Plaster of Heather

Triggers: capitivity

Amanda was a normal girl. She was wearing long black pantyhose and blue flats. Her hair was pink and fluffed. A black dress with red frilly piping was hung on the door, where it had been for three weeks. She was waiting for an occasion. Amanda wiped clean, 1 square. Neat as always. If she had a girlfriend, her girlfriend might be proud. She sighed and washed her hands. As she got the thirty second mark of brushing her teeth she she had an epiphany and looked up.

“Are you my girlfriend?”

“Well honey…”

Heather had a blank expression and a lot of patience in her face. She had time to learn patience. Blond straight hair dripped towards the floor. Her dull blue eyes were wide open, awake for the first time in days.

“You generally do not install your girlfriend in the bathroom ceiling.”

“The humidity keeps the mucus cocoon alive and capable of supporting you.”

“This is also not generally a normal caveat of a relationship.”

“So if I took you down, would you be my girlfriend.”

“Well I was your girlfriend before you literally stole EVERYTHING from me.”

“Like but why leave the person, if you’re going to take someone for all the worth, why leave the cuddly part.”

“The cuddly part glued to the ceiling.”

“Are you going to be my girlfriend or not?”

“Wined or dined in an expensive restaraunt vs being a booger in a crazy lady’s bathroom? Hmm.”

“Stop speaking in riddles. Yeah, I know but like we could go to Bazabeaux. I mean its not as cool as living in my bathroom but there’s pizza.”

“GET ME DOWN YOU FUCKING IDIOT.”

Amanda ran downstairs to get a spatula. Returning with the spatula and a step ladder, with what was obviously some manner of routine, she climbed up shoved the spatula behind Heather’s and applied a small amount of pressure. The stuff broke like plaster full of shards and dust. First came the apples up front and for a second freefall then the peaches in the back bounced ever so slightly on the ground. Heather’s prison cushioned the fall making more dust. Heather coughed

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m going to bathe now. Retrieve my black dress. If you pawned my black dress, skin yourself and tan me a black dress.”

A shower, a zipping and a walk down the stairs later, Heather reached a glass door opening to a very quiet neighborhood. As she clacked down the sidewalk, she turned to find that she had been inside a very black Queen Anne in a very new planned community. Her Subaru Forester was sitting in the driveway.

“I’ve managed to get 5 mpg over the sticker.”

Amanda was right next to her like a bamf and there was a faint smell of sulfur. Heather reckoned that number was under the burden of multiple kidnapped victims. And for a second she cursed herself for enabling a witch by allowing the witch to steal her station wagon. But no proof. Nope. Pizza now. The back seats were folded down though. LALALA

There was a phone book, cushioning a history book on the driver’s seat and the steering wheel was angled downwards. Heather politely took shotgun, still perhaps in a dream state. Maybe dreams just never stop and there’s no need to face obtuse realities. Yet it wasn’t cold when last Heather had sat in her car and a glance would suggest over a hundred miles had been put on to the odometer. Daylight was behind the skyline when they managed to get downtown. It took half an hour to be seated. It took 20 to get food. Heather wished there was a calendar to go with the clock.

“You’re not touching your lobster nonsense.”

“How long was I out.”

“Oh 5 years.”

Heather was pretty sure she could just punch her. As if she had found a shortcut past anger and right to reprisal.

“I’m 31”

Amanda looked up from the sausage and peperoni pizza she bought in an actual sit down pizzeria.

“You’re 26”

“I remember my birthdate for god sake.”

“Its kinda irrelevant though, you’re not getting older.”

The dream was subsiding.

“I’m a toy aren’t I?”

“Is that bad?”

It was quiet. Heather ate a slice every ten minutes and when the hour was done there was no pizza.

“I wish the check would get here.”

Amanda pulled out a beautiful amber heart shaped jewel dangeling from a silver chain.

“I could put him in this necklace.”

Heather didn’t feel her heart move at all despite the fact that she punched Amanda hard enough to break that little round nose.

“Do what you want, I’m going home.”

Heather took the keys and walked out. The sausage took another half hour, mainly out of cowardice. Then Amanda went poof and Amanda was in the second story of her house.

Heather was sitting on top the step ladder in the bathroom.

“Okay your some sort of Greek god, I get it. I’m screwed. Just how do we do this though?”

“You can sleep in my bed with me”

“That’s a twin and also no.”

“You can sleep inside this Barbie bed I keep in a converse box.”

“You can sleep on the couch.”

But Amanda was already wondering who she should put in the shoebox.

 

16 Updates Whadda You Get

The day began with a chime. Juan imagined a sunrise as the orange gels tinted the fluorescent lights. From the cot on the checkered floor, he viewed the magnificent chrome toilet. In the far corner there was a shower. Juan took a hearty whiff of himself and shrugged. Past the sink mirror and toilet, past the door, was his office. There was a desk, a chair a computer, and a hole in the checkered tiles where wires spilled into the computer. Home again, home again.

“We bought 500 liters of Man Mix that can be pumped into this bathroom. So you should be okay until next month.”

Nitrogen, oxygen, argon and marketing all in bright orange tanks that you can refill at gas stations across the galaxy. Man Mix was the “Life support with guaranteed MAXIMUM virility”. Supposedly, it had increased oxygen. However, intermittently, there were recalls where they had declined to distribute oxygen in every tank. They didn’t make 500 liter tanks and deep space doesn’t necessarily get recalls. So Juan had worries.

“Come in”

The EVA had wheels, probably a 10 horsepower engine. Dzheff was a squishy salamander thing piloting a big black ball with a periscope for a head. It’s pronounced Jeff but the russians made first contact with the calamahapa and humanity is not as intellectually curious as it aspires to be. That’s not their actual name either. But Jeff is Jeff or at least close enough.

“Sometimes I wake up and I just kinda hope that this’ll be the day the universe gets lazy with the fx. Just a dude with bumps on his head, thats all I want.”

“Bigotry aside, I’m sorry to disappoint.”

Juan stood up and stared into the mirror above the sink, pouring antiseptic on the hands. There was a little gray that wasn’t there last time.

“You shouldn’t have to put bigotry aside. That’s the job of the bigot. You’ve been as good a host as I could hope for.”

“Employer.”

There was an update waiting. It looked good. The PA started.

“Reminder: you are all inside of me and I’m into it but I feel weird.”

“Okay Jeff, you gotta be straight with me. If I push this update, is it kinkshaming?”

La Muerte en el Indoro

Sometimes you can hear the water. Sometimes its all you can hear, as if you are trapped inside the atmosphere: the single inhabitant of a ceramic planet. It was Gloria and the tardigrades forever in the closest bathroom to C++. Two o’clock was Speech and she could go. And it wouldn’t hurt but she was playing pretend.

Gloria was a software developer, except software developers didn’t go to school. A software developer would have initiative and already know this. They’d have friends and networks and they’d have projects. And they would have done this ten years ago. And they would have been better.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

She cradled herself.

“It’s okay. I don’t need it.”

The voice sounded deep and lyrical. Gloria opened the door. For a moment she couldn’t see anything. Then something, like eyes focusing on rain that was invisible. It wasn’t a rain though, it was a skeleton standing in the front of the only sink. There was a standing skeleton and then there was the chance of being judged for not washing your hands. Gloria stood in line.

“Could you be a dear and turn on the faucet?”

Gloria turned on the faucet. The skeleton managed to push the soap dispenser. As they lathered, their hands became more and more visible. They had long thin fingers and petite palms.

“Am I dead?”

“Well I am anyways.”

“Are you Death?”

“Why would Death have a skeleton? I’m Melissa.”

Gloria felt hair touch her face as Melissa turned to grab a paper towel. They noticed Gloria staring.

“I usually use a 15 second rule. Otherwise staring is definitely rude.”

“Can I get accommodations? I’m only pretty sure I’m not dead.”

“Not ADA applicable. Which is really unfair because I have a lot of accessibility problems. My C++ teacher only barely notices I exists. I’m so behind”

“Do you want to be study partners?”

And this is how you make friends children.