Archive for the ‘Sara Genge’ Category
Vulture Metamorphoses
Thursday, August 9th, 2007
One morning, when Cindy woke up, she discovered that she had been transformed into a monstrous vulture.
Turning around, she saw her boyfriend’s body lying next to her. Drew looked peaceful in death–if it hadn’t been for the gouged eyes, Cindy could have sworn he was sleeping.
“Well, well,” she said, knowing she should feel horrified at the sight. “What a juicy treat!”. The thought caught her by surprise but once it was out, there was no taking it back. She dipped in (for the kill? For the scavenge?) and sunk her beak into the soft flesh of his apple-cheek. He was as tasty in death as he’d been in life.
Cindy realized this was wrong, but her vulture nature got the best of her. She dug in, and tried not to think.
Afterwards, she sat down wondering what to do. Damn Drew! He was always talking about genetic experiments and trans-species splicing. Doctors! A sick lot, all of them.
The next day, she ploughed a neat ditch down Drew’s body, but when she got to his testicles, she couldn’t proceed. She felt the faintest hint of an emotion and grabbed onto it. Those weren’t any random pair of balls, they were Drew’s balls, and she couldn’t bear to destroy them.
Instead, she nipped them off and half-jumped, half-fluttered to the kitchen. Perching on top of the fridge, she wrapped her neck around the handle of the freezer door, opened it, placed the balls inside and closed the door with a light nudge.
She was cold and wondered if she was getting sick. She set the oven to minimum temperature and crawled inside. The pain was a little like constipation and a lot like menstrual cramps. After the longest twenty minutes of her life, Cindy laid two eggs.
She’d always wanted to have kids, but Drew said it was too soon. Elated, she dragged herself back to the corpse, leaving the oven to incubate her offspring.
Four days later, as she died of indigestion, she wondered if the babies would make it. There’d be no loving parents to take care of them, only the corpses but Cindy didn’t doubt that, like all children, their babies would find a way to get the most out of their parents.
In extremis, instead of College money, the kids might find Drew’s testicles in the freezer.
Eeny, Meany, Miny, Med, Crack A God On The Head, If It Squeals Kill It
Monday, August 6th, 2007
Dear Diary,
The ministers are back, but they haven’t burnt anyone yet. Momma locked me up in my room so I wouldn’t get into fights with “those minister boys”, but Susan helped me out through the window and we went godhunting.
The ministers have shut down the Swindler’s market and taken old Beth to cus-to-dy (she’s the only one they could catch, ministers can’t run much). It’s sad about poor Beth but Momma says she was getting too old anyway.
Since the market is closed our mothers can’t sell the gods and we get to eat all the brains we want.
So, we caught a god up by the creek and I went eenie, meany, miny, med and Susan won, so she ate it. Then we caught another one and I ate it. We were playing all quiet and not bothering anyone, dear diary, so everything that happened afterwards wasn’t our fault. We were sharing the third (see, like good girls) when this minister boy pops up from behind the rocks and starts yelling and calling us cannibals.
“I didn’t call you no names!” I told him, but he kept at it, shouting that we were eating our baby-brothers.
“Oh, so now little gods are our baby-brothers,” said Susan. “And how would you know?”
The stupid minister boy started crying. “Because I remember. From when I was little.”
Well, I tell you, dear diary, we had enough of that nonsense. I took a rock and threw it at him, just to shut him up, but my aim is too good, even when I don’t pretend it to be and it hit him square on the mouth.
He blubbered like a little god, even though he was only bleeding a little and threatened to call the Inquisitives. And that’s when Susan punched him in the gut and we took off.
I slipped back into the room and Momma never knew that I was gone.
And that was that.
I sure hope that minister boy doesn’t tattle.