“Our hope is to bring you a beautiful, twisted, and dark collection of images that will showcase the amazing talent of legendary scream queens, slashers, monsters, directors, FX artists, and of the minds and talent that have created nightmares for decades.”

Brighten your evening by checking it out. But be warned, a shot or two are NSFW.

http://thebloodybestproject.com

Sit down. We need to have a talk.

Are you sitting down?

Good.

So… I have a confession to make.

I’m… wow, this is harder than I thought it would be.

Ok. <whew> I’m just going to say it:

I’m not going to write short stories for awhile.

It’s… it’s not you, it’s me. I’ve been going through a lot of… changes recently.

And, well, I’ve been seeing someone else.

A novel.

I didn’t mean it to happen, ok? It wasn’t on purpose. I still like short stories and all, we just… drifted apart a little. And then I downloaded this program. It was just a demo. I never meant for it to go further. But, well, one thing led to another, and I kind of liked it. I liked how the novel was treating me. It made me feel special. It took me dancing, and out to nice restaurants. It bought me flowers. Told me I looked nice. That kind of thing.

We’re not moving in together or anything. I’m not ready for that kind of commitment just now. I’ve been hurt before. But I really want this to work. So I’m giving the novel until July. Like a ‘try before you buy’ scenario. (And yes, we’re using protection. Why would you even ask that? Gross.)

Short stories aren’t going anywhere, either. They’ll still be free and right on the site where they’ve always been. And it’s not like I CAN’T do one now and then. I’m not closing that door completely. To prove it, I’m going to leave the price of each STRANGITIES Collection at $.99. Permanently.

In fact, it’s actually a good thing. It also allows me to add something to the site I’ve been wanting to do for a long time now:

I’m adding a blog.

Nothing big at first. Not like Gawker or anything. Just a few posts here and there. I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff in my day, and I’ve wanted to share it with you, I really have, but I didn’t feel like I could post it on a short stories website. But now that me & the novel are together, I’m ready to take more chances. Be more adventurous. So I’ve added it to the menu. You can check it out now. I’ve already put something special in it for you.

2012 is gonna be a good year. Until… you know… the world ends.

Over the course of time I’ve built up quite a few garage recordings in various states of completion under the moniker “Dark Places” For a while there I was close to releasing an album called “Dislocated” with my buddy Bret (some know him as Blue Stahli) producing. I laid several demos down, and we even finished a few of them. But I got tired of working on it and let it go. Still, as the years have passed I’ve continued experimenting with music as a hobby. These are a few of the tracks I’ve done over the years. I’ve even made the songs recorded for “Dislocated” available as a digital album here. I hope you enjoy them.

Dark Places by DarkPlaces

Cordelia Zelmanova rolled her eyes at the mention of Randy Bellfore, Allswood High School’s resident weirdo. The ‘school tool,’ a phrase of Cordelia’s own authorship, was NOT what she wanted to hear about first thing in homeroom on the opening day of her senior year.

The inquirer, a shorter girl with mousy brown hair, (Band geek. Name was… Evelyn…? Elenore…?) was looking at Cordelia with a strange, almost expectant expression, as thought Cordelia would obviously know what she was asking about.

Cordelia calculated her response internally. E-girl was going to be her homeroom partner all year, so they would have to be on at least cordial terms. But she also needed to know what was acceptable behavior and what was not.

And opening Cordelia’s morning with a conversation about that freak Randy was DEFINITELY not acceptable.

“Nooo,” Cordelia replied with a measured mixture of sarcasm and contempt. “Why would I have heard anything about that freakcase?”

E-girl’s eyes grew and she recoiled as much as her stool would allow. (Good. Dominance established.) “Oh…” she sputtered. “It’s just… I figured, you know… with it… like… you… and all…” her eyes flicked to Cordelia’s body and then back to her face.

Cordelia kept silent and held her measured glare. (Get with the program, girlie.)

“I… I’m sorry,” E-girl said quietly.

Cordelia smiled and patted the girl’s hand. (It was just like training the Shit-Zhus; punish bad behavior immediately, reward good behavior just as quickly.) “It’s ok. No harm done.” And now the smooth subject change… “Who did you get for math?”

E-girl opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off completely by Judd Peck’s head thrusting between the two of them. Judd, (amateur motocross rider;  football team tight end) who sat behind the girls, had thrown himself bodily onto his table to achieve the feat.

“Mornin’ Cordie,” he said, maintaing his grip on the table so he could tense his biceps in a show for her.

“Good morning Judd,” Cordelia said with a roll of her eyes. She opened her notebook and did her best to seem as though she was looking for something in it.

Judd ignored Cordelia’s ignoring. “So crazy about Randy, right?”

Cordelia’s hands had slapped the table on either side of her notebook before she realized she had even made the movement. From the corner of her eye she saw E-girl jump visibly even with Judd’s head in the way. She turned on Judd with vehemence.

“WHY does everyone want to talk about RANDY this morning?” she asked Judd, her biting tone far less restrained than it had been with E-girl.

“Ohmygod you don’t know?” Judd asked with an expression of confused surprise. “Did you not get the text?”

Cordelia’s phone was in her purse, on silent. “What text?” she asked.

Judd reached back and pulled his phone out of his jean’s pocket. He flipped it open. “Ooooooooh man I can’t believe you don’t know,” he was chuckling now, poking at his phone. “It’s so royally fucked up…here.” Judd held out the phone to Cordelia but a voice from the front of the room stole both their attentions before she could get a good look at the message.

“Is that a CELLPHONE you’re holding Mister… Peck, is it?”

While Judd and Cordelia had been talking their homeroom teacher Mister Wilson had entered from the front and the entire rest of the class had grown quiet.

“Uh,” Judd pushed himself back across his table and onto his stool, his face red. Cordelia whipped her head around to face forward. “Yes, Mister Wilson.”

Mister Wilson, a shorter balding man with glasses that looked like they were from 1973 stood behind his desk at the front of the class, an annoyed expression on his face. He gestured to some words written in the upper right corner of the whiteboard behind him. “Now, you’re on the football team Mister Peck so let me inform you of what this strange collection of lines written here says. It says ‘All Cellphones Will Be Confiscated.’ So congratulations on being the first of this year. Bring it up here.”

The rest of the class broke into quiet murmurs which Mister Wilson didn’t seem to hear. Instead he held his gaze on Judd as the boy left his table and walked the aisle, setting his cellphone gingerly onto the teacher’s desk. Mister Wilson snatched the phone up with a speed one wouldn’t have expected from someone of his apparent fragility and threw it into a drawer in his desk, slamming it shut with a bang that caused the whole class to jump. Judd returned to his desk, everyone avoiding eye contact with him.

“Asshole,” he muttered as he passed Cordelia and E-Girl’s table.

Mister Wilson turned to the whiteboard and began to write his name, giving his introductory lecture. Cordelia looked back over her shoulder at the glaring Judd.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed silently, putting on her best sad puppy imitation.

Judd nodded to her and flicked up his middle finger at Mister Wilson’s back.

“And that’s detention, Mister Peck,” Mister Wilson, back still turned, said.

Cordelia crossed her arms on her desk and tried to appear to be attentive, hoping to do some damage control with Mister Wilson. It was in this position she could feel very clearly when her own phone, set to vibrate, went off in her purse.

Bzzzz.

Bzzzz.

Bzzzz.

She counted the buzzes, each indicating a text message.

Bzzzz.

Bzzzz.

Bzzzz.

The buzzing finally stopped at thirteen.

Curiosity crawled through Cordelia like kittens. Just what the hell was going on? And what did it have to do with that scuzzbag Randy? She bent crooked hoping to ask E-girl, but even at the slight movement Mister Wilson (who Cordelia had already begun to refer to as “THE Wilson” in her mind) cocked an eyebrow at her.

So no cellphones, AND no talking. Perfect. This guy was from the stone age.

…….

Her fifty minutes of homeroom seemed eternal to Cordelia. He phone had buzzed three more times at random intervals but she didn’t dare look at it. After his initial back-turn The Wilson kept his eyes on the class the entire time. When the bell finally run Cordelia was practically shaking with pent-up questions.

“Ok, tell me what the fuck is going on,” she whirled on Judd before the bell had even finished ringing.

Judd opened his mouth to speak, but Mister Wilson interrupted from the front.

“Mister Peck, please join me up here so we can have a chat about what we’ll be spending our time on this afternoon.”

Judd’s face darkened and he rose from his stool with a glade at Cordelia.

Seeing she was one of the last students in the room, Cordelia began frantically gathering her things together. She didn’t dare pull out her phone until she passed from the threshold of The Wilson’s class, but even as she walked from her table to the door her hand was already fishing for it in her purse.

“See you later, Judd,” she told him with what she hoped was an apologetic look.

Her clamshell phone was out and open as her heel hit the hallway. Sixteen messages.

“OMG Randy is n my HM with it RIGHT NOW!”

“Have homeroom w tool. Looks just like you WTF?”

“Can’t believe Randy! Did u know?”

“Just saw it! LOL”

All sixteen messages were variations of these themes. But none told her WHAT Randy had with him. Cordelia read through them again, hoping for some clue, but there was nothing.

The natural cacophony of the hallway was so much white noise as Cordelia walked oblivious, absorbed in her phone. Yet through it all her ears picked out a specific whispered phrase she caught as it’s murmurer passed her.

“Wait… shhhhhh. There she is.”

She looked about her wildly, seeking the source. He eyes settled on the backs of three girls walking together, one just turning from her over-the-shoulder gaze at Cordelia  to join in a giggle with the other two. Cordelia recognized the the three girls from all the times she had gazed hate into the backs of their heads hoping they would catch fire. She had sworn she would never talk to any of them, but she was desperate.

“Brittney! Wait up!” she called out, causing more than one uneasy glance from passerbys; her loathing of Brittney Delouise was well known amongst the student body.

The group of girls paused and turned in unison, their eyes cold and dangerous.

Brittney, the tallest and blondest of the three, smiled like a wolf regarding a chicken coop. “Good morning Cordelia. So nice to see you again,” she said. The other girls erupted in giggles at this.

Coredelia ignored whatever dig Brittney was trying to take at her. Though now that she had her attention, what could she really ask her? Cordelia was off-balance, but she had to ask SOMETHING.

“Did you do… something? With Randy, I mean?” she asked, instantly cursing herself for how stupid she sounded.

“Oh honey,” Brittney took on a look of mock pity, “I’M not that one that’s been doing things with Randy.” Brittney’s entourage giggled hysterically at this.

Cordelia pushed the issue. “Just…. just tell me what is going on.”

Brittney folder her arms across her breasts. “You really don’t know, do you?” she asked.

Cordelia shook her head, hating feeling this weak. She should have asked someone else…

The warning bell rang out. Second period was starting in five minutes.

Brittney eyed the buzzing speaker above the lockers. “Well I’d hate to be the one who spoils it for you. Come on girls, we better get to class. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of Cordelia today.” He friends burst into laughter at that, and they turned their backs on Cordelia to continue to class.

Flames of rage leapt hot and quick in Cordelia and she smashed the base of her fist into a locker behind her. Britteny’s dismissal wouldn’t be forgotten, but she was out of time. She rushed through the emptying hallway to enter second period just as the second bell rung.

…….

Her math teacher was less strict than Mister Wilson by a mile, but Cordelia knew school policy was to take cellphones if the teachers saw them. Still, she had absently kept hers in her hand during her exchange with Brittney and her goon squad. She thumbed it open out of sight under her lab table and tapped out a quick text to her best friend Staci by touch.

“U kno wut up w randy?”

Her phone throbbed twice in her hand almost instantly. Propping her chin in her hand and resting one elbow on the table as though she was boredly listening, she glanced down at the glowing LCD screen.

“OMG Sams n his HM Sayz hes got a doll of u – Staci – GO MUSTANGS!”

A doll of her? Cordelia didn’t understand.

“Wut u mean?” she sent back.

“Sam sayz Rndy has doll that look like u n wheelchair. Talk 3rd per. Wilson eying me. – Staci – GO MUSTANGS!”

So that was it. Randy had brought some kind of doll with him that looked like Cordelia. His infatuation with her since Junior High had been an irritation that Brittney and her crew had pestered Cordelia with often enough during cheer practice, but THIS was a new level of freakazoid, even for the Tool.

“Cordelia? Is everything copacetic?”

Mister Zimmer was standing at the front of the class, eyes bloodshot (likely from his most recent joint) with a look of concern on his stubbled hippie-face. Cordelia realized several of the class had turned around to stare at her at his questioning of her downcast scowl. She put on a smile she didn’t feel.

“Oh yes, Mister Zimmer. Everything is fine,” she told him.

“If you’re feeling funny you can go to the nurse,” he offered.

“Thank you Mister Zimmer. I’m all right,” she answered.

“Ok, if you’re sure.”

Mister Zimmer turned back to his whiteboard and continued his lecture on angles, but Cordelia didn’t hear him.

A doll?

…….

Her phone continued to buzz with variations on the “LOL just saw it” theme throughout second period. Cordelia ignored most of these, but one from Bryce (fullback, football team) set her on edge even further.

“Randy said I can try you out sometime! LOL”

Zimmer’s introduction to geometry barely registered to Cordelia as little more than background noise. She was seething inside.

Whatever Randy had with him was going to ruin her. Everything she had worked so hard to achieve – her place on the cheerleading squad, her position as one of the school’s elite, the control and respect her presence demanded – was now on the chopping block.

And it was all Randy’s fault.

The bell rung signaling the end of the period. Noise of a thirty backpacks and sachels being zipped and gathered swelled to an immediate crescendo. Cordelia scooped her binder up and dumped it into her book bag as quickly as she could.

She only had ten minutes to track down Randy and put a stop to this before third period. The longer this continued, the more she was in jeopardy. And if she didn’t end it by the end of the day…

“Cordelia…”

Mister Zimmer called out her name as she filed out of the room with the other students. She stopped and turned.

“Yes Mister Zimmer?” she asked. This was NOT a delay she needed.

“I’m…” he started and faltered, frowning as though at a loss for words. “I’m sorry if you’re having a difficult day.”

His statement caught her off guard. “Oh, thanks Mister Zimmer,” she said dismissevly.

He continued to look at her, frowning; she stood there clutching her backpack, wishing to be anywhere but there. The moment descended into awkwardness.

And she realized:

He knew something.

“That’s all Cordelia. You can go.”

Cordelia wanted to scream. She wanted to grab the man and get in his dull, stubbled face and holler “TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW!” It felt like every nerve she had was electrified.

But that wouldn’t be proper behavior.

That wouldn’t be Cordelia Zelmanova.

So Cordelia turned and pushed through the door and out into the crowded hallway.

…….

Staci was at her side as soon as she was through the door.

“Where. Is. He?” Cordelia asked, smoldering rage dripping from every word.

“I don’t know. I was able to send out a couple texts, but no one was with him in second period. That could respond, at least,” Staci reported.

“Zimmer knows something,” Cordelia shrugged her backpack to settle it for the walk to third period.

“Zimmer?” Staci asked. “Why would he know anything? He’s a teacher.”

“I don’t know. Has anyone sent you pictures of it?”

“No.” Staci shook her head.

They walked in silence. Cordelia could feel her friend’s eyes on her, and the tension in Staci’s posture.

“Did you… you know… know?” Staci asked hesitantly.

“NO!” Cordelia screeched in horror drawing looks from the plebeians around her. “No,” she said again, quieter this time, looking to see who would dare acknowledge her outburst. No one would; either from knowledge of the situation with Randy or from the traditional fear of the wrath of a popular person, no one would meet her eyes.

Staci pulled out her phone, either waiting for Cordelia’s wrath to abate somewhat before speaking again or reading a real message. “Tim says it’s… big. Like, the same size as you.”

“Like, life-size?” Cordelia asked.

Staci tapped out a quick message. Her phone buzzed in her hand.

“Yeah.”

The first bell rang; two minutes until third period.

“Wait… is Tim with him? Can he see him?”

Staci’s fingers tapped deftly at the phone’s keypad. It buzzed back.

“He’s behind him. He’s headed to…” Staci looked up from the screen at Cordelia. “Mr. Azerjabi’s class.”

Cordelia’s eyes grew wide. That was only five doors down from her third period. She spun around just in time to catch a glimpse of Randy’s shoulder length greasy hair passing through the threshold out of her sight. His shoulders were hunched as though he were pushing something in front of him.

The second bell rang signaling the start of class. With a growl of frustration Cordelia slipped into their third period science class with Staci on her heels.

Still, all was not lost, Cordelia thought to herself. After all, she knew where he was. She only had to endure the mocking texts for one more period. Maybe she’d spend some time getting the boys organized to help her. But she knew one thing beyond all others.

After third period, the school tool was HERS, and this mess would all be over.

…….

Cordelia’s eyes were on her phone secreted beneath her lab table before Mrs. Steinbach had even launched into her “Welcome to science” speech.

She arrowed down to her “Football Team” contacts list and sent out a mass text.

“Need help with a problem. My locker, after 3rd.”

Her phone vibrated almost immediately.

“Drills during 4th Later? – Tyrone”

Cordelia kicked herself mentally. She was so caught up in this Randy issue she had completely forgotten cheer tryouts, which took place fourth period, right before lunch. The football team would be practicing at that same time, starting their drills for the year. It was doubtful she would get a chance to talk to any of them before lunch. If she skipped cheer practice, (which theoretically was auditions,) to pursue Randy after third, she could potentially lose her spot on the squad.

Staci, sitting next to her, slid a notebook in between them on the table and tapped it with a pen. On a clean sheet of paper she had written a single word and underlined it:

“Cheer?”

So she’d had the same thought. Cordelia nodded, and took the pen from her. Underneath Staci’s note she wrote:

“5th = Randy” then she circled Randy’s name and violently scribbled through it.

More texts came in from a few of the other players stating that they too would be at drills; Cordelia ignored them. Any plan to get Randy would HAVE to be put on hold until after cheer. She refused to let the tool torpedo her station in the school’s royal crust any more than he already had.

Staci took the pen back from her and wrote another note:

“Want me to follow?”

Of course! Staci had a walking cast on from a sprain; there was no way she would be trying out for cheer today.

“YES!” Cordelia wrote & underlined it several times.

…….

Cordelia & Staci feigned attentativeness for the rest of Mrs. Steinbach’s introductory lecture until the bell signaled the end of period. Cordelia collected both hers & Staci’s notebooks while Staci stood.

“Pictures if you can,” Cordelia instructed.

Staci nodded her comprehension, and limped into the outflowing crowd.

Cordelia finished collecting their things and trailed out the door, casting a glance over the shoulder toward the class where Randy and his abomination had been inhabiting. The tool didn’t present himself and she was on a tight timeline so she headed to her locker. Spinning the combination lock open she shoved the notebooks in and yanked her gym bag out.

…….

Most of the girls had changed by the time Cordelia arrived at the locker room. She slipped quickly out of her first-day-of-school dress, folding it carefully,  and changed into her workout clothes. Mrs. Fee had already lined the girls up along the football field sideline by the time Cordelia jogged onto the field.

“…and most of you probably won’t make it from what I’m seeing,” Mrs. Fee was saying. She raised an eyebrow at Cordelia as she took her place at the end of the row of girls. “Not like you to be late Zelmanova,” She said.

Cordelia saw Brittany, who stood near the front of the line, lean in to one of her friends and whisper something. The friend giggled quietly.

“Sorry Mrs. Fee, won’t happen again,” Cordelia answered.

“I’ll say it won’t. Something funny Delouise?” Mrs. Fee’s gaze whipped to catch Brittany still bent and whispering.

Brittany started. “Uh, no Mrs. Fee.”

“You and Sasha seem to have some nervous energy. Why don’t you get it out by demonstrating some backward  handsprings for the rest of the girls? Show them what they’re in for. Zelmanova, you come over here and talk to me.”

Mrs. Fee wandered out of earshot of the waiting girls as Brittany and Sasha walked out to the field and began their handsprings. Cordelia sheepishly joined her.

“I’m sorry I’m late Mrs. Fee…” she started.

“Oh can it, Cordie,” Mrs. Fee dismissed her apology with a wave. “We both know your shit is hitting the fan today.”

Cordelia was taken back.

Mrs. Fee knew too?

“You know about…?”

“About the Bellfore kid? Of course I know.” Mrs. Fee grimaced. “The whole faculty had a goddamned meeting about it a week before school started. Seems the almighty Superintendent Bellfore sent down a comminique from on high and your spineless prick of a principal couldn’t wait to ‘encourage us in understanding.’ And that, dear, is a direct fucking quote, thank you very much. Makes my stomach turn.” She crossed her muscled arms over her breasts. “Principal Donaldson probably used the word ‘tolerance’ eighty-three fucking times in his explanation of ‘Superintendent Bellfore’s son’s unique condition.’ You’d could practically hear the sound of him sucking off his career. God it made me sick!” Mrs. Fee’s right eye twitched, a motion Cordelia had only see two times before: once when they lost a cheer competition to a judge’s lousy call, and once when she had talked about her ex-husband.

“I tried to stand up for you, of course, when he showed us the pictures of the thing,” she continued. “Called ‘em all out on it. Donaldson blew me off. Said any resemblance to a student was purely coincidental; that Bellfore had ordered the thing custom to avoid just such an incident. Called it a ‘self esteem support device.’ Custom my ass! It’s custom alright. Custom enough to look just like you. Gods Cordie,” Mrs. Fee sighed heavily, “I’m sorry. I tried.”

Cordelia was taken aback. Mrs. Fee had always been one of her favorite teachers, but to know she went against the principal and the rest of the staff to try to protect her… Cordelia was touched.

“How many more Mrs. Fee?” Brittany, the armpits of her gym shirt now wet with sweat, hollered from where the rest of the tryout hopefuls stood waiting.

“Half the football team tells me you’re pretty limber, so how about five more?” Mrs. Fee shouted back, eliciting giggles from the girls and a look of pure mortification from Brittany.

“That should shut her up for a while. I wish she wasn’t so damn good,” Mrs. Fee looked Cordelia up and down. “You’re tough enough to take it, girl. So take it. Now come on,” she put her hand on Cordelia’s shoulder and urged her back towards the line, “lets get this chickenshit circus on the road.”

…….

A shower and Mrs. Fee’s assurance that she had, in fact, made the team, left Cordelia feeling improved after tryouts had ended. She gingerly pulled her underclothes from her locker and dressed quickly, mindful of the blinking light at the top of her waiting phone.

Someone had sent her a message.

Bra and panties secured, Cordelia slipped into her dress and closed her gym locker. Steadying herself with a deep breath she flipped open her cellphone.

“1 NEW PICTURE MESSAGE FROM STACI… DOWNLOADING NOW.” it read.

The screen blinked black for a moment and the picture was there.

Staci’s thumb partially obscured the bottom third of the image but Cordelia could see enough. Randy the tool stood doe-eyed, mouth open, digitally frozen in a posture of oafish stupidity. His outstretched arms were obscured by the frizzled dark mane of the doll, though from the angle of his exposed elbows it was clear he was pushing it in a wheelchair of some kind.

The doll itself filled Cordelia with a knot of revulsion. That its intent was to be her doppelganger no one could argue – it’s dead glass eyes matched her shade and shape perfectly; it’s skin tone sat a shade darker only due to her lack of tanning; it’s body size and type reflected Cordelia’s down to how the swell of its breasts filled out its dress;

The exact same dress Cordelia wore now.

An airless shriek escaped Cordelia’s lips. Rage and sickness poured over her like twin tidal waves; feeling drained from her knees and she fell into a sitting position upon the bench that ran between the gym lockers.

Little details became more apparent the longer she looked at the image. There was a belt cinched just around the midsection of the doll, and smaller ones around it’s wrists and ankles. Cordelia assumed these were to keep it held in place in the wheelchair. It’s mouth hung slightly open, like a ventriliquist’s dummy without the jaw gaps, it’s tongue a barely visible shade of pixelated rose, lips contorted into an ‘o’ shape, as though it was whistling.

“It’s not JUST a doll,” something whispered from deep inside her.

No. Not just a doll.

This was so much more. An incredible replica of her, down to the smallest detail. Dressed exactly the same as she was. (Did Randy see me shopping for the dress? Did he see me buy it? Has he been following me this whole summer?)

And the mouth…

Her understanding began to snowball with her disgust. The mouth was the key, wasn’t it?

There was only one reason the mouth would be shaped just so.

Only one reason to copy someone you could never have, really.

Cordelia swallowed back a rush of bile.

Randy had made a SEX doll. Of her.

No.

Wait.

That wasn’t right.

This wasn’t something the Tool had made.

This was beyond professional; the reproduction – immaculate.

This was something he had paid money for. A LOT of money.

Money RANDY didn’t have…

…but his DAD did.

Cordelia slapped her phone closed as if it were a window into hell itself. With a start she realized she was shaking. Her stomach turned and she dove for the toilet in a rush, puking up what remained of her breakfast.

She was throwing up for the second time when the bell rang for lunch.

…….

The cafeteria was raucous and loud when Cordelia entered. A dimming hush rolled like a wave through the enormous room as students became aware of her presence in groups of twos and threes, dropping their normal conversation to hushed whispers.

Cordelia recognized it for what it was; the situation had reached critical mass. Everyone in school knew about Randy and his pet Cordelia, and the real Cordelia was paying the most brutal of all prices: simultaneous collective reappraisal from the body of her peers.

She saw nerds who only hours ago wouldn’t have dared breathe her name (except in the privacy of their lonely darkened bedrooms) look up from their MMORPG strategy guides and nod smugly between each other. Saw the leers and the elbows and the chin thrusts pass between the jocks as they directed each others attentions towards her, their subtlety inconspicuous as a train wreck. Heard the clicks of cameraphones firing off like automatic weapons, each lens opening an aperture of social media scorn to be heaped upon her.

She felt all her work, from freshman year until now, crumbling around her in the hush that was falling at her entrance. Felt her separation from the strata of the school’s elite dislocating like a joint pulled out of place.

There were no more chances. The damage had become too severe, the story spread too far. Randy had accomplished in one disgusting, disturbing fell stroke the murder of her entire High School career.

He had made Cordelia just like he was.

A freak.

An outcast.

An object of derision.

The cafeteria was now completely quiet. Everyone waited, watching what Cordelia would do. Burst into tears? Run out screaming?

Cordelia felt both of these impulses well up within her, and pressed them both back. She had not come this far, fought this hard, or dealt with so much bullshit to be derailed by this. Randy and his toy were problems of epic proportions, true.

But Cordelia was a fighter.

She walked over to where Staci was sitting, tasteful-length heels clopping echoes into the cavernous silence, and tossed her head at her friend.

“Come on,” she said, “let’s go off-campus for lunch.”

…….

They drove in silence, Cordelia catching the movement of Staci’s wary sidelong glances out of the corner of her eye. Staci waited until they had received their food and taken a booth at the back before speaking.

“Are you… doing ok?” she asked Cordelia.

“No,” Cordelia answered. “But I think I will be.”

“I tried to do what I could from it getting to far, but Bryce…” Staci trailed off.

Cordelia gave her a weak smile.

“It’s ok. You did what you could.”

They chewed in silence for a bit before Staci spoke again.

“It’s creepy.”

Cordelia nodded. “Mrs. Fee told me the teachers all knew about it.”

Staci’s mouth hung open, half-full of chewed food, aghast. “What?”

“Randy’s dad is the superintendent. Fee said he passed world to principal Donaldson, who held a meeting before school to tell all the teachers what was going on. The excuse was that Randy is handicapped and the doll is a ‘self-esteem support device’.”

“Randy isn’t handicapped, unless his handicap is being a disgusting loser.”

Staci’s righteous anger made Cordelia smile in spite of herself. At least she wasn’t ENTIRELY alone. Then she sobered.

“I don’t know how to handle this, Stace,” Cordelia admitted after a few moments.

Staci took her hand. “I don’t either hon. But we’ll figure something out.” She glanced at the clock on her phone. “Ohmigosh, we better go, we’re gonna be late.”

Cordelia sighed heavily. “Do I have to?”

Staci nodded, pulling at her arm. “It’s high school. Everyone will have forgotten about this by tomorrow.”

Somehow, Cordelia didn’t think that would happen.

…….

A cursory glance at her phone told her she had 24 unread messages waiting as Cordelia walked from her car to fifth period, opting to go around the outside of the buildings as opposed to braving the halls. Even with the lowered surrounding population glances, chuckles, and hand-covered whispers followed in her path like a wake.

The class was a blur. Cordelia heard next to nothing of what the teacher said.  She was too busy thinking ahead.

This Randy business was a brutal blow to her empire, to be sure. Potentially even fatal. But the plebeians were fickle; all she needed was a bone big enough to throw them to get them off of her trail and onto something else.

But what? What could be big enough to shake this? From the sound of things, Randy was going to be walking the halls with this thing, making it a permanent new fixture of school life. It would be around in the mornings, and at lunch, and at night he would take it home and…

Ugh.

Moving on.

Whatever she was going to do, it had to happen today. This had to stay an anomaly. Any longer and she would be sunk. She would lose and Randy would win.

And Cordelia Zelmanova was NOT going to let Randy the Tool win.

The bell rang signaling the end of fifth. More than one glance was cast her way, but Cordelia ignored them. She had decided: she would take this hit square on the chin, but in the end come out the victor.

She had found her fire again.

…….

This time she headed straight for the halls. No more slinking outside. She didn’t know what she was going to do yet, but she knew she’d figure it out.

Only, it had to be her, didn’t it? If she had the football team roll Randy after school it would be hanging over her head (and who knew what else) for the rest of the year.

No, it had to be her.

Staci sidled up next to her matching Cordelia’s stride. “Where the heck have you been? I sent you a text” she whispered.

Cordelia held up her phone so Staci could see the outer LCD readout: 47 unread messages.

“This is getting out of hand,” Staci continued. “Blomquist wanted to have a debate about Randy’s kinky… thing… in ethics. Can you believe that?”

Cordelia’s step faltered and Staci continued a step or two beyond her before realizing she had passed her friend up.

“What…?” Staci started, and then followed Cordelia’s gaze.

There, standing at the doorway to Mr. Wilson’s class, was Randy the Tool.

Mr. Wilson stood directly in the path of the wheelchair that Randy had in front of him. Cordelia could see her doppleganger’s limp dark hair, arrayed somewhat frazzled by now, hanging down over the rear of the wheelchair seat. The doll had slumped to the side slightly.

“Oh… my… gawd.” Staci muttered.

“… is not a student it doesn’t belong in my classroom,” Cordelia’s ears caught onto Mr. Wilson’s nasal voice.

“But Mister Wilson…” Randy protested as the ringing bell warned class was about to start.

“You can leave it outside the door, if you like, but it is not coming in my class, Mister Bellfore,” Mr. Wilson looked beyond Randy and locked eyes with Cordelia as the crowds of students fanned into their classes.

“I’m sure,” Mr. Wilson continued to hold Cordelia’s gaze as he spoke, “it will be here when you get back.”

“But Mister Wilson, Principal Donaldson said…” Randy protested.

Mr. Wilson held Cordelia’s gaze a moment longer before regarding Randy again.

“Principal Donaldson says many things, Bellfore. But not right now, and not in my class. Which is starting right about…”

The second bell rang.

“…now.” Mr Wilson finished.

Head hung low, Randy pushed his Cordelia doll over to one side of the doorway and entered the classroom. Mr. Wilson cast one more significant glance at Cordelia before pulling the door closed behind him leaving Staci & Cordelia in a now-deserted hallway.

“Ohmygod. Did Wilson just…?” Staci whispered.

Cordelia turned swiftly to her friend. Staci started at the movement.

“Go to class.” Cordelia told her.

“What? Why? It’s right…” Staci began to protest.

“Because whatever happens, I need you to not be involved,” Cordelia whispered back. “Plausible deniability. Now go.”

“But… what are you going to do?” Staci asked, eyes wide.

“I don’t know yet,” Cordelia told her.

…….

Staci ran around the corner to her class leaving Cordelia alone in the hall. Cordelia figured she had maybe forty minutes left before class was over.

Forty minutes to set this thing right.

She slipped off her heels and shoved them into her backpack even as she crept forward quietly on bare feet. She had to be quick, but she also had to be quiet. Hurrying as quickly as she dared she ran to the wall and slid herself along it, ducking under windows inset in the classroom doors. The last thing she needed was for someone to see movement flick by one of them and get curious enough to look out.

Three doors left.

Two.

One.

She ducked under the window to Mr. Wilson’s class, resisting the urge to peek inside. Instead from her squatting position she grasped the handles of the doll’s wheelchair and pushed until she thought she was safe to straighten up.

Cordelia’s mind spun.

She had it.

But now where to take it?

She needed somewhere close by, and deserted. Her spy routine had cost her another five minutes. Thirty five left. Frantically her eyes searched the hallway while her ears strained to catch the approach of any hall monitors that might be walking around.

Biology? No.

Music? No.

Art?

She shoved the wheelchair hastily towards the Art Class door. Funding had been cut for the school’s art class two years prior and now the room was rarely used. It was her best shot.

She backed herself and the wheelchair up to press against the wall and slid her face along the door just enough to peek into the classroom window.

Empty.

Her breath caught in her throat. If the door was locked…

She grabbed the handle and pulled downward.

The doorhandle turned easily and the heavy door edged open a crack.

Suppressing a squeal of joy Cordelia pushed the art room door and held it open with her foot while she hauled herself and wheelchair into the dimly lit room.

With a hiss the art room door sank shut behind her.

…….

Cordelia could still scarcely believe the thing as she stood beholding it. The doll was an incredible reproduction of her, right down to the faint scar they shared along the chin.

How long had Randy had it? She asked herself the question before she realized she had it. Had he had it all summer? Had he been doing… things… to it for that long? Imagining her while he did?

The potential answers were enough to push her over the edge.

She scooped up a pair of long silver scissors, the kind with painted black handles that seemed to be standard issue for every school she had ever been in, and drove them into the left eye of the doll. There was a soft chinking sound as the blades reflected off a blue glass eye and sank into the soft silicone gel that composed the majority of the doll’s body. Cordelia had stabbed with such force and at such an angle the scissors perforated down through the doll’s lower jaw. Rather than pulling them up and out Cordelia yanked down, ripping a chasm through the front of the doll’s face.

She followed this up with a series of quick stabs to the thing’s chest, but it wasn’t good enough; she wasn’t yet satisfied with the damage.

Cordelia next took to the doll’s fingers, first trying to cut them off completely and then, when the scissors encountered the resistance of the doll’s pvc skeleton she opted for sliding the scissors into the fingers like she were trimming wrapping paper, flaying the doll’s digits open.

This worked so well that she lifted up the doll’s dress and did the same to it’s thighs and calves, dragging the scissors down in a white-knuckled grip.  She then switched to holding the scissors as intended and snipping randomly at the dress and skin.

Finally she opened the scissors and held one half of them like a knife, slashing at the doll’s face in broad ‘x’ strokes like she was swordfighting.

Panting she tossed the scissors aside and stepped back to regard her handiwork.

The doll’s face looked as though it had been shoved into a garbage disposal; the once recognizable visage resembling chewed orange jello. It’s arms and legs had slits that looked like gills covering them. The dress, HER dress, was in now in tatters.

And she still had fifteen minutes left.

Exhilaration coursed through Cordelia, but it was muted. There was still something missing… some final master stroke…

She looked quickly around the room. Her eyes fell on a jar of red paint, stacked among various other shades. She scrambled for it and grabbed a paintbrush from the nearby bin. The bristles of the brush were dry from unwashing, but it would serve her purpose well enough. She wrenched the lid free of the paint jar and dipped her brush in. Across the torn bust of the doll she swiped letter after letter until she had written ‘WHORE’ in bright wet characters.

There, that was it.

Done.

She grabbed the wheelchair and pulled it over near the artroom door, eyeing the hallway as best she could through the small rectangular window. The coast still looked clear.  Cordelia pressed the doorhandle down with her elbow and slipped back into the hallway, modified doppleganger in tow.

…….

The hallway remained empty and silent as Cordelia wheeled Randy’s doll back to where he had left it. A glance at the clock on the wall told her she had seven minutes left to be anywhere but here.

But where to go?

She chose the nurse’s office, concocting her story as she went. By the time she arrived she was fairly well in tears.

“Cramps,” she told the school nurse, and unmarried woman named Jenkins. “I went to the bathroom they hurt so bad. Do you have anything?”

“Oh honey just lie down here,” Miss Jenkins indicated a cot. “I’ll get you something to take the edge off.”

“Thank you Miss Jenkins,” Cordelia said.

She was still on the cot when the bell signaled the end of class. Not soon after that the louspeaker announced that Cordelia Zelmanova was to report to the principal’s office immediately.

“I’m feeling better,” Cordelia promised Miss Jenkins, “the pills had made me feel well enough to go to see what Principal Donaldson needs. Probably a student leaders meeting or something.”

“We all get it bad sometimes, honey,” Miss Jenkins told her as she left the nurse’s station.

Cordelia nodded. Today was definately one of those times.

…….

Principal Donaldson waved her into his office with a flapping of his hand. Cordelia thought he had to have been pushing at least 350 now. The summer had not been kind.

“Sit down, Miss Zelmanova,” Donaldson instructed, collapsing behind his desk into a protesting leather chair.

Cordelia took the left of the two low chairs which sat facing the principal’s desk, smoothing her dress across her knees as she did. Composure was key here.

Donaldson regarded her briefly before clearing his throat and launching into it. “I understand you were at the nurse’s station just now,” His voice was deep and not altogether unpleasant.

“Yes sir,” Cordelia said. “My menstural cycle just started. Lot’s of cramping. It’s very painful.”

“I see.”

Cordelia didn’t see how he could, but she remained quiet.

“Miss Zelmanova, are you aware that a fellow student, Randy Bellfore, had a very expensive handicap aid with him today? One that some have intimated to me potentially bore a passing resemblance to you?” Donaldson’s chair springs squelched as he adjusted his bulk.

Keep it together, Cordie. “I think one of my friends mentioned he had something with him.”

“Did you happen to see it yourself at any time?”

“Oh no sir,” Cordelia answered. “So far I haven’t had any classes with Randy today. And we don’t,” she lowered the tone of her voice just a bit, as though she were intimating a secret, “we don’t really have the same friends.”

Principal Donaldson nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard that. Miss Zelmanova…”

“Call me Cordelia, please,” she interrupted him and flashed him a smile.

“…Cordelia,” he paused before continuing, as though he were still getting used to the taste of her name in his mouth, “While Mister Bellfore was in sixth period today someone… damaged his property.”

“Oh no!” Cordelia tried to sound as concerned as she could. “Who?”

Donaldson frowned at her and crossed his arms across his massive chest.

He knew. Cordelia could see it in his eyes. The question was, could he prove it?

After a few moments the big man sighed.

And she knew: he couldn’t.

“We don’t know. We were hoping you might,” he told her, his eyes flicking rapidly across her face, watching to see how she reacted to this statement.

Cordelia held her expression of shock. “Me? How would I know?”

“Did you see anyone in the hallway when you left the restroom and went to the nurse’s station?”

“See anyone?” Pause. Look up and to the right. Squint your left eye. Aaaaand… respond. “No sir. No one. Though I was bent over pretty good. Because of the…”

“Cramps, yes,” Donaldson finished her sentence for her, absently waving a hand as though he knew this already. He continued to regard her. “Cordelia, here at Allswood High we take damage to student property seriously. Especially when in involves damage regarding a handicapped individual.”

She struggled to maintain her composure. He was goading her, and she knew it.

“Oh yes sir,” Cordelia agreed.

Principal Donaldson frowned. “I’m concerned that there may be a criminal investigation, if we can’t find a way to handle this in-house.”

There it was. His trump card.

Cordelia’s mind raced. What would a criminal investigation mean? Had she left fingerprints? Surely she had when she had steered the wheelchair to and from the art room. Could they pull fingerprints from wheelchair handles? Cordelia didn’t know.

But what had Donaldson said? ‘If we can’t find a way to handle this in-house.’ And that was what he was wanting, wasn’t it? Surely he wouldn’t want newscasters reporting that a the son of the superintendent was carting around a sex doll under his watch, would he? She gambled.

“That WOULD be bad,” Cordelia nodded in agreement, and fell silent. His next words would tell her if she had forced his hand.

Principal Donaldson re-crossed his arms.

“Yes,” he said finally, “that would be bad.”

She had made it.

“Thank you for coming in, Miss Zelmanova. I hope you feel better. Let Jane at the front desk know if you need to call your parents to come and pick you up.” Donaldson used his desk to hoist himself to his feet. Cordelia stood as well.

“Thank you sir,” she said. As she paused the final bell of the day rang, signaling the end of the schoolday. Cordelia smiled. “I’m feeling better already.”

Original image by Jason Hargrove. Used with permission.

Phoenixia spread her wings wide, arching her long neck before straightening it out in a stretch. The rocks of her den still held warmth from when she had warmed them last night, breathing flame until they glowed red to keep out the winter chill that clung to the mornings and evenings of spring. Her wingspan almost reached the opposing walls of the cave here in her sleeping chambers, with just enough room to allow her to turn fully without scraping the walls. When the time came she would have to use a different branch of the cavern to lay and raise her brood. But that time wasn’t here yet.

Folding her wings back against her sides after a leisurely yawn, she lowered her head and trudged on foot through the narrow passage that opened up into the main cavern. Whether hewn naturally or shaped by another dragon long before her Phoenixia didn’t know, but she still enjoyed its comforts. A massive opening with plenty of room to curl figure eights, if she were inclined, the central cavern was home to massive stalactites and an underground river fed by a waterfall which came from an opening in the ceiling too small for Phoenixia to investigate. Its convenience in providing drinking water had long overtaken her curiosity.

Braxxas. He was the one who balked at her curiosity. Who defamed her searchings causing others who might have been willing to help shy away, for fear of receiving the same treatment. His chiding had forced her away from the brood; had forced her here. And in a way, Phoenixia considered, she owed him for that. Let him have his tunnels and his burrows, and let the brood dig with him to the center of the earth; Phoenixia couldn’t leave the sky.

Scraping herself against her favorite outcropping she listened to the crackle of dry scales coming free of her hide and raining down. There were more every day; maybe only a month more before her final molt. Then she would be an adult, ultimately free of the brood and and able to live how she wished.

With a mighty leap she extended her wings then glided down to the main entrance of the cave, a small tunnel barely wide enough to admit her, even with wings folded. She had passed it three times during her initial search for a home, believing it too small, and she took some comfort that any other rogue would most likely think the same. With her tense seperation from the brood she thought it unlikely any would answer her call should a territorial dispute arise, and without regular sparring practice she was more than a little rusty.

Phoenixia let her head scrape along the roof of the entry tunnel as she headed out, letting its rough surface scrape any dry scales away. Once she was satisfied she twisted her serpentine neck to do the same against the rock walls. The gray light from the tunnel’s mouth told her it was almost sunset and her stomach rumbled in anticipation.

Time for breakfast.

She emerged from the cave, brushing aside another stray throught of motherhood as she did, and took flight with a mighty downstroke of her wings. The land receeded beneath her as she stroked for altitude, wondering which way to scout this evening. Game had become increasingly scarse since she had inhabited the cavern and she had little clue why.

The open air felt good beneath her wings, cool and full of movement this morning. Stretching wide she set out at a lazy glide, her shadow sliding silently along the ground beneath her. Rocks permeated the green grasses and sparse bushes of the highland country like the petrified corpses of a subterranean troll army.

Phoenixia dipped to follow her preferred hunting ground, a swift shallow stream that cut a path through the hills. From experience she knew the animals would be headed to water down before retiring for the evening.

It was there, high above the stream, that the vibrations first found her ears. A simple ripple so perfect Phoenixia’s heart lept within her as it tickled through her brain. The voice pure and sweet, peaceful and lovely.

Phoenixia had heard music before, in the broodhome, and had even sung with her brethren, adding her roar to the Song to Shake the Heavens. But to feel this tune course through her bones struck her as though she had never heard before this moment.

All thoughts of her hunger faded, and she resolved to find the source.

She followed the melody down the stream, lowering her altitude to ensure she didn’t lose the vibrations. The bones of her jawline hummed with them, pleasure tickling across her brain in a sparkling stroll.

The creature making the beautiful noises was so small Phoenixia almost passed it by. Pink like a pig in parts, the thing also had strange broad feathers covering most of its body. Phoenixia thought the feathers were almost as though someone had flattened the clouds and wrapped oneself in them. It’s head (or so Phoenixia took it to be,) was covered in a waterfall of blonde-brown fur that ran down it’s back. The hole in it’s head resembled a mouth, but with flat teeth.

‘It must eat grass, like the cows,’ Phoenixia thought to herself.

The beautiful vibrations she had followed were coming from the creature’s mouth hole.

Phoenixia pulled up her flight, spreading her broad wings to catch herself from overshooting the pink creature-who-sang. With a couple quick flaps she alighted onto the hill just behind where the creature-who-sings sat perched on some of the grey stone boulders.

The creature, suddenly eclipsed by Phoenixia’s shadow, turned to regard the dragon. It’s eyes grew greatly in size and the vibrations it had been making ceased. In their place the creature began making a new noise, this one much higher-pitched and harsh, a gasping sort of bark that grated on Phoenixia’s listening bones like pumice.

Leaping to its legs it began to run from her.

Phoenixia was disappointed. She hadn’t meant to interrupt the creature-who-sings, nor had she intended to frighten it away.

“Please,” she roared. “Please don’t go. Sing again!”

The creature-who-sings continued it’s sprint away from Phoenixia, though with it’s small legs it did not travel very fast. It did glance over it’s shoulder, its eyes growing even wider at her pleading roars.

‘This will not do,’ Phoenixia thought to herself, spreading her wings for a hop that took her over the head of the creature-who-sings and directly into it’s path. The thing tumbled to a halt in front of her, some of it’s flat feathers sprawling over it’s head.

“Don’t be afraid,” Phoenixia roared at it.

The creature-who-sings pulled the feathers from over it’s head. It’s eyes appeared to be leaking.

“That’s right,” Phoenixia growled in what she hoped was a comforting manner, lowering her head toward the creature-that-sings. “Hello there, little one.”

The creature-who-sings made the higher-pitched noise again, drawing this one out. Phoenixia grimaced but held her ground, hoping a show of good faith would calm the small creature.

A second barking answered this time, this one coming from Phoenixia’s flank. It was lower than the first creature’s noise, but clearly made by the same type on animal. This noise, however, was accompanied by a sudden sharp stinging sensation in one of her haunches, as though a bloodfly had bit her.

Startled at the pain, Phoenixia spun about, looking for the source. As she spun she felt her tail glance off an obstacle. She completed her circut in time to see a second creature-who-sings, this one with much shorter fur that covered it’s entire head, collapsing underneath one of the long-necked cows she had occasionally found to eat. The long-neck added it’s own screaching to the noises of the new creature-who-sings, thrashing about on top of it.

Phoenixia, worried the writhing long-neck might hurt this new creature, diped her neck down and lifted the long-neck from it with her teeth. The long-neck only thrashed for a moment between her fangs before it was still.

The new creature-who-sings made only quiet sounds now, moving little.

Suddenly aware that the first had ceased making noise as well, Phoenixia felt a sensation creeping through her talons. Sticky, yet also crunchy, as though she had  tread on a forest made of bee sap. She retreated a step or two to see that she had indeed stepped on the first creature-who-sings in her surprise.

The poor animal had been crushed, Phoenixia’s weight turning it from vibrating beauty to a mangled pile of meat in a spreading pool of pink and red.

Heartsickness gripped her. It had been such an ugly creature, true, but it had sung so beautifully. Such gentle majesty out of so small a thing.

A rumbling in her stomach reminded her of why she had left her cave this morning, and with a heavy heart and empty ears Phoenixia took to the skies again, wheeling around to follow the stream.

…….

That night as Phoenixia slept in her den, she dreamed. She saw her father, a powerful spellcaster and scientist of the art. She saw her mother, tender and kind, yet fearsome and far more viscous than any male when roused.

But when she woke, she held no memories of these things. She recalled only one face.

The face of the broodmother.

…….

That morning, Phoenixia flew home.

…….

The Stone Guard were the first to meet her as Phoenixia flew into her brood’s territory. Brothers and sisters who perched at the edge of firemountains day after day, the heat baking their scales to strength neither tooth nor talon could tear, each taking pride in lasting a little bit longer at the lip of the mountain. These were their foreguard, their elite soldiers.

“Who’s is the sky?” one of the three Stone Guards growled to Phoenixia formally.

“This sky is Maor’s, and kin of her brood,” Phoenixia answered just as formally. Stone Guards were known for their lack of humor.

“Phaderus will escort you,” the Stone Guard stated, leaving no room for question.

A Stone Guard peeled off from the group and dropped into a steep dive, Phoenixia following. She could recall not so long ago when it would have been a single Stone Guard who would have met her. Things must have grown even more dire in the short time she had been away.

Phaderus led her through the steep canyon walls she had flown a thousand times over, never casting a glance behind him. At the entrance to the broodhome he landed, hardened claws gouging the rock of the gaping opening.

“Who seeks the refuge of Maor?” he asked.

“Phoenixia, her second-daughter,” Phoenixia answered meekly.

“Then enter the den of your broodmother, Phoenixia, and may the skies be yours.”

“May the skies be yours,” she echoed meekly as he flew back the way they had just come.

Four more Stone Guards, perched two to either side, stood watch over the entrance. They watched her with careful disinterest as Phoenixia pulled into a glide and entered her former home.

…….

Maor’s Den was massive. Home to her brood of a ten thousand strong, what had started as a series of natural volcanic caves had been shaped and engineered over the centuries until the mountain range they belonged to was honeycombed with caverns.

Phoenixia threaded effortlessly through the maze of stone colums, growling greeting occasionally to those she passed. She knew few of her cousin’s names but recognized most of them. That no one greeted her was evidence enough that her abandonment of the broodhome had not gone forgotten.

Until Lyxx found her.

“Phoenixiaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!” Lyxx swooped from somewhere above her, screaming Phoenixia’s name and tackling her mid-air. Together they tumbled downward, a tangle of wings and claws, the seriousness of Phoenixia’s errend temporarily forgotten in the embrace of her friend.

“Lyxx! Let go!” Phoenixia hollered good-naturedly.

Lyxx released her suddenly, spreading her wings to catch herself.

“You’re back! What are you doing back?! Braxxas…” Lyxx spoke excitedly, but Phoenixia cut her off.

“I’m not here for long. Braxxas doesn’t even need to know I was here until I’m gone.”

“But your mother…” Lyxx started.

“…roosts with Braxxas. And is no longer my mother,” Phoenixia stated sternly, sweeping her wings to resume her course.

Recognizing the sensetivity of the subject Lyxx, wheeled around and kept pace.

“Where are you staying?” she asked.

“I found a cave. In the highlands,” Phoenixia glanced at her friend and saw concern marring her features. “It is well hidden and easily defensible, Lyxx. And farther north than almost anyone has traveled. Zalasphar and his brood would have to cross our entire territory to get to me. I’m fine.” She considered the amount of room she had to herself and continued. “In fact, I’ve got plenty of room if you want to come stay with me.”

“Go rogue?” Lyxx’s voice pitched higher, surprised at the suggestion. “I couldn’t! I mean, you know I love you Phen, but…” Lyxx took a deep breath, “I’m betrothed.”

“What??” now it was Phoenixia’s voice who grew higher in surprise. “To who? Since when?”

“To Marsus. Just this last moon. I didn’t know where you were to tell you…”

“Congratulations! We’ll have to celebrate…” Phoenixia cut Lyxx off, then remembered the creature-who-sings and her errand. “Just… not right now.”

Lyxx cast a sidelong glance at her friend. “You didn’t come back just to visit.” It was a statement, not a question.

“No,” Phoenixia admitted. “I came for my father’s things.”

“Braxxas took them. Did something with them. I don’t know what. I was visiting your mother as he was,” Lyxx told her.

“Do you know where he is now?”

“The Cavern of War, most likely, he…”

Phoenixia was already spiraling away from her friend even as Lyxx continued to speak.

“The sooner I get them from him the sooner I can be done with him. Forever,” Phoenixia called over her shoulder. “We’ll get together soon!”

…….

Phoenixia found Braxxas in the Cavern of War just as Lyxx had said. He stood clustered with several other males regarding something Phoenixia had no interest in.

“Braxxas. Where are my father’s things?” Phoenixia spoke over the male who had been speaking.

“Phoenixia. Welcome back. You can see I’m…” Braxxas’ voice, deep even for a male, held no warmth for her.

“All I want are my father’s writings, Braxxas,” she interrupted him. “After that I will be gone and you will be rid of me. For good.”

“Phoenixia, that is hardly what I want.” the males with Braxxas were looking at him uneasily now, their planning temporarily forgotten.

“My father’s things, Braxxas. And I will leave you in peace,” Phoenixia demanded.

Braxxas sighed.

“I moved your father’s things into my den at the request of your mother. They are at a cavern towards the rear. You may retirive them if you wish; I have no use for them.”

Phoenixia grew angry at this. This was the Braxxas she hated. To others he sounded wise and magnanimous, but she knew his intimation. He had never supported her father’s pursuit of the magical sciences, often referring to him as foolish when he believed Phoenixia wasn’t listening. He knew how to manipulate the situation to make whoever opposed him seem the enemy, and Phoenixia was long past trying to prove otherwise. Turning her back without reply she set to flight before he could say anything else.

…….

Barxxas’ den was empty when Phoenixia arrived, a small gift as far as she was concerned. The last thing she wanted to do was get into yet another argument with her mother; they both had made their choices.

Searching from cavern to cavern she finally located her fathers things in the rearmost opening irrevently tossed in a pile. The cavern was clearly the worst in the den, dank and cold and wet. She felt a mix of sadness as she dug through the pile; many of the writings had become warped and smudged beyond reading. It took her longer than she had hoped, but she eventually uncovered what she was looking for: her father’s collection of successful experiments. Seeing it brought immediate memories of her father  bent precariously over skins breathing thin lines of flame into the fresh hides to document his processes.

“You’ve got to write it down, Phoenixia. Every success as well as every failure. Otherwise it will pass on, and our people have allowed too much to pass already,” he had told her.

Using the foreclaws on the tips of her wings, Phoenixia gingerly transferred the bundle of writings into a one of the many empty sacks she found strewn around the room. She tried not to wonder what had inhabited the empty bags at one time; too much had been allowed to pass indeed.

Seeking to leave Braxxas’ cave, Phoenixia stopped short by the appearance of a Stone Guard at the entrance just as she was preparing to exit.

“Maor has called for you, daughter,” the Stone Guard told her.

“…me?” Phoenixia asked, taken aback.

“By name,” the Stone Guard said. He lept from the ledge and hovered, powerful wings sweeping in deep swishing noises, waiting for Phoenixia to follow.

Shaking her head so the strap of her sachel would settle comfortably around the base of her neck and hang to her chest, Phoenixia joined the Stone Guard in flight.

“This way,” he instructed, whirling about and taking a course.

…….

“Ah, welcome daughter,” Maor said in greeting as Phoenixia was ushered into her chamber. The broodmother’s age showed in the dull lustre of her scales and the battle-drawn tears in her wingleather. She lay curled on a flat bed of rock surrounded by a moat of flame. Keeping her cold blood warm in her age, Phoenixia assumed.

Maor’s bright eyes watched Phoenixia taking in the scene. “Your father made this bed for me, you know,” She told the younger dragon. “He burned very bright, during his time.”

“Yes, broodmother,” Phoenixia cast her eyes to the floor. She didn’t know what sort of protocol she should be observing with her answers.

“I hear you have been unhappy with you mother taking Braxxas as a mate,” Maor said, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

“You… have heard of this?” Phoenixia asked, confused. Their brood was over ten thousand strong, or so she had heard. To think that the broodmother kept track of her…

“I am aware of the dealings of all my children,” Maor told her. “Though, some make more noise than others.” she said with a hint of a smile.

Phoenixia felt her scales flatten in embarrassment.

“Your father was of great value to me,” Maor continued. “With so few of our race born with the blood for sorcery these days, having a son so dedicated and talented was a great blessing. You are not the only his death weighs on.”

Shame joined her embarrassment. “Yes, broodmother,” Phoenixia said quietly.

“Braxxas and his ilk are necessary to protect the brood. Without sorcerers to rely on for our warfare, brute force is all we have left.” Maor paused, but Phoenixia made no reply.

“I am sure you wonder why I called you to me this day?” Maor asked.

Phoenixia nodded. “Yes, broodmother.”

“I have made inquiries, amongst the other broods.” Maor sighed. “Your father was not only the last of our sorcerers, Phoenixia. He was the last of them all.”

The heaviness of Maor’s words hung in the air, sinking in slowly for Phoenixia. Without sorcerers to assist the broodmothers in egglaying, they would be reduced to laying a single egg in their lifetime. And if that were the case…

“Yes,” Maor said finishing Phoenixia’s thought out loud. “Our race is dying. It has already begun. But I have hope. For you have your father’s spirit, and his blood. I saw both of them when you abandoned the den rather than suffer Braxxas. So I ask you now, daughter: will you, even in your freedom, seek to help us?”

Phoenixia was taken aback. To have that kind of responsibility…

“I ask only, daughter. I expect nothing,” Maor told her. “You have left the brood, and for good reason. You owe us no allegience.”

“I…” Phoenixia started, still reeling from the broodmother’s forthright explination. “I will do what I can, broodmother.”

“That is all I ask daughter,” Maor blew two small trails of smoke through her nostrils.

They stood in silence for a bit, each stewing in her own thoughts. Phoenixia struggled with so many conflicting emotions. And as she wrestled, the song of the singing creature began to echo in her thoughts.

“Mother,” Phoenixia spoke, “near my den, to the north, I encountered a creature I have never known before. It was small, with soft pink flesh. It made the most beautiful noises, though less so when I frightened it. As you know so much…?”

“Ah,” Maor frowned. “I have heard of these creatures. They are called ‘man.’ Alphasannas’ brood has nearly been overrun with them to the far east. They are fragile things, easily damaged and too bony for meat. But they have minds as sharp as our own and have killed several of Alphasannas’ brood with weapons and clever tricks. Be wary of them. You are the first of us to explore north in my lifetime; there is no telling how many of them there might be.”

“Yes, broodmother. I will be careful.”

“Then go, daughter. Return to me if you uncover any knowledge that might help us.”

“Thank you, broodmother. May the skies be yours.”

…….

Phoenixia’s long flight back to her den was crowded with tumultous thoughts. Her race was dying; she, who had forsaken them all because of Braxxas and his close-mindedness might now be their only hope. She, a daughter not even of full-molt.

As she wrestled with these things, the song from the creature-that-sings returned to her again and again. Though as before it held beauty, now it held a nagging urgency. Yet, Phoenixia could not discern it’s secret.

‘You know something,’ she adressed the melody in her mind. ‘What is it?’

But the melody didn’t respond.

It was only a song.

…….

The next morning Phoenixia spread out her father’s burnings before her within her sleeping chamber.

“You must have seen it,” she muttered to his ghost. “You must have known. You always knew.”

She took few breaks that first day. Fewer still on the second. But by her fifth day of study she had grown restess and hungry. Frustrated and irritable, she abandoned her den and took to the sky.

…….

Her thoughts returned to her encounter with the man-creatures as she coasted above the bubbling stream below. The one who sang had been alone, surrounded by a flock of smaller horned goats, and had traveled slowly on it’s own legs when frightened by her. The other, however, had traveled on a long-neck. Phoenixia had occasionally chased long-necks in the fields where they lived in her younger days, and she knew the speed they were capable of. If the man-creatures rode on long-necks often, they could travel far greater distances than on their own. This could mean that their settlement was far further from her cave than she had traveled. Phoenixia considered to herself: if that were the case, perhaps she should know a little more about her neighbors before she settled in much further?

And perhaps she could hear their song again.

Pushing thoughts of hunting away, she elected instead to follow the stream, thinking it the most logical path; after all, all creatures needed water.

…….

It took her several more hours of flying before she smelled the smoke of their settlement. A hint on the breeze, nothing more. But her nostrils knew the scent well enough to know she was headed in the right direction.

The den of the man-creatures looked very strange to Phoenixia as she drew close. It was a collection of stumpy hills they had made themselves, with cut trees forming their roofs. Holes in the hills were everywhere, some larger than the men, some small. Phoenixia supposed these small holes were for their young.

And the young! She saw them swarming everywhere amidst the dirt tracks that ran between the man-dwellings. Some saw her shadow pass over them and made noises far more shrill than the creature-that-sang.

‘So many!’ Phoenixia thought to herself. ‘They already number the size of a small brood!’

Some of the larger man-creatures, the ones with the shorter fur covering their heads, followed the screams of their young and sighted her as well as she returned for a second pass. These made barking noises similar to the one she had seen on the long-neck, calling out in their strange rough voices and pointing their leatherless wings at her passing. A few of the short-furs threw sticks in her direction, but Phoenixia flew too high for their reach as she strafed their den again and again, trying to learn all she could.

Some short-furs, mounted on long-necks, were marshaling the long-furs and the young into a group at the far end of their den. These set out along a well-worn dirt track which led away while a larger gathering of short-furs swelled into a group on the outskirts of their den. Phoenixia followed their path with her eyes as she flew, and was astounded.

There, on a hill not far from their den, the man-creatures were constructing a cave.

They had formed huge walls by piling small stones one upon another until they stood beyond four man-creatures high. Four round stalagmites stood at each edge of the wall, these rising far higher still. These stalagmites were all hollow and seemingly unfinished, each standing jagged at a different height.

The walls and the stalagmites stood only to surround the main cavern, a massive sprawling pile of stones that rose and fell in height like waves from the ocean. Phoenixia marveled at the incredible structure. For creatures so small and weak  to create such large cave must have taken an incredible amount of time.

From her vantage about she could see they had constructed several smaller caverns within the stone cave. Some had more of the cut trees covering them but enough stood open to the sky that Phoenixia recognized their purpose.

The man-creatures meant to inhabit the thing.

An unpleasant feeling in her stomach reminded Phoenixia of her real reason for leaving her own cave. Dipping down to collect a few of the goats that were scattered about the man-creature’s den she peeled around to follow the stream back home, chewing as she flew.

Seeing the man-creature’s incredible cavern had given her much to think about.

…….

That night, settled in among the writings of her father, Phoenixia found her answer.

…….

She arose early the next dusk, vibrant with plans. She paused to enjoy the sensation of her cavern waterfall cascading over her scales before finishing the remains of the last night’s goats and hurrying out into the  day. Her father’s spell had been very specific, and she would have to travel many lengths to obtain the proper components before the new moon rose that evening. She didn’t understand her father’s explanation entirely of why the spell could only be accomplished during the new moon, but she trusted his knowledge. It WOULD be successful. And she would return to the brood a hero, savior of their race and championing her father’s work. Braxxas would be shamed; Maor would be grateful.

And hopefully her mother would see what a fool she had been.

Phoenixia flew to a part of the brood’s canyon unguarded by the Stone Guards but rich in memories of childhood. He father had often taken her here to collect the crystals which lined the gullies of this part of the canyon, explaining that the crystals had been formed long ago by the ambling runoff of the fire mountains. She had grown up toting progressively heavier bags of them back to their cave and watched in fascination as her father made them arc with lightnings of all different colors. Now it was she who was on the hunt for the perfect specimens,  with only memories to guide her.

Her collection of five took her much longer than she had anticipated, and the sun was already beginning to set when she returned to her cave. She bypassed it, having curled the skin with her father’s spell into the bag it now shared with the crystals, and continued on towards the den of the men-creatures.

It was the last ingredient, she knew, that would be the most complex.

…….

The sky had bled from blue to deep red as she approached the den of the men-creatures. Already the first star had appeared in the sky, winking like one of the crystals she carried. Phoenixia flew high, hoping the settling darkness would mask her approach and not alarm the creatures.

They milled about far below her, some wandering between their hills, others out among the goats. Even at this height Phoenixia could see the young, their shadows far shorter than their fully-grown counterparts, weaving in and out of every activity.

Now, to pick a good one…

She saw a longer-furred man-creature out on the edge of the settlement, out even past where the goats clustered.

This would be her target.

Flexing her claws in anticipation, Phoenixia pulled around in a tight circle and dove, pulling her wings tight to her sides. The wind pulled at her scales as luxuriant speed washed over her. Having experienced the fragility of the man-creatures first hand, she knew she must be gentle.

The ground rushed up at her like a hungry predator as she braced herself  for her next maneuver. Throwing her wings wide she sailed smoothly into a strafing run, and with claws extended she swooped the long-furred man-creature into her palm and took to the sky again even as the first alarmed warning barks began to ring out.

The long-furred man-creature struggled against her grip at first but as Phoenixia gained altitude it’s struggles turned into a fierce grip around one of her talons. Phoneixia took this as a good sign that she had not harmed the creature.

“Do not worry little one,” Phoenixia roared reassuringly, “I only need your for a moment. Then you will be free again.”

With one eye on the darkening sky, Phoenixia set flight for the man-creature’s cave.

…….

With two quick brushes of her wings Phoenixia landed with a hop, making sure to keep her claw that held the man-creature from colliding with the stones. From the inside the man-creature’s false cavern was even more impressive, and Phoenixia marveled at the amount of effort the creatures had put into stacking stone onto stone to create the place.

Balancing carefully on one leg with wings outstretched to keep herself from toppling, Phoenixia lowered herself until the satchel she wore containing the crystals she had collected rested on the stone floor of the cavern. Phoenixia dipped her neck to the ground and pulled out of the leather strappings.

She could hear the long-furred man-creature making it’s high barking sound from within her grasp, and it occurred to her she may have gripped it too hard. Setting the creature carefully to the stone Phoenixia backed away so she could regard it.

The man-creature, finding itself once again on solid ground, began to scurry away from her at once. Gaining it’s legs it ran towards a large opening set into one wall of the cavern. Phoenixia blew a quick puff of fire towards the door hoping to dissuade the man-creature’s retreat.

It worked. The man-creature froze in it’s tracks.

“Please, I mean you no harm,” Phoenixia roared to the creature which grabbed it’s head at the sound of her voice. “I know of no other way to ask for your help.” The creature turned wide-eyed to stare at Phoenixia, still grasping it’s head. Phoenixia could see it didn’t understand her. With a frustrated growl Pnoenixia nosed open her satchel and began to remove the five crystals she had selected for the evening. “This will all be over soon,” Phoenixia told the man-creature, hoping to sound reassuring.

With an eye on the sky that was retreating from deep blue to black Phoenixia set up her crystals at five different points within the huge cavern. Then, taking a mouthful of the ingredients her father had instructed from her sachel she chewed, grimacing at the taste.

‘No wonder father ate whatever was offered to him, if he could stand the taste of this stuff!’ Phoenixia thought to herself.

After she had chewed the mixture to paste she established herself in the center of the crystals and blew a thin stream of fire, turning on axis as she did. This carved a dark circle around the perimeter of where the crystals stood. It’s purpose served, Phoenixia spit the mashed mess into a shadowed corner of the man-creature’s cavern.

Then she waited.

It took only moments before the crystals began to hum, a low droning noise that rose steadily in pitch as the last vestiges of color drained from the sky and the stars burned their way through the darkness in force. The long-furred man-creature continued to hold it’s head, beginning to make its grating high barks again but remaining where it stood outside the circle.

The crystals began to pulse internally with light as the hum grew to fill the room. Snatches of lightning sparked out in arcs and the man-creature turned again to run. This time Phoenixia didn’t need to block it, as a stray tongue of electricity shot from the nearest crystal and caught the man-creature by surprise. A second licked out to catch Phoenixia as well, and she felt a shudder pass through her body.

‘I’ve done it,’ she thought to herself as more lightning lept from the crystals to dance across her scales. ‘I’ve saved my people. My father’s blood runs true within me.’

She began to feel faint even as euphoria shuddered through her. Now the crackling bolts which leaped from the crystals were so bright and so quick she pressed her eyes shut against them. The droning hum drown out all other noises leaving Phoenixia unsure if the long-furred man-creature was still barking.

With the room shaking from the sound and her eyes blinded from the hot light of the magic all around her, Phoenixia slipped into unconsciousness.

…….

Phoenixia awoke to the coldness of the stone she lay on seeping through her scales. A tingling sensation danced across her body even as it faded. She opened her eyes and she knew she had been successful.

Her new body stretched out before her along the stone floor of the man-creature’s false cavern. Flesh as milky white as moonlight covered her now, soft and warm to the touch. Gone were the leather of her wings and her short powerful legs, replaced by lengthy and gracefully curved appendages. Her wings now ended in flattened claws with five elegant digits which she maneuvered in a waving motion one by one.

She was transformed.

Hesitantly, she placed one wingclaw to the ground and pulled her new legs beneath her. Shakily pressing against the cold stone with her new wings, she stood.

The crystals were burnt to the last, smoky and cracked from their performance. The long-haired man-creature lay where she had fallen outside the circle, feathers rising and falling.

It was still alive.

With a start Phoenixia realized just how truly cold she had grown and curled her wings around her. Her arms brushed over two rosy-tipped lumps that hung from her chest with the motion and she started in surprise at the sensation.

This was going to take some getting used to.

Rubbing her shoulders with her wingclaws to make friction, she received another surprise; long fur like the man-creature’s but as black as her scales hung from her head. Turning her head this way and that, she could feel the gentle brush of it travel across her back. Keeping her wingclaws on her shoulders she played some of the fur between them. It was soft and slick, like nothing she had felt before.

With a sharp intake of breath the long-furred man-creature awoke with a start and sat up. Her eyes, foggy for a moment, gazed wildly around the room until they setteled on Phoenixia in her new form.

And to her surprise, Phoenixia could understand her.

“Who…?” the long-furred man-creature’s eyes peered searchingly around the made cavern again before returning to Phoenixia, “Where… where did the monster go? Who are…” It’s eyes fell to the burnt crystals and followed the scorched ruts that had burned in the cobblestones to where Phoenixia stood, epicenter to the charred web. The long-haired man-creature’s eyes grew wide in fright. “…you?” it whispered.

“I hope I did not hurt you,” Phoenixia told the man-creature, surprised at the pleasant lilt of her own voice. “It was not my intent to frighten you, either. I tried to be as gentle as possible, but you are very small. Are you well?”

“I…” the long-furred man-creature’s brows furrowed. Phoenixia was charmed by the movement.

“Please,” Phoenixia continued, “my people, we are dying. Can you tell me; how do you have so many young?”

A sudden clatter arose as several short-furred men-creatures came running from the darkness of a nearby tunnel. Some held pieces of silvered steel; others sticks with silver talons on their ends.

“Rosamund!” one shouted, running to the long-furred man-creature and scooping it up in it’s leatherless wings.

“Phillip!” the long-furred man-creature exclaimed back, throwing her own wings around the other.

While this took place the dozen or so other men-creatures that had come with the man-creature Phillip had gathered together in a loose bunch just to the inside of the cavern. Some of these watched Rosamund and Phillip, but some had now taken notice of Phoenixia.

“Whossat?” one of them said, leveling it’s wing in Phoenixia’s direction.

Rosamund’s voice rose as she pushed Phillip away from her. “It’s the monster! Phillip! The creature! It changed to look as us somehow! There was light everywhere and I…”

Phillip rounded on Phoenixia, brandishing the piece of steel he carried.

“Crush my sister and then take my wife?!” Phillip hollered. Phoenixia felt the heat of his anger as though he were breathing fire. She took a few steps back.

“Please…” she began, but Phillip shouted over her.

“Silence fel witch! You’ll kill no other with your sorceries! Nyeeeeah!”

Phillip advanced in a rush. Grabbing Phoenixia’s shoulder he forced the piece of steel he held into her chest and out again through her back.

Stunned, Phoenixia stumbled back from Phillip. Some of the onlookers gasped as she clumsily grabbed for the handle protruding from her chest. Once and twice her hands brushed the stiff ‘T’ of the hilt before her new legs, suddenly without feeling, gave way under her. She fell to the stone floor of the cavern, finding it growing colder still.

She could see from her skewed vantage as the long-furred man-creature Rosamund buried it’s face into Phillip’s shoulder, very close to where the metal protruded from Phoenixia’s own.

“Take your malevolence with you to hell,” Phillip muttered.

Phoenixia didn’t hurt, exactly. It was more as if she were falling asleep  and growing colder at the same time. She felt herself slipping, slipping to somewhere else. Not knowing what to do, she seized upon the one thing that came to mind. The one thing she had dreamed of from the moment she had persued her wild plan to save her people.

Pressing her lips together she hummed the song she had heard the man-creature singing what seemed like an eternity ago.

She did not sing long.

…….

Phillip held Rosamund’s face to his chest until the creature’s chest stopped moving. For a moment he thought he heard it trying to cast some final spell or devilry, but the sound drifted off before it could reach his ears. Gently, he released his grip on Rosamund.

“Peace, love,” he told her. “it is dead.”

“Oh Phillip,” Rosamund said. New tears had begun to pool at the sides of her eyes. “I thought it would eat me. And then it blew it’s fire and I was so scared…”

“Shhhhhhhh…” Phillip shushed her. “We will speak of it tomorrow, after you have slept.” He looked around the room with a grimace. “We will have much to do as we talk, it seems. I would hate for our lordship to arrive and find his castle so defiled.”

Rosamund nodded, leaning into her husband as he threw his arm around her shoulder and guided them back through the hall’s entrance.

The others followed a few moments later.

Original Photo by AMigill. Used with permission.

http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/strangities—volume-1/11172886

“You’re going to be fine, Walter? OK? You’re going to be fine.”

Walter struggled to smile weakly at his wife’s reassurances. He’d learned in their forty-two years together just to let her talk it through; most of the words were far more for her sake than his.

His muscles tensed for a moment and he went rigid. It was a small one, and the seizure subsided almost immediately. Tears welled up in Karen’s eyes as the doctors moved quickly around her at his bedside. Even after three years of watching this wretched disease eat away at him, she still cried every time.

“It’s getting close mam,” one of the nurses said, “perhaps you’d rather…”

Walter’s smile grew as Karen whirled around to face the woman.

“I’VE BEEN WITH THIS MAN THROUGH A WAR, TWO CHILDREN, OUR HOUSE BURNING DOWN AND OUR DOG BEING RUN OVER BY THE MCCORMIC BRAT! I WILL NOT LEAVE HIM NOW!” Karen shouted at the woman.

“She’s just trying to help, honey,” Walter said, patting his wife’s hand before being taken by a round of coughing that left the copper taste of blood in his mouth.

“She’s trying to make me leave you,” Karen sniffed. Walter peered at her wispy white hair, felt the knobbed grip of her withered hands around his, and yet could only see the raven-haired cheerleader brazen enough to lift her top to distract him from what would have been the game-winning catch at her high school homecoming game. Memories flooded of their torrid college romance, the birth of their sons, her screams at finding Minnie bleeding in the street… so much life lived together. So much passion; so many tears.

And now, for the first time longer than he had lived, He was going to be without her.

He felt another seizure building. Better get it out before he couldn’t any longer…

“Here it comes,” a nurse watching wavy lines from a ticker-tape readout hollered out.

“Prime the machines…” a man behind a surgical mask instructed.

A faraway hum began to build, like the room was in the belly of a mosquito that had just taken flight…

“I love you,” Walter told Karen, staring into her eyes and gripping her hand with what little strength he could muster.

“I love you too, Walter,” Karen replied, tears following the furrows in her aged face freely. “Wait for me.”

Walter tried to nod, but the seizure wouldn’t wait and it grabbed him. He felt it burn, his vision going first black, then cold.

…….

The dark gave birth to a spark. Starting from somewhere around his buttocks it suddenly bloomed to life, crawling through his body at a rate he could barely follow. He felt himself coalesce, a sparkling amalgamation of grand nothingness made new.

And then, everything was…

…smooth.

Walter gasped in a ragged breath. The air tasted heavy; briny. His eyelids seemed crusted over, like he’d slept too long. He breathed in again, deeper, slower this time, exulting in the movement. It had been so long since he’d been able to breathe deep like this without his cough shaking him to the core. Pulling in a third breath, he slowly opened his eyes.

The room around him swam in distortion. He could see the nurses and doctors moving with purpose, adjusting controls on the various machines that ringed the operating room.

“Are you there?” He heard a voice ask.

“Y…yes?” He replied. His mouth felt awkward.

“How do you feel?” the voice asked.

“Strange,” he replied.

The voice laughed. A sweet, feminine sound.

“Yes, I’d imagine so. That will stick with you for a bit.”

He could see Karen approach him and press her gnarled hands against the glass that now separated them, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying.

“I’m going to release your harness now and bring you into a larger tank so we can do some preliminary tests. Sound good?”

“Yes,” Walter answered absently, still looking at Karen who’s muffled words were unintelligible, though her face shown with gentle assurance.

There was a snap and a woosh, and Walter felt himself suddenly pulled through an aperture that had spiraled open at the end of his tank. He was deposited into a much larger open area with sunlight filtering down from above. Feeling awkward, Walter stretched out his arms and kicked his legs as best he could to balance himself but succeeded only in sending himself tumbling.

“There’s a moment of adjustment as you get used to your new body,” the feminine voice, no longer sounding as though it was from a can, said. “Stop struggling and let yourself go limp. Thats it. Now, kick with both legs at once. Keep your arms at your side except for small adjustments. There you go…”

Walter did his best to follow her instructions, struggling to overcome his instincts and let her talk him through this new movement. Halting his tumble he righted himself into a gentle glide as his coach swam into his field of vision, drawing even with him.

“Hello,” the dolphin said, “I’m Missi.”

“Walter. I… I can understand you,” Walter observed.

“Our ability to speak transfers along with our memories. Re-learning movement is biggest hurdle. But you seem to be doing swimmingly,” Missi laughed at her own joke. “Follow me, lets get a look at the new you.”

Taking the lead, Missi swam over to a large mirror that hung inside the tank to the left of a large observation window. As Walter followed he saw Karen standing just on the other side of the window speaking with doctors. Behind them in the center of the room a sheet-covered body lay undisturbed on a hospital gurney.

“Come on,” Missi encouraged with a flick of her gray head, “take a look.”

Walter glided over in front of the mirror to where Missi swam in lazy circles. Sureally, a gray bottlenose dolphin matched his movements stroke for stroke in it’s reflection as he tried to mimic Missi’s gentle circles.

“We don’t have a lot of mirrors in the open ocean,” Missi offered. “Now’s the time to get an eyeful.”

Walter rolled through the water, watching the reflection of his new body follow his movements. It was a handsome creature; a sleek dark grey torpedo of a thing with a smooth white belly. Missi was visible swimming around behind him in the reflection.

“Welcome to the new you,” she said.

Walter kicked, watching his new tail twitch downward, propelling him past the mirror’s edge. A few more times and he was back before it.

“We need to do a few tests just to make sure the transfer was completed properly, and then it’s probably best if you say your goodbyes and we move on,” Missi said, her voice growing more gentle with the least phrase.

Walter nodded, watching his dolphin doppelgänger do the same. The company had been very clear during his preparation classes that once his human body had died and the transfer had been completed his separation from his old life as a land mammal would be swift and final. Any individual who tried to maintain ties to their old human life had experienced a kind of catastrophic rejection of their dolphin  body, many of them drowning, and some developing unexplained tumors. He and Karen had already said their goodbyes, and they both knew what had to be done to live on.

“Raise your right fin; now your left…” Missi walked Walter through some basic instructions; ‘calisthenics’ was what she referred to them as.

“Great,” she said after they were done, “everything is in the green, and looks good Walter. They keyboard for your final message is there under the observation window. Just use your snout to press the keys. It feels a little strange, like typing with your nose. Try to keep it short, and then we’ll go for a swim down ‘The Lane.’”

Walter maneuvered over to the observation window. The room was mostly empty now; his old body had been wheeled out and only Karen and the head transfer specialist stood waiting with a third person Walter didn’t recognize, though more than likely it was the transfer councilor assigned to help Karen through the transition process. The keyboard was a broad panel that ran almost the length of the observation window with separated keys and a digital readout on both interior and exterior sides of the window so both parties could read what was typed.

“HAD A GOOD LIFE WITH YOU” Walter carefully nosed out the message he had thought long and hard about through orientation. He saw Karen’s eyes well up with fresh tears and the transfer councillor put her arm around her. Karen put one hand to the window and nodded, and then was ushered off by the medical professionals.

“Ok. Done,” he said, backing away from the keyboard.

Missi swam back over from the edge of the holding tank where she had been orbiting to give Walter privacy. “Ok. Now that thats done we can head to ‘The Lane’ and get you started on your new life. Follow me?” She swam towards the far edge of the tank, talking while he trailed. “‘The Lane’ is what we call our underground tunnel to open water. Its about a quarter of a mile long, and it gives us a chance to talk a bit more about what living as a dolphin is really like. The NuLife doctors have lots of theories they tell you during your orientation training, but most of it is from observing those of us who have already made the jump. There’s nothing quite the same as having lived it.”

“How long have you been… like this?” Walter asked.

“Three years now,” Missi’s nosed a large red button on the wall and a pair of underwater doors opened to reveal a small water-filled airlock. “Don’t worry,” she explained, “‘The Lane’ has to be pressurized to keep it below sea level yet have oxygen in it for us to breathe on our way out. It just takes a moment.” She swam in first and waited for Walter to join her before pressing the cycling button. Walter could feel the vibrations through the water as the set of doors behind them ground closed and the set before them opened up to a long tunnel. “I had cancer. Twelve years,” Missi said as they continued their swim. “Won my transfer in a scholarship program. So I do a five year stint with the company as a post-transfer introductionist and I get to live the rest of my time free and clear. In fact, I already do, most of the time. There are a lot of us now. Introductionists, that is,” she wove an intricate pattern next to Walter.

“How do they find you? When they need you?” Walter asked.

“GPS chip. In my dorsal fin. I don’t even feel it, but when they need one of us they send out a boat to wherever our pod is at at the time and pick us up. Small price, really, for what I got. I really enjoy meeting new recruits, like yourself.” She sideswiped him gently with a laugh. “Anyways, scholarship was my only chance. My family would never have been able to afford it. But enough about me. Lets talk about YOU.”

“Ok,” Walter agreed.

“YOU, Walter, are now a year-and-a-half old bottlenose, bred and born specifically for transference. Are you going to keep your name, or did you have a new one picked out you’d like me to call you instead? Because once we hit those doors, baby, you’re born again.”

The orientation officials hadn’t mentioned anything about that. He said as much to Missi.

“The orientation officers do a great job getting you prepared to make the switch, but truthfully, they know very little about what its like once people have made the jump. The language barrier prevents us from communicating with them too much. With it being too dangerous for us to communicate much through text, and them being unable to understand our squeaks once we make the jump, there’s a lot they don’t tell you about because they just don’t know. Thats why you have me!”

“Did you change your name?” Walter asked her.

“I’m not telling. I’m Missi now, and that’s what matters. Listen Walter, I know this is a difficult transition for you, it is for everyone, but you need to start letting go of your old life. As much as you can. Keep the good memories, sure, but dump everything else. They told you you can live up to another twenty-five years, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know that dolphins can actually live to be fifty? Think about that. Another fifty years. But to do that, you have to accept what you are now. The ones who last that long, that’s their secret. The better you do that, the longer you’ll go. Its that simple. Ok, now. We’re almost to your starting point and I haven’t even told you what you have to look forward to!”

Walter realized with a start they had been lazily swimming side by side this entire time, and the door to the outside had grown quite close.

“First, you’ll need to find a pod,” Missi said. “Thats a group of other dolphins who live together, like a family. It’s the closest thing we have to states or countries out in the big blue. You can join with my pod for awhile, to get the hang of things, if you’d like. There are several other pods out there that will take new conversions as well if you’d prefer that. Or you could get really out there and try to join up with a wild pod.”

“A wild pod?”

“Real dolphins. Not human transfers, in other words.”

“You can do that?”

“You ARE one now. No reason you couldn’t. I’ve heard of some people doing it. They’re a little more territorial, and a lot less conversational, so you’d probably have to mate up to get in.”

“I… I was maried. Before. I don’t think I could do that to Karen. We promised to wait.”

“Marriage is for humans, Walter,” Missi said bluntly. “And you’re not a human anymore. You died, back there on that table. Your body was cremated. And if you don’t let that go by the time we leave those doors you’ll be putting yourself at risk. They’ve got a special magnetic field that runs through this tunnel. It helps solidify any lingering issues with the transfer. But out there in the big blue you’re just another warm blooded fish. You hunt, you sleep, and you play. Anything beyond that starts to suck away this little bit of extra time you’ve been given. Would your wife want you to kill yourself waiting for her? Or would she want you to move on, and live on?”

He knew the answer. “She would want me to live.”

“Good. Final rules: Try to stay away from humans as much as you can. Some of them think you’re an abomination against God, others mean well and are trying to help, but YOU have no way of knowing the difference. Its best just to stick to your kind. Got it?”

Walter nodded.

Missi swam over and pressed a glowing green button that opened a large exterior door. Walter could see just beyond it into the dim waters of the open ocean. Already echolocation was tickling his new brain, intuitively telling him there were several other dolphins playing just beyond the threshold in the cool blue that teemed with life of all sorts.

“Thank you Missi. For this, I mean,” Walter said.

“My pleasure, Walter.”

Walter hesitated for a moment, thinking of Karen.

“Gibson,” he said, surprising himself.

Missi turned and swam back to him.

“Excuse me?” she asked.

Walter steadied himself. “Call me Gibson.”

Missi looked almost to smile, her short grey snout showing plenty of teeth.

“Ok Gibson. Let’s go for a swim.”

Original photo by Xmoto3. Used with permission.