It Drops the Key

Throwing turnips at Shy Guys and Ninjis left Princess Peach’s arms limper than spaghetti. Pulling vegetables out of the ground was never her forte and it showed with the aching pulses in her muscles and the kinks in her back. Why couldn’t she just jump on the enemies and flatten them like any other Mushroom Kingdom hero? Because this wasn’t the Mushroom Kingdom. This was Subcon. This was a world of grassy fields, stone temples, bees with lances, birds on flying rugs, and Shy Guys. Lots and lots of Shy Guys, whether the little red-robed, creepily-masked goblins appeared out of nowhere or filed one by one out of a magic jar.

Sweat glistened down from Princess Peach’s forehead, her long blond hair sticky and stale. Her royal pink dress had some dampness here and there, though it still served its purpose of allowing her to float through the air during a long jump. Her skinny bones flared up with pain after so much heavy lifting. Gardening was not her strong suit, nor should it have been. She hunched over and noticed the locked door in the side of a grass mountain. She had a vague idea of the next lifting job required of her, but didn’t want to entertain it too much lest there be even more sweat and aching. And anxiety. And chills. Lots and lots of chills. She gulped a wad of acidic saliva as she leapt down one of the tube-like vases.

Peach descended to the sandy surface at the bottom of the pit with grace and poise. The magical pink dress came in handy yet again, otherwise she’d be doing her heavy lifting with a broken ankle, soft sand aside. And in the middle of this pit was the ultimate test of strength, not only of her arms and chest, but of her intestinal fortitude. The massive golden key shined brightly enough to illuminate the dark pit. Plenty of rocks jutting out for Peach to make her escape. Dexterity wasn’t the issue. Evilly grinning golden masks were what caused Peach to tremble and sweat the most. They surrounded her in a half-circle, motionless, yet menacing. Their dark, curvy eyes gazed upon her with judgment and sadism, daring her to take the key.

She swallowed yet another lump of cold, salty saliva and inched her convulsing hand towards the golden key, yanking her hand away and flinching in anticipation. After some more futile attempts, she forced herself to grow a backbone and snatched the key from its resting place. On cue, one of the Phanto masks’ eyes glowed bright red and a deep-voice laugh echoed throughout the sand pit, causing some dirt to sprinkle below. The mask said, “It drops the key…IT DROPS THE KEY!”

Princess Peach shrieked in terror at the dehumanizing pronoun and leapt from stone to stone on her way out of the vase. She couldn’t believe her own speed. More importantly, she couldn’t believe her own strength. She had the balance of an athlete and the endurance of one as well. Sweat flew off of her face, but there would be a better time to wipe it away. She needed this key. She needed victory. And then…Phanto rammed his face into the back of her head and knocked her off one of the stones. The sand pit cushioned her rapid descent, but Peach held her skull and moaned in pain.

“It drops the key…IT DROPS THE KEY!”

As soon as Peach regained her vision, Phanto’s hideous face came into focus and she screamed in a high pitch death howl once again. She scurried into the corner of the pit with the golden key still in hand and curled into the fetal position, shaking, whining, whimpering, and doing her best to avert her ocean blue eyes from the monstrosity floating in front of her. She covered her face in her arms, but felt the warm air of Phanto breathing in her ear. The longer she held onto the key, the deeper the breaths became. Some of these breaths were accompanied by growling sounds. And then…Phanto spoke again…

“Rape vans…if they were called surprise vans, more women would get into them, because everybody loves a surprise…”

Peach screamed yet again and crab-walked towards another corner, the key still in her possession. Her heart thumped in her chest loudly, threatening to explode like a hand grenade. It slowed down just enough for her to ask a question. “Wait a minute…you…how can you…you know?”

“I can still use my mouth!”

Peach yelled.

“And my eye sockets!”

She yelled again and tried to escape by scratching and clawing the dirt walls. She got a few feet at best, but slid down on her royal pampered butt every single time. Giving up was her best option as she sat down and allowed tears to pour from her eyes.

Phanto floated over to her and started breathing in her ear again. That air. That warm, thick, horny air. “If it makes you feel any better…I would have chased you even if you didn’t have my key! Ooooooohhhhh, my!”

Peach sniffed in between ellipses. “You’re…you’re disgusting…you’re so gross!”

“I’m not the one who’s shagging a fat plumber in shit-covered overalls!”

As Phanto laughed at his own remark, Peach’s face boiled red with anger, her arms trembling for different reasons than physical labor and traumatic fear. With the ease of a bodybuilder, she chucked the key at Phanto in hopes of smacking him between his frightening eyes. The key passed right through him like the ghost he was and he laughed some more. “Was that supposed to hurt? You really shouldn’t have let that key go. It doesn’t vibrate…but it can still keep you company for when the fat man can’t save you…”

“Eww, yuck!” Peach dry-heaved on the sandy floor while Phanto continued to chuckle at her. Once all the bile was cleared from her throat and the snot drained from her nose, she scowled at her nemesis, folded her arms, and said, “You know what? I’d rather get killed than listen to another one of your bad jokes! Are you going to kill me off or are you just going to laugh at me like a moron?!”

“What do you think?”

“You know what?! Forget Subcon! Forget King Wart! I don’t need this key anymore! I wouldn’t go inside that grass mountain if there was a blizzard outside and my melons fell off from frostbite!” She marched over to the key and wielded it like a club.

Phanto snickered again. “Young lady, you already tried that and I’m still here. I’ll always be here. I’ll always be in your darkest dreams. I’ll always whisper in your ear and tell you how lovely you are. I’ll always give you kisses that don’t smell like fire flowers and mushrooms. I’ll always…”

“Screw this key!” Peach tried to break it across her knee, but to no avail. Instead she danced around holding her bruised knee in pain while Phanto laughed at her some more. She then threw the key on the ground and tried to break it with various rocks she picked up.

“Young lady, what are you doing? Stop!”

Peach didn’t listen. She pounded the key with stones larger than the last. The golden key flashed and flickered, but wouldn’t break. Instead of seeing the brilliant golden colors, Peach saw dark red. She smashed more rocks…and more…and more….Muscles bulged from her arms, her strength further encouraged by Phanto’s pleas for mercy. The key illuminated and deluminated over and over again…until it cracked and the brilliant light was no more. A deep-voiced death wail echoed across the sandpit and Phanto dropped to his doom, smiling no more, glaring no more, and shining brightly no more.

Princess Peach wiped the sweat off of her forehead with her white gloved arms and plopped backwards against the wall, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. Her heart slowed down. Her skin cooled off. Her sweat dried up and formed a sticky residue. “You know…” she whispered to nobody in particular. “Maybe there’s a way I can pick the lock. Or maybe I’ll just kick the door down. Or maybe I’ll throw some more vegetables at it.”

“Or maybe you can work out a deal with me!” Phanto glowed back to life and grew bigger in size, laughing louder, laughing longer, and laughing powerfully enough to create a cyclone around him, kicking up sand and dirt everywhere. Peach screamed once more as she held onto a jutting stone, her high heeled shoes flying off and into Phanto’s growing mouth, which now had a snake’s tongue and vampire fangs protruding from it. He grew larger…and larger…and his eyes burned with red neon. He opened his mouth in an attempt to chow down on his victim.

Phanto’s gigantic fangs clamped down over Peach’s hips, causing her to sit up in bed and gasp for air. Even after finding out this was all a nightmare, her heart wouldn’t stop thumping and her sweat made her feel like she was being water-boarded. Nonetheless, she plopped on her back and breathed a sigh of relief, provided she could catch her breath in the first place.

She turned her head and smiled at the man laying next to her: a chubby Italian plumber who would never hurt her, who always rescued her when she needed it, and who loved her unconditionally through thick and thin. She patted Mario on the shoulder and kissed the back of his head. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Mario rolled over to face Peach and said, “Goodnight, babe!” in a familiar deep voice. And then came the familiar glowing red eyes. And the familiar golden mask. And the familiar evil smile. Mario was wearing Phanto’s face like the Halloween costume it was and Peach’s heart finally couldn’t take it anymore. She rolled off the bed and went into cardiac arrest. As her vision faded to black, Phanto floated over her and said, “What was that you said about killing you instead of making jokes? Oh yeah…I remember…” He gave her a “goodnight” make-out kiss just as she passed into the abyss.

Cuddle Therapy

“I’m too ugly for this shit,” grumbled Fergal McQueen as he glared at himself in the bathroom mirror, his hands flat against the sink with his fingers tapping impatiently. His scaly green orcish skin, his thinning black mullet, his brown fangs, his ill-fitting Sepultura T-shirt and blue jeans, they came together to give him more than enough reason to want to punch the mirror. The shattered glass in his knuckles wouldn’t be worth it, so he refrained.

Fergal gazed around the bathroom with sandy yellow eyes and became jealous of the decorations he believed were more beautiful than him. The black marble sink, the red glass butterflies hanging over the mirror, the green paper lanterns with runic symbols on them, they made him shake his head and then face-palm for a while. He sighed through his pierced nostrils and said, “Here goes jack shit.”

He stormed out of the bathroom and stood at the lobby desk with his beefy arms folded, waiting impatiently for the owner of this establishment to show herself. A few long minutes later, she finally did. Flapping her butterfly wings and flipping her silken brown hair, she descended into her seat gracefully, but nearly shot up like a fountain at the sight of her latest customer.

“Um…uh…” said the owner with wide eyes and quivering lips. She fidgeted with her white halter top and black yoga pants to stall for extra time. “Um…welcome to Galatea’s Cuddle Sanctuary. I’m Galatea Lyon. How can I, um…help you?”

Being as socially awkward as he was, Fergal slammed a bag of money on the counter and had Galatea huddling on the floor. Once she slowly lifted her head, Fergal said, “I didn’t come here to be ridiculed. I came here to cuddle. Do you have an opening or not?”

With shaking legs, Galatea returned to her upright position and stumbled through her words some more. “Um…sure, I have an opening right now if you’re ready. Uh…follow me, if you will…” Her flapping and flying became more disoriented as she guided her customer down the hallway. “So, uh…what do you do for a living, Mister…?”

“McQueen. Fergal McQueen,” he grunted. “I’m a soldier in the Dragon Rider’s Army.”

“Oh, uh…that’s…cool…”

“What do YOU do for a living: pretend to speak perfect English?”

Galatea giggled nervously, still struggling to keep it together. “You’re funny, Mr. McQueen. Uh…yeah…here we are.” She pulled back the bamboo curtain and revealed a room with a red velvet bed and white crystalline walls, which meant more decorations for Fergal to be jealous of for their comparative beauty. “Have a seat on the bed, if you don’t mind.”

He did just that, not at the plush pillows, but at the foot, keeping a comfortable distance from a woman who clearly was anything but comfortable. She said, “Um…so since you’re obviously new here, I’ll explain to you how this works. This is a cuddle therapy session. This is a non-sexual service, so everything we do here is strictly G-rated. If you’re uncomfortable with what I’m doing to you, say so and we’ll try something else. Any questions before we begin?”

“Yeah, I have a question…so you’re all about unconditional love and being accepting of everyone just like your ad says, yet you can’t even put together a sentence around me. How does it feel to be a hypocrite, Miss Lyon?”

“What? No, no, no, it’s not like that at all.” She scooted across the bed and reluctantly placed her hand on her client’s shoulders, squeezing them as gently as she could without getting her hands too dirty. “To be honest, this is all new for me. You know, the, uh…uh…”

“Look, if you don’t want to get your perfectly manicured nails dirty from touching my disgusting orc body, then say so and I’ll go somewhere else. You didn’t even have to complete your sentence. I’d know that look anywhere. You’re a racist.”

“Mr. McQueen, it’s not like that at all.”

“Of course it is!” he snapped, causing his cuddle therapist to scoot back in fear. “Everywhere I go, people look at me like I’m a six-foot tall horse turd walking by. They back away like I’ve got the plague. They think just because I’m ugly as fuck that it’s okay to walk faster down the street to avoid me. I seriously thought this place would be different. But no, not you. You’re about unconditional love as long as your clients are a bunch of sexy princes with more abs than hairs on my ball sack.”

Galatea gulped. “Um…Fergal, please listen to me. This has nothing to do with you looking a certain way. It’s just that…um…how do I say this without sounding insensitive? Um….you…don’t look like you’ve washed today.” Her voice became squeakier as she finished her sentence and shrugged her shoulders.

Fergal took a whiff of his arm pits and said, “That’s not BO. That’s just me looking like a giant green turd.”

“Please, stop saying those things…”

“Look at you!” he shouted as he stood up. He pointed an accusatory finger at the trembling Galatea and yelled at her some more. “You can’t even look me in the eyes! You can’t even stand up straight when you’re around me! Sure, I don’t have the best social skills in the world and I don’t look like a fucking supermodel, but I still need this service, damn it!”

Unwrapping her hands from her head, Galatea shakily stared into her client’s yellow eyes and tried her damnedest to keep it together. “You…you need this service? Why?”

“Because I can’t get it anywhere else, that’s why!” snapped Fergal while throwing back the red blanket. “Nobody wants to be around me! Hell, I don’t want to be around me half of the time! And don’t give me crap about how it’s because I’m yelling all the time! If a sexy supermodel was yelling at you, you’d think it was some kind of BDSM fantasy or some shit!

Who else am I supposed to cuddle with? A wife I never had? My fellow soldiers? Yeah, good luck with that! I’m not so sure even a human or a pixie like you would ever want to snuggle up to a bunch of rowdy ass soldiers who make fun of everything and call everyone fags! So what am I supposed to do, Galatea, if that is your real fucking name and you didn’t just steal it from a poetry book?!”

Fergal’s heavy breath filled the air and intensified the silence between himself and the shivering pixie before him. The more he stared down at her, the angrier he became as visions of racist bullies and loudmouthed politicians swarmed his mind like a war flashback. Rocks thrown at him, laughing, pointing, running away, and every racial slur in the book pelted his brain.

To him Galatea was no different despite her pretty disguise. If anything her prettiness made her casual racism even worse because she clearly hid something from him while others were at least honest about it. But maybe the thing she was hiding wasn’t an agenda after all…

“I think we can come to a compromise, Mr. McQueen,” she said with her hands raised defensively. “If you promise to calm down and take deep breaths…we will continue our cuddle therapy session…in a bathtub. Of course, you’d have to change into a pair of swim trunks, but…it’d be the answer to both of our problems. Clients are encouraged to show up to these sessions clean and spotless, because…well…it’s my job to hold you and touch you and…”

Fergal held up his hand and cut her off, taking even more intense breaths, but not out of anger. He was actually trying to calm himself down long enough to listen to reason. He wanted to give this a shot. It was his only chance at getting the affectionate touches he needed. “Okay…I give up. Let’s do this.”

“Great!” said Galatea with a little more pep in her voice. “There’s a pair of swimming shorts in the drawer over there. I’ll leave the room for a while and give you some privacy while you change. Okay?” She smiled with a lingering hint of nervousness and tiptoed her way out of the room.

Once she closed the door behind her, Fergal went to work in stripping down and changing into a pair of red shorts. They were a little tight around his waist, so he walked like a penguin in an attempt not to rip them. From there he followed Galatea down the hall and into the bath spa.

Sure enough, there was a black marble bathtub in the center of a white crystalline room. Red paper lanterns gave the room a dimmed lighting affect that did its job in soothing Fergal’s nerves. Galatea flew to the tub and filled it up with warm water before dropping a bath bomb inside and creating a mountain of suds and trippy colors. Holding a sponge in one hand, she waved Fergal over with her opposite finger and patted the rim of the tub. “Come on in,” she said in her cutesy-wutesy voice, giving a light shade of red to Fergal’s green scaly complexion.

He dipped his foot in the water and hissed at the warmth, slowly lowering himself in and accidentally letting out a bubbly fart upon parking his ass in the tub. “Sorry about that. You probably don’t want to…”

“Nah, don’t worry about that,” interrupted Galatea with a smile. Without hesitation or nervousness, she gently ran the sponge across Fergal’s arms, chest, and shoulders while resting her head on top of his. The warm water, the massaging touches, the extra affection, and even the potent lavender smell was enough to make him want to squeeze his legs together so that he didn’t accidentally become…you know…

“What happened to your chest? You’ve got some nasty cuts and bruises there. Is that from your job?” she asked.

“No, those aren’t war wounds…unless you’re talking about my war with the racist assholes who pummeled me with stones all my fucking life. Sharp stones, big stones, little stones, they all feel the same to me. I was actually kind of hoping one of those stones would be powerful enough to kill me, but as it is…”

“Oh my god…Mr. McQueen, that’s terrible! I truly do feel awful for my reluctance around you. I didn’t realize…I mean…Look, I’ll tell you what. For what I did tonight, your first cuddle session here is free.”

“You…you don’t have to do that, Miss Lyon,” said Fergal as a singular tear ran down his face, a face he still believed was the ugliest thing on the planet. “Sorry, I don’t normally cry like this…”

“It’s okay to cry here, Mr. McQueen. I’m not one of your fellow soldiers. I won’t call you horrible homophobic slurs. Let the waterworks out. You’re not the first to cry under my care and you won’t be the last. You are loved, Mr. McQueen, whether you realize it or not.”

Fergal let the waterworks flow indeed as Galatea continued to gently scrub and massage him into relaxation. No more droughts tonight. Not now. Not ever. The tears had been a long time coming. They were greasy. They were oily. But they were less messy than any drop of blood he spilled on the battlefield, be it with the racist mobs or the enemy he fought in the army. Crying sucked and felt good at the same time.

Staying In Bed

To hell with being dutiful

Staying in bed is beautiful

A purring kitty on my chest

He agrees that it’s time to rest

Piano music calms me down

Hypnotized by the gentle sound

Cold breeze blowing outside

Under the blankets is where I hide

Back to work on another day

Couldn’t motivate myself anyway

Stare at the ceiling, think about life

Share my bed with an imaginary wife

Watch movies playing in my head

They don’t make a lick of sense

Heater blasting on a winter night

Makes resisting sleep an uphill fight

But I can’t stay here forever and ever

Despite the drop in barometric pressure

Another day waits on the other side

That way you can’t say I never tried

Still walking around like the undead

Not a whole lot going on in my head

A few more hours until it gets dark

Until rainwater floods the public park

Until the moon shines down upon us all

Until face down on the bed is where I fall

Disconnect my telephone line

Tomorrow everything will be just fine

Like it is almost every damn day

No sense in asking me if I’m okay

Incelbordination, Chapter 21

The penultimate smack in the face for Oswald was being forced to go to therapy. The ultimate smack in the face was knowing it would affect his final grade in English if he didn’t. He must have read that email from Valerie Sand fifteen hundred times, but his fist-tightening anger didn’t subside any more than the first time. “Who the fuck does she think she is?” he wondered aloud as he swung his little feet in the computer chair. He took care not to pound his fists, for they were still healing slowly. He took one last look at his bruised knuckles and wondered when he would be able to punch the “Sand bag” again. “Therapy…I don’t fucking need therapy!” he huffed as he got dressed and exited the dorm.

The little guy still wore his medical boot and still had a modicum of pain shoot throughout his foot with each step, but the wincing and limping were minor prices to pay for his recovery. At least the therapist’s office wouldn’t be too far from here. But even so, it was still his longest trek due to how many people around him still had those ghostly expressions. Maybe they needed therapy too. Maybe they were already going to therapy and it didn’t do diddly-squat. Did they have their grades depend on this too or was Oswald the odd man out?

Oswald didn’t want to admit it at first, but when he first arrived at the therapist’s office, he was already comforted by the atmosphere around him. Harp music to relax his ears, receptionists talking in their best ASMR voices, paintings on the wall of gorgeous pink sunsets, and not one stereotypical “cray-cray” person sitting in the waiting room. “Good morning! How can I help you?” asked one of the receptionists with her sweetest smile.

“My name is Oswald Crow. I was told to come here by my English teacher Valerie Sand. She might have already scheduled an appointment for me, but I’m not sure.” Oswald just then figured out how much venom was oozing from his mouth as he spoke those words. It must have been like talking to a spitting cobra for this poor young lady behind the desk.

Nonetheless, she typed away at her computer and never once lost her gentle disposition. “Okay, Oswald, I’ll let Dr. Jealous know you’re here. Take a seat in the waiting room anywhere you like.”

“Thank you.” The waiting area wasn’t exactly packed to the brim with traumatized patients, but even so it was hard for Oswald to pick a seat without getting in someone’s personal space. This was his strategy all throughout high school and college: pick a seat completely isolated from the rest of the group. He could’ve sat next to the cute chick texting on her phone. He could’ve sat next to the fat guy in the Star Wars T-shirt enjoying a bag of Doritos. He could’ve sat next to the middle aged lady gazing languidly into the distance. So few options, yet he had to choose. Or did he?

“Oswald Crow?” said a gentle feminine voice, which caused the little guy to jump a little bit before clutching his pumping chest. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Kristen Jealous. I’ll be your therapist today.” She and Oswald shook hands. “Follow me into my office.”

Oswald couldn’t help but wonder why this lovely woman wasn’t wearing shoes. In fact, the sweat pants and Mickey Mouse sweatshirt didn’t exactly scream therapist from the mountaintop. Something was fishy about this whole setup and it all became clear once Oswald noticed a bed in the center of the room instead of a stereotypical leather couch. “What’s going on here?”

“Well, when Ms. Sand made your therapy appointment for you, she figured you could use this specific kind of treatment. Our session is going to last two hours and it’s going to be cuddle therapy.”

“C…cuddle therapy?”

Placing her soft hand on Oswald’s shoulder, Kristen said, “Yes. We’re going to cuddle for two hours and try to get you to open up. There’s one ground rule before we begin. This is a nonsexual activity, so any perverted comments or actions will result in the termination of this session. By that same token, the whole purpose of this treatment is to make you as comfortable as possible. If you don’t like something I’m doing, please let me know.”

“…C….C…Cuddle therapy?”

Kristen gave a closed-mouth giggle and said, “Don’t worry about a thing, Oswald. I’ll take good care of you. I know you’re nervous, but you don’t have to be. I promise you that this will be one hundred-percent safe. When we’re done, you’ll be nice and relaxed.”

“…O…Okay, um…”

Gently squeezing the back of his neck, Kristen said, “Do whatever you have to do to get comfortable and I’ll be waiting for you on the bed.” With a few more pats of the little guy’s shoulders, Dr. Jealous plopped down on the bed and patted Oswald’s half of the mattress.

Taking a few deep breaths, Oswald removed his T-shirt and footwear before hobbling to his side of the bed. He surprised himself by how easy it was to pull his body up without assistance. Maybe he was healing nicely after all. He rolled on his side with his back facing Dr. Jealous while the longhaired therapist pressed her body against his and ran her fingernails through his now spiked hair.

Any nervousness about this process and any ill will Oswald had towards Valerie Sand melted away when the tingling sensations ran through his scalp. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, already sinking into the bed.

“See? There’s nothing wrong with clean physical contact,” said Kristen while squeezing Oswald’s shoulders and spine. “Now, do you know why you’re here today?”

“Because my English teacher thinks I’m a fruitcake?”

“Couldn’t be further from the truth. Besides, I don’t like to use that word to describe my patients. It’s very derogatory.”

Oswald’s face reddened when he said, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I can understand your frustration. Your teacher tells me that you have a hard time letting people into your life, that you struggle with loneliness, that your loving needs aren’t being met.”

“Am I that obvious?” asked Oswald in a progressively relaxed voice. “People don’t like to be around me because of who I am and what I look like. They think I’m some kind of circus sideshow. I’ve even heard stories about drunken frat boys throwing my kind across bar counters for fun and games. I’m angry, Dr. Jealous. I don’t let people in because they’ll just stab me in the fucking heart.”

Transitioning into a waist hug, Kristen said, “While I do admit there are some guys in this world who think that way about people with dwarfism, it’s not the whole population. Most people are good to each other. Most people would look at someone like you and smile their friendliest smile. You might have to go out of your way to find these kindred spirits, but they exist and they’re waiting for you.”

“I’ve only found a handful of people on campus who fit that bill. Even then they don’t have any qualms about leaving my life and letting me rot.” A single tear rolled down Oswald’s face and Kristen wiped it away with her finger before working on his shoulders again.

“They leave your life because you don’t pursue them. Truth is, they’re probably hurting just as badly as you are. They don’t make the first move because they’re the ones who’re afraid of rejection, not you. I’ve had many patients come and go who had the exact same attitude towards social situations as you. They yearn for love of some kind, but they don’t pursue it because they’re afraid of getting their hearts broken.”

“They’re right to feel that way.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t feel that way about you,” said Kristen while resting her head against Oswald’s shoulder. “I know it’s my job to make my patients feel good about themselves, but I wouldn’t have this job in the first place if I didn’t feel some sort of empathy towards my clients. That’s kind of a requirement.”

Oswald smiled. “True.”

“You know…on the day you’re able to find a girlfriend, she’s going to want to cuddle with you a lot. She might even call you her little teddy bear. It’s not a knock against your dwarfism. It’s a celebration of cuteness.”

Oswald’s face glowed like a nuclear rod as he did his best to hide his smile.

Dr. Jealous continued, “I really do believe there’s somebody out there for you. Someone who you can share opinions with. Someone you can share moments with. It doesn’t even have to be someone romantic. It could just be a friend who cares about you. Friends can engage in physical contact too. That’s what I want you to think of me as: your friend. You can tell me anything you want.”

“…Anything?”

“Anything you want.”

Oswald didn’t even know where to begin. So many thoughts swirling his head and this was his one opportunity to get it all off his chest. It took him a while to come up with a launching point, but when he did, another tear rolled down his cheek. “I almost became an incel.”

“You what?”

Holding his thumb and forefinger together, he said, “I was this close to joining Incelbordination. I was lonely and scared. I didn’t think anybody in this world wanted me, so it only felt right to be a part of this. I wanted to hurt the world so badly. I wanted them to feel my pain and my agony. But…I didn’t do it. I couldn’t do it. And now I have nothing to show for it.”

Wiping away more of Oswald’s tears with her fingers, Kristen said, “You do have something to show for it: wisdom. You’ve seen the worst side of humanity and you didn’t give in. You almost did as you’ve just said, but you overcame that. That alone takes courage. You’re a hero, Oswald. You can inspire people in a positive way if you so chose.”

“How? Nobody will listen to me and anybody that does just thinks of me as a walking C+.”

“C+ or no C+, you’re still going to graduate from this place one day. And when you do, all the pain and suffering will be worth it. College can oftentimes be a depressing experience, but for you, it can be an opportunity to grow into something greater than yourself. Your teachers don’t care about the grades you get as much as they care about the person you become once you leave their classrooms.”

“I somehow doubt that.”

“Doubt is a natural emotion, but not if it gets in the way of your greatest ambitions. I want you to be happy, Oswald. I want you to make friends, make love, and be the sweetest teddy bear you can be.”

Oswald’s tears turned into a full-on crying session and Kristen Jealous was there to hold him every step of the way. Scratching his back, rubbing his shoulders, playing with his hair, these things made crying a comfortable part of the process. For the first time in forever, the little guy felt secure. He felt loved. He didn’t want to leave the comfort of this room despite the fact that the session was only two hours long. “Why does this have to last for only two hours?” he sobbed aloud.

“Because I have other clients to see who need my help just as much as you do. Otherwise…I’d cuddle you for as long as you needed it. This doesn’t have to be our last session. In fact, I hope to see more of you in the future…you little teddy bear.”

“I love you.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Sorry…I’m really sorry about that.”

“Wasn’t the first time somebody told me that by accident. Won’t be the last either. You’re safe in my arms, Oswald. Cry as much as you want. Heal as much as you need to.”

The rest of the two hour session was spent doing those things: crying and healing. And it felt good to do that after so many years of loneliness and isolation.

Incelbordination, Chapter 10

Oswald floated through the sunlit air as a familiar feminine voice whispered to him. “Come closer, my love. Come closer.” The little guy half-closed his eyes in anticipation of the seduction. The closer he floated towards this voice, the brighter the sunlight became. Whoever was sending these vibes had the radiance of an angel. And then Oswald could see a pair of plump red lips calling for him and making kissing noises to further tempt him. He puckered his own marijuana-scented lips and prepared for the love-making session he desperately desired.

And then the little guy opened his eyes and saw those red lips were hiding a serpentine tongue and elongated fangs dripping with poison. Oswald’s heart thumped in his chest and his eyes widened upon learning this face belonged to Antero Magnus, whose cyan eyes rolled so far back in his head that redness became horrifyingly apparent. “Give me a kiss, lover boy!” slithered Antero before taking a massive bite out of his former protégé’s skull. Oswald’s brains oozed out of the bite marks while his skull cracked in half, rendering him lifeless in an instant.

“Oswald, wake up!” shouted a more genuine female voice and the dwarf snapped awake while inhaling a raspy breath. Sitting up in his bed and soaked to the bone with sweat, he noticed he was back in his dorm room just like Nikita Johnson promised. Low and behold, there she was standing over his exhausted body with wetness in her eyes. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said. “You looked like you were having a nightmare.”

The little person wiped the blurriness out of his eyes and said, “I did have a nightmare. A bunch of virgins in masks came and beat the shit out of everyone at school. Wait a minute. That was just a nightmare, right?”

“I’m afraid not, Oswald. Our college really was attacked. It’s all over the media. I was watching GNN on my phone.” The dwarf tried to crawl out of bed, but Nikita placed a hand in front of him to keep him from doing so. “Don’t, Oswald. You’re hurt. Just lay there for a few more minutes.”

Oswald face-palmed and whispered, “Goddamn you, Antero.”

“What did you just say?”

“Um…I, uh…oh, no…”

Nikita folded her arms and asked, “How do you know who Antero Magnus is?”

“How do YOU know him?”

Nikita sighed and sat down on the bed next to her rescuer’s feet. She rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger before finally satisfying Oswald’s curiosity. “He’s in one of my classes. I’m double majoring in English and political science and apparently he’s majoring in political science too. Every single time he’d share one of his papers with the class…he…” She wiped a tear from her eye. “He just sounded so entitled. He felt like the world owed him sex. He was incredibly sexist on so many levels. I don’t think he’d even be happy if he found a relationship. He’d just continue the cycle of hatred. And the worst part about this is….my professor is too scared to challenge him because he thinks Antero will snap.”

“That definitely sounds like something he’d do,” said Oswald absentmindedly before backpedaling with a series of “um’s” and “uh’s”.

“Are you hiding something from me? How do you know Antero? Please be honest.” No answer. Just a nervous stare from the little guy. “Oswald, if you know something about Antero, you need to tell me. You heard those masked guys yelling things like Love Is Black and muttering shit about Chads and Stacys. If Antero really is behind all of that, you need to tell the police. That’s information they need.” Still no answer. “Oswald, what’s going on?!”

The dwarf sighed and plopped his head back on the pillow. “Antero tried to get me to join his group. He calls it Incelbordination or some shit like that.”

“You didn’t actually join them, did you?” asked Nikita with a shaky voice. “Oswald, if I find out you’re mixed up in this sexist crap, I’m going to…”

“I turned them down!” A long beat of uncomfortable silence hung between them. “I saw what those people are capable of. I’ve been to one of their chat rooms. The shit they talked about…it was disgusting. They joked about murdering and raping women. Although, it turned out not to be much of a joke, did it.”

“You need to go to the police and tell them everything you know.”

“…I’m sorry, Nikita, I can’t.”

“Why not?” Another beat of silence built a wall between them until Nikita’s eyes widened at something that appeared to be in Oswald’s coat, which he still wore in bed. She reached inside despite the dwarf swatting at her hands and pulled out several ready rolls. “Oh my god…this is why? You’re afraid the police are going to find these?”

Holding up his hands defensively, Oswald explained, “Look, I have a prescription for those, okay? I’ve got a severe case of depression and pot is the only thing that’s working.”

“Are you sure it’s working?” asked Nikita rhetorically. “Because I’ve heard your love stories in Valerie’s class. I’ve heard your poetry. Whatever’s wrong with you, these rolls aren’t doing the trick.”

“Sometimes they take a while to kick in!” snapped Oswald. “Then again, sometimes there isn’t a cure for what’s going on in real life!”

“If you’re not going to report Antero to the police, then I will. I’ll even put in a good word for you with the cops!”

“You can’t do that, Nikita! You can’t force your straightedge crap on the whole fucking world! It doesn’t work like that! I need that marijuana just to get me through the day unscathed! It’s not my fault everybody else wants to be a prick and fuck up my therapy!”

Nikita’s face transformed from desperate tears to passionate anger at the “straightedge crap” talking point. “Just so you know, I do have a dog in this fight when it comes to drugs and alcohol. My dad smoked all the weed he could find and on top of that drank every bottle of booze within a ten mile fucking radius. He did all of this when I was just a little girl. He’d come home from work smelling like he’d just bathed in raw sewage. And then late at night he went for a drive…” She wiped a way another tear and sniffled. “He never came home. Crashed into the river and drowned. I blame him for everything, but I blame the drugs he took even more.”

Oswald sighed and face-palmed once again. “I’m sorry for your loss, Nikita. Trust me, I know how that feels.”

“Then why are you smoking this shit to begin with?!” screamed Nikita, causing her target to pull the covers halfway over his face. “If you know how it feels, then why are you repeating this garbage?! This stuff isn’t curing you. It’s making you into a monster. You want proof? You’re worried that the cops are going to find this on you when you throw Antero under the bus. Well…I don’t have to worry about that because I’m not stupid enough to repeat the same mistakes over and over again.”

“Nikita…please give those back to me.”

“Not a chance, Oswald. I’m not going to let you fuck over this entire school after what they went through!”

“Why, you little!” grunted the dwarf as he attempted to roll out of bed and onto his feet. Because of his injuries, all he could do was plop on his ass and pull a muscle in his lower back. He screamed and coughed while pounding the floor with his fist, ignoring the fact that there used to be glass in his knuckles.

“I’m sorry, Oswald…but you did this to yourself!” said Nikita before turning around and marching away.

“No, wait! Don’t go! You can’t turn me in for this! They’ll put me in prison forever! I don’t’ deserve that shit!” The sound of Nikita slamming the front door behind her prompted Oswald to scream even more curse words while pounding the floor with both fists this time as well as his heels. He didn’t get much offense into the floor due to his agonized lower back, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

Just like Nikita before him, Oswald found an excuse to shed tears, but his own sobbing was loud and obnoxious enough to awaken his couch potato roommate, who screamed, “Hey! Shut up in there!” Except Oswald didn’t shut up. He cursed and pounded the ground some more until he was ready for another trip to the subconscious theater.

“Don’t do this to me, Nikita,” he whispered as he was falling asleep again. “Please…don’t…do…this…”

Don't Wake the Baby

VERSE 1

Dreaming of scratches behind her ears

Sleeping on my bed for the rest of her years

Such a sweet little fuzzy lady

Shh! Don’t wake the baby!

VERSE 2

Dreaming of a buffet table of tuna fish

A quart of milk in her favorite dish

Is this reality? Well, just maybe

Shh! Don’t wake the baby!

VERSE 3

Dreaming of gentle warmth from the heater

Drooling like a fountain, her dreams get sweeter

A kitty kiss on the cheek is what she gave me

Shh! Don’t wake the baby!

FINAL VERSE

Waking up to a brand new day

Only to fall asleep again anyways

She needs every hour of beauty rest

Her forever home is truly the best

She gives me the biggest goofy grin

Every time I scratch her under the chin

She purrs like the sweetest kitty lady

Shh! Don’t wake the baby!

A Wonderful Day to Take a Nap

CHORUS

It’s a wonderful day to take a nap

With a cute little kitty on your lap

A wonderful day to take a snooze

Dream away your moodiest blues

VERSE 1

The rain is pouring, the puppy is snoring

Everything else is delightfully boring

Lullaby music is playing so softly

Sleep like you’re in the arms of your mommy

Under the blanket so cuddly and warm

Keeping you safe from the rainiest storm

Counting the sheep as you fall asleep

Snuggling with them feels so sweet

EXTENDED CHORUS

It’s a wonderful day to take a nap

With a cute little kitty on your lap

A wonderful day to take a snooze

Dream away your moodiest blues

A wonderful day to rest your bones

Turn off the TV, unplug your phone

A wonderful day to have a dream

Until the sun shines its bright beams

VERSE 2

Pour yourself a glass of warm milk

Wrap yourself in a blanket of silk

Snuggle with puppies and kitties

Whether they’re big or just itty-bitty

When you snooze, nobody will lose

Stay in your bed as long as you choose

Listen to raindrops on your window

Listen to the mighty wind blow

EXTENDED CHORUS 2

It’s a wonderful day to take a nap

The weather outside wills start to sap

A wonderful day to take a snooze

Until the sunshine brings colorful hues

A wonderful day to rest your head

In the softest and warmest of beds

A wonderful day to snore and drool

Until your pillow becomes a pool

VERSE 3

Rock-a-bye baby on the treetop

The wind and rain won’t stop

Come inside for a place to hide

Under the covers, you sweetie pie

We’re one big cuddly family

Of animals and sweet little peas

It’s a wonderful day to nod off

In the beddy-bye ever so soft

Demon Axe, Chapter 14

In traumatic situations, doctors were supposed to provide delicate care so as not to trigger raw emotions. But when Daniel Mercer thrashed around in his hospital bed punching and kicking anything that moved, he had to be held down by the toughest of the tough. Three different nurses held his left arm. Two doctors held his right arm. One of the bigger nurses laid across his shins.

The Lord of the Pit roared and screamed his head off with his most demonic voice, but the medical staff’s pressure on his limbs increased even more. He got so cantankerous that they had to strap him in bed with leather buckles. Even in bondage his head bounced off the pillow as he howled like a wounded animal.

All it took was one jab in the arm and a press of the plunger. Daniel felt coldness running through his veins to sooth his burning anger. The volume of his possessed screams got lower as his breathing intensified. His eyelids became heavier than dumbbells. His clenched jaw relaxed to where his tongue was hanging out like a dog. While he wasn’t completely knocked out, he was drowsy enough that the doctors and nurses could wipe the sweat off their foreheads and breathe sighs of relief.

“I’ll take it from here, guys. Thank you very much,” said a familiar male voice. The medical staff huffed and heaved their way out of the semi-private room after such an exhausting struggle. Even with blurry vision and a relaxed mind, Daniel could make out the cue ball head of Detective Shawn Henry, the man who brought him to this hospital in the first place.

As the delirious snoozer tried to form words, Detective Henry placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to signify that he’ll be the one who does the talking. “You’re in a safe place now, Daniel. You were a pain in the ass to get here, but that just goes to show how much of a fighter you really are. I can only imagine what kind of pain you were in when Roger Zee tortured you. It’s one thing to use musical torture on somebody else. But to a man who built his entire life around that genre of music…it’s unacceptable. It’s like A Clockwork Orange for the good guys.”

Daniel once again tried to form a coherent sentence, but he ended up sounding like a drunken stroke victim. He seemed to get Shawn’s message with little nods here and there.

The detective placed a hand on Daniel’s knee and said, “You may not realize it right now, but we need you now more than ever. Roger Zee has the entire police force under his control. I should have never let him get to those computers. Even so, there’s still a chance we can put him away once and for all. I have a pretty good idea of where he’s taking his newfound forces.”

“…Lay-len…Lay-len!” said Daniel with a swollen tongue.

“Yes, Daniel, you’ve mentioned this Raven girl to me before. Is she your girlfriend?” asked Shawn, to which the Lord of the Pit flashed a retarded grin. The detective flashed a small grin himself and said, “Whoever she is, we’ll find her before Roger can hurt her. I know it seems like we’re wasting time in this hospital, but trust me, you’re in no condition to be chasing bad guys right now. You might be better in the morning, depending on just how long you spent at that black site. Either way, you’re the only one who can stop this madman. With that microphone of yours, you might even be able to talk some sense into my colleagues.”

Daniel shook his head and allowed his tongue to dangle from side to side like a pendulum of spittle. His attempts at “Uh-uh” grew stronger the more he realized what he was being asked to do.

“I know you don’t think much of your music right now. I know you think that you can’t do this without your band mates. But like it or not, you’re a huge part of this puzzle. While you’re not even close to being the one to blame for Roger’s violence, he’s taking a huge interest in your vocation, not to mention everything your music stands for.”

Shawn leaned in closer with this next sentence. “You are the creative force behind every music group you’ve been a part of. Even with traumatic nightmares, you’re one of the most imaginative people I’ve ever known. That scares Roger. He doesn’t like creativity. He shuns individuality. He wants this world to be just as boring and dull as him. You can’t let that happen. You’ve got to put a line through that.”

Daniel made a whiny groan in his throat while slamming his head on the pillow in disbelief. Shawn patted his knee and said, “I know we’re asking a lot of you. But this is a responsibility you were custom built for, my friend. Don’t think of these civilians as mere strangers. Think of them as audience members. They’re gathering around you so that you can put on a show for them. Not just any show, but one that will fill them with positive memories. Memories that will make them want to come back for more. Even with your most violent lyrics, you inspire an entire generation of listeners to face the hardest parts of life.”

The Lord of the Pit had a flat tire hiss and shook his head. Breathing a sigh of relief, Shawn knew he had to pull out the big guns to get this reluctant hero’s attention. He reached in his pocket and pulled out something that made Daniel’s eyes light up like Las Vegas.

“You see this, Mr. Mercer? This right here is the very first Demon Axe album. I bought it after the two of us met for the very first time. I admit, it was a god-awful interview at your house, but if it wasn’t for that, I would have never known about your music. I have to say, this is a pretty goddamn good album. I don’t claim to be the biggest metal head on planet earth, but even I think this is pretty fucking good. You and your band mates put a lot of hard work into every song on this CD. Your band mates gave you their lives, now it’s time to finish the job.”

Tears rolled down Daniel’s cheeks as he made little whimpering noises through his nose. Shawn grabbed a paper towel from the counter and wiped them away ever so delicately. He said, “I can tell you’re still not convinced. You somehow have it in you that you let everyone down by allowing yourself to be tortured. You didn’t let anyone down, Daniel. Some things in life are beyond our control. But this road that lies ahead of you, this road to recovery, it begins and ends with putting Roger Zee in his grave. To help you along the way, I brought another surprise for you.”

Shawn motioned toward the doorway and two nurses wheeled a gigantic radio into the room. The detective pulled out yet another CD, though Daniel’s eyes widened when he couldn’t tell what the album was. The Lord of the Pit made loud whining noises in anticipation of more torture. He thrashed around in his straps, but no amount of white hot rage could set him free.

The gentle piano music, on the other hand, could, at least psychologically. The pianist’s fingers danced lightly and gracefully across the keys, especially near the lower octaves to provide the sweetest lullaby to a pain-wracked Daniel. The whining and whimpering was reduced to silent drooling and a spaced-out look in his eyes. With his hands at his lap, he performed the one technique that got him through the death of his Demon Axe brethren. He tapped his left leg, then his right, then his left, then his right, almost in perfect harmony with the tranquilizing piano music.

“Lay-len…Lay-len…Lay-len…”

Shawn smiled at Daniel and said, “Raven was the one who taught you that technique. That’s called EMDR. I’d definitely say she’s a keeper, my friend. If you don’t do this for anybody else, do this for her. She’s depending on you.”

Daniel formed another stupid-looking grin on his face while his eyes danced in different directions. Shawn covered his own face as he noticed a sizable lump growing in Daniel’s shorts. The detective jokingly said, “Too much information, buddy! Too much information!”

The Lord of the Pit chuckled in his moment of quasi-embarrassment and kept tapping his thighs until his eyelids closed for the final time of the night. Daniel’s face fell to the side of his pillow and he ended his evening with a combination of frothing drool and lawnmower snores.

Shawn smiled again and shook his head. Meanwhile, one of the nurses produced Daniel’s magical microphone and asked, “Where do you want me to leave this?”

The detective took it and said, “I’ve got a nice place for it when he’s ready to wake up.” Confident that the singer was lost in dreamland, Shawn placed the microphone handle in Daniel’s hand and closed his fingers around it. The cop was careful not to allow the mouthpiece near his drooling sewer hole, but it was right there when he needed it. Even in his subconscious’s theater, Daniel Mercer had a decision to make: run away and never turn back or fight like the warrior he was always meant to be.

Watching Paint Dry

***WATCHING PAINT DRY***

I’ve done a lot of journals over the past few weeks talking about real life commitments. These commitments have kept me from meeting creative deadlines, but I don’t sweat it, because these house chores need to be done in a timely fashion. I’ll admit that all of these concerts I’ve been going to have been extracurricular when it comes to managing my energy, but there’s a reason I categorize them under life events on Face Book: because I may never get another chance to see these kick-ass bands in my home state. I’m pretty sure this is what that DeVry University commercial is talking about when they say, “Life is rich, full, and beautifully exhausting.”

The beautiful exhaustion will continue over the next few days, maybe even weeks. Ever since coming home from the Pain in the Grass festival on Sunday, I’ve been helping my family paint the walls of Reina and James’s bedrooms as well as helping them replace their flooring with new and fresh material. The next bedroom to be painted and remodeled will be mine. This whole process involves moving everything out of that particular room before the work is started. In my room alone, I have a computer desk, a Sleep Number bed, a book shelf, two chests of drawers, god knows what else.

Not only is this kind of intensive labor going to be taxing on my body and mind, but since my room is next, it means I’ll have to unplug my computer and move that somewhere else. I already have a bad internet connection now that the range extender in James’ room has been temporarily unplugged. Having an unplugged computer means minimal creative output and missed deadlines for beta reading and book reviewing. With that being said, I owe Andy Peloquin and Marie Krepps the biggest apologies for not being able to keep my commitments to them. Yes, I know that real life gets in the way of the most brilliant projects, but that doesn’t make it any less painful.

The entire month of August has been one chaotic cluster-fuck of physical labor and mental exhaustion. It’s taken a toll on the entire family. Forgive me if I sound whiny, because that’s not the message I’m trying to send. I love my family and I want us to live in a good-looking and clean house. All I’m saying is that if you don’t see me online for a while or if you’re getting impatient about a commitment I’ve made to you, this is why. I always pride myself on being there for the people in my life that matter the most. While my online friends fit that bill, my real life family fits it as well. This needs to be done and we’re not going to stop working until it is.

On that note, I’d like to thank all of you for being supportive and understanding during this tiring moment in our lives. Normalcy will be restored to this house soon enough. Until then, it’s time to shatter those millennial stereotypes of laziness and turn this house into a Port Orchard paradise!

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“We’re going to deal with this the way any reasonable adult would: by ignoring it.”

-Ric Flair on an episode of “Camp WWE”-