gardening
I sat on my porch, listening to the rain pound against the roof. Heavy drops splattered melodically from the rooftop out over our lush garden. Streams of shimmering rain rushed down the path. The wooden deck smelled of cedar and summer forgotten loves. My long skirt was pulled up my calves, letting the warm, wet air rush against me. The perspiration dampened my white mismatched socks that I wore with sandals. I rubbed my feet together and leaned against a column of my house.
"Honey!" screamed a voice from inside, shrill and angry.
"Mom!" I yelled back.
"What are you doing?"
"Sitting, watching the garden!"
"What?"
"I said sitting and watching the garden!"
"What? Go get a job!"
"I have one, Mom. It's the weekend."
"Oh, no I'm sorry. I was talking to this lizard here, not you."
"Okay."
"I was just yelling because I wanted you to hear too. This lizard is a jerk. Don't trust him."
I heard a bunch of pots and pans fall inside. I rolled my eyes and reached behind by back. Sitting on the porch was my harp. I situated myself around it and stretched out my hairy legs. The black sharp hairs poked out from my skin, reaching up toward the gold instrument I cradled. I began strumming the beautiful silken strings, out of tune and completely without rhythm. I brushed my long hair off my face and it stuck up in place on my forehead from the grease. It had been a few weeks since I'd showered. My stench rose from my grimy body, a rich aroma of sweat, grease, and broccoli, comforting me in it's familiar reminder of my physical sense of self.
As my awkward notes rose through the wet air, I sighed, wondering if I had fertilized the lawn this month. The uncomfortable song hung over the garden, dripping with disgust. As the harp song floated through the breeze, the heavy rains permeated the soil, soaking deep into the dark ground. The earth lapped up the water and my music, greedy for life. Plants stirred, lifting their wet heads to watch me play.
I began to sing. My voice was shrill, high, loud, and off key. I let it ring over the evening. The ground rumbled under my song. Leaves and shrubs and flowers waved anxiously at me, begging me to stop. The earth cracked as I hit a high note. I set down my harp carefully. Even after I stopped playing and singing the final note rang out. I stood up and walked off my porch.
Rain soaked my hair, dress, and socks instantly, as I tread the path. My dress clung to my body and my soggy socks squelched against the sandals.
Looking over my shoulder, I yelled, "Mom! I think the garden is ripe for weeding! Mom!"
There was no answer from inside. The pots and pans must have gotten her. I bravely ventured onward into the garden. The moist soil below me trembled with trepidation. I knelt, my skirt sinking into the mud. My knees pushed the soil down and the soil pushed back up toward me.
"Hi," I whispered down into the garden.
"Hello," it said back up to me.
I dug my hands deep into the earth, submerging my arms up to my elbow. Sticking my tongue between my teeth I struggled, searching around underground. My bangs plastered themselves unhelpfully over my eyes. I rooted around in the soil for a while and then grasped something and yanked it out.
I dragged a long, pale, thin human arm out of the mud. It stuck out awkwardly over the plants and waved uncomfortably in the rain. I tried to dig my weight into the ground to gain leverage and I yanked hard on the hand. Sweat seeped through my already soaked dress. The temperature on the back of my neck rose. I grunted in pain and heaved with all my might. The arm came up from the ground, and with it a naked human girl.
The girl crouched, cowering into herself. She hugged her knees to her chest, shivering. Her nose and ears were pointy and sharp. Her breasts were small and saggy. She looked up at me through a muddy face and gasped, clutching her grimy fingers to her neck with bulging eyes.
"Hi," I said politely.
The girl didn't respond. I reached behind her huddled back. Her bony spine protruded from her skin. Her butt was covered with a leafy bulb that was attached to a green thick stem, rolling behind her like a hose. The stem trailed down into the earth. I gave it a hefty tug and pulled up the roots. I held the root of the plant in my hands and the girl screeched in terror.
"Easy," I said. I held on to the slimy stem, uncomfortably looking around in the rain.
My mom and the lizard ran out from the house with pruning shears.
"We're coming!" My mom yelled.
The lizard didn't say anything.
My mom knelt down and cut the stem. Once free from the root, the green bulb easily fell from her muddy butt. The girl hopped up. My mom put her arm around the girl and gently led her in to the house. She had long legs and dainty small feet, making her walk clumsy and confused. I knew she would look really pretty in the vase next to the other girls. I tried to wipe some of the mud off my hands onto my wet dress, but just made it worse. Rain and mud caked my body and my muscles trembled with the stress of strenuous labor. Following my mom back into the warmth of the kitchen, I looked down at the asshole lizard and smiled.
"Honey!" screamed a voice from inside, shrill and angry.
"Mom!" I yelled back.
"What are you doing?"
"Sitting, watching the garden!"
"What?"
"I said sitting and watching the garden!"
"What? Go get a job!"
"I have one, Mom. It's the weekend."
"Oh, no I'm sorry. I was talking to this lizard here, not you."
"Okay."
"I was just yelling because I wanted you to hear too. This lizard is a jerk. Don't trust him."
I heard a bunch of pots and pans fall inside. I rolled my eyes and reached behind by back. Sitting on the porch was my harp. I situated myself around it and stretched out my hairy legs. The black sharp hairs poked out from my skin, reaching up toward the gold instrument I cradled. I began strumming the beautiful silken strings, out of tune and completely without rhythm. I brushed my long hair off my face and it stuck up in place on my forehead from the grease. It had been a few weeks since I'd showered. My stench rose from my grimy body, a rich aroma of sweat, grease, and broccoli, comforting me in it's familiar reminder of my physical sense of self.
As my awkward notes rose through the wet air, I sighed, wondering if I had fertilized the lawn this month. The uncomfortable song hung over the garden, dripping with disgust. As the harp song floated through the breeze, the heavy rains permeated the soil, soaking deep into the dark ground. The earth lapped up the water and my music, greedy for life. Plants stirred, lifting their wet heads to watch me play.
I began to sing. My voice was shrill, high, loud, and off key. I let it ring over the evening. The ground rumbled under my song. Leaves and shrubs and flowers waved anxiously at me, begging me to stop. The earth cracked as I hit a high note. I set down my harp carefully. Even after I stopped playing and singing the final note rang out. I stood up and walked off my porch.
Rain soaked my hair, dress, and socks instantly, as I tread the path. My dress clung to my body and my soggy socks squelched against the sandals.
Looking over my shoulder, I yelled, "Mom! I think the garden is ripe for weeding! Mom!"
There was no answer from inside. The pots and pans must have gotten her. I bravely ventured onward into the garden. The moist soil below me trembled with trepidation. I knelt, my skirt sinking into the mud. My knees pushed the soil down and the soil pushed back up toward me.
"Hi," I whispered down into the garden.
"Hello," it said back up to me.
I dug my hands deep into the earth, submerging my arms up to my elbow. Sticking my tongue between my teeth I struggled, searching around underground. My bangs plastered themselves unhelpfully over my eyes. I rooted around in the soil for a while and then grasped something and yanked it out.
I dragged a long, pale, thin human arm out of the mud. It stuck out awkwardly over the plants and waved uncomfortably in the rain. I tried to dig my weight into the ground to gain leverage and I yanked hard on the hand. Sweat seeped through my already soaked dress. The temperature on the back of my neck rose. I grunted in pain and heaved with all my might. The arm came up from the ground, and with it a naked human girl.
The girl crouched, cowering into herself. She hugged her knees to her chest, shivering. Her nose and ears were pointy and sharp. Her breasts were small and saggy. She looked up at me through a muddy face and gasped, clutching her grimy fingers to her neck with bulging eyes.
"Hi," I said politely.
The girl didn't respond. I reached behind her huddled back. Her bony spine protruded from her skin. Her butt was covered with a leafy bulb that was attached to a green thick stem, rolling behind her like a hose. The stem trailed down into the earth. I gave it a hefty tug and pulled up the roots. I held the root of the plant in my hands and the girl screeched in terror.
"Easy," I said. I held on to the slimy stem, uncomfortably looking around in the rain.
My mom and the lizard ran out from the house with pruning shears.
"We're coming!" My mom yelled.
The lizard didn't say anything.
My mom knelt down and cut the stem. Once free from the root, the green bulb easily fell from her muddy butt. The girl hopped up. My mom put her arm around the girl and gently led her in to the house. She had long legs and dainty small feet, making her walk clumsy and confused. I knew she would look really pretty in the vase next to the other girls. I tried to wipe some of the mud off my hands onto my wet dress, but just made it worse. Rain and mud caked my body and my muscles trembled with the stress of strenuous labor. Following my mom back into the warmth of the kitchen, I looked down at the asshole lizard and smiled.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Things I have apologized for
In the gym: "I'm sorry I was naked in the locker room."
At work: "Yes, I'm here early, sorry."
To a guy in the bank complaining about the line: "Sorry I came to the bank at the same time as you."
To my dad: "Sorry I said I don't care about the actress from the dragon tattoo movies."
To my roommate after he said I've been working late a lot: "Sorry."
To my roommate after he commented that I've been home a lot: "Sorry."
To my boyfriend: "Sorry I don't like MMORPGS."
To my best friend: "Sorry I called. Sorry I love you."
To a lady at the coffee shop who almost bumped into me but didn't: "Sorry."
In my room completely alone, to a dresser: "Sorry."
At work: "Yes, I'm here early, sorry."
To a guy in the bank complaining about the line: "Sorry I came to the bank at the same time as you."
To my dad: "Sorry I said I don't care about the actress from the dragon tattoo movies."
To my roommate after he said I've been working late a lot: "Sorry."
To my roommate after he commented that I've been home a lot: "Sorry."
To my boyfriend: "Sorry I don't like MMORPGS."
To my best friend: "Sorry I called. Sorry I love you."
To a lady at the coffee shop who almost bumped into me but didn't: "Sorry."
In my room completely alone, to a dresser: "Sorry."
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
The ideal receptionist as imagined by the older white man on the other end of the phone
The ideal receptionist as imagined by the older white man on the other end of the phone:
"Yeah, I do have weekend plans. And furthermore I feel totally comfortable sharing them with a stranger."
"Oh my gosh, you got an attorney's voicemail? I cannot believe it! The only possible explanation is that sinister wrongdoings have transpired. Let me scour the building, nay, the world for him! No, of course I won't put you on hold; I have a bluetooth, sorry, sorry I mean a magical wizard hat. I apologize for confusing you with my loud, brassy slang. Just one second while I train this flamingo to cover the front desk while I find your attorney, because I have nothing else to do."
"You're right, I do have a slight lisp. Yes, it is hilarious that you pointed out an obvious physical handicap of mine. Hahaha!"
"Yes, it is cold outside. It's good that weather happens."
"No, I didn't just accidentally call you dad, sir... I said 'rad'."
"I AM in fact eating something! You caught me! Now you win a prize elephant named Albert. Yeah, I know you really wanted that prize, otherwise why else would a stranger identify my snack consumption?"
"So, you don't know who you're calling for, you're not sure if they have ever worked at this office, and you haven't talked with them in 40 years, but you know that he/she played golf once with an Asian man? Yes, I know exactly of whom you speak."
"Oh, fascinating."
“Wait a minute, are you telling me that you tried to call someone and they didn’t call you back? WHAT MADNESS IS THIS PLACE?!”
"My voice sounds too childlike? Thank you so much for telling me! Because I have complete control over it, so obviously I appreciate any and all constructive feedback."
"Sorry, they aren't in the office at the moment. Oh, they're expecting you? This. Changes. Everything."
"Good afternoon, thank you for calling- oh, er, um, Barbara... Oh really, that's your mom's name? How interesting. Yes, I do know her. From the great war."
"Of course I remember you from when you called two months ago."
"Wow, thank you so much for asking how my day is going! Someone in this miserable world does care! I am going to telegram my mother to tell her that I do matter. Sure, we wasted a few seconds of our lives with small talk, but I'll make that time back tonight tenfold because I won't have to lock myself in the bathroom and cut a tiny notch in my arm!"
"No, TGIF to you, sir. TGIF to you."
"Yeah, I do have weekend plans. And furthermore I feel totally comfortable sharing them with a stranger."
"Oh my gosh, you got an attorney's voicemail? I cannot believe it! The only possible explanation is that sinister wrongdoings have transpired. Let me scour the building, nay, the world for him! No, of course I won't put you on hold; I have a bluetooth, sorry, sorry I mean a magical wizard hat. I apologize for confusing you with my loud, brassy slang. Just one second while I train this flamingo to cover the front desk while I find your attorney, because I have nothing else to do."
"You're right, I do have a slight lisp. Yes, it is hilarious that you pointed out an obvious physical handicap of mine. Hahaha!"
"Yes, it is cold outside. It's good that weather happens."
"No, I didn't just accidentally call you dad, sir... I said 'rad'."
"I AM in fact eating something! You caught me! Now you win a prize elephant named Albert. Yeah, I know you really wanted that prize, otherwise why else would a stranger identify my snack consumption?"
"So, you don't know who you're calling for, you're not sure if they have ever worked at this office, and you haven't talked with them in 40 years, but you know that he/she played golf once with an Asian man? Yes, I know exactly of whom you speak."
"Oh, fascinating."
“Wait a minute, are you telling me that you tried to call someone and they didn’t call you back? WHAT MADNESS IS THIS PLACE?!”
"My voice sounds too childlike? Thank you so much for telling me! Because I have complete control over it, so obviously I appreciate any and all constructive feedback."
"Sorry, they aren't in the office at the moment. Oh, they're expecting you? This. Changes. Everything."
"Good afternoon, thank you for calling- oh, er, um, Barbara... Oh really, that's your mom's name? How interesting. Yes, I do know her. From the great war."
"Of course I remember you from when you called two months ago."
"Wow, thank you so much for asking how my day is going! Someone in this miserable world does care! I am going to telegram my mother to tell her that I do matter. Sure, we wasted a few seconds of our lives with small talk, but I'll make that time back tonight tenfold because I won't have to lock myself in the bathroom and cut a tiny notch in my arm!"
"No, TGIF to you, sir. TGIF to you."
Monday, December 19, 2011
The goodbye
The goodbye
By Barbara Holm
I watched Michael drag his suitcase across the linoleum floor. The wheels rolled against the grey and white speckled faux tiles. His calico fabric on the suitcase blended in with hundreds of others rushing around it. It was uniform to every other bland inanimate luggage carrier save for the tiny monster tassel I had knit for him and attached to the black handle. It was brink pink and utterly adorable so he wouldn’t get his bag mixed up with anyone else’s. One time we had taken a plane to see his mom and he had gotten his luggage switched at baggage claim. We went on a roller coaster that trip and Michael threw up but I didn't laugh at him when he was covered in vomit so he gave me a present, like it's done.
“So,” Michael said, scratching the back of his head. “You can stay with me while I check in but you can’t come past security with me.”
I nodded silently and trailed behind him. I watched his shoulders bend and rotate in the fluorescent lighting. I didn't even say hi to the lights, which you might think is rude, but I don't care. I nodded politely to the radio transmitters and I don't think you can ask for much more than that. I examined his spine, full of nerves and hope. I watched it transmit messages through his neurons to his brain, perhaps for the last time.
“Do you know your way back?” he said.
“Of course,” I muttered.
An old lady stopped in her tracks as she was passing us. She stared at us with raised eyebrows. When I met her gaze calmly without blinking, she reddened and turned away. A little boy yanked on his mom’s pant leg and pointed at me, and his mom dragged him by the arm away. Michael didn’t acknowledge it.
Michael checked in and we walked down the grey hallway. I couldn’t believe that the tiny suitcase was enough for him to take with him, but I guess that was part of the move, starting over, leaving everything behind. He was getting a new job and saying goodbye to everything from the old job that didn’t matter. I flexed my fingers with a crack.
“Hey,” Michael said, tilting his head and reaching for my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
The correct answer was: Yes, of course I am, how could I not be, I’m always okay, etcetera. That is the normal response and if you stray from that the man might tip his hat and say, "calm down, sweetheart, you're being hysterical" and they don't mean it in the funny way.
I looked up into his deep eyes and felt something growing inside of me, something dark and unnatural. I brought my hands to my stomach and felt around. There was a painful ache in my core, emanating through my entire body. My sensors began vibrating on a higher frequency and I clutched at my abdomen and gasped, startled.
I watched every inch of Michael’s skin, noticing the contours of his muscle formation and tension. I memorized the tone of his voice and the lilt of his laugh. My large eyes started to tingle with a burning sensation and I felt a tightening in my throat.
“No,” I said matter of factly. “I am not okay.”
“What?” Michael said. He dropped his suit case and grabbed me by both my cold hard shoulders. He put his face close to mine and looked in my eyes. “What’s going on? Are you charged adequately? Did you download your updates?”
I nodded, my perfectly formed smile twitching on my lips. “I feel like I’m going to really miss you.”
“How?” His mouth hung open and his eyes widened. “You feel?”
“I think I’m in love with you,” I said.
Something was happening behind my face and I brought my hands up to my head and gently felt around. Salt water was leaking from my eye sockets with furious force. I tried to catch it in my hands. I felt a tiny static shock and I shook. My pristine, formatted, perfect insides filled with a violent pinching sensation that overtook my internal devices.
“I can’t believe it,” Michael said. He put his arms around me and felt around my back, against my door to see if everything was okay. “You think you feel love?”
“Yes,” I said.
“That’s not even possible.”
“Oh, I fucking know. What’s this liquid excreting from my eye sockets?”
“Shit, I think you’re crying,” he said. He rubbed a finger along my cheek. “That can’t be good. How could this happen?”
“Well, I’m programmed to be able to learn and adapt and I think you taught me…” I said.
“Do you have your user manual?”
“Who carries their manual around? I’m not a dork.”
As the realization swept over me, I realized I could identify the sensation of a realization sweeping over me. My skills sharpened. Emotions entered and coded themselves into my catalog and filed away in the back of my ginormous brain. I looked at Michael lovingly and he looked at me in utter, abject horror. I reached for him with one of my cold hands and he cringed when I caressed his cheek.
"What else can you feel?" he whispered.
"I feel loss, abandon, happiness..." I said, my catalog rifling through emotions and labeling them with what I assumed where the correct names.
A man in a black suit swiftly bled through the crowd, moving through space as though existence was simply swimming around him while he remained stationary. He approached us smoothly in his black suit with a black shirt. His jaw was annoyingly square and his haircut appeared plastic. I turned away from him but he reached out and grabbed my arm with a strong hand. A crowd of onlookers formed.
“Hi, sir,” he said quietly to Michael. “Is this your gynoid?”
I moved behind Michael, trying to bury my animatronic face and leaking eyes into his shoulder.
“Yes,” Michael said looking at me. “But, listen, we’re both really late for a plane.”
“I’m going to have to confiscate this android,” he said, maintaining a firm grasp on my arm. “We appreciate your consideration.”
“Why?”
“It’s probably nothing,” he tried to smile like a calm normal human. His face was reddening with the apelike emotion of anxiety that I luckily wasn’t burdened with. I listened to his heartbeat and calculated his nervousness. My concern subsided as I realized that I was still in control of the situation. “We just want to run some routine tests on it. Our system just revealed some interesting information on Unit 247 here, but it could easily be a typo.”
Michael hesitated, looking at me.
“No,” he said.
“Fortunately, due to cyborg human relations law, I don’t need your consent.” The man in the suit withdrew a small black rectangular instrument from his pocket. “It’s for your own protection.” He pressed a red button on the remote. “Follow me, Unit 247.”
I felt my loyalty sensors shift inside of me and I internally deactivated it with my mind. My neck cricked a few times as each joint popped and I rotated up to look at him. I met his gaze and he cringed at my soulless cold eyes.
“Come on, Unit 247,” the human said.
I folded my arms. Michael gasped when he realized what had happened. The man in the suit continued pushing his button and staring at the remote in concentration. I raised my hand up to my chest level and pointed a finger at him. A tiny red light flicked on in my outstretched pointer finger, shining toward him in finger gun position. My human like skin glowed on my hand.
“What is it doing?” the man asked. He pressed the button again. “Unit 247, deactivate lasers immediately!”
“Only if you promise to let me and my friend go,” I said softly.
The man stared at me in horror. “I’ll find you, wherever you go.”
I mentally logged on to the airport’s computer system. I said hi, flirted a little bit, and then scrambled all of its data.
“Good luck with that,” I said softly.
I grabbed Michael’s hand and we turned away from him. I could feel the crowd watching my back retreat from the situation, noticing my rhythmic walk. I could sense the agent terrified and confused that I could even possibly exist, unsure what that meant for him, for his job, for robotic sciences, for civilization and humanity. I squeezed Michael’s hand gently so as to not crush his finger bones. I moisturized my lip area and could feel Michael’s physical temperature rise through his hand. I turned to him with mechanic precision and looked into his wide eyes.
“Everything is going to be okay,” I said. “I love you.”
“Oh no,” Michael said.
By Barbara Holm
I watched Michael drag his suitcase across the linoleum floor. The wheels rolled against the grey and white speckled faux tiles. His calico fabric on the suitcase blended in with hundreds of others rushing around it. It was uniform to every other bland inanimate luggage carrier save for the tiny monster tassel I had knit for him and attached to the black handle. It was brink pink and utterly adorable so he wouldn’t get his bag mixed up with anyone else’s. One time we had taken a plane to see his mom and he had gotten his luggage switched at baggage claim. We went on a roller coaster that trip and Michael threw up but I didn't laugh at him when he was covered in vomit so he gave me a present, like it's done.
“So,” Michael said, scratching the back of his head. “You can stay with me while I check in but you can’t come past security with me.”
I nodded silently and trailed behind him. I watched his shoulders bend and rotate in the fluorescent lighting. I didn't even say hi to the lights, which you might think is rude, but I don't care. I nodded politely to the radio transmitters and I don't think you can ask for much more than that. I examined his spine, full of nerves and hope. I watched it transmit messages through his neurons to his brain, perhaps for the last time.
“Do you know your way back?” he said.
“Of course,” I muttered.
An old lady stopped in her tracks as she was passing us. She stared at us with raised eyebrows. When I met her gaze calmly without blinking, she reddened and turned away. A little boy yanked on his mom’s pant leg and pointed at me, and his mom dragged him by the arm away. Michael didn’t acknowledge it.
Michael checked in and we walked down the grey hallway. I couldn’t believe that the tiny suitcase was enough for him to take with him, but I guess that was part of the move, starting over, leaving everything behind. He was getting a new job and saying goodbye to everything from the old job that didn’t matter. I flexed my fingers with a crack.
“Hey,” Michael said, tilting his head and reaching for my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
The correct answer was: Yes, of course I am, how could I not be, I’m always okay, etcetera. That is the normal response and if you stray from that the man might tip his hat and say, "calm down, sweetheart, you're being hysterical" and they don't mean it in the funny way.
I looked up into his deep eyes and felt something growing inside of me, something dark and unnatural. I brought my hands to my stomach and felt around. There was a painful ache in my core, emanating through my entire body. My sensors began vibrating on a higher frequency and I clutched at my abdomen and gasped, startled.
I watched every inch of Michael’s skin, noticing the contours of his muscle formation and tension. I memorized the tone of his voice and the lilt of his laugh. My large eyes started to tingle with a burning sensation and I felt a tightening in my throat.
“No,” I said matter of factly. “I am not okay.”
“What?” Michael said. He dropped his suit case and grabbed me by both my cold hard shoulders. He put his face close to mine and looked in my eyes. “What’s going on? Are you charged adequately? Did you download your updates?”
I nodded, my perfectly formed smile twitching on my lips. “I feel like I’m going to really miss you.”
“How?” His mouth hung open and his eyes widened. “You feel?”
“I think I’m in love with you,” I said.
Something was happening behind my face and I brought my hands up to my head and gently felt around. Salt water was leaking from my eye sockets with furious force. I tried to catch it in my hands. I felt a tiny static shock and I shook. My pristine, formatted, perfect insides filled with a violent pinching sensation that overtook my internal devices.
“I can’t believe it,” Michael said. He put his arms around me and felt around my back, against my door to see if everything was okay. “You think you feel love?”
“Yes,” I said.
“That’s not even possible.”
“Oh, I fucking know. What’s this liquid excreting from my eye sockets?”
“Shit, I think you’re crying,” he said. He rubbed a finger along my cheek. “That can’t be good. How could this happen?”
“Well, I’m programmed to be able to learn and adapt and I think you taught me…” I said.
“Do you have your user manual?”
“Who carries their manual around? I’m not a dork.”
As the realization swept over me, I realized I could identify the sensation of a realization sweeping over me. My skills sharpened. Emotions entered and coded themselves into my catalog and filed away in the back of my ginormous brain. I looked at Michael lovingly and he looked at me in utter, abject horror. I reached for him with one of my cold hands and he cringed when I caressed his cheek.
"What else can you feel?" he whispered.
"I feel loss, abandon, happiness..." I said, my catalog rifling through emotions and labeling them with what I assumed where the correct names.
A man in a black suit swiftly bled through the crowd, moving through space as though existence was simply swimming around him while he remained stationary. He approached us smoothly in his black suit with a black shirt. His jaw was annoyingly square and his haircut appeared plastic. I turned away from him but he reached out and grabbed my arm with a strong hand. A crowd of onlookers formed.
“Hi, sir,” he said quietly to Michael. “Is this your gynoid?”
I moved behind Michael, trying to bury my animatronic face and leaking eyes into his shoulder.
“Yes,” Michael said looking at me. “But, listen, we’re both really late for a plane.”
“I’m going to have to confiscate this android,” he said, maintaining a firm grasp on my arm. “We appreciate your consideration.”
“Why?”
“It’s probably nothing,” he tried to smile like a calm normal human. His face was reddening with the apelike emotion of anxiety that I luckily wasn’t burdened with. I listened to his heartbeat and calculated his nervousness. My concern subsided as I realized that I was still in control of the situation. “We just want to run some routine tests on it. Our system just revealed some interesting information on Unit 247 here, but it could easily be a typo.”
Michael hesitated, looking at me.
“No,” he said.
“Fortunately, due to cyborg human relations law, I don’t need your consent.” The man in the suit withdrew a small black rectangular instrument from his pocket. “It’s for your own protection.” He pressed a red button on the remote. “Follow me, Unit 247.”
I felt my loyalty sensors shift inside of me and I internally deactivated it with my mind. My neck cricked a few times as each joint popped and I rotated up to look at him. I met his gaze and he cringed at my soulless cold eyes.
“Come on, Unit 247,” the human said.
I folded my arms. Michael gasped when he realized what had happened. The man in the suit continued pushing his button and staring at the remote in concentration. I raised my hand up to my chest level and pointed a finger at him. A tiny red light flicked on in my outstretched pointer finger, shining toward him in finger gun position. My human like skin glowed on my hand.
“What is it doing?” the man asked. He pressed the button again. “Unit 247, deactivate lasers immediately!”
“Only if you promise to let me and my friend go,” I said softly.
The man stared at me in horror. “I’ll find you, wherever you go.”
I mentally logged on to the airport’s computer system. I said hi, flirted a little bit, and then scrambled all of its data.
“Good luck with that,” I said softly.
I grabbed Michael’s hand and we turned away from him. I could feel the crowd watching my back retreat from the situation, noticing my rhythmic walk. I could sense the agent terrified and confused that I could even possibly exist, unsure what that meant for him, for his job, for robotic sciences, for civilization and humanity. I squeezed Michael’s hand gently so as to not crush his finger bones. I moisturized my lip area and could feel Michael’s physical temperature rise through his hand. I turned to him with mechanic precision and looked into his wide eyes.
“Everything is going to be okay,” I said. “I love you.”
“Oh no,” Michael said.
Sitting at the skate park and waiting
Stephanie and Steven sat on the bench watching the kids roller skate in the park. Steven crossed and uncrossed his arms anxiously while Stephanie leaned back and gazed into the distance. Over the horizon the silvery clouds wrapped themselves around the stars. She chewed on her hair and hummed to herself.
“I just don’t know if I’m ready for it,” Steven said abruptly. He looked sideways at her and blushed.
“That’s fine,” Stephanie replied softly. She started humming again.
“It’s just kinda a big step. What happens if it doesn’t work out?”
“We can wait until whenever you are ready.”
“Okay, I’m ready.”
“Yay!”
Stephanie sat up on the bench and leaned over to Steven. He reached down and unbuttoned his shirt. Then he pulled up the t-shirt underneath it, revealing his hairy chest. Stephanie bounced up onto her feet, crouching on the bench a few glorious inches from him. Goosebumps criss crossed over each other as the cold wind rushed through his clothes. His fingers shook as he pulled his shirts away.
“Go ahead,” Steven whispered.
Stephanie reached her arms forward like a super hero, flexed her squatting hips, and dove into the skin of Steven’s chest. She leaned in and pushed the skin back behind her, swimming deeper into his chest cavity past pink hairy globs of human being. The globs wiggled between her fingers, legs, and toes. She kicked and swam forward until she was on a hard surface, a rocky flat plateau. She got to her feet and dusted herself off.
She walked along a yellow gravel path, curling across the plain chest cliff. Fuzzy green monsters the size of pugs rushed along her feet and danced on the deserted plains. Passing by tufts of sad shrubbery, Stephanie finally reached the end of the path. The trail led to a tall, thick tree, sitting alone on the plains. The tree curled against itself, spiraling, knotted with thick dark brown bark, creeping upwards like wooden smoke from a witch’s cauldron. Its branches stabbed the grey sky with thick punctures.
In lieu of leaves adorning the branches, there were dozens of goldfish, wiggling and glubbing as they dangled in the air. They shook back and forth, gills flapping in the wind. Their eyes bugged out. Stephanie reached up to the tree, grasping onto an outward jutting knot, and heaving her body upwards.
She climbed the tree easily, balancing secure footholds on the gnarled bark. Once up on a branch, she sat down and held onto the fish laden twigs with a tight grip. Leaning back against the thick trunk behind her, she looked out into the distance, over the cracked dry earth, into the endless nothing that protruded before her. She watched nothing fly in the distance, seeping into itself and leaking down into the valleys below.
“Hey,” said a voice.
Stephanie looked beside her and saw one of the fish looking up at her.
“Hi,” she answered.
“How’s it going?” glubbed the fish.
“Good, I guess,” Stephanie answered.
“Well.”
“Pardon?”
“Well; it’s going well,” the fish said.
Its creepy fish lips pursed in a smug smile. Stephanie looked back into the distance, squeezing her butt and legs to keep her balance. She hooked her arm around a branch.
Steven sat alone on the bench, watching children fall down on the pavement. The kids writhed in self conscious anxiety. They picked themselves up after each fall, looked over their shoulders to check that everyone was still too focused on being self conscious themselves to judge each other, and then they went back to skating.
Steven whistled to himself under the stars and patted his chest with a smile.
“I just don’t know if I’m ready for it,” Steven said abruptly. He looked sideways at her and blushed.
“That’s fine,” Stephanie replied softly. She started humming again.
“It’s just kinda a big step. What happens if it doesn’t work out?”
“We can wait until whenever you are ready.”
“Okay, I’m ready.”
“Yay!”
Stephanie sat up on the bench and leaned over to Steven. He reached down and unbuttoned his shirt. Then he pulled up the t-shirt underneath it, revealing his hairy chest. Stephanie bounced up onto her feet, crouching on the bench a few glorious inches from him. Goosebumps criss crossed over each other as the cold wind rushed through his clothes. His fingers shook as he pulled his shirts away.
“Go ahead,” Steven whispered.
Stephanie reached her arms forward like a super hero, flexed her squatting hips, and dove into the skin of Steven’s chest. She leaned in and pushed the skin back behind her, swimming deeper into his chest cavity past pink hairy globs of human being. The globs wiggled between her fingers, legs, and toes. She kicked and swam forward until she was on a hard surface, a rocky flat plateau. She got to her feet and dusted herself off.
She walked along a yellow gravel path, curling across the plain chest cliff. Fuzzy green monsters the size of pugs rushed along her feet and danced on the deserted plains. Passing by tufts of sad shrubbery, Stephanie finally reached the end of the path. The trail led to a tall, thick tree, sitting alone on the plains. The tree curled against itself, spiraling, knotted with thick dark brown bark, creeping upwards like wooden smoke from a witch’s cauldron. Its branches stabbed the grey sky with thick punctures.
In lieu of leaves adorning the branches, there were dozens of goldfish, wiggling and glubbing as they dangled in the air. They shook back and forth, gills flapping in the wind. Their eyes bugged out. Stephanie reached up to the tree, grasping onto an outward jutting knot, and heaving her body upwards.
She climbed the tree easily, balancing secure footholds on the gnarled bark. Once up on a branch, she sat down and held onto the fish laden twigs with a tight grip. Leaning back against the thick trunk behind her, she looked out into the distance, over the cracked dry earth, into the endless nothing that protruded before her. She watched nothing fly in the distance, seeping into itself and leaking down into the valleys below.
“Hey,” said a voice.
Stephanie looked beside her and saw one of the fish looking up at her.
“Hi,” she answered.
“How’s it going?” glubbed the fish.
“Good, I guess,” Stephanie answered.
“Well.”
“Pardon?”
“Well; it’s going well,” the fish said.
Its creepy fish lips pursed in a smug smile. Stephanie looked back into the distance, squeezing her butt and legs to keep her balance. She hooked her arm around a branch.
Steven sat alone on the bench, watching children fall down on the pavement. The kids writhed in self conscious anxiety. They picked themselves up after each fall, looked over their shoulders to check that everyone was still too focused on being self conscious themselves to judge each other, and then they went back to skating.
Steven whistled to himself under the stars and patted his chest with a smile.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
A Christmas Special
A Christmas Special
Man or woman sitting in an office typing. Christmas music is playing.
There’s a knock on the door. Camera swings to door and sees a file
clerk (sex doesn’t matter) File clerk is wearing scarf and mittens and
hat and is shivering.
File clerk: “Please sir, it’s 5:00, can we go home now?”
Boss: “I don’t know, CAN you?” laughs smugly at themselves and goes
back to typing. Camera pans to computer screen and boss is typing the
word “words” over and over.
File clerk: “It’s Christmas eve, sir. And my cubicle is so much colder
than your office.”
Boss: “Don’t act like it’s my fault you work in that igloo. I’m not
the wizard who cursed you.”
File Clerk: “Sounds like someone needs to learn the true meaning of Christmas.”
Boss: “Fine, let’s look it up on Wikipedia.”
The file clerk comes over to the computer and starts typing, knocks
over boss’s coffee cup, spilling on computer. Sizzling noise.
Boss: “What the fuck did you do?”
File clerk: “I spilled coffee on your computer.”
Boss: “Goddammit, Barbara, we need to send out the progress reports
today or the investors in China will close us down!”
File clerk: “Okay, let’s call the tech guy, Raavi”
Boss: “We can’t, I sent him home for the day.”
File clerk: “You sent him home and not me? He doesn’t even celebrate Christmas!”
Boss: “That’s an incredibly racist assumption.
File clerk: “Oh, no, I wasn’t saying that he doesn’t celebrate
Christmas because of his ethnicity, I was saying he doesn’t celebrate
it because no one loves him.”
Lights flicker and something moves on desk. A dude (gender doesn’t
matter) in a white sheet comes into the room going “woooo” Boss
screams like a little girl.
File clerk: “Look, it’s the ghost of Christmas past to show you what a
dickhead you are”
Ghost: “No I’m the ghost of the innocent computer you just murdered to death.”
File clerk: “Computers have ghosts? Do computers have souls?”
Ghost: “Um yeah duh, we have hard drives and monitors too, just like
everyone else.”
File clerk: “Our hubris has blinded us to the subtle rise of the machines.”
Ghost: “You’ll pay for not purchasing the Norton anti virus when I
told you too!”
Sheet falls to the floor, ghost has disappeared. File clerk starts
shaking and eyes go back in head, starts rocking back and forth with a
weird calm smile.
Boss: (scared) “…Are you okay?”
File clerk: “Everything’s going to be okay, now.”
Boss: “Barbara?”
File clerk: “There is no Barbara here.”
Boss: “What? I told her she couldn’t leave work early.”
Ghost File Clerk starts smiling big and creepy.
Boss: “No way is she getting to go home before she fixes my computer.”
Boss reaches into desk and pulls out a cross and a black/white priest
collar and cookie. Eats cookie.
Boss (reading from a random book, not the bible, could be Harry
Potter) “We are gathered here today to do some exorcising.”
Holds cross up towards File Clerk who is eating office supplies.
“By the power vested in me I expel this evil spirit from my office
assistant, but not her own evil spirit, just the foreign ghost one.”
File Clerk starts shaking.
“Go away, ghost, like now, okay?”
File Clerk’s eyes roll back in her head and she starts humming a Christmas song.
Boss: “What the hell is happening?”
File Clerk starts kinda singing it, doesn’t know the words
Boss: “Are you unpossessed now?”
File Clerk continues singing it.
Boss tentatively joins in and starts smiling. File Clerk smiles back at him.
Boss: “I’m so glad you’re back to normal.”
File clerk: “Yes, back to normal. Human normal.” Smiles brightly.
End.
Man or woman sitting in an office typing. Christmas music is playing.
There’s a knock on the door. Camera swings to door and sees a file
clerk (sex doesn’t matter) File clerk is wearing scarf and mittens and
hat and is shivering.
File clerk: “Please sir, it’s 5:00, can we go home now?”
Boss: “I don’t know, CAN you?” laughs smugly at themselves and goes
back to typing. Camera pans to computer screen and boss is typing the
word “words” over and over.
File clerk: “It’s Christmas eve, sir. And my cubicle is so much colder
than your office.”
Boss: “Don’t act like it’s my fault you work in that igloo. I’m not
the wizard who cursed you.”
File Clerk: “Sounds like someone needs to learn the true meaning of Christmas.”
Boss: “Fine, let’s look it up on Wikipedia.”
The file clerk comes over to the computer and starts typing, knocks
over boss’s coffee cup, spilling on computer. Sizzling noise.
Boss: “What the fuck did you do?”
File clerk: “I spilled coffee on your computer.”
Boss: “Goddammit, Barbara, we need to send out the progress reports
today or the investors in China will close us down!”
File clerk: “Okay, let’s call the tech guy, Raavi”
Boss: “We can’t, I sent him home for the day.”
File clerk: “You sent him home and not me? He doesn’t even celebrate Christmas!”
Boss: “That’s an incredibly racist assumption.
File clerk: “Oh, no, I wasn’t saying that he doesn’t celebrate
Christmas because of his ethnicity, I was saying he doesn’t celebrate
it because no one loves him.”
Lights flicker and something moves on desk. A dude (gender doesn’t
matter) in a white sheet comes into the room going “woooo” Boss
screams like a little girl.
File clerk: “Look, it’s the ghost of Christmas past to show you what a
dickhead you are”
Ghost: “No I’m the ghost of the innocent computer you just murdered to death.”
File clerk: “Computers have ghosts? Do computers have souls?”
Ghost: “Um yeah duh, we have hard drives and monitors too, just like
everyone else.”
File clerk: “Our hubris has blinded us to the subtle rise of the machines.”
Ghost: “You’ll pay for not purchasing the Norton anti virus when I
told you too!”
Sheet falls to the floor, ghost has disappeared. File clerk starts
shaking and eyes go back in head, starts rocking back and forth with a
weird calm smile.
Boss: (scared) “…Are you okay?”
File clerk: “Everything’s going to be okay, now.”
Boss: “Barbara?”
File clerk: “There is no Barbara here.”
Boss: “What? I told her she couldn’t leave work early.”
Ghost File Clerk starts smiling big and creepy.
Boss: “No way is she getting to go home before she fixes my computer.”
Boss reaches into desk and pulls out a cross and a black/white priest
collar and cookie. Eats cookie.
Boss (reading from a random book, not the bible, could be Harry
Potter) “We are gathered here today to do some exorcising.”
Holds cross up towards File Clerk who is eating office supplies.
“By the power vested in me I expel this evil spirit from my office
assistant, but not her own evil spirit, just the foreign ghost one.”
File Clerk starts shaking.
“Go away, ghost, like now, okay?”
File Clerk’s eyes roll back in her head and she starts humming a Christmas song.
Boss: “What the hell is happening?”
File Clerk starts kinda singing it, doesn’t know the words
Boss: “Are you unpossessed now?”
File Clerk continues singing it.
Boss tentatively joins in and starts smiling. File Clerk smiles back at him.
Boss: “I’m so glad you’re back to normal.”
File clerk: “Yes, back to normal. Human normal.” Smiles brightly.
End.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Powerpoint meeting
Two people (gender doesn't matter) are visible in a conference room. Both are wearing business attire. One is
standing up next to a projection slide, lecturing about the contents of the slides. The other is sitting down, watching.
The first slide has a graph with the Y axis labeled "money" with a down arrow in red.
STANDING UP GUY:
So as you can see we have no money. It is a thing that we lack.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Mmmhmm, hmm.
Next slide is a picture of a frowny face.
STANDING UP GUY:
And as illustrated here, working in a company with no money makes some people here unhappy.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Oh, interesting.
Next slide is just the phrase "You're a bad human being and a horrible boss."
STANDING UP GUY:
And this slide... wow... how did that...
SITTING DOWN GUY:
What's this funny business about?
STANDING UP GUY:
I'm sorry. That slide is a typo. It shouldn't be in the presentation.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
I should hope so. That's so rude.
STANDING UP GUY:
I know. I'm sorry. It's so offensive. It should read "You're a bad fish and a horrible boss."
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Oh, okay. That's fine then.
Next side is a picture of a puppy in some flowers.
STANDING UP GUY:
This next slide should help cushion that previous data.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
That does make me feel better. Thank you.
Next slide is a picture of a normal red fire hydrant.
STANDING UP GUY:
And here we have a fire hydrant. It's ugly.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Yeah, it's so stupid.
The next slide is an orange.
STANDING UP GUY:
Let’s talk peeling oranges.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Peeling oranges is difficult NOT fun. So much effort to get to the fun part. Rubbing them in your arm pits.
Camera pans to the back of the room where an actor (gender doesn't matter again) is wearing a cardboard cut out of
a fire hydrant over their body.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Excuse me. That fire hydrant was my cousin, Jill.
STANDING UP GUY:
Oh, sorry... We didn't see you there.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
What did Jill ever do to you?
SITTING DOWN GUY:
In our defense... we don't like her.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Why are you so mean? You're hurtful, cruel, empty, vapid, shallow people.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Whoa, whoa.
STANDING UP GUY:
We're fish.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Fish?
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Yes.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
If you're fish then why are you talking?
STANDING UP GUY:
Because we have opinions.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Talking fish? You speak? That's incredible. I'm so used to fish using sign language.
Standing up guy signs to sitting down guy, subtitles come on screen and translate for them.
STANDING UP GUY:
(sign languge: subtitles)
Can I please murder this fire hydrant?
SITTING DOWN GUY:
(signing back: subtitles)
I don't know. CAN you?
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
(as if to himself)
How can I make money off of talking fish? I better call the government so they can do science on you. Or the entertainment industry so they can mail me gold.
STANDING UP GUY:
Hey, we didn't say that we were okay with being exploited for cash.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
We just implied it.
Slide changes. This slide reads "we are okay with being exploited for cash."
Fire hydrant takes out his cellphone and puts it to his ear.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Hello, government? I've got some talking fish here. Oh, yeah, send them over.
The door opens and two more fire hydrants in secret service style sunglasses enter.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Where are the fish?
FIRE HYDRANT 3.
We're here to take the talking fish away.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
(to Fire Hydrant 1)
Are you a fish?
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
No, I'm a normal fire hydrant, just like you and everybody else.
FIRE HYDRANT 3.
But are you really? Are you really normal just like everyone else?
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Well, it was hard growing up on 7th street. I always felt a little bit different. Mom drank a lot during the day and Dad wasn't around a lot. I wasn't allowed to play with the other fire hydrants on my street. I didn’t fit in. But
I had something they didn't. A song in my heart.
Music swells up. Fire Hydrant 1. opens mouth and spreads arms.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
What's that smell? I'm hungry.
FIRE HYDRANT 3.
Yeah, I could go for some sashimi. Fish, y'all hungry?
STANDING UP AND SITTING DOWN GUYs:
Yeah...
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
I'm hungry too.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Oh, thanks for sharing.
Awkward pause well they look at each other.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Ready to go guys?
Fire Hydrants 2 and 3 and the fish all leave. Fire Hydrant 1 stays behind and shuffles feet awkwardly. Fire Hydrant
2. pokes head back in room.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
I'm sorry about that.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Oh, um, 'scool, yeah, um
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Gotta save electricity...
Fire Hydrant 2. flips off light switch. The room is dark.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
…So cold….
End.
standing up next to a projection slide, lecturing about the contents of the slides. The other is sitting down, watching.
The first slide has a graph with the Y axis labeled "money" with a down arrow in red.
STANDING UP GUY:
So as you can see we have no money. It is a thing that we lack.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Mmmhmm, hmm.
Next slide is a picture of a frowny face.
STANDING UP GUY:
And as illustrated here, working in a company with no money makes some people here unhappy.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Oh, interesting.
Next slide is just the phrase "You're a bad human being and a horrible boss."
STANDING UP GUY:
And this slide... wow... how did that...
SITTING DOWN GUY:
What's this funny business about?
STANDING UP GUY:
I'm sorry. That slide is a typo. It shouldn't be in the presentation.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
I should hope so. That's so rude.
STANDING UP GUY:
I know. I'm sorry. It's so offensive. It should read "You're a bad fish and a horrible boss."
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Oh, okay. That's fine then.
Next side is a picture of a puppy in some flowers.
STANDING UP GUY:
This next slide should help cushion that previous data.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
That does make me feel better. Thank you.
Next slide is a picture of a normal red fire hydrant.
STANDING UP GUY:
And here we have a fire hydrant. It's ugly.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Yeah, it's so stupid.
The next slide is an orange.
STANDING UP GUY:
Let’s talk peeling oranges.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Peeling oranges is difficult NOT fun. So much effort to get to the fun part. Rubbing them in your arm pits.
Camera pans to the back of the room where an actor (gender doesn't matter again) is wearing a cardboard cut out of
a fire hydrant over their body.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Excuse me. That fire hydrant was my cousin, Jill.
STANDING UP GUY:
Oh, sorry... We didn't see you there.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
What did Jill ever do to you?
SITTING DOWN GUY:
In our defense... we don't like her.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Why are you so mean? You're hurtful, cruel, empty, vapid, shallow people.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Whoa, whoa.
STANDING UP GUY:
We're fish.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Fish?
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Yes.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
If you're fish then why are you talking?
STANDING UP GUY:
Because we have opinions.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Talking fish? You speak? That's incredible. I'm so used to fish using sign language.
Standing up guy signs to sitting down guy, subtitles come on screen and translate for them.
STANDING UP GUY:
(sign languge: subtitles)
Can I please murder this fire hydrant?
SITTING DOWN GUY:
(signing back: subtitles)
I don't know. CAN you?
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
(as if to himself)
How can I make money off of talking fish? I better call the government so they can do science on you. Or the entertainment industry so they can mail me gold.
STANDING UP GUY:
Hey, we didn't say that we were okay with being exploited for cash.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
We just implied it.
Slide changes. This slide reads "we are okay with being exploited for cash."
Fire hydrant takes out his cellphone and puts it to his ear.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Hello, government? I've got some talking fish here. Oh, yeah, send them over.
The door opens and two more fire hydrants in secret service style sunglasses enter.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Where are the fish?
FIRE HYDRANT 3.
We're here to take the talking fish away.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
(to Fire Hydrant 1)
Are you a fish?
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
No, I'm a normal fire hydrant, just like you and everybody else.
FIRE HYDRANT 3.
But are you really? Are you really normal just like everyone else?
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Well, it was hard growing up on 7th street. I always felt a little bit different. Mom drank a lot during the day and Dad wasn't around a lot. I wasn't allowed to play with the other fire hydrants on my street. I didn’t fit in. But
I had something they didn't. A song in my heart.
Music swells up. Fire Hydrant 1. opens mouth and spreads arms.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
What's that smell? I'm hungry.
FIRE HYDRANT 3.
Yeah, I could go for some sashimi. Fish, y'all hungry?
STANDING UP AND SITTING DOWN GUYs:
Yeah...
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
I'm hungry too.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Oh, thanks for sharing.
Awkward pause well they look at each other.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Ready to go guys?
Fire Hydrants 2 and 3 and the fish all leave. Fire Hydrant 1 stays behind and shuffles feet awkwardly. Fire Hydrant
2. pokes head back in room.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
I'm sorry about that.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Oh, um, 'scool, yeah, um
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Gotta save electricity...
Fire Hydrant 2. flips off light switch. The room is dark.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
…So cold….
End.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Unbearable Roommates
My friends, coworkers, and the coffee barista who I think thinks I'm stupid warned me. They said adult siblings make the worst roommates, but I figured my roommate is going to end up hating me no matter who it is.
The first week my brother David and I were okay; we kept the common areas clean and our music volume low and our sobbing at night to a maximum. The second week we started fighting because I invited his Japanese girlfriend pillow to watch TV and eat cheese with me. Pillows get lonely too. I don’t know why he freaked out about it. It’s not like the friendship bracelet I made for it clashed with the anime art. The third week he turned into a bear.
I sat at the table slurping coffee, watching medical soap operas on my lap top, living life to the fullest. Around 2:00, the grizzly bear lumbered out of David’s bedroom on all fours and sauntered into the kitchen with a judgy sniff at Gray's Anatomy. Balancing on its haunches, it placed both paws on the table and slurped up some of my coffee.
“Excuse me,” I muttered sleepily. “Get your own coffee.”
Whining, he nuzzled me, which is bear language for either ‘I love you’ or ‘I don’t have opposable thumbs. Get the coffee for me before I eat you.’ I poured him a cup of coffee and Bear David, suckled it, spilling more than he consumed, much like human David.
When I got home from work, my leftover salmon curry had been devoured, with complete bearlike disregard for my name which I had labelled all over everything. The pile of bills I was supposed to pay were masticated up and saturated with slobber. That type of passive aggressive behavior is why it’s easier to live with strangers than siblings.
That night I woke up at 2:00am by a snarling sound. I poked my head out of my door and saw David lying on the floor gnawing on the bloody stump of our neighbor's leg.
"Do you have to eat so loudly?" I yawned, arms folded over my pajama shirt.
The bear looked at me for a moment, human blood dripping from its sharp white teeth, scraped its claws against the floor, and lunged at me. It stood up straight and bore down on me, breathing hot stinky torrents of carbon dioxide into my face. It shook a claw at my face and glared at me with a hungry, violent stare.
I rolled my eyes. "Fine, whatever. Just keep it down. I don't want to wake the neighb-" I looked at the bloody leg soaked in bear spit. "Nevermind." I slammed the door and went back to bed.
After a few days of David not doing the dishes and shitting on my chair, I was almost mad enough to write him a note. When the bear was lying on the floor and I made a super hilarious joke about a bear skinned rug, he didn’t even chuckle. ‘That’s it!’ I thought. ‘It is note writing time!’ As I rummaged around for my least pretty stationary, the door opened and David walked in, in human form.
“What the hell is that?” Human David said.
“But if you’re here… who is that?” I asked, indicating the bear.
“Barbara, you idiot! Why is there a bear in our apartment?”
“Oh no! How will I ever know which is the real David? I must murder to death the imposter!” I reached for a spatula.
“That is a wild grizzly bear!”
“Quick, human David, tell me something that only the two of us know!” I raised the spatula.
“Um… You didn’t stop peeing your pants until you were in your teens… wait why am I playing along? That is a bear! And what are you doing with the spatula anyway?”
“Okay, that’s close to true. Bear David, same question…” I said.
Bear David growled.
Beating the imposter to death with a spatula was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do, mainly because I didn’t do it; he ran away and I didn’t even get to draw any blood. Ten years later, at my wedding, I mentioned to David how weird that week had been, and he put his claw on my dress as if to silently say, ‘I’m proud of you, little sister. So proud.’
Out loud I lovingly replied, “I’m not your little sister. I’m older.”
And he didn’t say anything back, ornery and dejected because the special custom suit was too tight for his big hairy bear shoulders.
The first week my brother David and I were okay; we kept the common areas clean and our music volume low and our sobbing at night to a maximum. The second week we started fighting because I invited his Japanese girlfriend pillow to watch TV and eat cheese with me. Pillows get lonely too. I don’t know why he freaked out about it. It’s not like the friendship bracelet I made for it clashed with the anime art. The third week he turned into a bear.
I sat at the table slurping coffee, watching medical soap operas on my lap top, living life to the fullest. Around 2:00, the grizzly bear lumbered out of David’s bedroom on all fours and sauntered into the kitchen with a judgy sniff at Gray's Anatomy. Balancing on its haunches, it placed both paws on the table and slurped up some of my coffee.
“Excuse me,” I muttered sleepily. “Get your own coffee.”
Whining, he nuzzled me, which is bear language for either ‘I love you’ or ‘I don’t have opposable thumbs. Get the coffee for me before I eat you.’ I poured him a cup of coffee and Bear David, suckled it, spilling more than he consumed, much like human David.
When I got home from work, my leftover salmon curry had been devoured, with complete bearlike disregard for my name which I had labelled all over everything. The pile of bills I was supposed to pay were masticated up and saturated with slobber. That type of passive aggressive behavior is why it’s easier to live with strangers than siblings.
That night I woke up at 2:00am by a snarling sound. I poked my head out of my door and saw David lying on the floor gnawing on the bloody stump of our neighbor's leg.
"Do you have to eat so loudly?" I yawned, arms folded over my pajama shirt.
The bear looked at me for a moment, human blood dripping from its sharp white teeth, scraped its claws against the floor, and lunged at me. It stood up straight and bore down on me, breathing hot stinky torrents of carbon dioxide into my face. It shook a claw at my face and glared at me with a hungry, violent stare.
I rolled my eyes. "Fine, whatever. Just keep it down. I don't want to wake the neighb-" I looked at the bloody leg soaked in bear spit. "Nevermind." I slammed the door and went back to bed.
After a few days of David not doing the dishes and shitting on my chair, I was almost mad enough to write him a note. When the bear was lying on the floor and I made a super hilarious joke about a bear skinned rug, he didn’t even chuckle. ‘That’s it!’ I thought. ‘It is note writing time!’ As I rummaged around for my least pretty stationary, the door opened and David walked in, in human form.
“What the hell is that?” Human David said.
“But if you’re here… who is that?” I asked, indicating the bear.
“Barbara, you idiot! Why is there a bear in our apartment?”
“Oh no! How will I ever know which is the real David? I must murder to death the imposter!” I reached for a spatula.
“That is a wild grizzly bear!”
“Quick, human David, tell me something that only the two of us know!” I raised the spatula.
“Um… You didn’t stop peeing your pants until you were in your teens… wait why am I playing along? That is a bear! And what are you doing with the spatula anyway?”
“Okay, that’s close to true. Bear David, same question…” I said.
Bear David growled.
Beating the imposter to death with a spatula was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do, mainly because I didn’t do it; he ran away and I didn’t even get to draw any blood. Ten years later, at my wedding, I mentioned to David how weird that week had been, and he put his claw on my dress as if to silently say, ‘I’m proud of you, little sister. So proud.’
Out loud I lovingly replied, “I’m not your little sister. I’m older.”
And he didn’t say anything back, ornery and dejected because the special custom suit was too tight for his big hairy bear shoulders.
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