Personalias

http://subscribestar.adult/personalias Just added a new part of my babyfur magical school high society diapered melodrama, "Illusional" to my subscribestar. This part came out really nicely in the end. I like how this story prominently features someone who (by ABDL story karma standards) SHOULD be shrunken down and diapered but still has a great deal of autonomy.(I'm definitely a big fan of diapers being the beginning, not the end) And including the multiple perspectives and points of view in the narrative, from Dhalia, with peeks at Zinny, and now Jane, kind of shows just how much Dhalia "deserves" the stereotypical fate she's barely avoiding by way of misdirection and magical illusions. http://subscribestar.adult/personalias Holy smokes! This month's reader submission poll is PACKED. Twenty-three pitches for my subscribers to vote on this week, and I'll turn the winning pitch (with guidance from the winner) into a free 10k short story for them! But only my subscribers can vote!

http://subscribestar.adult/personalias http://personalias.adult I just added another Audio-Mini-Story for my subscribers to listen to! And it's my Mommy singing! What? The #ABDLWeeklyPrompt at the time was "Escape" so I HAD to write "With Apologies to Rupert Holmes". (If someone knows how to add music, hmu)

Hey there! If you’re not a fan of subscribestar’s layout and/or discord and/or are tired of searching around deviantart, et. al. for my public facing works, please come check out my new website! http://personalias.adult It’s a collection of almost all of my stories, both public facing and paywall, with searchable tags and story premise/descriptors that you don’t have to register for. It’s also linked to my subscribestar so my subscribers can access to my paywall content! Please consider checking it out and browsing around. I have well over 100 stories! (Also, if you find a bug, please message me so that bugs can be fixed.)

Unfair- Chapter 159: Little Voices: Old Business, New Business. ‘Dear Amy, When last we spoke I reacted very poorly to what you told me about purposefully returning home to your Mommy after you managed to escape. I still don’t understand why you chose to do that, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter if I know the ‘why’ of everything or not. You’re one of the most clever people I’ve had the good fortune to meet and my life is better for having you in it. Besides my Mommy and Beouf, you’re probably my best friend. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, please let me know and I’ll try my best. It’s not your obligation to escape or cause constant pain to the Amazons. If you have somehow managed to find happiness in this completely fucked up situation that we’re all in, then I’m both terribly glad for you and insanely jealous at the same time. You’ve saved my life against my own reckless stupidity and went out of your way to try and help me find my wife and you didn’t have to do either of those things. I’m not asking you to expend the emotional energy to teach me or educate me, and if you never want to talk to me ever again, I’ll understand and deserve it. It’s just important to me that I tell you this just so you know how I feel. Bottom line: I fucked up. Please don’t hate me. I understand if you do, but I had to ask.’ This is the speech that I composed and repeated to myself all Thursday afternoon. From my time on the nap mat, to the playground, to the moments of content silence sipping coffee with Beouf, to the brief stop at home for a fresh change of unwrinkled clothes and an early dinner so that we wouldn’t be late to Little Voices; I was mentally writing and editing my apology to Amy. Such commitment earned me more than a few palms pressed up against my cheeks and forehead and asking if I was feeling alright. I had to get this apology perfect. It had to be a heartfelt doozy because unlike with Janet and Beouf, I didn’t have anything I could offer her. No act of service. No show of care. Worst of all I couldn’t think of any act or promise I could make, not because of my powerless to perform good deeds but because I was utterly fucking clueless about what might matter to her. Holy shit, Amy was the closest thing I had to a true peer friendship and I still knew next to nothing about her! Our relationship had been completely one-sided and I hadn’t even cared enough to notice. The fuck was wrong with me?! I rehearsed and rehearsed, determined to commit my apology to memory lest I lose my nerve last minute. My eyes were mosquitoes flitting towards and away from Amy. I was staring at her in her Mommy’s lap in short bursts, just long enough to establish that she was still there. It would be just my luck to have this big apology ready and prepared and Amy would find a way to disappear on me. At the same time, I didn’t want to appear to be glaring at her. It was less a conscious thing and more of a new form of my anxiety expressing itself. I wasn’t purposefully doing it; just there was this neurotic voice in the back of my head telling me to make sure Amy was still here and to make it shut up I had to add it into my speech preparation. By the time I felt comfortable enough saying it, the Amazon and Little game and lap bounce portion had just about wrapped up. Trust me when I say that you haven’t got lost inside your own head until you blink, sigh with determination, and then your brain registers what everyone has been singing: “P-O-T-T-Y, OH NO! IN YOUR PANTS YOU HAD TO GO! DON’T YOU CRY, WE’LL TAKE IT SLOW P-O-T-T-Y, OH NO!” Gleeful cries and giggles rang out. Grown-Ups and their Littles clapped enthusiastically. Janet grabbed my wrists and made me clap, too. I startled and scowled up at her from her lap. She let go of me and settled for my half-hearted applause. “Alright,” the leader said after everyone was done congratulating themselves on adapting the chorus of a pop song into a song glorifying forced incontinence. “Time to divide up into our groups.” It was Helena who spoke out, raising her hand. “Our meetings, you mean.” There was a quiet and knowing chuckle that rippled through some of the Amazons. “And I volunteer as a witness.” Witness? I craned my head back at Janet and gave her a questioning look. It was returned by a soft, but unbothered shrug. Neither of us knew what was going on. “Who will be observing for the Little ones?” The loan Tweener stuck in a child-role raised her hand up. “I’ll do it!” One of her Amazonian fathers replied, “You can do it if you don’t need a fresh pull-up.” Her hand slunk down. Her ‘baby’ sister put her hand up. “I’ll do it!” This caused the Tweener pout and huff, but no further objection was raised. The groups broke up as usual. The Littles lined up and shuffled, crawled, or were carried to the community center’s lone nursery to play creative yet silly games while the remaining Amazons huddled together to share stories and brainstorm kinder and gentler ways to condition us while reinforcing their preconceptions. A panic jolted through me when Janet took a sharp turn into the ladies’ room. “”Where are we going?” I asked stupidly, even as I found myself staring up at the ceiling with her fingers going for my snaps. “Just changing your diaper,” she tutted, digging through my diaper bag for the prerequisite baby supplies. “I can get changed in the nursery,” I whined. Every second, every delay I spent holding this apology in was killing me. I didn’t care if I was slightly damp when talking to Amy. It wouldn’t be the first time. Tapes were ripped and sounded off in my ears like tumblers on a rusty old lock finally clicking into place.. “Trust me,” Janet said, “I’m doing you and everybody else a favor.” I inhaled and caught the septic stench coming from my seat. I’d been so preoccupied with my little speech, that I’d pinched a loaf in my Monkeez and literally didn’t bother giving it a second thought. It was a solid mess, too. I should have noticed it, but I genuinely didn’t give it any thought. The moment the turd was outside of my body it stopped being a concern for me. This is definitely what Billy meant that first day. “Why didn’t you change me during the meeting?” I demanded as she passed wipe after wipe over my skin. She balled up the used diaper and tossed it into the can. “You were busy whispering to yourself and didn’t seem that bothered.” A new diaper slipped beneath me, and powder poured down from above. How strange it was, realizing that I now shuddered more when getting my diaper changed than when I was causing it to need changing. And that shudder was more of an involuntary reaction from transitioning so quickly to cool and dry from warm and wet; nothing to do with embarrassment any longer. “P-O-T-T-Y, Oh no! In your pants you had to go!” “Mommy!” I whined. “Please stop!” She spread my legs apart and pulled the fresh padding up between them. “My baby takes the morning train…” “Better…” I was as close to an adult as a Little in my circumstances could possibly be when Janet carried me into the nursery. As expected, the sound of tapes being ripped and Amy’s Mommy cooing preceded my arrival. Unexpectedly, however, was the near total absence of every other sound. There was no click-clacking of plastic or ring-a-ling of bells. No manic giggles or the stomping pitter patter of waddling feet. No music or sounds of childish games being shrieked out. No scuffling or crinkling from a game of tag. It was complete stillness when Janet handed me over the divider door to Helena. I turned my head and found every other Little (and Joanie the Tweener) sitting on the floor in a circle. The toys, stuffies, and blankies discarded to the periphery or ignored and left in their bins. Everyone was so still that I couldn’t even here the crinkle of another person’s diaper over the air conditioning. I approached cautiously, looking both ways as if crossing a street. The only thing that fit into my schema as to what could be happening was an incredibly intense variation of Duck-Duck-Goose. “Yeah,” The Little boy belonging to the group leader said, continuing some conversation I’d missed out on. “I don’t know how I feel about that song, either. I get that they want to make it fun, but…” One of the block builders picked the thought up. “Do we really need another diaper changing song? My Mommy already has a playlist worth.” One of the pseudo-twin girls raised her hand. “Yeah, do I really need another song talking about going in our pants? We’re babies, we get it!” she groaned. “And we’re more than just sog-monsters and poop machines,” her ‘sister’ added. “Yeah!” Amy shot her hand up. “And ‘pants’ is too gendered! Some of us don’t even wear pants, thank you very much!” There was a brief pause…then a snort…then some giggles…then waves of laughter! Amy may or may not have been sincere in her comment, but she was lightly glowing from the attention regardless and was taking the win. After the laughter had died down, I leaned over her shoulder and whispered “Hi, Amy!” Amy shook so suddenly it was like a mousetrap had been sprung. “JEEBUS!” she shrieked. She put her hand to her chest and looked up at me from her spot on the carpet. “Clark! Buddy! We gotta put a bell on you, my guy!” The other Littles laughed and nodded amongst themselves. She scooted to the right and patted the floor, inviting me.. “Come on, the meeting’s about to start.” I took a seat, not sure what to do or say, other than observe and figure out what strange new game we were playing. Draco, the white haired boy, raised his hand. “I was the witness to the last meeting,” he said. “No real embarrassing stories about anybody this time. Somehow the discussion got around to diapers brands. Talks about coupon clipping. Store brand versus stuff like Koddles or Monkeez.” Another Little raised their hand. “Is this a money thing? Like did they spend too much on Solstice presents? Inflation?” “Hope not,” the other builder boy said. “I don’t want to switch to cloth.” “Do daycares even do cloth diapering?” “I thought it had to be disposable.” White haired Domingo spoke back up before the discussion went completely off the rails. “I didn’t get that vibe. I think somebody said that they found a great deal somewhere and then it became all about who had found the best deal or the best diaper or whatever.” He made crude puppets of his hand and immitated a snippet of conversation. “Superstore has a sale on Koddles,” he squeaked with his right hand. “I just get GenMart brand. They’re just as good,” he squawked with his left. “Diapers are sooooo expensive.” “Tell me about it.” “I use Koddles diapers, but Monkeez wipes. Blah blah blah blah.” “So they were flexing on each other?” I asked. “More like they were talking about their special interests,” What’s-His-Name replied kindly. “They really want to be proud of how they take care of us.” “Typical,” I blurted out. “They’re in a competition to out-Mommy each other and are groaning because of a competition they created.” I was met with some affirmative nods, but it was mostly knowing shrugs; as if I’d just stated the obvious; given the synopsis that everybody already knew by heart. I was being humored. A Little girl kept the momentum going. “Did any of them mention whether cuteness was a factor in their decision making process?” Everyone stared. She blushed. “What? I’m asking because I need to decide whether or not to get more diaper covers or not. Diapers are a fashion factor for some people.” A general murmuring of approval and understanding rippled around the circle, myself included. Goodness knows I had opinions on what got wrapped around my waist and whether it could be seen. That’s when it clicked for me: We were having a meeting. If the Amazons could gather together and talk about how to raise us to each other, then we could also gossip and give tips about manipulating them to one another. And a Little was allowed to sit in on their meeting to report back next week! And the parent babysitters in the nursery served the same purpose! I raised my hand and put my theory to the test. “I’ve got a question. How do you get your Mommy or Daddy or whatever to dress you the way you want to be dressed? I almost never get a choice unless I do an exhaustingly disproportionate amount of sucking up first.”My question was met with more general nods of agreement. I wasn’t the only one who had this dilemma. The girl who’d started the fashion discussion’s eyes lit up. “So, my Mommy views Maturosis like this…natural inclination to want to be a baby, I guess. So to her ‘baby’ means ‘good’. So when I want something to happen more often, I make a big deal about how babyish I feel.” She hid her face in her hands and giggled, “These booties are so cute, Mommy!” she pitched her voice up. “They make me feel so babyish!” She took her hands off of her face and broke character, “And if I do it enough, I start getting more baby booties.” “Yeah,” Amy agreed. “You gotta give ‘em hints so they feel good about figuring it out. It takes ‘em a while, but if you’re patient they’ll get it.” All around there were nods as if she’d just said sage advice. “Amy!” Helena scolded from her observation post by the changing table. “Mommy!” Amy said back, mimicking Helena’s tone. Helena started chuckling. “It’s a good thing you’re cute.” Amy nodded. “Yes it is!” The leader’s Little raised his hand. “My Daddy responds better to direct requests.” “Sometimes it feels like my Mommy does the opposite of what I ask.” “I think the key here,” D-name interrupted, “is understanding where your Mommy or Daddy is coming from. What’s motivating them in any given interaction? Harper started by talking about how her Mommy likes hearing Harper call herself a baby. So they exchange that interaction through mutual positive reinforcement.” “Yeah,” Amy said. “Dante’s right. Gotta give ‘em hints. Let ‘em know they’re doing a good job in ways they appreciate.” “Yeah,” I echoed. “Like it’s really important to my Mommy that I think of myself as her baby. So when I really want something, I make sure to call her ‘Mommy’. It really makes her flutter, but it’s got diminishing returns.” Dingo’s confused frown was mirrored by the rest of the group. “What do you call her the rest of the time?” Amy answered for me. “Janet.” Quiet gasps cascaded around the circle. No one said anything directly to me, but I heard more than one whispered instance of “Still?”. I still called my Mommy something other than Mommy…and it was being met with incredulous glares, like the slow child that just wasn’t getting it. I scooted back a few inches and more or less withdrew while still observing the group discussion. I’d nod slightly or shake my head, just to show that I was participating, but I was too in my head to keep track of the particulars. Thirty seconds into my own silence and I started to wonder why Amy hadn’t given me the chance to speak, like maybe she was trying to prevent me from wiggling my way out of telling the truth. Helena Madra came to check her Little girl’s diaper, but paused to whisper into my ear. “Your Mommy loves you no matter what you call her.” I snorted to myself but otherwise kept silent. Oh how suddenly things change in just a week or two of missed meetings. Amazons holding meetings to talk about their Littles, and Littles doing the same in reverse. Both groups gossip about how to trick the other into desired results. For the Littles, it was like a less angry and destructive version of what me and the A.L.L. did every afternoon behind the tree. To the Amazons, it was their so-called babies and toddlers playing a more complex and situational version of ‘House’. And since each side had an observer that could summarize the activities from one side to the other, there wasn’t any real premise of secrecy on either end. Just two sides communicating their wants and needs in the most passive aggressive way imaginable. The only thing about it that really bothered me was that I hadn’t thought of it first. The time ticked by and the Grown-Ups came too soon. The meeting was suspended and adjourned as soon as the first of us was taken home. The rest of us lingered and mingled in small groups; no sense in breaking out the toys when you were about to leave. “Hey, Amy,” I crawled up to her. “Can I talk to you for a second?” “Sure. What’s up?” I led her to the quiet corner by the cribs. “Hey,” I said softly. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” “Okie dokie.” She started to turn to crawl away. “Please!” I hissed, desperately. “I fucked up. I shouldn’t have judged you for leaving and coming back. I was being an ass and I’ve got no business….no business…” I jumped when I saw Janet walk into the room. No! Not yet! I hadn’t apologized yet! Amy gave me a soft, sad smile. “I know, bud. You’re a good guy. But thank you for owning your mistake.” Janet and Helena were talking to each other. They each turned their heads and pointed at us, but neither was shifting to move. “That’s it?” I asked. “If you want it to be, yeah.” she said. “You’re not mad?” She tilted her head to the side, as if deeply pondering herself. “Nah. Not really. I’m glad you apologized without me asking for one, though.” Then she asked. “You haven’t told anybody what I told you, right? About me coming back?” That last sentence was lowered to a near-whisper. I had to strain to hear it and I was directly across from her. Mutely, I shook my head. “Don’t tell anybody that part, and we’re even.” I cocked my head, but I seemed and felt the confused pooch more than the pondering philosopher. She had a secret, and me keeping it somehow made us even for me being an asshole? “Don’t you want some kind of dirt on me?” My friend smirked. “Not really. I think I got enough.” My eloquence already shot, I decided to quit while I was ahead and not ask Amy for evidence of mutually assured destruction. “So, a meeting within a meeting within a meeting, huh?” I said, changing the subject. “Yeah,” Amy agreed. “Wild. Very Avante Garde. Wish I’d thought of it.” That made me do a genuine double take. If anyone would have come up with this subversion, I thought it would have been her. “Who did?” “Mary” “Mary?” “Pink-hair? Has a Big younger sister who sometimes shows up?” My eyebrows shot up. “Mary?” I said. “Really?” “Yup!” she nodded. “Didn’t see that one coming, either. She’s been bugging her Mommy and Daddy for months, and the Grown-Ups finally agreed.” “Wild,” I smirked. “So this had nothing to do with either of us?” “Apparently not,” she shrugged. “I’m as surprised as you are, man. Apparently there are people we don’t know that well who lead complex and interesting lives.” (On my honor that is exactly what she said and with no trace of irony or sarcasm.) “We’re still not gonna learn that one kid’s name though, right?” “Who? Dirk?” Amy thumbed to the white haired kid. “Never. I’m milking that bit till the day I die.” “Kicking that dead horse.” “Jumping that shark.” “That stone will bleed eventually.” “That cash cow ain’t gonna milk itself.” “You already did a milking reference to overextending a bit,” I said. She balled up her fist and shook it impotently. “Curses, foiled again. At least for a…mooo-ment.” I scoffed. “Are you trying to switch to cow puns now?” She tapped her chin in consideration. “Mooo-bee?” I smacked my forehead and ran the palm of my hand all the way down my face. “I missed you.” “I moo.”

Brittney Giant houses with giant cars! Giant people talking to them like they’re children!. Giant diapers! And inside the giant house there was giant furniture, giant baby toys, and even more giant diapers! Madness! Pure madness! It was like Jack and the Beanstalk, but there were no beanstalks, no magic harps and no geese laying golden eggs! This whole place was a fever dream! It wasn’t a dream, however. Brittney knew that on an instinctual level. From the way her muscles ached, and how her head spun, with every step begging for her to just lay down and sleep. People weren’t usually that tired in their dreams. The grinding mechanized sound of a warehouse sized garage door sounded like a dragon’s roar to Brittney. Their escape from the mad mail lady had been far too temporary. “Hide!” She told her friends. “Where?” her husband, Drew asked. Why did she have to think of everything herself? She was the leader and the planner of their friend group. That only meant that she was very good at planning! Make sure Drew packed the sunscreen. Got some anti-nausea meds in case of sea sickness. Look for inexpensive hotels or interesting restaurants to eat at! That sort of thing. Who could plan for a goddamn alien abduction?! That’s what was happening. It wasn’t exactly a logical explanation, but it was the only paradigm that Brittney could wrap her head around. There had been a bright white light, and then they were in this weird place. Bam. Alien abduction. Or maybe the Matrix? She didn’t know. Brittney cleared her mind and thought about their surroundings. They had a laundry room with equipment big enough to get trapped in, a kitchen where every cabinet, door, and drawer was locked down, and a wide open playroom with a gate that would have taken at least two people to climb over. In a best case scenario one of them would be left behind and the other three would be going deeper into unknown territory. There were no good options. “Go into the kitchen. The table had a tablecloth on it. Climb up on the chairs. Use them and the tablecloth to hide.” “What about you?” Christy asked. “I only saw three.” “I’ll be bait.” Her friends looked at her as if she were insane. “We’ll do what we did a second ago. Ambush and run!” “Where to?” Tyler asked. The garage door had stopped. They didn’t have much time. Another quick roar and a crashing sound signaled that their prison had shut itself again. “Doesn’t matter yet! Go!” The quartet rushed out of the playroom, closer to the very door that might very well be heralding their doom. Her friends and husband jogged to underneath the gargantuan kitchen table. Christy climbed up into the first chair by herself and laid down flat. Drew needed a boost but managed. Tyler was having trouble, his newly applied padding was messing with his gait and movement. That, and Tyler was far from the most athletic among them. “Hurry,” Brittney hissed. She joined him and got down on all fours. “Step on me! Boost up!” Barefoot and naked save for socks and an adult sized diaper decorated like a baby one, Tyler looked more embarrassed for the help than for his garb. “Are you sure?” “Just go!” She braced and grit her teeth so that her second oldest friend could climb to relative obscurity if not safety. BEEP! A car horn sounded off, its echo amplified by the acoustics of an impossibly large garage. Brittney scrambled out from underneath the table. Whoever was coming didn’t need to know what their numbers were or see her coming out of a hiding place. THUD-THUD-THUD! BING-BONG! It also wasn’t the giantess that had attacked them a moment ago. That bitch was still at the front door. That gave Brittney some courage. This just might work after all. Just beyond the kitchen, the door to the garage opened wide, revealing an impossibly big and tall frame. Brittney couldn’t see the giant’s face, because they were carrying an imposingly large brown paper bag that obscured the majority of their face. “Hmmm-hmmm-hmmm-hmmm” The giant’s voice came in loud and clear ahead of her. It was a her by the sound of it. She was humming a simple but jaunty tune to herself, and leaving the door to the garage wide open. Brittney froze in the middle of the kitchen, waiting to be seen, but the new giant took no notice of her. “When my diaper’s on, I like it dry,” she sang to herself in a simple, sing-talk way. She sounded like an older woman too, if Britney were to guess. “And when it’s wet, I get upset.” Brittney’s stance was broken. She was forced to bolt out of the way, lest she be trampled by sneakers as big as her whole torso. Still singing to herself, the giant walked to a counter corner and placed the bag down and started emptying it. “When my diaper’s on, I like it dry. And when it’s wet, I get upset.” She was definitely an older woman, Brittney saw straight white hair and glasses straps. She wore a beige top and blue jeans and much like Brittney had a body that curved more outward than inward. Not ‘fat’ but what might be called ‘pleasantly plump’. “I want it off. I cry. Please change me!” From out of the bag she stacked up baby food jars sized to hold peanut butter, a bag of diapers that could have doubled as an air mattress, and packs of baby wipes that were almost pillows. “I want it off. I want it off. Please change me!” She shook her head to herself and chuckled. “Oh dear, even on my day off I can’t get those songs out of my-” THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD! BING-BONG! “Hm?!” She raised her head. “I thought they were just supposed to drop packages off and leave….” BING-BONG! THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD! “Comiiiiing!” She yelled out, and walked right out of the kitchen, oblivious to Brittney’s presence. “Just a second!” BING-BONG! BING-BONG! BING-BONG! “I’M COMING! I’M COMING!” Brittney unfroze and slinked towards the kitchen table. “Come on!” she waved the others down. Forget the ambush, they had distance and distraction on their side. “She’s moving to the other room. Now’s our chance!” All together they hoisted themselves off and back onto the floor. As one they moved out into the kitchen. “We need to time it so that we open the garage right as they start talking to each other,” Tyler said, waddling in the back. “Use the chaos…” “Agreed,” Brittney nodded. Drew led the way. “Maybe we can try stealing the car? We’d get a lot further.” BING-BONG! “We couldn’t even see over the steering wheel or reach the pedals.” Christy said. “They do it all the time in the cartoons,” Tyler said, unhelpfully. THUD-THUD! Brittney tried to put the kibosh on this idea. “How would we even break into it?” . Drew stopped and pivoted. He pointed up at the counter. Something shiny and metal was grouped by the baby supplies fresh out of the grocery bag. “I think she left her-” “Keys!” The giantess exclaimed. She ran back into the kitchen. “I forgot my-...” The quartet froze; people turned deers caught in headlights. Seeming shocked, the giant froze in the kitchen doorway, her jaw slack from surprise. To Brittney’s thinking, she looked old, but not very old. A few wrinkles and laugh lines, breasts that sagged more than they likely used to,, but nothing that would place her at retirement age. Late fifties to early sixties, tops. Almost like her mother. “Babies?!” she gasped. “How did you get here?” As a group, they ran for the open doorway. Better to prolong capture and create an opportunity. There’d be less space. What they didn’t count on was the speed of the giantess. A shadow passed over them while the older woman literally leaped and high stepped over their heads and slammed the door shut before them. If she was older than sixty-five, she was certainly spry. “No, no, no!” she said. “It’s not safe for you kids in there!” They skidded to a halt, skittered and reversed course. Tyler was tripping over the bulk between his legs and Drew was tripping over Tyler. Christy was trying to run backwards instead of turning around and had paid the price by falling over the back of her heel. Brittney, for reasons she couldn’t quite articulate, stood her ground. Running wasn’t working. They wouldn’t win a direct fight. Maybe talking would work. They looked a motley crew to be sure. Christy was in wet pants with two t-shirts tied around her waist. Drew was naked from the waist up. Tyler was one Kool-Aid mustache short of being a trailer park toddler. Brittney was the only one who still looked presentable. That’s why she decided to open her mouth. THUD-THUD-THUD! “It’s alright,” the old woman said. “Granny’s not gonna hurt you.” BING-BONG! “Is that your Momma out there? Is that why she’s knockin’? Do you want to go see her? Do you wanna go see Momma?” She started to bend over, her arms outstretched. “C’mon. Let’s go see Momma.” Standing upright and looking far more confident than she felt, Brittney spoke up. “We’re not babies.” The old woman stopped, and her expression changed to one of curiosity and wonder. “I beg your pardon?” THUD-THUD-THUD. Brittney repeated herself. “We’re. Not. Babies.” The color fell away from the old woman’s face. “You’re not?” “Tyler, say something geeky but smart.” Tyler was at a loss. “Like what…? Shakespeare?” “Sure.” “If we shadows have offended think but this and all is mended that you have but slumbered here while these visions did appear and this meek and idle theme no more yielding but a dream…” He rattled off the lines with machine automaticity. It lacked the whimsical overacting he normally did, but it made up for it in speed. The old woman’s eyebrows arched up over her glasses. “Poetry?” Poetry…but not Shakespeare. Something more universal, perhaps. “Drew. Math?” Drew was on it. “Uh…the square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides.” Good thing she married a math teacher. BING-BONG! The giantess blinked in astoundment and mouthed “Wow”.. “Christy?” “Foreign accent syndrome is a rare but verifiable medical condition caused by damage to the speech centers of the brain, usually through trauma or stroke.” Christy said. It helped that Christy’s dad was an E.R. doctor and her mom was a psychiatrist. Asking ‘How was your day?’ always had interesting answers when they were kids. For her part, Brittney filled her lungs, folded her hands in front of her, and sang scales in an operatic voice. She was rusty, but she had gotten a scholarship with her voice. It was certainly more advanced than a simple three note nursery song. Come to think of it, if they managed to get out of this situation, the four of them would crush at any given restaurant’s trivia night. The giant was left with her hands on her cheeks and her mouth completely agape. “Satisfied?” THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD! BING-BONG! The continual interruptions at the front door captured the big woman’s concentration. “How…are…you…?” She shook her head. “Will you excuse me?” She grabbed the keys from off the counter and marched towards the source of the noise. The quartet were left back in the kitchen, wondering what their next move should be. “Did it work?” Christy asked. Brittney’s eyes followed the retreating giant into the play room and watched her high step over the barrier. “Maybe?” she said. “She’s listening to us.” “Yeah,” Drew said. “But why?” Speaking of listening, the four of them were able to hear half an exchange. THUD-THUD-THUD! The door squeaked open. “Yes?” The older giant said, sounding annoyed. They heard the postal worker say something back, but Brittney couldn’t make out the words. “Yes. I know,” their newest close encounter replied brusquely. “They’re mine. I’m taking care of them. Thank you for finding them for me.” More mumbling that they couldn’t quite make out. The giantesses were just far away enough so that Brittney and company could only eavesdrop on half of the conversation. “Then what are their names?” The intervening time had no words that any of them could hear. “Hm? Don’t know. Didn’t think so.” The giant who’d chased them in here stuttered something. “Hm? You what? Fine. Wait here.” Loud angry footsteps signaled their host’s imminent return. Brittney had to resist the urge to hide all over again. Tyler and Christy looked like they were having a harder time of suppressing that. Drew was edging more and more infront of her to the point where she had to nudge him away so she could see. The white haired giant stomped back into the playroom, and hooked briefly out of sight. She didn’t even make it into the kitchen, instead doubling back the way she came with something white and rectangular in her hand. They heard the door open up again. “Here’s a diaper. You’re welcome. Thanks for changing him. Goodbye!” The door slammed, and everything was quiet. “The fuck just happened?” Drew asked quietly. Brittney looked at him. “I…think she gave a diaper to the other one…” “Wh-?” Tyler said and cut himself off. “Oh.” He looked down at his waist in shame. “Got it.” Her subsequent approach was much quieter than the first. Her feet fairly glided back into the playroom. “Heeeeey,” she called out. “Are you kids still in there?” It was a silly question. Even with the distance between them, both parties were well within eyesight of each other. Watching one another. Each measuring the other up. “Ma’am,” Brittney spoke. “We’re not babies.” “Right. Sorry.” She walked to a tremendous yet comfy looking couch and sat down. “Can we talk? I’m not going to hurt you.” Brittney looked to her friends. “I don’t think we have much of a choice,” she whispered. Grimly, they all nodded. As a group they slinked forward, and the old woman waited, leaning on her knees, Brittney couldn’t help but feel as though they were entering some kind of diplomatic engagement. A negotiation of sorts. “So…” Brittney said, taking the lead. “So…” The woman said. “How old are you all? Really?” “Thirty-six” Brittney answered. “Thirty–seven,” Drew said. Tyler bashfully said, “Same.” “Thirty-five,” Christy finished. Brittney waited to see if there was a follow up question. “What about you?” “Just turned sixty last month,” the woman said. She frowned and narrowed her eyes. “How many days in a year?” “Three sixty-five” They all answered practically in unison. “Hmmm…” The old woman stroked her chin. “Me too. Me too.” She sniffed, then asked. “Got any I.D.?” “Do you?” Brittney retorted. The old woman chuckled, and then stifled herself. “Oh. You’re serious. Okay.” She took a wallet that was close to a small book. “Gloria Fitzsimmons,” Drew read aloud. “What’s a Scerya?” “That’s the state,” the giant explained. “States are like parts of a larger country and…” “We know…” Brittney cut her off. “We understand the concept.” The giant, Gloria Fitzsimmons, held up her palms in a defensive gesture. “Okay. Okay. Just making sure. I don’t know what you don’t know.” A beat. “May I please see your ID’s?” That was fair enough, Brittney reasoned. She reached into her pocket and pulled out hers. Christy and Drew did the same. “Here you go.” They handed the stranger back her wallet with theirs. Gloria squinted and examined the wallets. “I’ve never heard of an Illinoise,” she said, making the Elementary mistake of pronouncing the silent ‘S’ in Illinoi, “but these driver’s licenses seem very authentic. The dates match up too.” She used one hand to rub her forehead. “Wow, that’s wild.” “My…um…wallet…” Tyler said, shamefaced. “I think it’s in your front yard somewhere.” Assuming the other giant didn’t take Tyler’s pants with her as some bizarre form of trophy. Gloria gave the wallets back. “Oh don’t worry about it, dear. Pleasure to meet you, Christy, Drew, Brittney and…” “Tyler…” Tyler said, still looking awkward as anything. “Um…you as well, Gloria?” Drew offered, finding some courage. “Please, call me Granny,” she smiled. “Everyone does. Adults and children alike.” Brittney held her tongue. They all did. They’d have to think about that. “What’s with all the baby stuff?” “I run a daycare out of my home.” The giantess puckered her lips in thought. “Do you know what those are?” “Yes,” groaned Drew, growing more restless and impatient with the condescension. “Okay. Okay.” the old giant said again. “I just wanted to make sure. You’re very good at talking, very articulate but-” Brittney’s veins turned to ice. “That’s not the compliment you think it is. We’re not babies.” Gloria set her jaw and grimaced. “Can I show you something?” The giant asked. “What?” “Just a picture.” Her words were walking-on-eggshells careful. If the stranger outside the house looked at them and saw potential victims, the stranger inside the house was working on the assumption that they were scared strays that might dash away at the slightest provocation. “Can I show you a picture?” The others stayed quiet. Brittney was still calling the shots. “Sure.” The older woman rose from her spot on the couch and briskly walked around them and back to the kitchen. The quartet stayed where they were on the soft, foam floor mats. She noticed Tyler fidgeting nervously, his toes wiggling in his socks. Drew had his whole body turned towards the kitchen, wary of the giant. Christy was doing her best to look literally anywhere else. The old Granny returned holding the bag of diapers she’d entered with. “See this?” she pointed to the package. “What does this look like to you?” Brittney felt her mouth run dry. It looked like any old package of Huggies or Pampers one might see in the supermarket. It had the name of the diaper brand up top, with a happy baby posing in nothing but a diaper. The key difference was that the bubble lettering on the package read “Monkeez” and the baby crawling around on the front of the package wasn’t a baby. Babies didn’t have breasts.. “The fuck?” Christy said. “I don’t know about Illinoise,” Gloria said, tapping the package for emphasis. “This is what babies look like here. You say you’re in your thirties? To me, you’re maybe one. Maybe. At best.” Then she dropped the biggest bombshell. “Welcome to Earth.” “Earth?!” Tyler yelped. “What do you mean ‘Earth’?” “That’s the name of this planet.” Gloria said, innocently “Earth. Why? What’s yours?” Nevermind. This was a dream. This was a waking nightmare.

Anything is possible, but it depends on if the story is worth telling to me using those same characters and concepts. Some stories are strengthened by sequels. Many others are weakened by it.

Tyler Some people had quiet minds. They could open their eyes, take deep breaths, and think of nothing unless prompted to. It was pleasant. They were at peace. Tyler wasn’t one of those people. Always thinking. Always analyzing. Always wondering and playing things over again and again. Always searching for that next bit of mental stimulation; that next hit of dopamine. To get to sleep each night, Tyler laid his head down next to Christy and would tell himself an elaborate fantasy until his body gave in and the thoughts dissolved into an unrelated dream state. The only time Tyler wasn’t thinking were the rare times he was overwhelmed with emotion. Tyler totally felt emotion, he wasn’t a robot, and when he could talk for hours about any given subject, often quite animatedly. It’s just that the intensity of the emotion rarely outweighed the words constantly swirling around in his head. The world was never silent to Tyler. The words never went away. They could only be drowned out by the most intense of emotions: Blistering anger or despair. The most absurd and happiest of laughter. That precious second or two during orgasm. Right now, the words in Tyler’s head were on full blast. He, his wife, and their two best friends were in the middle of an idyllic American style suburb with fresh cut lawns, and nice clean sidewalks. This would be pleasant if not exciting except for the following facts: Tyler had no idea how they’d gotten there. They had been about to walk into a lonely motel room in the middle of the night when an atomic bomb level of light consumed them. Now they were here. That and everything was gigantic. The houses were a minimum of two stories tall, as were the doors. Cars in driveways looked to be as tall as monster trucks and much bigger. Mailboxes were practical flagpoles. Bushes were trees and trees were redwoods. They could each lay on the sidewalk width wise and not touch the road as long as nobody stretched their arms out past their heads. Displaced in time, space, and scale. Instantly Tyler’s mind raced to a dozen different fantastical references. A land of giants? Shrink ray? Another planet or plane of existence? Had they died and this was heaven? There was no rational explanation, so Tyler’s brain started considering irrational ones. “Help!” Christy screamed. “I…I peed!” The sound of his wife’s screams caused Tyler to snap his head around. “You..wh..?” He stopped short of asking for clarification when his eyes settled on her. His blushing bride, his highschool sweetheart, stood stranded on the sidewalk. Her bright rainbow colored tie dye shirt stood in contrast to the trail darkening her blue jeans and making a puddle beneath her sneakers. Christy had always had the bladder of a pea. When they were dating, Tyler would jokingly consider it a miracle when she sat through an entire movie without a bathroom break. Jokes about diapers abounded in the early days before Christy made it clear they were hurting her feelings. Presently, that old joke seemed extremely apropos. It just wasn’t funny anymore. The shock of everything had jostled something loose and left her looking like a three year old out of Pull-Ups too soon. She wasn’t crying yet, but her face was twisting every which way and her breathing was becoming more ragged. Adrenaline pumping, Tyler shoved any emotions he might have been feeling to the side. There was a problem to solve. Several actually, but this one was the most immediate and the most solvable. He walked forward and took her hand. “Come on,” he said gently. “Come here, hon. Come in the grass.” He led her off the sidewalk and into the front lawn. “Deep breath, Christy. Deep breath. It’s okay.” His head started swiveling, looking for outs and places of retreat. Christy was shaking. Trying to retain and regain composure. He wanted to make this better. Had to make this better. He kept looking around. Had their suitcases come with them? Initial scans said no. No extra clothes. No privacy. Try the front door? No. Jack never wanted to meet the giant for a reason. He opened his arms to give her a hug, but Christy held her palms out in front of her chest. She did not want to be touched. Damn. What else could he do? “Tyler,” Britney said. “Your shirt.” Something clicked. He stripped his shirt off. It was loose and baggy, just how he liked it. Tyler’s lizard brain noted the gut he was starting to develop, but that was so low on the hierarchy of needs that it didn’t move the needle. All the words in his head were busy analyzing Christy and the strange environs they’d been transported to. “Do you want me to tie it around, or do you want to?” Tyler asked. Christy sniffled, and reached out. “Give please.” Okay. She could talk without her voice cracking. That made Tyler’s heart rate lower ever so slightly. Christy took the shirt and wrapped it around her skinny waist, tying the sleeves behind her back like an apron. The makeshift flap covered her front. It didn’t completely obscure the damage past the knees, but it was a start. “Drew?” Tyler called behind him. “Little help?” “Yeah, bro.” Drew said. He was taking his shirt off and handing it over to Christy a second later. Drew’s shirt was smaller than Tyler’s but it stretched enough to allow Christy to repeat the process. “Thanks.” she said. The guys gave a neutral, “Welcome,” and Tyler started scanning the periphery. “It’s like that field trip all over again,” Brittney joked. That made the sob Christy was about to elicit turn into a sob.. “Yeah. Kind of.” Long story short, Brittney’s first period had come at a most inopportune time. That bit of nostalgia softened the humiliation Christy was currently experiencing. “What now?” Tyler’s brain went into overdrive. “The lights in the house look off,” he said. “But the garage door is open. No car, though. Those bushes,” he pointed to some big leafy ferns. “Come on.” He jogged over and waved his friends towards him to follow. The others followed him, seeming less sure. He crouched down and the others followed his lead. “What are we doing?” Brittney asked. “What’s going on?” Tyler just decided to remove the filter from his brain. “We don’t know where we are, how we got here, whether we’re small or everything is big, what time it is or anything. We are suffering from a critical lack of information. We have to treat this like the wild or a foreign country or an alien planet or whatever.” “We should be getting help,” Christy argued. “Try to talk to people.” He was glad she was less shellshocked, but Tyler couldn’t believe how naive she was being. Behind closed doors they argued fairly often, but now was not the time. Drew made the counterargument for Tyler. “I don’t think I want to talk to anybody big enough to live in these houses.” “Good point,” Christy said, lowering her head. Britney got a look of inspiration and started digging around in her pants pocket. “Phones!” Oh yeah! All four pulled their phones out and stared. “No signal…” Tyler said, his stare intense. This was not a good development. “Me neither.” Drew said. That was worse. “Same” Christy reported. And worse… “Fuck,” Brittney cursed. Yup. They were fucked alright. Their communication devices and portal windows to the world were just paperweights. Another absurdity jumped into Tyler’s brain. “What if we’re back in time?” “Then why are we tiny?” Christy asked. “I don’t know!” Tyler snapped. “I don’t know how time travel works, do you?!” “Jesus,” Christy said. “I was just asking…” A terrible impulse to snap back and bring up the state of her pants welled up in Tyler’s mind, but he pushed that aside. One thing at a time. “I don’t think it’s time travel,” Drew said calmly. He stood up and pointed over the bushes. “That’s a Honda Fit in that driveway across the street.” Okay. Fair. The surroundings seemed kind of DisneyLand fake, but it wasn’t exactly leave it to beaver 1950’s. Whatever that light was must have just shorted their phones out. Or… “Independence day…” Tyler blurted out. “It’s the plot hole from Independence Day.” Brittney and Drew looked confused. “What?” Crap. He’d done it again. His brain had leapt too far ahead in too many metaphors. What Tyler had meant to say was how his brain went to the plot hole in Independence Day regarding technology. Intergalactic traveling aliens shouldn’t need to use human communication satellites. Nor should their software be vulnerable to an earth made computer virus, likely written in a completely different code. “I think he means maybe we’re some place that doesn’t use the same networks and technology…” Christy was extremely fluent in Tyler. That and he’d the Independence Day talk with her at least once a year when his obsessions circled round to sci-fi tech and film loopholes. She understood the shorthand. “Yes.” Tyler said. “That.” “Well we can’t get any more information. And we can’t hide behind some bush for long.” They didn’t have that opportunity. “Shh,” Drew hissed. “I hear a car.” The quartet ducked down and put their hands over their heads as if bracing for a tornado. In the stillness of the front lawn, the sound of the car’s engine and the rolling of the wheels gently crunching over flecks of loose asphalt on the road was easy to hear from even far away. So was the light screeching of old breaks that needed replacing. It should have been a quick moment. Duck down, hold breath, wait for the noise to increase and subside in a few seconds. Then exhale.. It wasn’t quick. An engine revved. Wheels turned. Brakes squeaked. An engine idled. Then revved again. Rev, wheels, brakes, idle, rev, wheels, brakes, idle, rev. Each iteration got a little louder, a little closer. “What’s taking so long?” Brittney whispered. “I don’t know.,” Drew said. “It’s like they’re looking for someone,” Christy added. Terrible imagery took root in Tyler’s mind. Patrols and searches for invaders. Aliens. Little green and gray men. Government labs. Men in lab coats poking and prodigy the aliens with crude implements as if they were lab rats. Living dissection and autopsy. For Tyler though, it was him and his friends on that operating table. The words were being drowned out by fear. His mouth went dry. He heard his pulse in his ears. He was biting down on his tongue just for the extra sensory input that the pain brought; that extra little bit of control. He dug his fingernails into his knees, scratching and tensing, ready to pounce. An engine revved. Wheels turned and asphalt crunched. Breaks squeaked. The vehicle idled right by the mailbox. Mailbox! Something finally made sense. “Well hello there!” a chipper sounding voice said. The quartet looked up at the sky. A giant towered over them, smiling brightly. She was a black woman with short hair and a light blue shirt and navy blue shorts. Her breast pocket had the emblem of an envelope on it. A postal worker of some sort. The white mail truck with an identical logo directly behind her confirmed. Other than her size, and the fact that Tyler didn’t recognize the logo, the only thing else that stood out was the yellow satchel bag that hung from her shoulder. “Um…hello…?” Brittney spoke up. “How are you…?” Fuck! Why was Brittney talking! They should be running! Dashing! Attacking! Something? Didn’t they pay attention to any of the movies or comics Tyler was constantly talking about? At best they should be trying to make contact with some good hearted twelve year old like in E.T. “Are y’all playing hide and seek?” The giant asked. “Or are you lost? You look lost.” “We’re kind of lost…” Brittney said. Tyler’s mouth remained dry. His jaw stayed clenched and his muscles tensed even more. There was something predatory in the big woman’s expression. “Awwww,” The post lady said. “I’m so sorry to hear that, honey. It’s no fun to be lost, is it?” Her words were laced with condescension masked as sincerity. “Can I help?” “Where are we?” Drew asked. The massive mail carrier wagged her finger. “Ah ah. Didn’t y’alls Mommies and Daddies teach you any manners? Stand up straight. Look me in the eyes.” They all stood up. Tyler was the last to stand, instinctively turning himself sideways so that he could bolt. This was a trap. It felt like a trap. His friends were responding way too well to it. “Sorry,” Drew stammered a bit. “It’s been a hell of a-” “Language!” The woman cut him off sharply. “Good little boys don’t use those kinds of words.” Drew’s face hardened instantly. “Excuse me?” The postal worker ignored him and her head regarded Christy. “Oh my! Did someone have an accident?” Christy turned so red she looked like she was sunburned. Her eyes went wide and she got a deer in the headlights looks. “Is it pee pee or poopy, honey?” No one replied. “Awww, don’t know? That’s very common at your age. Nothing to be ashamed of” “Our…age?” Brittney repeated, dumbfounded. “How old do you think we-?” Through the fear, the words in Tyler’s brain pierced through. Something was going on. This was a set up. A trap. This woman wasn’t a woman. She was a snake getting ready to strike, and they were four terrified little mice. Tyler eyed the bag on her shoulder the way a cowboy might eye a holster. He’d known of letter carriers to have bags full of letters, but not usually the ones in mail trucks. Bags were for foot routes. The bag wasn’t the same navy blue as the post woman’s shorts; not in the same dress code or uniform. Army people had camouflage backpacks; and mailmen had navy blue letter bags. This bag with its soft yellow fabric, like a baby chicken’s feathers, was adorned with pastel pictures of dancing teddy bears. It looked full to the point of bulging, but Tyler had a distinct feeling that it wasn’t filled with letters. “And it doesn’t look like any of you are dressed properly. Did your Mommies forget this morning?” She leaned over the bush, finger crooked like a fang and aiming for the back of Tyler’s shorts. “Hold still. Let me check.” He smacked her hand away as hard as he could. “DON’T! FUCKING! TOUCH! ME!” He roared. The others looked to him, shocked at his intensity. This is what happened to Tyler when the words got drowned out by emotion. Either everything that came out of him was very very quiet, or very very loud. The woman stood up straight, and zipped open the yellow bag. Tyler’s eyes took in the sight of folded up white rectangles packed tightly together and his brain fired up memories of preschool and before; of Christy’s stepmom prepping for an outing with her half-sister so that the two teenagers could make out on the couch in privacy. “Alright,” the giant said. “We can play it that way.” The giant pounced at them over the bush, a lioness tackling a gazelle. Tyler’s feet took off before her feet had left the ground, but flat feet and being less than a natural athlete counted against him. A hand clamped around Tyler’s ankle and yanked his feet out from under him. Tyler fell forward, the soft grass cushioning the blow, but not by much. Behind him the giant was on her belly with a hand locked around his ankle, and a mixture of rage and sadistic glee in her eyes. Ahead of him were his friends dashing away.across the yard and to the side off towards another lawn. “Gotcha!” The giant said, smiling malevolently “Come here.” The ground beneath Tyler scraped against him hard enough to leave pink rash marks. He felt the giant’s other hand come down between his shoulder blades, pinning him to the ground. “HEL-!” The other hand released his ankle only to thunder down on his backside. Words came to an end, replaced by pain and panic with two or three swats raining down on him. A weak, pathetic scream issued forth from Tyler’s mouth. It hurt so much! It was like he’d been tased or something. How could a spanking hurt this much? The sky came into view as Tyler was flipped over onto his back. The mail lady’s hand let up off his back just long enough to pin him down by his chest instead of his back. Without thinking, Tyler tried to sit up, but was held firm. Mjonir was on his chest. The giant used her free hand to peel off Tyler’s shoes. “No, no, no!” Tyler yelled. He wasn’t thinking, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t talk. Tyler could always talk. Even in his sleep. The giant grabbed his ankle again and pushed his hips up over his head. The hand on his chest released just long enough to deliver a few more blows that knocked the wind out of him. “No, no, no, no!” Tyler mouthed the words, but his throat and vocal chords weren’t cooperating. Tears welled up in his eyes and spilled forth from the agony. The two monstrous hands grabbed the loose waistband of his shorts and underwear in one go then roughly yanked them down his legs and tossed them into the grass. Naked save for his socks, Tyler cried out. “Stop!” He begged. “Please!” His words fell on deaf ears. On her knees the giant mail carrier dropped the yellow bag onto grass and yanked out what was unmistakably a diaper. Tyler’s knees were pinned up against his chest, keeping him immobile and helpless to do anything but watch as she flapped the diaper open. A light breeze blew across his ass while the diaper was slid underneath him. His hips came down on impossibly thick padding. He was in a sunny suburb while a giant was trying to put a humongous diaper on him. It should be silly, but Tyler had never been more afraid in his life. It made no sense. Tyler’s entire brain was seeing a blue screen of death. Through the haze of disbelief and terror, Tyler wished that he needed to pee, just squirt something into this bitch’s face. Fast hands pulled the diaper up over his privates, and quickly adjusted the front before reaching for the tapes in the back. Fatigued from a day of travel, crying, and worn out from the first ass whooping he could remember receiving, Tyler could only lay there while two tapes were pulled snugly over the front of the diaper, sealing him into his plastic backed prison. Plastic backed? Something like that didn’t sit right with him. “There,” the giant dusted her hands together. She leaned over him so that her head was directly over his. “I bet that feels so much-YAAAAAAAAH!” The giant flailed reeled back and clutched the side of her face. Two hands, two human size hands, grabbed Tylers and pulled him up to a standing position. Drew and Britney were there with him. They’d come back for him! Blood seeped out from between the giant’s fingers while she continued to scream in shock. Christy scrambled to her feet from her back. She’d been knocked down when the mail lady started screaming. She spit blood on the grass and wiped her mouth. The blood wasn’t Christy’s. Quiet and frail until she wasn’t. God Tyler loved this wife. “Come on!” Drew barked at him. “Run!” Tyler’s legs took over for his brain and started sprinting as fast as he could. Drew was right behind him, literally pushing him along. It was hard to run like this. The giant diaper forced his legs apart unnaturally. It was like running with a pillow between his thighs, and his feet flopped and flapped on the grass, lacking all form or technique as well as the protective sole of tennis shoes. “Garage!” Brittney yelled. “Go!” In no position to argue, Tyler’s body did as instructed, his socks pounding on the paved driveway. “Stop!” the giant called out after them. Tyler tried to look back, but Drew yelled, “Go! Go! Go!” pushing him forward. The intense heat of the sun lessened into a cool shade while the group ran into the artificial cave. “Trapped!” Tyler panted. He ran to the far side of the garage and peered out. The giant was up and picking her bag back up. “We gotta run!” His voice was ragged and cracking, but the acoustics of the garage carried his message all the same. Deep in the very back of the garage a set of steps led up to a door. The steps were scaled up like everything else in this mad place, and had a wooden handrail next to them that could have doubled as a balance beam. “There!” Christy pointed. Right by the door was what looked to be a hard plastic rectangle, mounted into the wall. “Garage door button!” It was true. They had one that looked just like it back at home. Drew tapped Tyler’s bicep lightly with the back of his hand. “Give me a boost.” The men ran to the base of the stairs. They were steep, but not so steep as to be unclimbable. They just didn’t have that kind of time. Tyler turned around and steadied his hands on his knees. That gave him a good enough view to see a bloodied and very angry giant started to march slowly towards the garage with murder in her eyes. “Hurry!” He felt Drew’s shoe land on his back and groaned in discomfort when his buddy jumped up off his back to climb onto the wooden handrail. The pain of getting old and doing stupid shit would be nothing compared to a second round of behemoth spankings. “Got it!” Drew punched the black rectangle. The garage door roared closed with stunning alacrity; the motorized mechanism speeding it down to a slam instead of the usual steady slow grind. It was a good thing too because the giant who had diapered Tyler couldn’t have been more than teen feet from the threshold. The four stayed where they were. Once more everyone was holding their breath. Grunting. The doors shook and jostled lightly, but otherwise did not move. Pounding thuds reverberated on the other side. “You little brats!’ The mail woman howled on the other side. “Open up!” A bit of tension left the four. No one thought they were safe, but the most immediate danger was barred. Drew plopped down, swung his legs out over the side of the handrail, and dropped to the uppermost step. He could just barely reach the doorknob. “I don’t think it’s locked.” A twist of the wrist proved his correction to be true. “Let’s go,” Tyler said, as if anyone needed to be ordered. The other three caught up to Drew by crawling up the stairs, one by one. Tyler was still huffing and puffing from the exertion. His body was sore and tired, and adrenaline only took him so far. “You okay, babe?” Christy asked. Not really. None of them were okay. Tyler breathily replied “Yeah” anyways. They crossed the threshold into the house proper. Christy and Brittney slammed the heavy door behind them and Drew and Tyler looked around. “Laundry room,” Tyler said. Not exactly a Sherlock Holmes level deduction, either. To their right were a washer and dryer. To their left was an empty laundry basket. The appliances were big enough to climb into, and any one of them could have hid in the basket simply by curling up at the bottom and piling some clothes on. “What the fuck was that?” Drew asked the group. “Yeah. Why was she talking to us like we were babies or something?” Brittney wondered aloud. “Why are the diapers still plastic?” Tyler said. For the second time his companions stared at him with a total lack of comprehension. Drew and Brittney turned their heads to Christy. “No idea,” she said. His brain had done the thing again. “Look at this,” he pointed to the thing wrapped around his waist. “It looks like something we might have worn when we were babies.” That was accurate enough. The monstrosity was bulky and crinkled everytime Tyler so much as fidgeted. It was plain white, save for just beneath the waistband where the tapes were secured. Along the diaper’s landing zone were pictures of green, blue, and pink monkeys tumbling and cuddling with bananas in a repeating pattern. The monkeys themselves looked to be wearing diapers too. The aesthetic was straight out of the late eighties and early nineties before every diaper had some well known cartoon character or another on them. “True,” Christy agreed. “When my little sister was in diapers, they were more like cloth and had velcro for tapes.” “So?” Brittney asked. “Why does that matter? A diaper’s a diaper.” “Drew said he saw a Honda Fit,” Tyler explained. “Modern car. Why would there be modern style cars but retro style diapers? Also, isn’t it weird that a mail lady was just carrying around a big ol’ diaper bag? Who does that?” All the talk of diapers made Christy look extremely uncomfortable. No big surprise, considering she was still in wet pants. “Who cares,” she said. “Just take it off.” Tyler felt heat rise up in his cheeks. “But then I’ll be naked.” “We kind of already saw everything,” Brittney softly admitted. She looked away. “Sorry.” “Would you rather be in a diaper?” “Oh yeah,” Tyler realized. “Point taken.” They’d find clothes later. Tyler grabbed the tapes at his waist and tugged. They didn’t budge. He tried again and got nothing for his effort. He shifted so that his hand was on one tape and his other was on the waistband for leverage. The tapes might as well have been welded on. “It’s too sticky.” he said. “Christy? A little help?” Christy reached down, tried her luck, and found none. “They’re not budging.” A dark thought burst forward from Tyler’s mouth. “Maybe this is why they’re plastic.” Drew had no luck helping. Neither did Brittney. “Can you pull them down like underwear?” She suggested. “Waistband’s too snug,” Tyler reported, frustration building up. “It’s like a goddamn finger puzzle. Pulling down just makes it tighter. Fuck it.” he said. “I guess I’m just in a diaper for now.” BING-BONG! The chime of a doorbell made the four of them jump. A pounding thud against wood and the sounds of a woman shouting demands. The giant who had put this thing on him had found the front door. “Let’s keep going,” Brittney said, taking charge as she tended to. “We need to find a back door, or a phone, or a computer, or some clothes for Christy and Tyler.” “Or scissors to cut this thing off,” Tyler interjected, pointing to the diaper. “Yeah or that. We’re not going to find any of that here. That lady might be crazy, but other than size-” “And diapers,” Tyler interjected again. Details like this might matter when it came to getting home. “Other than that,” Brittney said, a bit annoyed, “Things seem to be normal. Let’s look around.” They all walked out of the laundry room into a kitchen that might as well have been a ballroom. BING-BONG! BING-BONG! BING-BONG! THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD! “We need to hurry.” Christy said, nervously. “Gotta find something.” THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD! “If she’s knocking, it means she’s not in,” Tyler said. “Doesn’t mean she’s wrong,” Brittney reminded him. “Fair.” Tyler turned around slowly in a circle. “Which drawer do you think has the knives?” It would be good to have a weapon. A steak knife could feel like a short sword at this scale. The drawers were just above eye level. He walked over to the nearest one, waddling slightly because of how the diaper forced him to move, and pulled on it. It gave more than the tapes had, but not by much. Beside the drawer handle, there was an inlaid circle with a grip inside it going straight up and down. Tyler could just make out the shine of a metal flap sticking up; a latch preventing the drawer from being opened. BING-BONG! Tyler reached in and tried to rotate the grip, but it was just as stuck as the sticky tabs keeping him in baby underwear. “This drawer won’t open.” THUD-THUD-THUD! “This one won’t either.” Brittney said. BING-BONG! “Did you try the latch?” Christy suggested. BING-BONG! “Yup,” Drew called back. “It’s not working.” THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD! “Let’s keep moving,” Brittney suggested. “There’s got to be something we can use.” THUD-THUD-THUD! BING-BONG! The moment they crossed that threshold out of the kitchen and into the next room a thousand words sprung back into Tyler’s brain; all of them roughly expressing the same notion of regret in different metaphors and degrees. Out from the kitchen was what could generously be described as a living room. It had soft brown carpet, a worn looking but clean couch and a television. It also had foam floor tiles laid out in front of said television with alphabet letters and shapes on them. Right next to the tiles was an infant’s floor gym with a frame that could have been used for a tent. In the corner to the right of the couch was a walker big enough to fit any of them. To the left was an archway but barring their way forward was a baby mesh gate that someone would need parkour training to get over by themselves. The wall to their right had filing cabinet sized toy bins The wall to their left had a changing table they would have needed a ladder to reach the top; its lower shelves stacked full with diapers and wipes. Tyler stepped further in. When he turned around, he saw the four gigantic highchairs placed up against the wall closest to the kitchen. “We need to get out of here!” “Wait…” Brittney said. “Listen.” They collectively paused and held their breath. “I don’t hear any…” Tyler’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh god she’s stopped knocking!” “Maybe that means she’s gone away…” Christy said hopefully. The roaring mechanical sound of a garage door opening up suggested otherwise.

I'm sad that I didn't read this sooner. Incredibly well done and executed.

Yeah I'm fine. How are you? Correct. I release slowly and gradually, but everything eventually comes out. If someone doesn't want to subscribe, the only price is patience. (Though I hope I earn a few subscribers of course).

Chapter 158: Dis-Assembly Required I think it was a Tuesday. It might have been Wednesday, but it definitely wasn’t Thursday, so let’s say it’s Tuesday. I knew hijinks would abound as soon as Beouf plopped me into my spot on the communal high chair. The stage was set up again, but this time it didn’t look like it was for a photo shoot. Up on stage was a long table and two flat podiums, one on either side and upstage of the table. I couldn’t tell how solid any of them were due to the thick jet black sheets that were draped over them and hanging down to the floor. The podiums could have been as heavy as a debate lectern or as flimsy as a music stand, but I couldn’t tell because of the curtains that had been wafted over them. I had to wait until one of the Tweener ladies in the kitchen wheeled out our breakfast cart to get Beouf’s attention again. “What’s going on?” I indicated the stage. Beouf looked back over her shoulder for just a moment. “It’s called the ‘Lil’ show’,” she told me when she turned her head back around. “It’s a motivational show and fundraiser. Magic. Puppets. Jokes. That kind of thing.” She spooned some hot grits into my mouth. “They told us about it at the faculty meeting.” No. Wait. Faculty meetings usually happened on Tuesdays, so this was a Wednesday, actually. I swallowed and my eyelids went to half mast. “So time wasted and a vague and non-specific message of ‘Do your best, kids’?” Melony’s lips retreated behind her teeth as she suppressed a laugh. “Pretty much.” As per usual, we’d been near-last to breakfast and other than us and the Pre-K kids, no single grade level or classroom was represented. So it was no surprise that our conversation could be eavesdropped on. “How much time wasted?!” Billy asked from the other table. Beouf gave Shauna a bit of cinnamon applesauce. “About forty-five minutes.” Tommy jumped in, crumbles of dry toast falling onto his bib. “When?” “Just after breakfast,” Beouf replied. “But you can take your time, dear. Just eat up. No need to rush.” “Can we go?” Annie bleated out. “Or can we stay? Can we watch the show?!” Soon everyone else was clamouring to watch a stupid puppet and magic show, myself included. Some might call it sign of the advancement of my Maturosis, but I was just bored as hell of singing Yamatoan nursery rhymes every morning. We might be lucky enough to miss a few rotations of activity centers, so I wouldn’t have to lose to Ivy in another one of Beouf’s mind-bending psychology games. “Alright! Alright!” Hints of Beouf’s carefree cackling snuck themselves into her tone. “We’ll stay. We’ll stay. But nobody is getting a diaper change until we get back.” “YAAAAAY!” Several preschoolers looked over their shoulders at us from their table. I did my best to compact. I really hope the kids didn’t think we were cheering for staying in wet and messy diapers. Tracy and Jessica started telling their students about the show too, and ‘asking’ if they wanted to stay, as if they weren’t certain what the answer would be. Speaking of which, I realized that Zoge and Beouf had zero discussion with one another on the matter. I suddenly had a feeling that I’d accidentally made the sales pitch for them. A few minutes later our trays were being cleared away, but Beouf made no move to get the line leashes. “I don’t get it,” I said. “I thought between Winter and Spring Break was testing crunch time.” During the middle of my sentence, Zoge picked me up out of the bucket seat and stood me on top of the table so she could pull back my shorts and check for poop. “This is for Kindergarten through second,” Beouf said. I was put back down in my seat. “Oooooh!” I exclaimed. “Gotcha.” The early grades didn’t have such high-stakes testing. They could afford frivolous flights of fancy this time of year, and it was easier featuring a random performer with community theater-level talent than it was to coordinate transportation and permission slips for an actual field trip. Up on stage, I saw Amazons and Tweeners in all black trotting across the stage and making micro-adjustments to the set. Light mechanical humming signalled that a projection screen was being lowered. Custodial staff were busy mopping floors and wiping down tables. “What’s the catch?” I asked. “What’s the gimmick?” Brollish never made an administrative decision unless it benefited her, or she had no other choice. Beouf knew exactly what I was asking. “Order forms are going home in everybody’s backpack. Toys and dolls and souvenirs and stuff. School gets a cut of the profits.” “There it is,” I said. Zoge’s voice interrupted our conversation. “Found you!” I turned my head to see Chaz held in Zoge’s arms. “Found the stinky!” She carried him to the cart and dug out the emergency diaper bag while our peers snickered to one another. “I thought you said we got to wait!” Chaz whined, his cheeks burning. “Wet? Yes. Stinky? No.” And that was the end of Chaz’s dignity per diem. He flopped over in Mrs. Zoge’s grasp and laid his head on her shoulder. Melony leaned in close to me and teasingly whispered. “Don’t worry, I’ll be happy to ‘forget’ to give your Mommy one.” I snorted. “Good. Thanks.” Then, in just as much of a conspiratorial tone as her, I whispered back. “I’m still gonna make fun of this over coffee later.” “Oh, I know, hon.” “Good.” The blow fans blasted on with the opening of the cafeteria door, and a tiny hurricane of Kindergarteners shuffled in and bolted for the empty and clean tables as their teacher tutted and shouted for the tiny impulse machines to walk instead of running and to stay in a straight line. Right on their tails was another Kindergarten class. And another. And another. Then all of the first graders. Then second grade. “Morning, Mrs. B!” One of the kindergarten teachers waved from the entrance. “Morning!” Beouf called back. “Are your babies joining ours?” “Yup!” “Wonderful! Your class is always so well behaved! They’ll be great examples for mine!” A platoon of five- and six-year-olds glared at us, competitive flames burning behind their eyes. They didn’t want to be outdone by a bunch of Littles. “Enjoy the show!” Beouf hollered. “You too!” The old me would have flipped his shit at being referred to as a ‘baby,’ but my faceless ex-coworker got a pass simply because she referred to her own students as such. It was a term of endearment, not demotion. That, and our basic competence at sitting down and shutting the fuck up had been acknowledged, which was something of a rare treat for me. Yes, the bar was that low. Chaz was brought back unceremoniously just before the main festivities began. Brollish clip-clopped across the stage, her crimson hooves disguised as ruby-red flats, and she was wearing her best ‘person’ costume. That was odd; I could have sworn she preferred to glide across the ground carried by a mist composed of damned souls. Perhaps now that the days were getting longer again, her power was beginning to wane and she was conserving energy. She grabbed a microphone and tapped it. “Good morning, students!” Brollish called out. “Good morning, everyone!” “Good morning,” the assembled students said in near unison. Only Ivy and Sandra-Lynn called out with them. The old monster’s voice was dripping with condescension as she said, “I can’t hear you! Let’s try that again. Good morning, everyone!” “GOOD MORNING!” I rolled my eyes and groaned to myself. Oldest trick in the book. Even Brollish could mask long enough to warm up this crowd. Next thing she’d be inviting them to come and eat her house made entirely of gingerbread. “We have some very special guests today,” Brollish said. “This show has been performed all over the world for kids just like you, and I know you’re going to be a wonderful audience for them and represent Oakshire Elementary to the best of your ability. So let’s remember to have fun, but to be respectful. Now it pleases me to introduce you to our presenter,” she stopped and looked at an index card in her palm. “Martiiiiiin!” A new Amazon, a man in rainbow-colored shirt and suspenders, jogged on stage. “Thank you, thank you, Mrs. Brollish! And hello to you, too, kids! I’m Martin. And this…” he paused, “is the ‘Lil Show’!” He was met with a smatter of disorganized applause, and Brollish slithered off stage. “Now ‘LIL’ actually stands for something. Do you know what it means?” All through the cafeteria, hands shot up into the air and calls of “Me-me-me-me-me!” sounded off, including my classmates. Would that I could work my will, I would have had Billy be called on simply because he was sure to say something inappropriate and hilarious. No one was called on, however. The presenter was just going along with a script. The projector screen above and behind him flickered to life, and deep purple letters on a black background zoomed into view: L I L Like a professional huckster, he kept his sales pitch going. “‘LIL’ is actually a way to remember the three most important things you need to do to be successful in school here. ‘LIL’ actually stands for…” More words slid in beside the initial letters. L- Listen I- Integrate L- Learn “Listen. Integrate. And Learn.” Melony had taken a seat right next to me so as not to block anyone’s view. We exchanged knowing looks and smirked. Martin was going to be giving me plenty of material for this afternoon. “I’m going to be doing some magic tricks and telling you guys some really neat stories. But before we do all that, I’m going to need some help from my friends. Would you like to meet them?” Scattered “Yeahs” responded with good humor and mild curiosity, if not full throated enthusiasm. “I can’t heeeear you! Do you wanna meet my friends?” “YEAH!” I sighed. This was going to be a long assembly, I feared. “Then let’s bring them out!” Two of the Tweener stage hands quick-walked on stage carrying two humanoid puppets, a boy and a girl. The girl’s felty flesh was dyed lime green, which made her orange ping-pong nose and bright red yarn hair really pop out on her face, and it oddly complimented the purple dress she was wearing. The boy was light blue and bald headed, with little black dots to give the appearance of hair follicles. He wore a red shirt and dark overalls. On the periphery of my vision, I saw Chaz getting elbowed and teased. There was a decided resemblance. The puppets were deposited on the covered podiums and left slumped over, their boneless bodies enabling them to rest their faces comfortably on their capless knees. “Everybody, these are my friends Lil’ Bill and Lil’ Jill!” There was faint snickering coming from the other Littles’ table, and I heard Zoge shushing my classmates. Annie had a positively evil look in her eye, and Billy didn’t look half as smug as he usually looked. I had a good feeling that Billy was gonna have a rough day of teasing after this and, petty bitch that I was, I was absolutely looking forward to it. “Everybody say, ‘Hi Lil’ Bill’!” “HI LIL’ BILL!” “And say, ‘Hi Lil’ Jill’!” “HI LIL’ JILL!” With the main presenter nowhere close to either one of them, the puppets came to life and sat up all by themselves. “Hi guys!” A nasally, high-pitched voice spewed out of the speakers. It was the kind of voice that grown men used when they were trying to do an impression of a child. The girl puppet, voiced by one of the squeakiest women I’ve ever heard, leaned forward and inclined its head towards the Kindergarteners in the front row. “Oh wow! Look at all these big kids!” “Oh yeah!” The boy puppet remarked. “They’re incredibly big! I think I even see some first and second graders! That’s super big!” Hoots and hollers came from the seven- and eight-year-olds, as if their home team had been referenced at a sporting event. “I thought we were doing a show for little kids! Babies!” “No, no, no.” The main presenter chuckled. “This isn’t the Little Show. This is the Lil Show. It’s all about ‘Listening’-” “Oh no wait!” The girl puppet interrupted. “There they are! Over to the side near the exit!” One green felt hand waved over at us. “HIIIIIIII!” I blinked and leaned back in surprise. How did they do that? Animatronics? Were there cameras in their quite literally beady little eyes? Were there puppeteers hiding underneath the lecterns, or were they voiced off stage somewhere? I tried to look around and see if I could spot anyone in the back or off to the side with a microphone or something. This was some Muffets-level technique and technology. “Nope nope nope!” The puppet said, singling me out and noticing my search. “We’re over here, dear! Over here! Hiiiiiii!” Evidently that was hilarious. “Welcome to the Lil Sh-!” The puppet was cut off when the presenter shoved a binky that could be seen from space into her holeless mouth. “Mmmmph! Mmmmph!” “HAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” To everyone whose voices hadn’t changed yet, this was peak comedy. The cafeteria buzzed with raucous laughter. “Remember, Lil’ Jill, the first L in ‘LIL’ stands for ‘Listen.’ We need to learn to listen more and talk less, so that our teachers can do their jobs!” Melony’s hand shot out and squeezed mine. I turned to look at her and she gave me something of a warning look. ‘Please control your temper’, her face silently pleaded, ‘just this once.’ So I did. With the girl puppet momentarily pacified, the presenter crossed the stage to the boy puppet. Right on cue the blue hued doll laughed it up. “Ha! Good one Martin! That really shut her up!” Gasps of surprise sounded from the front row. The bar for cursing is incredibly low at that age. “Ah ah ah, Lil’ Bill, remember. The second part about LIL is ‘Integrate.’ That means getting along with everybody and going with the flow, even if you’d rather do your own thing.” “Who cares about that! I’m great all by myself! I don’t need anybody telling me what to do!” From behind the stand, the Amazon on stage produced a brown paper bag. “You’ll have to excuse Lil’ Bill. He hasn’t had his breakfast yet and he gets a little hangry!” Then he reached into the bag and pulled out a white baby bottle that was bigger than the bag, with a yellow nipple on top that would have required me to unhinge my jaw to nurse on. “Let me give him his breakfast first!” The bottle was almost as big as him, but he shoved the tip into the puppets’ mouth. A second or so later, the opaque white layer inside the bottle started to lower and collapse in on itself, leaving only a clear cylinder. The puppet was drinking! A couple of the second graders exclaimed in amazement, realizing just how impressive the illusion was. The thunderous belch sealed the deal and had everyone who wasn’t us in stitches. “And, of course, the third part of LIL is for ‘Learning’. Because if you can’t learn…” he crossed the stage, took the overly large pacifier out of the girl puppet’s mouth, and with a flourish transformed it into a bouquet of roses. “...you can’t grow.” “I don’t need to learn!” the girl puppet said. “I know everything I need to know already!” “Oh really? What grade are you in, Lil’ Jill?” the presenter asked. “Um…I’m not…in school, perchance…” The squeaky puppet bowed her head bashfully. “Oh, do you mean you’ve already graduated?” “Um…not exactly…” “Lil’ Jill,” the presenter asked, “can you sing your ABC’s for me?” She sang the entire melody, but after ‘G’ she looped back around to ‘A’ every time. “Nooooo!” came laughing protests from the Kindergarteners. “And Lil’ Bill? Can you count for me? Starting with one?” “Uh…one….another one…another one…another one!” The middle row of first graders were all covering their mouths to hide their giggles. I caught several boys pointing up at the puppet and leaning over to whisper to one another. The kids’ playground and P.E. field was about to have a new favorite joke for the rest of the week. “See, boys and girls?” the presenter asked. “If you don’t listen, integrate, and learn, you never really grow up, do you?” The response was immediate and practically unanimous. “NOOOOOOOO!” “That’s right!” He smiled. “You either learn to do LIL or you stay lil’.” Oh gods. The only thing that could have made this worse was if there had been a spiraling disk or flashing signals on the projection screen. Some form of hypnosis or subliminal messaging might have dulled the cringe. This was just pure indoctrination. Nearby, Tracy and Jessica were whispering something to one another. Jessica nodded and Tracy quietly trotted over so she could whisper something to Zoge. “Lil’ Bill and Lil’ Jill haven’t done a very good job of listening, integrating, and learning,” the Amazon man prattled on. “But maybe…just maybe…with your help, and a tiiiiiny bit of magic, we can help them get on the right track so they can grow up big and smart! What do you say, guys?” “YEAH!” Melony’s hand squeezed my wrist. “I CAN’T HEEEEAR YOU!” I twisted my hand around so I could squeeze back. “YEEEEEEAH!” Before the noise had died down, I was being lifted out of the bucket seat and being set down on my own two feet. The same thing was happening to the rest of my class. I walked around to the front of the table and witnessed all of Jessica and Tracy’s kids quietly pushing in their chairs and walking for the exit. Jessica was already posted by the cafeteria door and holding a button so that the blow fans wouldn’t turn on when Tracy opened the door and shooed the kids out of the cafeteria. We were next. “Come on,” Beouf said just loud enough for me to hear. “Let’s get out of here.” All twelve of us, counting Beouf and Zoge, hustled out of there as fast as we could, and we didn’t stop until we were back in the quiet safety of our classroom. It was the first and possibly only time that we traveled the campus without having to hold hands or be leashed up in some way. At least we skipped Circle Time, I guess… ************************************************************************************************************ “That. Sucked.” I told Melony right after she’d changed me and given me my afternoon Decaf. My oldest friend took her seat. “Tell me about it.” She sipped her coffee. “I am so sorry about that.” I took a slurp of my own. “Not your fault,” I said. “It’s not like you could have known.” “The ignorance of some people is still astounding,” Melony’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Experiencing Maturosis is not a failing or a shortcoming.” She nodded to me. “You’re smarter than half the faculty.” Then into her mug she said, “Though that’s not saying a whole lot some days.” “They never said those puppets were Littles.” I wasn’t defending the abominable propaganda. I was pointing out a technicality. Without any other ‘babies’ or Amazons to scale to, it was impossible to prove that the characters were anything but puppets. “Yeah,” Beouf groaned. “I know. But everybody knew they were supposed to be.” “But they’ve got plausible deniability, and a bunch of kids now think that if they don’t conform then they’re pretty much just dumb babies.” I thudded my forehead on the kidney table and left it there. “Typical.” “Yeah.” Beouf agreed. “Typical.” I kept my head down, partially because I’d accidentally given myself a headache, and partially because I didn’t want to look Melony in the eye while I was saying what I was about to say. “I used to think I made a difference. I thought that if I was a good example and was a positive influence, my kiddos would grow up knowing that Littles could be just as grown-up as anybody else.” “You did.” Melony reached across the table and gently petted the back of my head. “Solstice? Remember?” “Yeah, but what about the others?” I took a breath. “And it’s not like I’ve had a hundred percent success rate.” “Nobody does.” I was determined to stew in my despair, no matter how right she was. “Just…one or two years with me near the beginning doesn’t necessarily override twelve or thirteen years with everybody else.” “Nope,” Melony agreed. “But we take the time we have with them, and do the best we can.” I picked my head up. “And my time is done.” Beouf had no words of comfort for me there. Saying otherwise would very likely go against her core belief. Or so I thought. “Not…necessarily…” I cocked my eyebrow. “The hell you say?” Beouf licked her lips and it wasn’t to get a few stray droplets of coffee. “The high school starts and ends later than here. A couple of teachers over there have been begging me to take some volunteers first thing in the morning before classes start. Think it’ll give some real world experience or something. I always say no, because teaching them our routines and such would be just mean more work for me finding them something to do.” I nodded. “Heard.” I’d politely turned down similar opportunities over the years for similar reasons. That, and every additional Amazon in my room felt like a risk I couldn’t afford to take. “Buuuuut….” my friend smirked. “Maybe you and I can teach them something else…?” I held my breath. Was Melony Beouf saying what I think she was saying? “What do you say, Mr. Grange? Think you can dig down in your block tower and help me make a lesson plan? Wanna help me mess with some kids in their terrible teens?” I stood up so fast I accidentally kicked my chair over. “I don’t even need to dig that far!” Her full-throated crazy witch cackle came out, just like in the old days when we were talking about getting drunk over Spring Break and I was walking as fast as I could just to keep up. “I thought you might say that!”

Some rules (a lot of rules) are implicit and not explicitly explained. Just call or refer to the titles as "Mommy" and "Mom" and "Mother" in the correct context and trust yourself and your readers to pick up on that context. If you need to give further context, just do it as a narrative aside. Example: My mother (she wasn't my mommy, never my mommy when she was like this) sniffed distastefully.

Warning. It's gonna be DARK

Drew The trip odometer rolled to 1014. Wow. Already over a thousand miles into their road trip and it felt like they just started. The dashboard clock and starry night sky said otherwise. So did Drew’s body. “So what do you think?” Tyler said. Drew stifled a yawn out of politeness. “Hm?” Tyler said. “What was that bud?” “The Star Wars Theory,” Tyler said, with a hint of confusion and hurt. “That Jar Jar Binks is a Sith Lord?” Drew ran his hand through his light brown, reddish hair; not that there was much left. He was still closer to thirty than to forty, but his hairline didn’t know the difference. Drew kept everything on top buzzed short so that one could always see his scalp and made up the difference with his beard. It wasn’t at hillbilly levels, but it was thick enough that he genuinely didn’t remember what his chin and cheek looked like anymore. “Was he, though?,” Drew asked. “I don’t remember that.” Tyler narrowed his eyes, suspiciously. “Not officially,” he said. “It’s just a fan theory.” Tyler looked confused and exasperated. They’d been friends for many years, but the pair were constantly prone to miscommunication. This was because Drew had something of a naturally flat monotone in his inflection along with a serious case of resting stoned face; even while sober. He was excellent at bluffing in poker. His dry sense of humor, and love of trolling caused the lightest bit of friction between himself and his found family. He loved pretending to misunderstand things and have people have to repeat and over explain themselves. The building frustration and then annoyed relief when he said “I’m just fuckin’ with you” was like poetry. That kind of trolling was the height of comedy to him. He’d once ad-libbed a long elaborate joke with zero point to it and strung everyone along for close to ten minutes. The punchline had been, “No, no, Clown. Fuck you.” He’d been the only one to laugh because the point of the joke was to waste everyone’s time in listening to it and have an underwhelming punchline. The failure was what made it funny. The downside of being a perpetual boy who cried wolf is that Britney, Tyler, and Christy were constantly wondering if any given misunderstanding or long story on his part was just another set up for a stupid joke only he really got. “Are you fucking with me right now?” Tyler asked. “No, bud,” Drew shook his head. “Sorry. I just zoned out for a second. Kinda tired.” The sun hadn’t been up when they started this morning, and it was back down again. “Oh shit,” Tyler took on a worried and apologetic tone. “Do you want to pull over? I can drive if you ne-.” “No thanks,” Drew shook his head. “I’m good. So what were you saying? Jar Jar? Sith?” Tyler opened his mouth to start again, and blanched, likely wondering whether Drew was being polite or not. “You sure?” “Yeah, bud. Go ahead.” In so many ways the two men were complimentary opposites of one another. Tyler wasn’t completely clean shaven, but only broke out a razor once or twice a week; leaving his face with a nigh perpetual five o’clock shadow. His light blonde hair with green highlights was messy and unkempt most days. His features were rounder than Drew’s, too, though he carried it well enough to not seem fat. It’s just that as they aged out of their twenties and into their thirties, Tyler’s metabolism had slowed down but his dietary choices hadn’t gotten the memo quite yet, even though his waistline certainly was starting to catch on. Conversely, Tyler was talkative, expressive, and an easy read. He was also something of a hyperactive geek. If anyone let him, he’d ramble for hours about different cartoons, comics, movies; whatever people allowed him to talk about, really. Listening to Tyler talk was easy. Getting a word in edgewise once he started was the challenge. He wasn’t self-absorbed or rude; his mind just wouldn’t stay still once it started up. Over the years, Tyler had become aware of that fact, and was now becoming self-conscious. There were times when Drew could tell that Tyler was holding back a torrent of useless trivia like a little kid trying and failing to keep a secret. Britney thought Tyler probably had undiagnosed ADHD, but had confided to her husband that she didn’t think it was her place to say. Tyler was fairly sensitive, after all. Always had been since they were kids. Speaking of Britney, Drew’s wife tapped him on the shoulder from the backseat. “Babe? Maybe we should pull over.” Shorter and plumper with big hips, and long billowing raven hair, Brittney was group’s designated ‘Mom Friend’. Every group had one, and Britney excelled in her role. Objectively speaking, ‘Mom Friend’ was just another way of saying ‘leader without leading’. Britney planned and prepared everything. She’d introduced Tyler and Christy to one another back in highschool; planned both sets of weddings; and was the driving force for pretty much every outing, double date, and group vacation the four friends undertook, including this one. Now that they were all very much adults, Britney was the primary driving force behind their friendships doing something other than fading into nostalgia. When Britney wanted something done, it got done. It got done in the nicest, softest, gentlest, most diplomatic way possible, but it was going to get done. All Drew had to do was accept that, and help her make it happen while ensuring that her own ambition didn’t stress her out. Drew let out another yawn. “I think I’ve got another hour or two in me,” he said. “We’ve driven for longer, right?” “Yeah,” Tyler said. “When we were kids. We’re getting old dude.” A soft smile crept up from Drew’s chin. That wasn’t that long ago. Also, the man had just been giving a thesis on why a cartoon rabbit was actually supposed to be the main villain of a movie he hadn’t watched since before his voice cracked. “I might have to pee,” Christy chirped in. “So pulling over might become a necessity.” Drew stopped an annoyed grunt. Christy always had to pee. Tyler’s wife might as well have the bladder of a four year old. It wasn’t her fault. When you had to go, you had to go. They just would have made better time if Christy didn’t need to piss every two hours. Christy was technically the youngest, but only by a year. The way she naturally looked and dressed exaggerated the difference. Like Drew, she was skinny, though not as boney as he. She kept her light brown hair short in a bob cut, and dressed in comfortable rainbow colored clothes. The breast reduction surgery she’d had a few years ago had helped her with her back problems. From the wrong angle, it made her look like she was thirteen and not thirty. Until she opened her mouth and spoke. Christy wasn’t as loquacious as her partner, but there was a good chance when she opened her mouth, that she’d say something either oddly poignant or darkly, comedically inappropriate. She’d been best friends with Britney since elementary school, the story went, practically right out of diapers. When she’d developed a crush on Tyler in highschool, some matchmaking had occurred via Britney, resulting in a positively adorkable couple that had stayed strong through over a decade. Then Drew had come across them in college and the trio had become a quartet. “Come on, babe,” Britney gently coaxed. “We covered a lot of ground. You did good today. Let’s get some sleep.” “Yeah,” Tyler agreed. “Let’s look for a hotel or something.” His eyes were already scanning the highway. Britney had declared it. Tyler knew what was up. “Yes,” Christy agreed. “Hotel. Hotel good.” She was jittering in the backseat. Nerves or just a nervous bladder? Was there a difference? “Kind of cramped. Tired. Overstimulated.” It had been a while since any of them had slept in a car. They were a little bit older and just a little bit softer. Drew was too. He just didn’t want to admit it. For all the freedom they now had, it could be hard not being in highschool sometimes. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s start looking.” Spending a couple hours horizontally would do his body good. It also meant he didn’t have to grapple with somebody else driving. Tyler was a terrible driver. “You okay?” Britney asked so gently that even in the car, only he could hear. “Yeah.” Drew said. Britney reached her hand forward and he gave it a kiss. “Just tired.” “Let’s get some sleep.” Tension rose half an hour later. They’d picked the wrong stretch of interstate to get exhausted. “Do you think transporter technology like in Star Trek is actual teleporting?” Tyler mused. “Or do you think it’s like, it kills you, clones you, and puts the clone somewhere else?” Tyler never was very good with silences. “How would the clone have your memoirs? Britney asked. She was humoring him. Trying to keep the peace by giving him someone to geek-splain to. “Your memories and stuff are just little wrinkles on your brain. If it constructs you atom by atom, same wrinkles, same mem-” “Sweetheart,” Christy cut him off. “I have to pee.” “Got it.” Tyler gulped. “Looking.” Drew’s eyes honed in on an exit sign. Lodging! “Found one!” He slammed on the accelerator so hard he could almost smell the burning rubber. They took the exit and a sharp right turn into an empty motel lot. Drew threw the car into park and exhaled. He really was tired. He’d really thought he could make it eighteen hours on the road and had crapped out at just around fifteen. Dang it sucked getting old. “Are we sure it’s open?” Britney asked. “I don’t see any other cars. And the lights are all out. “They better be,” Christy said, “Or I’m pissing behind the dumpster!” “I’ll go check,” Drew said. There was a front area with a large glass window. It was also the only place that had a working overhead light. That was most likely where he was going to get a key, if this place wasn’t abandoned. He opened up the door and stepped out, leaving the keys in the ignition. “Be back in a second.” “We’re not going anywhere,” Tyler called back. Drew flashed a thumbs up but kept walking. The glass was heavily tinted and unnecessarily wide. It reminded Drew of a drive through bank teller window, without the pneumatic tubes. The little red button connected to a speaker, added to the parallels. He pushed the button. BZZZZZT! “Hello?” A gravelly, static crackling voice called back over the speaker. “What do you want?” Drew felt himself tense up. Wasn’t it obvious? He probably just woke a night clerk up or something. “Yeah. I’m looking to get a room for the night.” “How many?” “Four,” Drew said. He held up his fingers, incase his voice wasn’t coming across the intercom clearly. “Rooms? Four rooms?” The unseen clerk asked. “No, no, no.” Drew shook his head. “Four people.” “How old?” That was a weird question. “No kids. Just adults.” There was a pause of about thirty seconds. Then Drew heard the squealing squeaking of metal. He looked down and flap had opened up beneath the window, like a mailbox. In it was a single motel key. “Okay. Here you go.” Drew didn’t reach in. “Um…what about money?” “Money?” The drawer closed. “Yes. Card please.” “How much?” Drew asked, reaching for his wallet. “Five…?” “Five hundred?” Drew gasped. This dump wasn’t worth five hundred bucks a night. “No. Not five hundred. One hundred…and five. Sorry. Bad transmission. The drawer squeaked open again. “Pay here.” Drew took out his credit card and dropped it in. “Do you want my I.D. or anything?” “No,” the voice crackled back. A second later, the drawer creaked open again, now with the key. “Here’s your key.” Drew was puzzled. What was going on with this asshole? “What about my card?” The drawer closed and opened yet again. “Okay. Here’s the key and card.” Drew reached in and grabbed both. “You ran it? The card?” “Ran? Yes.” “Do you need me to sign anything?” “No. You’re fine. Now go to bed. Room 1.” Had he been ten years younger, Drew might have raised a bigger stink about the man behind the glass’s tone. As things stood, he was tired, and just wanted to sleep. He didn’t care. Asshole might be the only person running the joint. As this wasn’t a Waffle House, and Drew didn’t want to get shot from behind tinted glass, he took the key, shut his mouth and went back to the car. “Room?” Britney asked. “Yup,” Drew said. “Got one.” “How big?” Tyler asked. “I told the guy there were four of us. This is what he gave me.” Drew pulled around in the empty parking lot in front of the first room. “But is it like, two beds?” Tyler asked. Drew shrugged. “Probably.” Most motels had a standard two queens. He cut the engine and got back out. Christy stopped fidgeting, and grinned big and toothy like a horse. “It’s gonna happen...” Tyler smacked his forehead. “Stop saying that!” He whined. He got out of the front seat and opened the door for his wife. “What?” Christy giggled. Suddenly able to ignore her bladder. “It’s gonna happen.” “Christy,” Britney moaned, exhausted. “It’s not going to happen. Just give it up.” “No,” Christy said. “One day we’re all just gonna get naked in front of each other. It’s going to happen. I don’t even mean sex or anything. We’re just all gonna be nuuuuude.” This prediction had leapt out of Christy’s mouth on her twenty-first birthday, and she’d never let it go. Drew had his odd duck sense of humor. Christy had hers. “Yeah,” Drew said. “Maybe. Not tonight though. Come on. Let’s sleep.” Christy trotted up to the door, resuming her potty dance. “First pee. Then sleep.” Britney followed behind him. “You know, it doesn’t have to be that order…” she teased. “Ew, no!” Christy was also something of a germaphobe. “Gross.” Britney pressed her attack. “Just saying. Babies do it all the time. Very efficient. Maybe we’re doing it wrong.” Christy shook her head. “Just let me pee!” Tyler brought up the rear. “Dibs on the best one,” he called. “Whichever one that is that I decide.” It was meant to be a joke…not all jokes landed. Most of Tyler’s didn’t. Gathered on the stoop of the motel room, Drew inserted the key into the lock turned it, and pushed open the door. Like an atomic bomb, a flash of light engulfed the quartet, and with it a strange moistureless cold, like the vacuum of space ran over their skin. It lasted for less than as second but it was the kind of chill that lingered after. “FUCK!” Drew cursed, rubbing his eyes. The hell was that? Some kind of motion sensor connected to a couple of high beams? “JESUS!” More than just the light had changed. It was hotter all of a sudden. Brighter. It felt like the sun was on their skin. Birds chirped and squirrels chittered. Sounds of car engines humming and horns honking signaled in the periphery, as did lawnmowers. The smell of grass filled their nostrils. It was daylight, and they were outside. “The fuck was that?” Tyler spoke up after much groaning and grunting. “Why is it daylight?” “Guys?” Britney said. Drew blinked away the fuzziness. More than the time was wrong. There were rows of houses and picket fences. They’d gone from a roadside motel next to the highway into the middle of suburbia. “Where are we?” Drew thought asking out loud might get him an answer. It didn’t make any sense. There was no rational explanation. “Did we get teleported?” Tyler asked. “Am I a clone?” “Not funny dude.” “Sorry. “Guys?” Britney said again. “What?” Drew asked, trying to hold onto his calm. “What’s wrong, babe?” “Why is everything so big?” Britney cut to the heart of the matter. There were houses and front porches, and lawns with gnomes, but they all seemed much, much bigger than they should. Drew took a couple steps forward, to see if it was a trick of the light or forced perspective. Chain link could have been closer to rock climbing walls at the gym. The empty street was a gray asphalt river. The houses all seemed like they were only one story, structure wise, but everyone was still unconsciously craning their necks. Ten steps forward, and ten steps back, and the eerily pleasant neighborhood seemed no less huge. “Is it big?” Tyler wondered. He jogged up to a bush that went up to just above his head. “Or did we shrink?” He looked at his clothes and his hands, as if that would help anything. “Help!” Christy squeaked. The other three whirled around. Christy was standing in the exact spot she’d found herself in after Drew opened the door. Everyone else had paced or moved or turned around and taken in the bizarre sights. Christy hadn’t, and it was evident from the puddle at her feet. “I…I peed!”

I like to do a lot of silly off-brand humor jokes in Unfair to make up for all the angst and dystopian setting. One such throwaway line was the classic horror movie "The Invisible Littles", aka Invisible Man meets 3 kids in a trench coat joke. Then @cipher12 made this poster on my discord! Worldbuilding Achievement: Unlocked! (Reposted with permission.)

Chapter 157: Powerless It is my personal and professional opinion, as a Little, that Littles are naturally adept at surfing. I’ve never been on a surfboard in my life, I hate saltwater, and I am a mediocre swimmer at best. But I think I would be an excellent surfer. Surfing involves limited choice, luck, lack of agency, balance, and a degree of stubbornness and willingness to do something completely impractical. You don’t create tasty waves, you have to find them. You don’t command the surf, you just have to let the wave take you. You do not control the ocean, you can only hope to control your responses to the onslaught of saltwater it hurls at you. And if you do it right, you can look really, really, cool for a couple of minutes. Also, swim diapers and water wings don’t impair you nearly as much as you’d think when compared to swimming. The one bad part about surfing- if my limited knowledge garnered mostly from television and movies is to be believed- is that the places with the best waves are often home to the biggest sharks. It was that Friday, end of the first week after returning from Winter Break. Report cards and progress reports were going home. Little did we suspect that the students weren’t the only ones being monitored and reported on. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” Brollish said, taking her seat at her desk. “Please close the door.” “Of course,” Janet said, balancing me on her hip. It’s not like she had a choice. The school day had just ended and Beouf had handed me over to my Mommy for a quick hug at the bus loop when the old witch materialized out of nowhere and asked to see us. Both of us. Uh oh. What had I done now? I searched my memory, but outside of calling Winters and Sosa out on their bullshit the other day, I had genuinely tried to be good; or at least not actively bad. But Winters and Sosa wouldn’t go to Brollish, would they? Skinner, maybe, but I always had the feeling that the odd couple followed a kind of code where tattling to the Principal would be seen as giving up, (and both giantesses were particularly stubborn). Had I been particularly difficult with Skinner this week? Had I even had Speech this week? Fuck. What did I do? Beouf offered to join us as a union representative as soon as the buses were loaded, but Janet declined. I was too caught off guard to try and change anybody’s mind. It certainly didn’t make me feel any better when the old banshee smiled and said, “I’ve already sent you an email about it.” The most unsettling part was that this time the smile actually reached her eyes. Janet closed the office door and took a seat. I squished on her lap for only a millisecond when she said, “Whoops! Almost forgot. Mrs. B doesn’t usually change you until after the buses leave.” She stood me up on her lap and lifted the hot pink sweater I’d been wearing all day up past my belly button so that she could pull back the waistband of my diaper. The day was actually cold, the Wreck Room’s cleaning bot had destroyed my fleecy romper and all of the spare clothes were meant for warmer weather. The only thing available in the front office Lost and Found was a sweater meant for an Amazon child. I had to roll the sleeves up, but otherwise, it was a very warm smock dress on me. Honestly? Not my thing, but I think I kind of pulled it off. I could have thrown a tantrum, but my diaper was completely obscured without so much of an outline peeking through, it didn’t constrict so I was still able to run around on the playground, I was warm and didn’t need a blanket for nap time, and when Billy tried to taunt me for wearing a dress he was left completely flabbergasted when I just nodded and said “Yes. And?”. Like I said, I think I’d be pretty awesome at surfing. Good times. “That’s fine,” the demon purred. “This won’t take long.” It was a Friday afternoon, and Brollish was likely eager to start her weekend routine of prowling cancer wards for bone marrow. Or maybe not. She might have been on a diet. Janet didn’t let that stop her from checking me. “You’re soggy,” she told me as if I didn’t know, “but not stinky. We can wait a while.” She pulled the borrowed sweater back down to my shins and sat me back on her lap. I had the feeling Janet was playing her own game here; showing how unconcerned she was. That or she was afraid and going into a kind of autopilot to feel in control. What was a private and unscheduled meeting with one’s boss if not the adult emotional equivalent of a sudden unsolicited diaper check? “So what’s up?” She asked the mummified eater of children’s foreskins and purveyor of misery. Brollish folded her hands on her desk and sat up a little bit straighter. “Ms. Grange,” she said. “I’ve decided to put you on a Professional Improvement Plan to help you improve your pedagogy.” All of the oxygen fled the room. I felt Janet’s grip on me go slack even as her heart quickened and thundered in the worst, most horrible way. For context, a Professional Improvement Plan is a fancy way of documenting complaints and professional failings of a given teacher. In a way, it’s a bit like how I.E.P.s are used for Littles. It’s supposedly a way to measure someone’s development and meet their needs; but really it’s just creating a paper trail to prove that they deserve to be treated poorly. The school district insisted that Professional Improvement Plans were meant to aid struggling teachers through analysis and recommendations regarding best practices, but in ten years I’d never seen or heard of a teacher getting anything but fired for not meeting their plan. Brollish was calling my Mommy a bad teacher, and was initiating steps to fire her; steps that could be very difficult for even union contracts to work around or prevent. “Excuse me?” Janet finally found her voice. “I haven’t even had a formal evaluation yet. And last year’s test scores were above average.” Janet did not raise her voice, but Brollish still held one hand out in a defensive posture as if to tell my Mommy to calm down. “And those will be taken into consideration, too,” the gaslighting old crone pretended to assure us. “And I know that you weren’t satisfied with your evaluation last year. That’s one of the reasons why we’re doing this plan together. That way maybe you can get a better one this year.” My whole body started to burn. I didn’t need the oversized sweater to keep warm anymore. If Brollish had thrown in talks about maturity or Maturosis or diapers she’d be talking to Janet like she was a Little. I heard Janet’s teeth grinding in her skull. “May I ask what specifically is leading you to starting this plan?” She was maintaining her composure but there was no hiding the edge of defensiveness in her voice. “It’s just that if I was in need of help that badly I thought I would have heard about something earlier; not halfway through the school year. It’s just…” she finished the sentence with “...confusing.” but I knew in my heart of hearts that she really meant ‘suspicious’. Brollish unfolded her hands and opened a drawer. Uh oh. That was never good. On her desk she placed a spreadsheet on her desk and slid it over to Janet. “This is a printout of your students’ grades this year for the last two report cards. Pay particular attention to their language arts and math scores.” Janet took the paper and scanned it. I looked up and saw her brow furrowing as though she were deciphering some ancient and unknowable text. Her eyes flitted from left to right the way you do when you’re trying to puzzle out the differences between two pictures. “They…went up.” She sounded perturbed, sensing the trap but not certain where it was coming from. Me too. “Correct,” Brollish agreed. “But their Science and Social Studies grades stayed mostly the same.” “Okay. And…?” Janet shuddered and corrected herself. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this ma’am. My students are improving.” Brollish returned her hands to their folded position on her desk. She was a cobra swaying at her food, mesmerising it, playing perhaps, before she struck. “Yes, and that’s odd, don’t you think?” She stopped just long enough to let the insult land but not long enough to give Janet time to reply. “We both know that the leap from second to third grade math is a much bigger leap than first to second. If they’re not getting the basics at the beginning, how likely is it that they’re keeping up with more complex operations?” I squeezed Janet’s hand, warning her to hold her temper. I needn’t have though. “I agree,” Janet replied. “This group was very difficult initially. That’s why I remediated them until I saw improvement. Don’t you think their overall improvement is a sign that the remediation was effective?” The haggard bitch did not smile, but her eyes twinkled; a cat playing with her mouse. “Ordinarily, yes,” she said. She opened the drawer behind her again and took out a whole stack of papers. They were black and white with an unnatural grayish hue. They were printer copies, likely from the mailroom printer just down the hall. “Take a look at these, please.” Janet took the stack and started riffling through them, handing each one to me in her laps as she went on to the next. It took me a moment to figure out what I was looking at, but when it clicked my face sagged more than my Monkeez. These were all copies of student papers. Spelling tests and math worksheets mostly. Every one had been graded and scored in smudgy crayon that resembled chalk or charcoal thanks to the grayscale glaze from the copier. Except down in the corner, or on the back, circled in bright red pen were my initials. “C.G.” Oh no! I’d been caught! Brollish had come into Janet’s classroom after hours and noticed the cocky little signature I put on all of my papers! After Ambrose had been fired and Forrest driven off she’d been looking for a way to get back at us and had finally found it. All of my tampering and tantruming had finally blown up in my face! Worse, it was blowing up in Janet’s! I’d taken out my frustrations on a bunch of kids and now my Mommy was paying the price for it! Except something was off… I looked at the scores I’d written on the papers: 98, 95, 99, 100, 100, 97, 95, 100, and so on. These were all really good. I’d graded these fairly! I double checked the dates (where the kids could be bothered to write it), and realized that these were all fairly recent. The space between Unification and Solstice. Not even a month! I hadn’t tampered with any of these! “What’s the problem?” Janet asked, just as confused as I was. “You let your Little boy grade papers?” It was a question that sounded like an accusation. Janet’s arms wrapped protectively around me. “He helps me for fun. I always go back and double check his work. Those scores are accurate.” “Nevertheless it implies a level of…” I swear I was ready for a forked tongue to flicker out of her mouth “...irresponsibility on your part. There are testing items that are considered secure materials and can’t fall into the hands of children.” “Mrs. Brollish,” Janet said, measuring her words carefully. “I don’t think worksheets and notebook paper are the same things as federally mandated testing materials. Clark would never even see any secure materials. I never bring them home and keep them locked away at all times.” “I know,” Brollish flashed a hollow smile. “I checked. But I just wanted to make sure that you understood that that would not be acceptable. Hence why we’re making this improvement-” “Bullshit!” I scoffed. The fucking nerve of this decrepit old witch to equate me grading homework and spelling tests to me stealing official test papers. And then when she couldn’t find any evidence to support that offense she decided to pre-emptively punish Janet because she might hypothetically fuck up. I was shaking my head and preparing myself to stand up and give her a piece of my mind. It’s not like her wrinkly old ass could fire me. “That’s just so fuckin typical-!” “Clark! Gibson! Grange!” Janet barked at me. My blood ran cold. “Language, mister! Now hush. Grown-ups are talking.” My blood ran cold. My knees and elbows locked. My lips locked shut but my jaw still stretched as far as they would allow, and my tongue retreated to the gumline of my bottom teeth. My eyes refused to shut and my nostrils flared with an inhale so sharp it burned the insides of my nose. My heart beat into hummingbird speed. My arms, knees, and elbows locked up. My biceps tensed, my shoulders lurched forward while my head reeled back. What kind of mindfuckery was this?! “Sorry, Mommy,” I whimpered. She gave me a kiss and popped a pacifier into my mouth and I instantly started to feel better. Had something happened over Solstice and some kind of trigger phrase had been implanted in me? Or more likely, I was so broken and entangled in Janet that hearing her shout all three of my names with such angry disappointment shocked me into regret and submission. Janet petted my hair. She softly cooed, “I forgive you, baby,” and that made me feel better too. I was powerless. Brollish versus Janet wasn’t a fight I could directly help in. If I tried to thrash against the wave, I’d drown or get eaten by a shark. Best to let the wave carry me and surf it out. My outraged thoughts from before magically transmitted themselves through Janet’s infinitely more diplomatic filter. “I still don’t understand why I need an improvement plan,” she replied to Brollish. “That’s like giving me a traffic ticket because I might speed.” “Be that as it may,” Brollish droned, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I think there’s evidence to suggest that Clark has been tampering with your students’ grades, and that’s a concern with regards to professional conduct, grading integrity, and testing security.” “I already told you,” Janet said, a bit of growling ire starting to flash through from the back of her throat, “I check his work. Those grades are accurate.” I bit my tongue and waited for another set of papers, much older than the last to appear on the desk next. As improbable as it might be, it wouldn’t surprise me for Brollish to have called Janet’s entire student roster and asked their parents to supply her with any and all graded papers that they hadn’t thrown out. If she’d still had Forrest to kick around, she might have raided their trash cans, but the new Tweener receptionist had quickly developed a reputation for weaponized incompetence regarding anything that wasn’t strictly in her job description. Brollish didn’t need them, however. “Do you see how some of the answers seem…altered to you?” Every paper had at least one other circle in red ink highlighting a supposed discrepancy. “Like they’re not in someone else’s handwriting?” I sucked on my pacifier so hard in surprise it’s a wonder I didn’t swallow it. I was being accused of cheating to help Janet’s students?! Janet squinted at the paper with me. My handwriting wasn’t the best to begin with. The unwieldy and uneven crayons took it down a notch in legibility. The off and faded nature of the copy took it down another half notch. Throw in the smudges, scribbles, and crossouts from a bunch of 9 year olds trying to correct a mistake and an argument could be made that it looked like I’d done more than just mark an answer right or wrong. Add to that my habit of giving correct responses next to the ones I marked wrong and the argument that I skipped a step or forgot to make a distinction got stronger. “You think my baby is cheating?” Janet’s tone took on an almost amused tone. “Not on purpose, no.” Brollish smirked. “Clark has always been fond of children. He was like a younger brother to them and they always wanted to do well for him to make him happy.” Janet’s arms constricted more tightly around me, rightly anticipating my desire to thrash. Brollish tapped her fingernail on the spreadsheet she’d brought out. “I think your clever Little boy saw that Mommy was struggling and mistakenly decided that he’d help by boosting her student’s grades behind her back.” Mommy gasped in disbelief. Brollish’s words had slapped her in the face. Both of us had been in a way. She’d been accused of being an ineffective teacher who carelessly let her materials be doctored by her perma-toddler, and I was being accused of doing essentially the exact thing that I’d actually done but in a completely fabricated context and instance! “Clark’s not even in third gra-...” Janet stammered and tried to correct herself. “He’s still in dia…” Again she faltered. It was hard to argue that I was too incompetent to cheat while still justifying letting me grade papers. “He’d never do a thing like that, and I monitor his materials. He only uses crayons.” “Are you sure?” Brollish asked in a way that wasn’t asking. “He’s been very crafty before.” Phantom whiffs of weaponized cinnamon flooded my synapses. “But…there’s no…evidence…” I felt her sigh and slump over me. She was finally beginning to realize that evidence wasn’t needed to convict her. Contracts and unions provided protection, but at the end of the day the boss’s perception mattered more than anything else. Maybe that’s why I’d lasted as long as I had as a teacher; it wasn’t that different from any other aspect of my life. The monster in a pantsuit forced a bit of fake compassion into her voice. It was the difference between talking to an employee and talking to a parent. “I think Clark is very clever, and even though his Maturosis is certainly affecting his overall capabilities, I suspect third grade math and reading are still well within his grasp. When my daughter was three she memorized a song that had all the countries and their capitals. Little ones can still be very good at rote memorization, can’t they?” She chuckled- a hollow thing that sounded more like a frog’s croak after swallowing a juicy fly- and said, “They love all their facts at that level of development, don’t they?” The preposterous nature of her comment felt like a couple of rusty screws being drilled into my temples. Janet couldn’t bring herself to say that I was both incompetent and capable in the same breath. Brollish had no problem arguing that the third grade curriculum was too hard for a bunch of nine year olds to rapidly improve on and yet at the same time me cheating was chalked up to a more advanced version of children memorizing a trivia song. Caring about hypocrisy requires a soul, I suppose. Typical. Goddamn fucking mother fucking sonofabitch twat waffle asshat donkey dildo dunking typical! “I just don’t want you to get a nasty surprise in a few months if their test scores don’t reflect their grades in your class.” Brollish was sitting back in her chair, now. Content at having dealt a crippling blow. “If this was objectionable,” Janet tried, “Why didn’t you inform me of this sooner?” Brollish rolled her head around slightly, casually stretching her stiff neck, unconcerned. “I wanted to see if you’d submit the grades as written and let it affect their report cards or not.” She looked at me point blank and condescendingly said, “I don’t have a problem if you give your Little boy scrap paper to scribble on. I just don’t want it interfering with student achievement. You understand.” There was a long, drawn out pause while the two giantesses quietly stared at each other across the heavy oak desk between them. “What would you like me to do?” The gargoyle steepled her fingers together. I guess she missed her perch and was feeling homesick. “I want you to emphasize material and academic security from here on out, Ms. Grange. I suggest you keep all your student papers from here on out on campus and only grade them here.” A beat as her eyes flicked over to me. “That way we can protect Clark and put him above suspicion.” “I believe that that goes against my contract and I would like union representation at this time.” Janet said; a soldier spouting out her name rank and serial number to an enemy interrogator. Brollish closed her eyes and held her hands up slightly in a gesture of mock surrender. “Please don’t misunderstand. I’ve already informed your union representative of this course of action. You don’t have to keep your student work here, that was only a suggestion. But I do think it would be prudent if you found your child something else to do to bide his time while Mommy grades the papers.” I hooked under Janet’s arms and squeezed them harder than I would have even tried with Lion. This petty bitch of a witch was literally trying to take away one of the few somewhat adult scraps that I had left just because she didn’t have any other way to hurt me. But talking wasn’t my play here. I kept riding the wave. “That can be done,” Janet agreed. “What else?” Because there had to be more. The documentation required for something like a Professional Improvement Plan had to be predicated on a positive and not the absence of a negative. If this was just a matter of not letting me play teacher’s helper anymore, she’d just write Janet up with a warning, document it, and be done. The fake parent friendly persona melted away entirely, leaving only the reptilian countenance of a machine-like administrator. “I’m going to be auditing all your lesson plans this reporting period. I want you to include extra remediation for your students in reading and math, just in case things aren’t going as smoothly as they seem.” “I’ve got to cover new stuff, too,” Janet said, “Where do I find the time in the day?” “You’ll manage something,” Brollish droned and I swore I heard a snake’s rattle chitter in the background. “Get creative. Incorporate it into your Science and Social Studies lessons. Perhaps make it a part of Recess.” “I see.” Janet said. Her voice becoming decidedly brisk. “Any questions?” “Do I need to include those in my plans for this week?” Janet asked. Another pseudo laugh hopped out of Brollish’s throat. “Of course not. This arrangement isn’t retroactive. I wouldn’t want to falsify documentation.” The Principal without principles produced a final sheet of paper and slid it across the desk, rattling off her words like the disclaimer on a pharmaceutical ad. “This is documentation saying that we had this meeting and that we have initiated putting you on a Professional Improvement Plan. It is not an admission of guilt or that you are accepting this as an evaluation, it is just acknowledging that you were here and we had this talk together. As you can see, the listed criteria does not include keeping student assignments on campus at all times.” She paused and looked Janet directly in the eye. Much more slowly, she said, “You’ll also notice that maturity monitoring isn’t recommended…” Translation: ‘I’m not making you wear diapers to work…yet.” Janet leaned over me and sighed with defeat. She put her signature and rose up from the chair, shifting me back onto her hip. “Thank you for your time,” Brollish said. “Have a good weekend. I’ll make sure there’s a copy of this in your mailbox come Monday. Please make sure to email me your lesson plans by then.” ****************************************************************************************************** Not five minutes later, Janet was ranting to Beouf in her classroom. She was pacing around like a caged animal. I was sitting at Beouf’s activity table, feeling awful and trying not to wail. My bottle of coffee lay untouched. My remained unchanged and I dared not bring it up. Again, I had rebelled and someone I loved was paying the price for it. For every bit of responsibility that I’d been freed of an equal amount had been foisted onto my caregivers. I had caused this. This was my fault. If I hadn’t graded the papers in the first place, Janet wouldn’t be in this position. All I ever seemed to do was give bad people ammunition and cause to hurt good people. I didn’t deserve a clean diaper. Beouf was standing with her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry, Janet, but I tried to warn you.” “I know!” Janet was so stressed out that she let her hair all the way down, letting her raven locks shake out down past her shoulders. She was a horse chomping at the bit looking to jump the fence. “But it still pisses me off!” “I know,” Beouf said, her voice quiet and calming. “Brollish is being a bitch. It’s not fair.” She took a deep breath. “If it makes you feel any better you can probably appeal it, even if it will take time. The test security thing is pretty flimsy and there’s no solid documentation or evidence that will stick. She’s doing this to rattle your chain.” “Yeah…” Janet growled, “Well it’s fffffff….working!” She stopped pacing and composed herself. “My kids worked really hard to learn that material and now she’s having me cram it into my day again like they failed!” “It’s not like you have to actually teach to your lesson plan,” Beouf reminded her. “Unless she’s watching, you just have to write down that you did it. She gave you extra paperwork. That’s it.” “That’s not the point!” Janet stomped her foot. “She did it because she doesn’t want Clark helping me out. She doesn’t want him to be able to do anything teacher-like. If it were any other kid, this wouldn’t be an issue! I know Mrs. Springfield has a couple of middle schoolers that help her out from time to time! Where’s her plan?!” Her rant built up to a crescendo. “But she’s not coming after Springfield, she’s coming after me and my kid!” “Okay, okay.” Beouf whispered like she was trying to calm down a classmate on the verge of a tantrum. “You’re right. You’re right. Just try to keep it down. We don’t know who is around and who might be listening…” She sniffled and rubbed unformed tears out of her eyes. “I know he’s not perfect, but he shouldn’t get in trouble for something he didn’t do,” she squeaked. The guilt got to be too much. My heart broke. “Mommy,” I said. “Janet,” I corrected myself. I wasn’t trying to manipulate her. She deserved to be angry at me. But it didn’t feel right, saying her name like we were equals after I’d fucked so much up. “Mommy, I have a confession.” Janet straightened up and strode over to me. She took a knee beside me, her presence oppressive and smothering. “What’s wrong, baby?” Oh how I wish she’d stayed on the other side of the classroom. It would’ve made this so much easier if there were just a few meters of distance between us. “Your students didn’t need the remediation this first quarter. I was fucking with their papers!” I heard Beouf gasp as I took a breath to steady myself. “I’m sorry! I was angry and it was wrong and they didn’t do anything to deserve that!” “Clark!” Beouf said. “I’m ashamed-!” “Hold on, Mel.” Janet interrupted. Beouf covered her mouth and took a deliberate step back. Janet repositioned herself and turned me in my chair so that she was still kneeling but now we were facing across from one another instead of beside each other. “Tell me the truth, Clark. Did you change those grades?” My face spasmed as I fought myself to keep from screaming in humiliation and indignity. “Not those papers!” I promised. “I stopped doing it! I didn’t want to hurt a bunch of kids just to get to you!” I stopped and held my breath for a second so I didn’t choke on my words. “And I don’t want to get to you anymore, Mommy. I’m sorry!” I slammed my eyes shut, but I still heard Janet ask me, “What should the consequences for this be?” Trapped in my own personal darkness I whimpered. “I dunno. Whatever you feel is appropriate. Don’t let me grade papers. Take away my tablet. Put the mittens back on. Add in some booties. Remove my teeth like Helena did to Amy.” “Did to Amy…?” Beouf echoed in clear and obvious confusion. I felt Mommy’s hand lift up my chin. “Open your eyes,” she said softly. I obeyed and I saw her looking at me, her smile sad, but present. “Hey. C’mere.” She opened her arms and I spilled myself out of the chair and into her arms. “You did a bad thing but you stopped doing it without anyone forcing you to,” she whispered soothingly to me, gently rubbing my back. “And you owned up to it even though you wouldn’t have been caught. That’s a very Grown-Up thing to do. I don’t think you need a punishment or a change in routine this time. I’m very proud of you.” Beouf had gotten over her outrage by the time Janet was picking me up and rocking me in her arms. “If Clark marked those papers fairly, that means Brollish thinks she made it all up. This is that essay crap all over again.” “Tell me about it,” Janet said. “But what can we do?” “Same thing we did last time,” Beouf shrugged resignedly. “Be better than perfect. For about two months.” “Guess so,” Janet echoed Beouf’s resignation. Sometimes even Amazons are powerless. She adjusted me on her hip again and then gasped in realization. “Ooops! I forgot to change you!” ************************************************************************************************** “Come here Clark,” Janet called for me after dinner that night. “I want to show you something.” I toddled back into the kitchen, the comfort and relaxation of the play mat abandoned out of guilt and a desire to self flagellate. Forgiven or not, relevant or not, I still felt guilty as anything and translated that into being overeager to please Janet. The kitchen table had been cleared off of dishes and placemats. On top of it a stack of student papers remained. It was our usual setup for grading papers. “Mommy?” Janet picked me up and plopped me into my highchair. She clicked the tray into place and handed me a blank piece of paper and a green crayon. “This is your answer key.” She told me. “It’s blank.” I said, dumbly. She took a child’s spelling test and placed it next to the blank paper. “You’re going to make it for me by writing all the spelling words correctly onto your paper. Then you’re going to scan every answer and tell me which ones to mark for correction.” “You’re having me grade papers but with extra steps,” I frowned. “Pretty much,” she smiled. “You can help me grade as long as there’s no proof.” “Buuuuut isn’t that just making more work for you?” Janet reached out and brushed a bit of my hair off my forehead. “Yeah, but I like it. It’s a special way for us to bond and play together. I get to spend time with you, y’know.” My face warmed as if I’d just taken a shot of whiskey and Mommy’s milk. “Yeah. I do.” Her eyes shifted around conspiratorially and she leaned in to whisper, “And I’m not letting that self-righteous bitch, Karen Brollish, tell me what I can and can’t do with my own damn kid in my own damn home.” We laughed together, long and loud. We were powerless but as ever, there were degrees of rebellion in powerlessness. Waves to be caught and surfed. Sharks to be punched in the nose. Papers to be graded in acts of quiet spite just so we could feel like we’d accomplished something. “Can I get out of this stupid sweater first?” I asked. “I was wondering when you were gonna ask,” she snickered.