Personalias

Fuck it. I feel like breaking one of my own rules just now, and giving some perspective. Just a fun bit of historical information for people, if they're interested. I shared this on my patreon around this chapter, so I thought people might like it here, too. When you think about it, science does NOT have a good track record with regards to psychology, psychiatry, and neurological stuff. Anything where there's people observing other people, a TON of bias is gonna come in. ESPECIALLY if the people are already seen or treated as "less than". ESPECIALLY if previous bias has already been established as fact. Phrenology, the "study" of bumps on the head and its shape to determine someone's personality and intelligence, came about and was used as a way to justify white people's superiority to literally anyone else (but specifically black people). People in power had long decided that people not in power were inherently inferior and made up a whole pseudo-science to explain the conclusion they had already reached. (Sound familiar?) Hysteria used to be considered a legit medical diagnosis, more often attributed to women who didn't get banged enough and that made them irrational, anxious, prone to seizure and fainting, hallucinations, and emotionally volatile. Basically any time a woman acted how they "weren't supposed to act", it was attributed to this magical condition involving their uterus. Prominent French neurologists, Charcot, thought hysteria was something that could be inherited and carried but events could trigger its latent activation. (Sound familiar?) In the 1970's the Rosenhan experiment had about a dozen people go into various mental institutions for an appointment saying they were concerned. They were given enough info on how to fake having schizophrenia for the interview process. Then as soon as they were admitted, they ceased the behaviors and acted normally. Yet everything they did after the point of admission was attributed to their schizophrenia. Some of them took notes out in the open about everything they were seeing and observing. That was also attributed to their schizophrenia. They couldn't get released until they confessed to a psychiatrist that they were mentally ill and then agreed to take antipsychotic medication...that they covertly flushed down the toilet. There was no privacy, random searches, condescension, sometimes viewing them going to the bathroom. The general consensus was that while the staff at these places were generally well meaning, there was still an overall feeling of dehumanization, objectification and dare I say it...infantilization? (That last one was my choice of words but...sound familiar?) The moment these "pseudopatients" as they called themselves were given the label of "schizophrenia", that became their key defining attribute and literally everything they did was explained by that attribute. (Sound familiar?) We see these beliefs as quaint and antiquated and obviously false now, but the people living in these times didn't. It was fact to them. The stories of people "discovering things and changing the way we think" are often not actually a matter of brave geniuses that cracked an unsolvable code that was heretofore completely mistranslated. They are about people who were able to spread their particular ideas to a society and power structure that was ready to listen. But ONLY when enough people- and more importantly the ones in power-were ready to listen. The Earth was the center of the universe, because of course we were. We're the only ones here and have you seen how awesome we are? Why wouldn't we be the center and have a nice shiny ball of light go around us? We are not immune to our own confirmation biases. Edison convinced people alternating current electricity was more deadly and dangerous than his own direct current by killing an elephant with it. Not to get political, but whether you are "right wing" or "left wing", look at the other side and think about how you feel about them? Betcha the most charitable thing you think of is something close to "they're stupid and misinformed". But know that they're thinking the same thing about you. We are not immune to propaganda. This is not an anti-science stance. This is not "both sides are as bad as the other". This isn't even "believe what you believe". Within the world of Unfair; Maturosis may be very real and the Amazons closest to Clark are grieving in the way that some people grieve when a loved one has dementia, a stroke, or a traumatic brain injury. Same body, but in so many ways its a different person and you're afraid that the old one that you loved is never coming back. Or it could be a codified system of oppression that has been pushed so hard that anyone shorter than an Amazon is scene as automatically less adult and needs to be "cared for" at the slightest sign of slippage is taken as fact like the sun going around the Earth. Clark's anger and frustration may be completely justified. Because his friends don't see him, only the fake diagnosis that got slapped on him. So is Tracy's extreme reluctance to get involved in a system that doesn't inherently target her but COULD take an unhealthy interest in her if she pokes her nose in too deeply. Humans can be wrong because they're operating under presuppositions due to cultural and personal biases put there by incomplete information, propaganda and people's generally innate desire to be right. And I have endeavored to make the cast of characters that reside in Oakshire very, very, human while still capturing a lot of the features and spirit of the Diaper Dimension. I will never answer whether or not Maturosis is real within this story, because whether it is or not isn't the point of the story. I chose to write this from first person POV because I did not want to give the appearance of objective fact. Clark's hurting here. And his pain is real in this moment. But that doesn't necessarily mean that everyone involved in his forced babying is stupid or acting in bad faith. How many times has Clark been wrong in this story, already? Remember when he thought Amy was just another mind fucked Little without a thought in her head?

Thank you for noticing the title and pointing it out!

He's basically saying that he wanted the pacifier and reached for it because she didn't clip it on his shirt. And flustered Janet was about to say that he would have complained if she'd done that. Playing the contrarian card to distract her from the cinnamon he'd smuggled.

Chapter 88: A Wake The rest of that afternoon and evening went about as I expected. I slept peacefully until about half past two; closer to a quarter till three. I might have even had some good dreams, though I couldn’t quite remember. It was a relief to sleep without worrying that a piece of Amazon tech was quietly conditioning me. Or having to listen to Billy and Chaz’s snoring. Very refreshing. Jessica came in and put the monitor back in its place. And I timed things right so that I wouldn’t have to choose between an aching bladder and sitting in a wet diaper until dinner. Janet got home about half an hour after and Jessica gave her the most basic of rundowns. She left out the not-quite-revelation she’d had before Barnaby’s and the diner incident after. She did mention that I’d only had a bottle of milk so far and that I should be hungry. My stomach agreed. Lastly, she presented the bags of new and stylish children’s clothes. Even said “Ta-da!” Janet seemed pleased, but sad at the same time. All those clothes were just a silver lining to a very dark cloud hovering over her. “Thanks,” Janet said. “You’re a good friend. I’ll call you tomorrow and talk about some stuff.” “You know it.” Jessica left and Janet’s walls came right back up. She found new places for the clothes to hang and new drawers to stuff. She cooked dinner with extra portions and let me feed myself with an extra large spoon. Gave me some time to myself, bathed me, and put me to bed. The entire time she was quiet. I imagined there were babysitter drones more talkative to her. So quiet. I tried once with an awkward, “How was your day, Janet?” “Good.” She said it in such a way that I felt afraid to ask any follow up questions. Damn it, why was I still trying with her? Fuck. I’d just finished my nightly ritual of a thousand Hate Janet’s and was settling in for the night. Sleep wouldn’t come, in part because of the extra long nap I’d had, so I just laid there and tossed and turned. Hoping to lose consciousness before my body told me that I wasn’t going to be allowed to sleep until I emptied something. My ears started to twitch and my eyes opened when I heard something unusual. Normally, if I heard anything, it’d be the muffled sound of the living room television just loud enough to know if it was on, and maybe if it went to commercial, but too indistinct to make out what Janet was actually watching. That was a best case scenario. Tonight, the television wasn’t on and I could hear the door being open and shut. I detected the faint echoes of a door being heavily shut and locked, and the sound of voices. I couldn’t hear the words, but the cadence was easy enough. Hello’s, how are you’s, and thanks for coming’s. Awkward transitionary small talk stuff. Rough day. Me too. Maybe something about eating or offering drinks. A polite refusal. That sort of thing. Their voices faded as they moved through the house, looking for somewhere to sit. I guessed that they were going to the kitchen. I would have been able to hear them slightly better if they were in the living room just at the far end of the hall. I was probably able to guess the rough basics of the introductions because of how well I knew both voices. I’d know them anywhere from almost any distance. There was Janet, of course. And…Beouf? What was Beouf doing here? I sat up and stood on the mattress, grabbing the bars. I leaned forward and closed my eyes in a pointless attempt to somehow increase the range of my hearing. Yeah, that wasn’t working. I was probably strong enough to climb up and out of the crib despite my widened gate and the tremendous mattress give, but I had no way to get back in when I was done eavesdropping If they were discussing punishment -and why wouldn’t they be- would it really be worth it to add to my mounting offenses? Part of me thought yes. In for a penny and all that. BEEEEP! My head whipped sideways to the baby monitor. It’d never done THAT before. Was it supposed to be some kind of motion detector or something? Something to alert or discourage me from getting out? Next gen blanket training? No. Impossible. I’d stood up in bed all the time. “- ease don’t call me that, Mrs. Beouf.” Janet’s voice cut in from the monitor. I slapped my hand over my mouth lest I scream. Was this happening? Was this really happening?! “Please,” Beouf’s voice rang in. “call me Melony, or Mel. Or at least Mrs. B. like the kids do.” It was happening. It was really happening. My two ex-friends were talking and I was able to listen in without lifting a finger. Janet had done the ultimate rookie parent blunder and installed the wrong end of the baby monitor in my room. I moved over to the foot of the crib and leaned closer so that I could hang on every word, every detail. Through the monitor I heard Janet exhale. The sound was that good. From the slight echo, I determined my guess was right. They were in the kitchen. “Fine, she huffed. “Please don’t call me his Mommy right now, Mel. I don’t feel like I’ve earned the right.” Her voice cracked a little bit with emotion. “He doesn’t even call me Mommy unless he wants something.” “But you are,” Beouf insisted. “You’re his Mommy and you’re doing your best.” I could just imagine Beouf sitting on an adjacent side of the kitchen table, reaching out and trying to comfort Janet by touching her arm or patting her shoulder. Then tentatively looking at the empty highchair like I was there. “My best isn’t good enough, Melony. It’s just not.” Janet sounded like she was on her way to a long heavy sob. Good, or so I told myself. “I’m not good enough.” Damn right. Beouf probably took Janet’s hands and folded them into her own. “Easy honey, I get it,” she said. She lowered her voice to a stage whisper, not that it avoided detection. “But keep it down. He’s sleeping. He might still be awake.” There in my crib, I let loose with a big, maniacal smile. They were talking about me. I’d suspected that they’d talked about me a lot and often. In this moment I could hear for myself, with nothing filtered out or added in for my supposed benefit. This was a rare kind of power to have. I was thrilling in it. “He won’t hear,” Janet said, regaining some composure. Little did she know. “He’s never once cried out. He’s a deep sleeper.” A sudden revelation came to me. If Janet had messed up and put the wrong end of the monitor in my nursery, then she hadn’t heard any of my whispered hates late at night. Not one. It also meant that I wasn’t being hypnotized by the monitor. Amazons bought into their own hype and were drowning in their own propaganda, Beouf in particular, but they’d never willingly mind fuck themselves with their own products. “That’s good at least,” Beouf accidentally echoed my own conclusion. “But that’s it,” I heard Janet moping. “That’s where it stops. And I’m a horrible Mommy and he knows it. That’s why he’s rejecting me.” Her tone had shifted into a kind of depressing deadpan. All of the desperation with eighty percent fewer volume. “And it’s not his fault, but it’s taking everything I can just to keep a straight face and not scream at him or cry or something.” “I know, Jan. I know.” I let out a quiet little, “Heh”, and kept listening. It was like I was back at a good old fashioned teacher to teacher bitching session. This time it just so happened to be about me. “At least he was good for my friend, Jessica,” my would-be Mommy sighed. “But that only makes it worse because he goes out of his way to be horrible to me. What did I do?” It was fortunate that I was across the house. I might have let her know. “No, he’s not rejecting you,” Beouf lied to the both of them, “He’s just got some big feelings and-” “Cut the bull, Melony,” Janet interrupted. “Nothing in those meetings or the pamphlets or anything like that is working.” There was silence. Beouf didn’t know what to say. I could just imagine her eyes going wide behind her glasses and her lips puckering like a fish out of water. Janet kept on. “He’s…I hate saying this, Mel, but he’s awful. He’s spiteful. He’s manipulative. He’s just mean.” There was a brief silence. Just a beat. “It’s like he goes out of his way to make everybody around him miserable and then claims that he’s an adult like it explains his behavior and should be rewarded.” “Yeah,” Beouf added a sigh to the conversation. “ I know. I know. Same with in class. I have to give him to Hana sometimes just to make it through the day. I think he likes her better now because he liked her less before.” And that’s how I learned Zoge’s first name. Also, honestly? Beouf was probably right on that part. “Zoge’s not a shock to him.” “Why, though?” I heard Janet sniffle. “Why are we ‘the shock?’” “It’s probably how he sees things, now,” Beouf said. “Amazons in general and us in particular.” I imagined she was shrugging ruefully in a what-can-you-do sort of way. “Sometimes Littles going through this spike can get aggressive. Especially to the people they knew before the flare up. They don’t care that they’re being taken care of or that the care is coming from a place of love and necessity. They just fixate on how they’re not all that mature anymore and make the real adults in their lives out to be evil. He’s acting out because he wants us to be the bad guys and thinks that acting like how he sees us will make him a Grown-Up again.” I found a pacifier and bit down in it as hard as I could so that I wouldn’t scream at the crock of shit Beouf had just spilled out of her mouth. Misplaced monitor or not, it wouldn’t do for me to scream out my frustrations and risk detection. How had I not seen this from Beouf before? Was I really that blind? Or was I just that in need of a social bodyguard and deliberately looked the other way? “That doesn’t make sense,” Janet said. I pointed directly at the monitor as if Janet might feel my acknowledgement of her point. ”Nope,” Beouf replied. “No it doesn’t. That’s Maturosis, sometimes. Littles with it don’t always make sense. Kids don’t always make sense. Doesn’t mean we refuse to help.” My hair was in my hands and I was tugging so hard I might have ripped it out. My impromptu I.E.P. discussion had turned into a faux doctor’s consultation, and the quack in question only had one diagnosis for everything. How convenient. How Typical. “Is it going to last forever? Is it always going to be this way? I want to be his Mommy, not his monster.” She sounded like a parishioner asking a high priest for guidance and forgiveness. All hail the church of the Little Voices… The faintest creak came across the monitor’s speakers, as if someone was leaning back in their chair. “I don’t think so,” Beouf said. “I think it’ll get better.” She sounded very sure of herself. “Why?” Janet said. I leaned forward, eager and terrified. What machinations did that bitch have up her sleeve? If I could predict, I could prepare. I could brace myself if not completely sabotage. “Clark is definitely turning into one of my most challenging cases,” my ex-mentor said with surety, “but he’s not the most challenging I’ve ever had.” “Who is? Or was?” Janet sounded like she was calming down, no longer on the verge of sobbing. A pity. She was being drawn into Beouf’s story as much as I was. Simultaneously I tried to scoff and hold my breath. Somewhere deep in my massive ego I was insulted that some poor mindfucked doll of Beouf’s past haunted her more than I did. Still, it could be fun to learn about the past. Maybe I could replicate or adapt a few things to up my game and figure out where my predecessor went wrong. “She was a Little girl I had a couple years ago,” Beouf said. “Named Amy.” My pacifier fell out of my mouth and I banged my forehead accidentally on the wooden bars. I reeled back and stumbled over my heels onto my rump. It was more from surprise than pain, but I was seeing stars. “Amy?!” Janet sounded as surprised as me. “Amy Madra?! That Amy?!” From the sound of things, Janet didn’t know whether to laugh with relief or laugh to call out Beouf’s claim.” “Yup.” I could practically hear Beouf nodding again. “She’s a sweet Little thing now but you have no idea how bad she was when she started out.” Beouf was right. I had no idea. Amy the nuisance and nutter? Amy the girl who had been crying in my time out all those years ago? Animal fact Amy? Eat gum off the floor Amy? That Amy? Little Voices Amy? Zoo Amy? My Amy? “You’re joking,” Janet said plainly. I stayed seated, worried that the crinkle of my movement might magically obscure whatever happened next. Beouf answered Janet with a question. “Are she and her Mommy still regulars at the Little Voices meetings? They got really into that, I remember.” “Yeah,” Janet said. She sniffled slightly. I thought I heard the tear of a paper towel. An improvised tissue. “Helena and I took them on a playdate to the zoo.” “Thought so.” Beouf sounded even more confident. “Just before she graduated she developed an attachment to one of my classroom stuffies. This purple octopus with a top hat. She named it Jessinnia. Clark used that name for it and I just knew. Darn near gave me flashbacks for a second.” “But she’s so sweet.” “Now she is,” Beouf let out a light chuckle. “It was rough at first. Very rough. Clark is a lion, but Amy was a dragon baby.” “That bad?” Janet’s disbelief and curiosity nearly mirrored my own. Our emotions, however, were likely inverses. She was gaining amusement and hope. I was swapping out mine for dread. Another creak. Beouf was getting more and more relaxed in the kitchen chair. “That bad and worse,” she said. “Did the same kind of stuff that Clark’s doing right now. Wound up the teachers and students with nonsense and mean-spirited games and tricks. Played innocent so that we kept giving her the benefit of the doubt.” Yeah….that was my playbook alright. The pacifier found its way back between my lips. I needed to do something to feel like I had some kind of control or autonomy. The pacifier was the only option at the moment. “One time,” Beouf continued, “she got eight other kids to all play ‘kitty-cat’ on the playground. They were just crawling around on the ground trying to rub up against Zoge’s and my legs and trip us up.” Holy crap! Why hadn’t I thought of that? That would have been such a great answer to the physical therapy conditioning and Chaz could have played, too. “Oh yeah?” A note of competitiveness crept into Janet’s words. “Did she gag herself with cinnamon?” Janet wanted me to be the worst kid. Beouf let out another quiet, slightly rueful chuckle. “Nope. Didn’t have to. She had a gluten allergy. All she had to do was steal a leftover grilled cheese that one of the other kids snuck to her and hide it in her diaper. Then she downed it and puked. I think Ivy tried to stop her and got bit for it. Such a mess. Got everywhere. Picture day, too.” My face was buzzing and burning. My breaths were getting deeper and slower like I was trying to stop myself breathing. My greatest act of rebellion, my masterstroke…was a repeat? A rerun? “Holy shit.” Janet’s voice was low and awestruck. “Do you think she told him to do it? They see each other almost every week.” “If she did,” Beouf told Janet, “I don’t think she did it on purpose or with any bad intent. She’s very happy and good as far as I know. It might not even be Amy. Clark might have heard me bitching about it back when it happened and tucked it away. Hard to say.” Incorrect. No, no, and no. False. I never knew or forgot about that and came up with the plan the night before. But was the act really mine, if it wasn’t original or if it was subconsciously inspired? “Amy didn’t try to get others in on it, though,” Beouf admitted. “Should have seen that coming.” That made me feel a bit better. “I slipped up and accidentally called him Gibson too. Sorry.” That made me feel ecstatic. Same plan but better was still better. “That’s not going to help things,” Janet moaned. “He probably thinks he’s closer to growing up or something.” “Probably.” “How’d you help Amy?” Janet asked. “What did the trick?” My jubilation died down. I needed to know and listen. If Amy was as bad as Beouf said she’d been and she was who she was now, what hope did I have of escaping that fate? An image of myself flashed across my mind: Gap toothed and drooling, crawling around aimlessly and content. Eating whatever I could find on the floor and calling Janet ‘Mommy’ unironically. I shuddered in revulsion at the very possibility. “No trick,” Beouf said. “Just patience, persistence, love, and boundaries. She kept escalating and escalating. Zoge and I kept containing and redirecting. Eventually, she just sort of burned herself out and she mellowed; started being a sweet baby. Took about half a year and then things started looking up. She was ready to graduate by the end of Spring. One of my biggest challenges but also one of my biggest success stories.” Amy? Give up? Burn out? That didn’t track at all. That wasn’t the nutter who had pestered me at every opportunity. Beouf was holding something back; had to be. “That doesn’t make any sense.” It was like Janet was reading my mind. “Wasn’t there some kind of ‘Aha’ Moment or lightbulb? For either of you?” “Not for her,” Beouf said. A slight jostling and a thud came over the monitor. One or both of them were leaning forward with their elbows on the table. “That’s just how Maturosis is sometimes. She and her Mommy had some kind of breakthrough and she’s been a sweetheart ever since. Shame about her teeth, though.” “Yeah,” Janet said. “What happened with that? Helena doesn’t seem like the type to do that level of cosmetics with a kid.” “Don’t know,” I pictured Beouf shaking her head. “All I remember is that Amy was out of school for a couple days and came back missing those teeth. I brought it up, but Mommy didn’t want to get them fixed. You’ll have to ask Helena for more than that.” I’d known Melony well enough to have a sense of when she was lying by omission. She was keeping something from Janet, but I didn’t think it was the teeth. “Of course,” she told Janet, “If you wanted to ask her, that would mean going to the meetings…” “Okay…fine.” A note of reluctant happiness had wormed its way back into Janet’s voice. “I’ll keep going to the stupid meetings. It’s just annoying because everyone is so cheery and they’ve already got their perfect happy little Littles that want to be themselves.I mostly keep quiet or hold back on what’s going on at home. Everybody else gets cute baby stories. I just feel inferior.” “Talk to Helena,” Beouf replied. “In private if you have to. I bet she’s got some stories for ya.” Stories I might want to hear, too. Could I potentially get the same info from Amy? I’d asked about her teeth before and it was the one time she got close to serious. “I kind of like the lap bounce songs and silly games, anyways.” Janet confessed. “I just wish Clark liked them, too.” “He might like them and not want to admit it,” Beouf took on a consoling approach. “He might not, though. Some kids don’t like that stuff and just want a quiet lap to rest in or for their Mommies and Daddies to watch them show off doing something silly. Maybe Clark is or was one of those kinds of kids the first time around.” “Right now,” Janet groaned, “he’s just a spiteful brat.” I blinked in surprise. That was one of the most honest things I’d heard from Janet Grange. “Janet,” Beouf said, “think about it. Clark’s always been kind of a brat. He’s always loved going up to Forrest or Brollish and poking the bear. He was always a cheeky brat with a bunch of maturity piled on top.” She added a dejected sigh to the air. “Now, all that adulthood has just sunk to the bottom and the brat has floated up to the top.” Janet echoed the sentiment. “Yeah. But he was our cheeky brat. I want him to be that cheeky brat, again. Not…not whatever this is.” I could almost make out her eyes getting all wistful just from how she said it. “He was a great teacher, too” Beouf started to sound annoyed and angry. “Better than that bitch Ambrose, that’s for sure. That woman is a disgrace. Now we can’t even hang out with Tracy most days. I hope she’s coping.” “Tracy’s tough. How did Ambrose even get that job?” “No clue,” I heard Beouf scoff. “Who knows where Brollish gets her pets? She’s definitely not a good teacher. Gods, I wish Clark had never been caught. I’d ignore a thousand missing diapers if it meant he was back in that classroom instead of her.” There was a silence that followed. It was less than a minute, but it felt long and uncomfortable; like Beouf had just said a quiet part out loud. It was a strange compliment for me to hear. Janet broke the silence. “Don’t tell anybody,” she almost whispered, “but… I still let him grade papers sometimes. My mother let me do that when I was a kid, too. I thought it might help bridge the gap or something. It’s one of the few things he still genuinely likes.” “Yeah. I figured you were. I recognize his handwriting and he’s initialing the assignments down at the bottom. Saw it on your desk the other day. “He’s sign…-? Janet’s voice leapt upwards in surprise. She lowered it back down. “You don’t think…? What if…? You know…? Brollish is gunning for him.” “I wouldn’t worry about it. Brollish doesn’t give a damn about basic assignments as long as you’re monitoring them and putting in the correct grades. You’ll be fine.” A grunt came through the monitor. “Devil woman is gunning for me, anyways. Not you. Bitch thought she could buy me off by approving grants and requests she’s been gumming up for years. Fuck her if she thinks she can tell me how to do my job.” “Fuck her in general.” “Amen, sister.” A light clinking of glasses. Beouf had agreed to a drink after all. “Okay,” Janet said. “Okay. What are we gonna do for Clark? Is there anything either of us is missing?” Yet another tired sigh found its way out of Beouf. “Hard to say. I’ve never known a Little before a flare up. That’s what makes all of this so hard. Some mornings I still have to fight the urge to want to sit with him and sip our morning coffee again and complain about nothing in particular.” Her tone fluctuated mid sentence like her nose was clogging. A paper towel tear pretty much confirmed it. “Me too.” Janet’s throat sounded tight. Beouf was still holding on. “Best we can do is wait him out and look for an opening to help. Just hafta do our best. Show him we still love him.” “I loved him before.” “I did too.” A pause. “He was my best friend.” Beouf’s throat was tightening up now. “I went home and cried my eyes out after you took him home.” I heard a honking nose blow. “No offense.” “None taken,” Janet blew her own. “I just wish I’d have told him what a good friend he was and how much I cared about him before all of this happened. I wish I’d met him sooner. He was fun to be around, and I liked him as a person, and it wasn’t just me cosseting.” “Stop…stop…don’t get me started…” Janet didn’t listen. “The last time we talked before his Maturosis flared we had a big fight. I wanted to help him and say I’m sorry and be his Mommy. It just feels like the fight never stopped.” These last few words came out as the tiniest, breathiest squeak; a deathbed confession of sorts. It just wasn’t hers. “I just wish I could go back in time and talk to him before…everything!” The ‘everything’ came out in one big long sob. Before? Before? Why not now! Why not come in and tell me now? Beouf joined the pity party, barely able to speak over her own looming sobs. “I didn’t tell him what a good teacher I thought he was until I’d changed him and put a bottle in his mouth. I had years, Janet! Years to tell him! I knew this could happen. I knew it but I never told him how proud I was or how much I enjoyed just being around him. He was my friend and now I have to pretend like none of that ever happened so he can be happy.” She didn’t make it to the end of that sentence before she sounded like a sobbing mess. “I just want my friend back!” “Me too!” I wasn’t listening in to an I.E.P. meeting or a doctor’s visit or a cult meeting. I was listening into my own funeral. They weren’t saying it in those exact words, but it was as if I’d been dead to them and they were only just now giving themselves time to mourn and grieve and the corpse of my adulthood was entombed in a nearby crib. Listening to the quiet but heavy breathing and nose blowing and gentle sobs of two crazy giantesses trying to give comfort to one another, I felt wetness drip onto my own cheeks. “Janet?” Beouf suddenly said. “Why is that light blinking? “What light?” Janet asked. “The baby monitor. There on the counter.” Beouf had regained her composure and with it came a sense of urgency. I started to crawl back under the crib’s bed sheets. “I always keep the monitor with me when he sleeps,” Janet said defensively. “He’s never needed it, but just in case. This thing is supposed to be portable so I can keep it in earshot.” I waited and listened to the sounds of chairs sliding out and scuffing against the kitchen floor. “Never noticed that before,” Janet’s voice sounded louder; more distorted. She was closer to the receiver. “Is that a low charge light or something? Thought I plugged it in this morning.” “Janet,” Beouf said, sober of all emotions, “this is a King Fisher model. I don’t think that’s the broadcaster. That’s the receiver.” The panic in Janet was instant. “You mean this whole time he’s been listening to…?” “Hush and turn it off!” I spit the pacifier out and closed my eyes. I tried to steady my breathing as gigantic footsteps shuffled in approached. Breath in. Hold. Breath out. Don’t fake snore. Don’t react. The door opened slowly. The light from the hallway was practically a spotlight shining up against my eyelids. I didn’t stir. Breath in. Hold. Breath out. Don’t fake snore. Don’t react. Don’t even stir. “He’s fine,” Janet whispered. “We didn’t wake him. I bet I messed up installing that end, too.” “Okay, come on and close the door,” Beouf beckoned. “Nini, Clark,” Janet said. ”I love you.” “Shhh.” I untensed muscles I hadn’t even known I was tensing when I heard the door click shut. “It’s okay,” I heard Janet say. I knew the cadence of her voice so well that a couple inches of wood wasn’t going to stop me. “I’ve been waking up every night and checking in to tell him that. He sleeps right through it.”

Whelp, this didn't go the way I predicted at the beginning, but I am completely okay with that. As usual, it's a well told story with excellent worldbuilding and pacing. If the "ghost" is a recurring character, I have a prediction, but my predictions have been very wrong already, lol.

You did miss that earlier. I like ambiguity, so I'm choosing my words carefully. Clark has reached the conclusion that the monitor is why he can't say things like "I hate you" right to Janet's face. That line from Skinner about it being "educational" really stuck in his craw.

Chapter 87: The Bigger Picture Half an hour later, Death Itself walked into Beouf’s classroom wearing a salmon pantsuit over an aquamarine blouse. Its wrinkled face and skeletal frame came in through the back door of Beouf’s room. The Ambrose occupied territory that was once my classroom was eerily quiet; Death having already stunned the poor children into silence. Its soulless, predatory eyes stalked the classroom behind rounded bifocals; Its thin withered lips drawn pert. On a pestilent wind- that may have been the lingering smell of milk vomit or Its own natural perfume- it silently glided, deeper and deeper, inside the normally whimsical prison of Beouf’s world. Littles who saw It averted their gaze and sucked on their pacifiers, lest they scream in terror or draw attention to themselves. Better to pretend to play quietly and feign preoccupation with a wooden car or a set of stacking rings. We’d already missed Circle Time and were missing the first center rotation. We hadn’t even all been changed yet. Most of us were still in our picture day clothes. Transport had been slow. Those of us who’d tossed our breakfasts up took the longest to clean up and containment of our soiled clothes took priority. Zoge tackled that part, quarantined us by the bathroom, and then carried us one by one to the reading nook as she finished. Beouf got the others settled and busy doing meaningless play and independent activities, then started making phone calls to parents. Three guesses to who she called first. Clothing wise, I was back down to a Mint’s Hints t-shirt and nothing else. No surprise there. Mrs. Zoge still said “I love you” after she’d finished redressing me, but it was quicker, more out of habit than sincerity. That was grimly pleasant. She kept looking at her phone, too. Speaking of grim, when Death visited, I’d been lounging in a bean bag next to Billy. Annie laid on the floor, lazily making carpet angels. Technically she’d seen Death first and signaled trouble when she started sucking on her thumb. Sandra Lynn and Jesse were still sitting by the bathroom in their ruined Sunday best, waiting their turn to get cleaned up. Chaz, regrettably, had been unsuccessful in his attempt with his finger down his throat and was assembling a log house with Tommy who hadn’t made an attempt to buck the system at all. The prison couple had tried sneaking in an open mouth kiss and quickly regretted it, both grimacing at the taste of each other. They were passionate, if impulsive, which made them great toadies in the first place. Our collective breath was rancid, but our smiles were smugly satisfied. Every now and then, one of us had remembered to wince and hold our stomachs while letting out a low groan, just in case someone was watching or listening too intently. We were happy with plausible deniability; not seeking attention. The fact that we looked like death warmed over helped our case. We’d each gagged, choked, and vomited so hard that blood vessels in our face had burst open leaving gastly pink and red webs covering our faces while the rest of the flesh was ghastly pale. I don’t think there was ever a movie about Zombie Littles, but if there were we would have been great extras. It was nothing that a day or two of not puking our guts up wouldn’t fix. If Cassie had seen my face she’d have said that I’d had much too much to drink and then reminded me to switch the laundry for her. The only other sounds Death might have heard was Ivy blubbering in the bathroom, and Beouf making her calls. I poked my head out of the reading nook to watch Death’s approach. If the fates were kind, I’d watch Beouf get a near death experience right in front of everyone. But Death remained motionless and at a respectful distance while Beouf made her calls. Unlike love, Death is patient. Bitch always has been. “Hello? Mrs. Ogden? Good morning, how are you? I’m fine, thank you. I’m calling you because Billy just got sick. Yes. Tummy troubles. No, not diarrhea this time. He threw up. Alot. No. No fever. I don’t think it was something he ate, no. Not exactly.” Beouf sighed, paused, and looked over her shoulder towards the reading nook. She saw Death, too. “Well, it could be a sympathetic thing. A couple kids threw up, not just mine. Mmmhmm. One gets started and it gets everybody going.” She glanced back at Death again. “Then again, there might be something that’s starting to go around, it’s hard to tell. Also I think I heard him coughing just before, so it might have been a tickle in his throat like a sinus drip and it triggered his gag reflex. Yuh-huh. I’m not a doctor. Could be a tummy bug. Could be anything.” She started nodding. She’d already had this exact conversation with everyone else’s folks and a briefer one with Janet. She hadn’t nodded then. Likely she was adding in choreography for Death’s benefit. “So here’s the thing, Mrs. Ogden. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but…yes ma’am. That’s correct. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” What I’d already accounted for with my devious bit of mischief is that when a child vomits it’s school board policy to isolate them and send them home. No other symptoms required. Quietly, I ducked back into the nook so that the three of us could exchange fist bumps. This is exactly what I had in mind when I told them we’d be starting our weekend early. Damn, I loved it when a plan came together. “Yes,” Beouf continued. “That’s correct. Come on over to the school. Hm? No, don’t worry about the pictures. We’ve got a makeup day next week for students who are absent. I’ll wash his yucky clothes this weekend and have them ready to go. Just come on over and check in with your ID. The secretary will send you with someone over to my classroom and you can take him home. Okay. See you in a few. Goodbye.” She hung up the phone, exhaled in a way that made her look like a deflating pool toy and then turned around. “Rough morning?” Death asked, pretending to be concerned. “Yes, ma’am.” Beouf replied. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Brollish?” Of course ‘Death’ was Brollish. Who else would it be? “I just wanted to stop by and check in on you and your students,” Brollish said, every word carefully measured and calculated as always. “As you know, students who experience sickness to the point of vomiting aren’t allowed to stay.” Leave it to Brollish to say what everyone already knew. I resisted the urge to slap my forehead. “Yes, ma’am,” Beouf said in equal measure. “You walked in on me making my last parent phone call.” Brollish nodded curtly. “Excellent.” I could only see the back of her head, but I had no doubt she was giving some kind of thin fake-ass smile. “Do you know what caused it?” My ex-mentor looked Brollish dead in the eye and said. “No ma’am. I can’t say.” That was a lie. She absolutely knew that I had something to do with it. That’s why she’d shouted my name; my real name. She just couldn’t prove it. Beouf was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. She wouldn’t fall into the kind of trap that I’d set for Forrest. Brollish hemmed for a second and tapped her chin. “Some people said they thought they saw some kind of dust? Or powder being coughed up…?” Her voice tilted into a question, even though it wasn’t. “I don’t think so,” Beouf said, softly. “The cafeteria is pretty clean. I don’t think there’d be any allergens or spores in the air. Not that could cause this.” The breath in my lungs turned shallow. Why was Beouf playing dumb? The Principal cleared her throat. “Maybe some of your students put something in their mouths that they shouldn’t have…?” Another accusation framed as a question. My teacher held firm. “No, I don’t think so. The custodians did a really good job of cleaning up before the photographers got here.” I could feel my heart in my chest. What game was Beouf playing? “Do you think one of them got a case of the sillies and took something from your room? Baby powder perhaps?” “No ma’am.” Beouf said. “My kids wouldn’t have had the opportunity. We go straight from the bus to breakfast. Every day. “ “Not all of them.” I felt a noose tightening around my neck. It wasn’t just Beouf who suspected me. Zoge exited the bathroom, carrying a topless Ivy on her hip. Someone had convinced their Mommy to let them wear their fancy dress all day and didn’t have a change of clothes. I averted my eyes out of politeness, but kept my ears peeled. “Clark and Ivy were nowhere near the powder, ma’am.” Zoge said. She plopped down an all-but naked Ivy right beside me. “They didn’t need changing before breakfast and I would have kept the powder out of reach because of their outfits.” Billy and Ivy started snickering behind their hands, while Zoge leaned over and said something to Ivy in Yamatoan, and then more loudly said, “I’ll get you a shirt, my love.” I popped my head back out and saw Beouf give Brollish something of a cross between a shrug and a nod. “Sorry.” “So you’re sure you didn’t see anything?” “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t.” My teeth bit down on my tongue so hard I almost screamed in surprise. That was more than just playing dumb. Melony Beouf had a front row seat of the debacle. The woman had run to my side when I was choking and had been at ground zero when I hacked up that first round of cinnamon. There was zero chance that she hadn’t seen that puff of brown spice billow out of me like a chimney. She was outright, bold face lying to Brollish. I just didn’t know why. Playing nice with the old bat got her that swanky new playground and the feeding tables. “Do you mind if I check in with your students?” Beouf directed her towards the reading nook. “As long as you understand that any formal investigation that could lead to discipline, has to involve their parents.” I was suddenly seeing shades of not just my mentor but my old Union Rep come out. “I’m not here for that,” Brollish lied right back, “I just want to make sure that they’re okay.” The witch glided around and slid up to us, blocking our view and way out. Towering over us, she asked. “How are you feeling boys and girls?” My cadre and I exchanged quick looks. “Yucky,” Annie said. “My tummy and my throat feels bad.” Billy mumbled. I just looked away and made a pitiful humming noise. Funnily enough I was feeling slightly nauseous back then. “Ivy?” Still trying not to stare at her, my peripheral vision caught the slight movement of Ivy’s head lifting to make eye contact with the Principal. “Hmmm?” “How are you feeling, dear?” I poked my tongue on the spot where I’d bitten it, nervously picking at the spot to steel my nerves. Ivy’s reply came back low and pitiful like a puppy that had been kicked too many times. “Not good. The smell was real bad and my tummy got sick and I threw up all over my pretty dress.” Brollish lowered to a knee so she could get closer to Ivy’s eye level. “Do you know who got sick first or why? Did you see or hear anything?” For the second time that morning I stopped breathing entirely. “Mmm-mmm.” Ivy mumbled. “No, ma’am.” Brollish rose so slowly that I thought I heard a creak. “Okay.” She started gliding back towards Beouf. A peek Billy and Annie’s way revealed that they were open-mouthed grinning like a couple of idiots and throwing all of their admiration Ivy’s way. They’d thought she’d sell us out. Honestly, I was as surprised as they were. I stole a look at Ivy. One hand still covering her breasts, her face hardened instantly. She mimed sucking her thumb and then pointed hard towards the direction Brollish had gone. I popped my head back out. She wasn’t actually going to Beouf. We weren’t the only kids left to interrogate. Shit. I had almost no relationship, coercive or otherwise, with Sandra Lynn or Jesse. They were facing away from us too, giving me a good look at the crone’s haggard face and no way to send any kind of begging face or threatening glare to my classmates. My fate was in their hands. “Hello children,” Brollish said with all the sweetness of an old woman offering an apple. As always her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “How are you, dears?” The pacifiers didn’t leave either of their mouths. “Are you feeling well?” The two looked down and off to different sides, avoiding eye contact. “Did you see what happened?” Nothing. She tried at stooping slightly and hunkering her hands down on her knees. “How did you get sick?” Her questions were met with silence and sucking. Mrs. Zoge came back with a Pink Princess t-shirt. “Here you go, baby.” Ivy raised her arms and let the shirt be pulled over her. With the tights and slippers still on, Ivy looked like she was getting ready for a ballet class. Her smile turned back on when her Mommy slid the plastic tiara back on her head. Over by the bathroom, Brollish was rising back up. “Do they still talk?” “They’re just feeling yucky and a little shy,” Beouf answered. “Their parents will be here to pick them up soon.” I felt my face scrunch up into a full blown snarl. Melony Beouf was a lot of terrible things. She was a typical Amazon. But in all my years not once had I ever encountered a prisoner of hers mindfucked to the point where they couldn’t talk or understand spoken language. How dare Brollish! How dare she! Something else jumped into my brain: Brollish didn’t even know Sandra Lynn’s and Jesse’s names! She probably didn’t know Annie’s and Billy’s either. What kind of educator didn’t bother to learn as many students’ names as possible? I knew dozens of names of students I never even had! Picked a bunch up just by osmosis and listening to teachers. Beouf’s class had a slower turnover than most. Sandra Lynn had been in that room for at least two years and the only people whose name she knew was a teacher she followed and an aide’s kid who’d been there for over a decade! The fucking nerve of this cunt! A massive finger pressed up against my lips, snapping me out of my self-induced fury trance. Zoge was putting her fingers to her lips. “You’re growling,” she whispered. I was? I leaned back away from Zoge’s index finger. Ivy was sucking her thumb. Billy and Annie had pacified themselves. So I sucked my thumb too… Zoge stood back up and started going back to the Littles that were still in vomit stained clothes to pick up where she left off. Brollish however, waved her over to the conversation, presently moving closer to the semi circle where Beouf held court. “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss, ma’am?” Mrs. Beouf asked, subtly turning so that Brollish was facing the exit. She didn’t say it, but I felt there was an unspoken ‘or can you leave my room?’ tacked onto that sentence. “Actually, yes,” Brollish snipped. Her voice was still chipper, but that fake ass smile had a more predatory glint to it. “Mrs. Zoge, have you been able to contact your husband, or anyone else who can watch Ivy?” For what felt like the fourth or fifth time that morning, Zoge looked at her phone. “I’ve been texting him, ma’am, but he hasn’t responded yet. He’s very busy.” The Grim Reaper in the salmon pants suit nodded her head thoughtfully and tried to make it sound like what next came out of her mouth was both coming out of her for the first time and a foregone common sense conclusion. “I thought that might be the case. I know how hard he works. That’s why I’m giving you the rest of the day off, Mrs. Zoge.” The aide seemed genuinely confused. “Day off?” “To take care of Ivy. She can’t stay here. She got sick all over the floor.” Beouf tried to ask a question “But-” Brollish gently cut her off by raising the palm of her hand. “Don’t worry. I’m already working on that end. I know your position has a guarantee of an aide for the majority of student contact hours, but you’re losing half your class today so that will make it easier.” The other two giants clearly did not like where this was going. “Soooo…?” “I’m already moving around some of the other schedules to get you temporary coverage throughout the day. Different aides will come in and out of your classroom, assuming that the schedule you gave me at the beginning of the year is up to date and accurate.” Beouf looked almost offended. “Yes, ma’am. It is.” “I’ll see if I can’t convince the therapists to give you some time by taking your four away. You won’t need extra help with lunch, and then right after is naps. Then you do free time on the playground? Right?” Zoge spoke for Beouf. “Yes, ma’am.” “So with the reduced numbers, you really only need another warm body to help you run centers and such until lunch.” You wouldn’t know it unless you were a teacher, but Beouf and Zoge were having a fit inside their own heads just then. In their own mind, every teacher is a duke or duchess within their classroom. We like our marching orders vague and the freedom to teach the content so that it is best for our students and plays to our strengths. Beouf had just had her whole day micromanaged for her and had her competence and preparedness subtly called into question. Zoge in a roundabout way had just had her contributions to the class reduced to being a seat filler. The difference being that this sort of thing was typical Brollish as far as I’d been concerned. I was used to it. They weren’t. Zoge and her daughter were exiled. Beouf was losing her lieutenant and would likely have to walk two to three strangers through center routines and expectations and warn them about every given student’s nuances and tendencies. To be effective, the explanation might well take up half of the allotted time. There was a reason why I was so focused on predictable routines and rituals, and not all of it came from just Little level paranoia and neuroses. I learned it from Beouf. I learned it from watching her. If Brollish had led with this news, I’d be close to doing a jig right then and there and no one could have stopped me. Beouf was having a bad day; Zoge too; Ivy third; and I’d bet even money Janet was going to have to find a substitute so she could be trapped with me all day. This operation had panned out better than I had anticipated. Brollish had led, however, by showing just how little she knew about the Littles at her school and even less about what her staff actually did. It lined up with my experiences in many ways. That kind of neglect allowed so-called teachers like Ambrose and half-asses like Renner to remain unchecked. I loathed that I was empathizing with two of my chief tormentors, but I couldn’t help it. The lesser of two evils was still evil. It was also still less. My teacher and her assistant were much much less evil than the Principal. “What about Clark?” Beouf asked Brollish. “I’ve already talked to Ms. Grange about it. Things are taken care of.” Knew it. “Yes, ma’am.” Beouf said, feigning acceptance if not submission. “Anything else?” “One last thing. I’d like to talk to you about a few things after the buses leave if you can make the time.” Beouf set her jaw. “Sure thing. I’ll be happy to see you then.” What was one more blatant lie? “Would you mind emailing me about it?” She was trying to create a paper trail. Death Itself quietly stepped towards the front door. “I’ll see if I can find the time.” She held the door open and called expectantly. “Mrs. Zoge? Are you and Ivy coming?” Hands folded in front of her, Zoge bowed slightly. “I will be out in a few minutes, but I’d like to finish cleaning up the children, and stay long enough until either help or the parents arrive.” “That makes sense.” A beat. “Remember to call the office if relief hasn’t come within ten minutes. Word might not have gotten around quickly enough.” An eerie groaning noise preceded the door finally closing. Some say that the door’s hinges were finally starting to rust, and the maintenance crew would oil them just before the weekend. I’d like to think it was because Brollish accidentally lost composure and burped up whatever poor soul she’d consumed for breakfast that morning. The door closed, and I trotted all the way back into the nook. Quiet high fives and exclamations of “yessssssss!” were traded. We’d done it! We’d gotten away with it. Mission success! Better than Why Day, Cry Day, Paint the Frog Day, and every other bit of mischief we’d managed thus far. It was Ivy who put a damper on things. “You’re not that smart.” she said bluntly. As a group, the A.L.L. turned and regarded the mindfucked doll. Ivy sat there with her arms crossed and huffing. “What?” I asked. “You’re not that smart,” Ivy repeated herself. Her normally demure and childish demeanor had melted like a candle and become an indignant huffy pout. “You’re not.” My eyebrow was already cocking like a loaded gun. “What do you mean?” She leaned out and pointed back towards the bathroom. “Look.” The two remaining giants were already springing into action. Beouf dug through her desk and ripped open the top of a yellow wax papery packet. Out of the bag and into the palm of her hand came a few tiny egg shaped candy pieces which she took over to Jesse and Sandra Lynn. “Three for you. Aaaaand three for you.” They stared down into their hands. “Color doesn’t matter. They all taste the same.” That was enough permission for them and they popped the candy into their mouths. Candy. Good candy too. Special treats for special occasions, not the cheap chalk textured stuff given for correct answers (or what passed for them in Beouf’s class). “Oh man,” Tommy whined and whispered. “They’re getting Geese’s Pieces!” I gave him a light elbow to the ribs. “Shut up and watch.” Where was this going? She quickly gave out one to each and every one of us, save Billy, Annie, and myself. “Hey,” Billy asked. “Where’s mine?” “We’ll have a talk about it when you come back on Monday,” Beouf told him and walked away. “She’s bribing them,” Annie said loud enough for us all to hear. Billy stuck his bottom lip out. “For wh-....? Oh…” It finally clicked. For all of us. They knew. They definitely knew. Zoge was likewise keeping oddly busy tidying up in the bathroom and giving Jesse and Sandra Lynn time to munch on their candy. She came out with four thin generic trash can liners, the kind that even I could tear up, with their tops twisted up and knotted. “Here’s the clothing so far.” Beouf was on top of them, tossing them into her supply closet. “Got it.” Zoge disappeared into the bathroom and came out again with a different type of garbage bag. Thicker plastic; see through but yellow, and with a special rim on top that opened and snapped shut into itself like a coin purse. “Changing the pail.” Beouf marched up and took the literal bag of crap off of Zoge’s hands. “On it. Thanks. It’ll be good if I have it empty before the ‘cavalry gets here.’” “Not like they’re going to change anybody.” “Pffft,” Beouf scoffed. “Not that I’d let them.” She started twisting the liner up, again and again and again. Making it smaller and tying it up in knots to conceal just how empty it really was. “Do we want to wait to change the other kids?” Zoge asked. “Can’t,” Beouf answered. “No time.” “Why is she throwing it out?” I asked myself outloud. “There’s like five diapers in there, tops.” “They know,” Ivy said mysteriously. “The grown-ups always know.” At just the right time I caught Beouf finishing knotting up the bag at just the right angle. There were a handful of used diapers still in there; swollen and rolled up into tight little balls of waste. Also, crammed and wedged between the bottom one and the top was a relatively tiny cylinder filled halfway with brownish reddish dust. Had it been made of aluminum even I could have smashed it down flat with my foot. It was plastic, though, and so held its shape. Zoge narrowed her eyes. “You’re winding it too tight.” Beouf unwound the bag a tad. It was much harder to see the contraband I’d snuck in now. I couldn’t see it as much as just know that it was already there because I’d seen it. “You think anybody is gonna go dumpster diving?” she asked. That knowing soft smirk of Zoge’s blossomed anew. “Do you want to take that chance?” “Point taken.” Beouf moved towards the door, trash in hand. “You keep cleaning up the kids. I’ll be right back.” She poked her head out of the front door and checked if the coast was clear. One deep breath later and she was jogging towards the school dumpster, likely to place her bag underneath bags and bags of half eaten and discarded breakfast trays. Zoge picked up Sandra Lynn and boosted her into the bathroom. My jaw hung loosely from its hinge; not plummeting dramatically, just hanging there lightly like it did when I was half asleep. “They found the cinnamon,” I said. “They had it the whole time.” Billy leaned over to his girlfriend. “I told you to get rid of it.” “Mrs. Zoge was ‘getting rid of it’.” Annie said back. “I just told her that I found it.” I ignored them and instead wondered, “Why didn’t they turn us in?” Annie and Billy only offered me noncommittal shrugs. “Mommy and Mrs. B are our teachers,” Ivy broke in. “It’s their job.” My brain just didn’t want to wrap around that concept, even though I knew that I’d do the exact same thing for any of my students; even the Jeremies. “Yeah,” I said, “but then why didn’t you?” Ivy got a far off look. “Mommy said that we can’t let our feelings stop us from doing the right thing.” She sounded like she was reciting something she didn’t really understand. More fluently, she tacked on. “And you guys are friends.” “Yeah right,” Billy sneered, as if friendship with the Little Zoge was somehow fighting words. He’d learned that from me. I was about to tell him to shut up and that we owed her, but Annie beat me to it. “Don’t be a dumb baby.” He shut up. “Thanks,” I said to Ivy. I stepped out and raised my voice. “Thanks guys,” I called out to the whole class. I was met with a combination of enthusiastic smiles and thumbs up to quiet, disdainful, yet dignified and knowing prolonged eye contact.. The sound of tapes being ripped off of plastic backing ricocheted off the bathroom walls. “Sandra Lynn says you’re welcome,” Zoge echoed back. Love me or hate me, I was far from being an outsider or Helper anymore. I was one of them now. One of us. Beouf came back about a minute later and started helping Zoge out with the remaining class. Zoge still manned the changing table in the bathroom. Beouf grabbed supplies and play clothes and took Mandy into the nap room to maintain the thin veil of pseudo privacy. Another minute later, Mandy waddled out in a purple onesie with light lace trimming, and Beouf was power walking from behind holding a backpack in one hand and a balled up diaper for the pail in the other. “Tommy,” she called. “Get ready, kiddo. You’re next.” She leaned past Zoge and tossed Mandy’s shame away. A knock on the front door made Beouf pause from reloading and she quickstepped to her front door. She opened it and almost playfully asked, “Yyyyyeeeeeesssss?” “Hi there,” came a familiar voice. “Hello…” Beouf said. I couldn’t see who was on the other side, but Beouf seemed vaguely surprised; a bit confused even. “Did Miss Brollish send you?” “What?” the voice said. “No. I’m here to pick up Clark. Clark Grange?” Hearing my adopted name clicked everything into place. My face locked into neutral. Beouf’s spirits lifted. The lights came on in Beouf’s expression, and she opened the door completely. “Oh yeah!” she said. “I remember you from the shower. Janet’s friend, right?” “That’s me!” “Come on in.” The lady who walked in could have been a Little made large. She should have been a Little: Skinny and straight almost to the point of pre-pubescence, with tiny hips and breasts, while still bigger than any of the girls in my class due to sheer body mass, were completely antithetical to the Amazonian ideal of matronly beauty. Her state of dress was also extremely un-Amazon. Short denim jean shorts cut above the knees over gray leggings with white lace up sneakers, did not a mature and responsible adult project. Her light brown hair, cut short though it was, was still bunched up in a side ponytail. Compounding the contrast even further, she was wearing a Mint’s Hints T-shirt that was identical to mine, save for it that it had been machine washed to the point of fading, giving it a kind of retro or nostalgic look. Mrs. Beouf regularly wore functional clothing like jeans, t-shirts, serviceable shoes, and comfortable tops. The room’s latest entrant was the opposite of a Gwiffin Party costume; an Amazon doing an impression of what they thought Littles looked like; minus the padding. If she’d been wearing a diaper, the jean shorts wouldn’t have fit over it; no elasticity. If shrink rays were really a thing and not some mad scientist creepypasta, I would have suspected Janet of wanting to adopt her. “Hiiiii Clark!” she sang, all smiles and coos. All Little eyes pivoted away from her and to me. “It’s Auntie Jessicaaaaaa!” ‘Auntie’ Jessica. Janet’s best friend. ‘The fun Aunt’. My official babysitter. Well…crap. This was going to be annoying. Another survey of my peers told me who liked me and how much based on who was openly smiling with glee and who was doing their best to hide their amusement. The survey results were not surprising. I stepped forward, completely out of the nook, sighing to myself. I hadn’t planned on this but I wasn’t exactly shocked. I should have foreseen it. At least Janet hadn’t made up with Mark or someone. Best to get this over with. “Hi,” I said softly. “Ready?” I was up on her hip in the blink of an eye. “You bet Little guy! Let’s go!” “Bye,” Beouf waved. She sucked her lips in trying to suppress a smile. We both had a gut feeling about what kind of day I was in for. “Feel better, Clark. Have a good weekend. See you on Monday.” “Say buh bye, Clark.” I almost made another tender spot in my tongue, grinding my teeth. “Buh-bye, Clark…” “Ha!” she crowed. “Good one! Let’s go!” The door had remained open during this whole exchange. Jessica stepped out with me and I was treated to the sight of Raine Forrest, holding the door and watching us like a jealous hawk. “Have a good day,” she said in her best monotone. She’d been the escort. “You too,” Jessica sang, oblivious to the daggers being stared. I took a small but palpable amount of enjoyment sticking my tongue out at her, and watching her nose wrinkle up in anger. On the way out to the parking lot, an odd detail I noticed was how Jessica carried me. Janet had gradually adjusted so that she carried me on her side and used one arm wrapped around the small of my back to keep me pinned to her with her hips supporting a good chunk of my weight. Lacking Janet’s experience (and hips) Jessica used one arm for me to sit on and reached across herself to steady me at the shoulders. It’s strange what details one notices when being manhandled becomes part of the daily routine. The classroom was barely out of sight when she adjusted things to carry me draped over her shoulder, with one hand directly under my bottom, and the other hand resting between my shoulder blades. “Better,” I heard her whisper. At least I could rule out that she hadn’t gotten much practice caring for or snatching up “cousins”. Funnily enough it was sort of gratifying being too heavy or awkward for her to carry me like that. “Heard you got sick, but your Mommy can’t find a substitute, so she called me,” Jessica said as if I hadn’t already figured that much out. “Yup.” “She put me on your student emergency contact list so I’m allowed to pick you up.” “Uh-huh.” We came to a silver painted SUV with a hatchback trunk. I wasn’t good with cars, but it looked like an older model still in good condition. Jessica leaned back so she was supporting more of my weight on her body and freed up the hand between my shoulder blades to open up the door. “Let’s get going. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.” She lowered me into the car seat and buckled me in. I looked up at her while her hands worked the different straps and buckles. “Let me guess,” I said. “Doctor?” “Naw,” she said. “You don’t feel warm. Nothing looks swollen or glassy. Your voice is a little scratchy, but that’s not so bad. You just look like you just threw up a lot. Mommy can take you tomorrow if you start feeling icky.” She gave me a playful, knowing wink, and shut the door. Jessica knew, too. Which meant that Janet at least suspected that I’d been up to no good and warned her. She walked around, got in, turned on the engine and started backing out. I sunk back into the car seat. I can’t precisely say why I decided to be more honest and upfront; but it felt like a good time to lay some cards on the table. Maybe I was just playing the odds. I’d had a good round and didn’t want to overplay my hand. “You don’t think I’m sick, do you?” She started backing out of the parking lot. “Not really.” She had a relaxed, laissez faire, playful way of speaking about it. Janet sometimes spoke like that, before she’d gotten all quiet on me. “You think I did it on purpose?” The silver van pulled out onto the street and the shade of familiar trees and telephone poles slipped over my face. “Don’t know,” Jessica mused. “Don’t care either.” The confusion was real and it showed even in the rearview mirror. “You’re a little,” she said. “Littles do naughty silly stuff.” She added, “And I know a certain Little boy who likes to put things in his mouth that he shouldn’t and likes to do things to make big people upset.” I opened my mouth to retort, but couldn’t. Lady had a point. It was a skewed, stupid, distorted typical point based on the reality of my situation, but it was a point. “Doesn’t mean I don’t love him though.” “Doesn’t mean you like him.” That got no reply, but the eyes in the mirror and glimpses of her face betrayed no signs of pain or cognitive dissonance. She wasn’t trapped with me for several days a week. I hadn’t had the time or opportunity to grind her resolve down. That was a weakness to my favored interaction strategy. Anytime I drove one Amazon to the breaking point, they could always just tag out for a fresh one. It had been a limitation back when my pet cause had been reformation, too. Whether I was tormenting or enlightening them, it was one at a time, and the knowledge or aggravation I’d imparted didn’t get easily passed on to the next giant without my presence. You can only work with what you have, sadly. “Where are we going, then?” I asked. “Shopping.” Goose pimples started to break out on the back of my neck. “What kind of shopping?” “Clothes.” I squinted in suspicion. “What kind of clothes?” “Baby clothes. Little clothes. Take your pick.” Another wink. That was getting annoying. “Don’t worry, they’ll be nice.” “Wwwwwwwwhy?” My mouth slowly enunciated the word because there were so many questions to articulate. Not even an hour after my greatest prank, and I was anticipating swift and brutal retribution. Jessica’s response was immediate. “Umm, you barfed all over your nice picture day outfit, your Mommy is probably very upset and worried and worried about you, it’s getting chillier, and if I take you shopping and get you a couple new outfits maybe she won’t be as mad or worried when she gets home.” There was a twisted truth to what she said. “You’ve just got baby fever, you’re cosseting me, and you want to play dress up.” She giggled gleefully and blushed so hard I could see it from the backseat. “Yeah. That’s also true.” “Can you at least get me some pants?” I bargained. “I don’t know…” she pretended to be considering it. If she thought I was going to beg, she had another thing coming. “Mommy might not like that.” “You already said that it’s getting chilly,” I countered. “Why buy me something that in two months will be completely useless.” “Where we’re going has plenty of footed sleepers.” Jessica was still stringing me along. “Maybe if I heard a magic word or two or three. Starting with, ‘Pretty pretty’ and maybe add some sugar on top.” She was enjoying this way too much; bratty big sister that I never wanted. Okay. I had a magic word: Blackmail “Pretty, pretty, please don’t make me tell Mommy how you let me sneak into her room and drink her tequila while you were playing hide and seek.” I swallowed. “With sugar on top.” My babysitter smirked. “With how you’ve been acting lately, who is she gonna believe? Me or you?” I deflated and slumped back in the seat. “Please, will you buy me pants?” I monotoned. “Much better,” Jessica chirped. “And yes. Yes I will. I will buy you some pants. You just have to help me by trying them on, first.” I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Fine.” That’s how the world was working now, it seemed. Jessica turned on some music; nothing childish, just poppy, and leaned back patiently waiting for the ride to be over. It didn’t take much to get comfortable. The seat had been broken in and fit me well. Extremely well, actually. I looked under my right arm and saw familiar stitching and bits of lint. “Is this my car seat?” “Uh-huh,” Jessica said, still driving. “I moved it over from your Mommy’s car. You didn’t think I had my own car seat with no Little to fill it, did you?” “Janet did.” “Touche” She reached over to the front passenger seat and held up the diaper bag “I snagged this, too so I won’t have to buy you any new toys or diapers. Pretty sure that’d be bad and embarrassing for you, right?” Reluctantly I nodded. It was bound to happen, but I didn’t need more giants than necessary commenting on what was going on beneath my belly button and a box of Monkeez or a pack of Hippobottumuses was taken as an open invitation. Did they talk like that about their real babies, or just the ones they constantly needed to lie to themselves about? I wasn’t sure of the definitive answer to that, but I doubted it. Jessica took a moment to put the bag down, flip it open and dig around, taking inventory with her fingers. I braced for an imminent surprise crash hoping she was keeping her eyes on the road. “Two, three, four,” she quietly said to herself. Then, louder, went, “Yeah, feels like you’ve got enough for one trip. Should be good.” Relief was sudden and immediate when both hands were returned to the wheel and her left knee was relegated to keeping her foot planted on the floor. Three minutes later we were parking by an empty sidewalk, somewhere close to downtown or the historic district. Instead of a cheerful “We’re heeeere”, Jessica got out, walked to the back and popped open the hatch. “Come on,” I heard her say. “Let’s go for a walk.” Within ninety seconds, I was in my stroller, and the skinny Amason was syncing the fancy device she’d foisted on me to walk side by side with her like a dog trained to heel. “See?” she said once we’d started to move. “Nice fresh air. The sun is up. Empty city sidewalk because everybody else is working. Nice, right?” I’d already decided that Amazon ‘nice’ was not the same as Little ‘nice’. “You just want an excuse to play with this like it’s a toy.” “Man, you are cheeky today!” Jessica grinned. “But yeah. You’re right.” This amount of unguarded honesty was kind of refreshing. The fit to the restraints felt off, tighter and looser in all the wrong places. “Did you stop by Janet’s house first to get my stroller or something?” “Nope. This one’s mine.” I tossed her a questioning, incredulous, look. “What? I can’t have nice things?” It was easy to continue to stare, since my transport vehicle was automatically whirring along at the same pace as her massive strides. “I know a guy who says he can take one of the parts and programming and fix up my push mower.” That might have been true. The city blocks continued to sail by. “Uh-huh…” I tried my best to sound even more unconvinced than I already was. “It’ll be nice,” Jessica said. “Mowing my parents’ lawn without having to get all sweaty.” “You still live with your parents?” I barked out. I was unsure whether I wanted to laugh or scream. Janet’s buddy was unphased. “Last I checked, so do you.” “That is not the same!” My voice was and indignation was rising. “Yeah,” she said. “You’re a lot cuter and don’t have to pay rent. Economy is hard right now. You got lucky.” That did it. “Lucky?” I shouted. “Lucky?” I gave nearly the exact same heated rant of red hot truth that I’d poured into Mark’s lap. It was practically a magic bullet. A sinister spell that could break any Amazon willing to listen all the way though. It broke Mark. Either vicariously or because she overheard part of it, it wounded Janet. It was going to rock Jessica’s world. I added on an extra few barbs about betrayal and how nothing I said counted to all because of one slip up. I was panting when I was done. For what felt like a long time, Jessica was quiet. Near silent. Only the motorized whir, purring like a cat, reached either of our ears. The city blocks we strolled by were mostly empty. I’d been so focused on her that I didn’t have any time to think about the surrounding people or scenery. We were passing fast enough that we likely weren’t making much of a scene; not like if this had been at a grocery store or restaurant. My outbursts likely went unnoticed altogether. It took a few left turns in silence for me to realize that Jessica had started walking us around in a single block at some point. “Yeah,” she finally said. “Agreed. You’re right. Absolutely right. I’m sorry you lost all that. That really sucks.” I was beginning to feel a massive crick in my neck from staring up in disbelief. “Maturosis sucks. But now you have your Mommy, and your teachers, and your new Little friends at school and the meetings, and me.” Why did I even bother sometimes? “My point is, that if you were my size and acted like you do, you’d be dumped in this stroller with me, you…you…” I needed a word, a good curse word. “You…!” Fuck! Was the baby monitor subliminally conditioning me even more than I already was? “Yeah,” my babysitter nodded thoughtfully. “You’re probably right. But I’m statistically very unlikely to develop or express Maturosis, so no one is going to misdiagnose me by accident.” Again. Why did I even bother? The going in circles-both physical and logical-didn’t stop. “I would have to be very careful, though.” Jessica continued. “You’re right. That would suck having to think about whether everything I did or said could be taken as evidence that I was turning into a baby.” “Yeah.” Her brow furrowed. “If I had to do that all the time, it would almost feel like I wasn’t really an adult at all, because I’d be constantly trying to act even more mature than I actually needed to. Everything would be kind of performative and I wouldn’t be the real me out in public.” “Mmmmhmmm.” I was leaning all the way back so the harness didn’t bite into me as much. My jaw was starting to feel like it was locking into place. I wasn’t going to say anymore. Just wait for it. “I wouldn’t really have any freedom,” Jessica told herself. “I’d constantly be looking over my shoulder wondering who was watching me and if they were thinking the wrong thing.” She stopped. “That sounds like a terrible life.” She looked down at me aghast. “Was that what it was like for you?” I was not going to cry. Not over this. My throat was still tender, and clenching up. “Yeah…” my voice cracked. I stared off into the middle distance. I was not going to cry. I’d had a victory today, and this was still better than being back at school. “Oh Clark,” Jessica said. “Baby. That sounds so awful! I’m so sorry you had to live through that.” “Me too,” I mouthed. “Me too.” “Can I give you a hug?” I nodded, remaining mute. She pressed a button to stop the stroller, leaned in and draped her arms over me, nuzzling my head against her. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the letdown I knew was coming. Janet’s sister from another mister didn’t fail to disappoint. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’re safe now. You don’t have to pretend anymore.” Again. So close, yet so far. Tears no longer threatened. Expect an Amazon to miss the point and you’ll never be disappointed. I leaned away from her, pressing myself as far back against the stroller seat as I could so that both her body and the uncomfortable harness pressed against me as little as possible. “Can we just go clothes shopping, please.” Jessica released her grip and stood up to her full height. She sniffed and wiped her eyes with one hand and her nose with the other sleeve. “Sure. One second.” Why was she getting emotional? “Just a second.” She shuffled around to the back of the stroller and returned quickly with her purse, already opened. She fished around, took out a tin of mints and removed one. She broke it in half and offered it to me. “Here,” she said, “Your breath stinks.” She popped her half in and dabbed at her eyes with her fingers. “You’re crying. It can’t be that bad.” I popped the giant portioned half into my mouth anyways. I hated the taste of mint, it was like a bitter cold spice; the opposite of cinnamon; toothpaste flavored candy. But yeah, my breath really did taste vile. Toothpaste candy was preferable. My sitter laughed and blinked away the last of whatever it was that was “That’s not why, silly..” Wordlessly, she reactivated the stroller and finished the loop back onto the stretch of road she’d parked on. I didn’t bother to ask her why she was crying. I didn’t know, didn’t want to know, and probably couldn’t comprehend if I did. I still allowed a flicker of hope to take root in my heart. Hope for Hope for her help in escaping? No. Hope that she might see me as an adult? Definitely not. It was a kind of hope, however. The store Jessica steered us to wasn’t nearly as gaudy or ostentatious as I’d anticipated. It was no "L'enfant Magnifique” with periwinkle walls and turquoise shingles, but was an understated brown brick storefront underneath a navy blue awning. The big display windows had gold lettering on them with the name of the store: BARNABY’S. The only immediate signal that this place catered to people of my stature were the size of the mannequins on display. The nearest to the door wore a navy blue and forest green polo shirt and soft denim overalls, with turned-up cuffs that almost reached the ankles, color blocking in pastels, and an applique on the large bib pocket in the shape of a frog. Beside it in the window was a display shelf of shoes including white leather booties, buckle sandals, blue chambray boat shoes, and imitation fur boots completely with velcro fasteners. Damn. These clothes were somehow both fancier and more babyish than anything I’d ever worn. Ever. This is where the old and rich Amazons came to pamper their captured Littles. “Are you sure you can afford this?” I heard myself ask. “Yeah,” Jessica said. “My folks are rich. Not rich rich, but I can swing this.” “You bought two remote control strollers in a two month period,” I said. “This does not seem fiscally responsible.” The sitter propped open the entrance door, and piloted the stroller inside. “What’s the point of being a Grown-Up if you can’t be irresponsible once in a while?” “You have no idea how hypocritical that sounds.” My comment went ignored and the door closed behind us. A shiver ran through my body, and it wasn’t just because the air conditioning was turned up to an unholy level. “Hello,” a lady clerk about Beouf’s age with makeup aplenty caked on to hide that fact waved to us from behind a thick oak desk. “Welcome to Barnaby’s! Let us know if there’s anything you’d like to try on.” Us? Who was ‘us’? As far as I could see there was no one else in the store. “Thank you very much,” Jessica spoke confidently. “We’re going to browse for a few moments and tell you in a minute.” “Take all the time you need.” The soft looking carpet matched the awning outside in color. Jessica lifted me out of the stroller and set me down on my feet. It was soft. I could feel it through my shoes. “I don’t think the stroller will fit down all of the aisles,” she told me. “Let’s park it near the front and look around. The left side of the store was dedicated to boy’s apparel. Pants, shorts, jackets, shirts. The right side of the store was reserved for girls with elaborate skirts and dresses of styles that I lack the vocabulary even now to classify. The front row of either direction had displays of onesies, rompers, and outfits that could only be classified as ‘baby’, differentiated primarily by color palettes. Looking at the outfits and thinking back to that morning, I suspected some of my classmates and even a few of my former students had parents who shopped here. Zoge definitely shopped here for Ivy. Mr. Zoge must have made beaucoup bucks. Alternatively, they might have just budgeted well. Fancy baby clothes were a luxury some could afford, justify, and accumulate over time if the supposed baby never grew out of them. I followed her left. She didn’t need to hold my hand. There was no chance I was making a break for it in this part of town looking the way I did. Polished wood shelves rose up above me on either side. Folded, vacuum plastic wrapped clothing items lined the shelves, with tiny me-sized mannequins posted on top near Amazon eye level so that Mommies and Daddies could get an idea of what their doll would look like wearing them. There were clothes with contrast stitching, baseball tees, button down shirts, mandarin collars, elasticized waists, cargo pants, light-up sneakers, and argyle sweater vests. Thankfully the dolls were all headless. That same uneasy feeling, that buzzing in the back of my brain that happened when I was on Beouf’s playground started to creep up on me. It was quiet and calm and relatively sophisticated and the floor was soft instead of rough and sticky and worn, and everything smelled good, and the lone clerk had yet to talk down to me and even Jessica was relatively bearable. I didn’t like it here. Not one bit. “What are we looking for? What outfit?” Jessica scanned the shelves the way a hawk scanned a grassy field for mic. Idly, she fiddled with her side ponytail, twisting it in her fingers. “I haven’t decided yet,” she said. Then her tone lightened. “Oh wait, here we go.” The giantess became a sorting machine, whipping her arms out in seemingly random directions, getting clothes high and low from shelves. Her pace quickened, and I had to struggle to keep up. She piled item after item into her arms until she had a stack from her belt line up to the bottom of her chin. Impressive, doubly so considering they were clothes meant to fit me. “Excuse me,” Jessica called for the clerk. “Can we use your dressing room?” The old lady with too much eyeshadow rushed up and looked Jessica over. She pressed her lips together in consternation and finally managed, “Let me help you sort those out and get the samples for you, dear.” ********************************************************************************** Two hours later… “Okay,” Jessica said. “Walk around in them some. Get a feel.” “Yeah,” I whined. “I know. You’ve already had me do this a million times.” The would-be preschool teacher rolled her eyes. “It’s not a million. We've done a dozen at most. Maybe twenty.” “It’s called hyperbole.” “Just move around.” She lightly swatted my backside like Janet used to, to get me moving. So I did. My lip curled while I paced the aisle nearest the dressing rooms. The red cotton long-sleeved tee I was wearing badly needed fabric softener. I wasn’t a fan of the stitched-in slogan that read, “Eat. Sleep. Cute. Repeat.”, either. The denim pants were admittedly nice. Too bad the pockets were sewn shut. “What do you think?” Jessica called, cupping her hands together as if I were very far away. “These don’t have any pockets!” I called back. “So? What do you have to hold onto?” If only she knew… I bowed my head, fatigued. Whoever said clothes shopping wasn’t a physically demanding task was a filthy rotten liar. Personally, I’d put it above wrestling a Ramean lion in a coliseum and below soccer. “Well?” “Hold on! I’m thinking.” It was still better than the itchy starched white button up paired with the brown and blue argyle sweater vest. The elasticized waist tan slacks had been an even bigger deal breaker. They chafed when I walked and were too tight on the rump. Every few steps I took I could feel them sliding down my plastic backing. I needed clothes I could move in. The first outfit with a pale green wool sweater had sleeves closer to a Tweener’s. I kept having to push them up in the dressing room until Jessica rolled them up for me. Something that would impair my hands was a no go. The dark green corduroy pants the sweater had been paired with announced my presence with a swishing sound whenever I walked. The light up white and blue shoes didn’t help much. Hard to use my hands and hard to sneak around in? Cancel. I walked back to Jessica. Like every other return trip down the aisle, she had her phone ready and snapped my picture. “Why do you keep doing that?” I groaned. “To see which one Janet likes best.” I’d sabotaged Picture Day and was getting my own personalized fashion shoot instead. My head hung down to my chest, wilted. My throat was dry from how many times I’d sighed in the last one hundred and twenty minutes. This was boring. This was uncomfortable. This was useless. This was stupid. “Fine,” I said. “I guess I hate this one the least.” Another plus was that none of these items had snaps along the inseam. She ditched her phone. “Yeah. I like it too.” She took me into the dressing room one last time and got the store’s trial clothes off of me and back to just my t-shirt and regular sneakers. I really hoped for my sake and whoever followed me that Barnaby’s had spares and washed these things. I was a limp ragdoll in Jessica’s arms all the way to the counter. “Okay. We’ll take them.” Jessica said. “Which ones?” The clerk asked. “All of them.” That was enough for the clerk. She got out two enormous shopping bags with store lettering on them and began stacking the clear plastic sealed variants in. “New Mommy?” she asked. “No. Just his Auntie. Sort of. I’m spoiling…” “That makes sense,” the other woman agreed. “He’s very well behaved.” I lifted my head and tapped Jessica on the shoulder. Screw the clerk. If she could talk about me like I wasn’t there, I could disregard. “Why are you getting so many?” I demanded to know. “You think this is spoiling me?” “I’m not spoiling you, silly,” she said. “I’m spoiling your Mommy.” She pressed her forehead to mine and spoke so low that only I could hear her. “When she called me I could tell that she was close to crying. Janet’s my best friend and you’re going to help me make it up to her. Got it?” A deluge of curses and slurs and insults swam through my gray matter. I wanted to spit in the woman’s face and find a way to burn all of those. I’d shove them, plastic first into the dryer with the heat turned all the way up. When I was about to start my offensive, a little, Little voice played itself in my mind’s ear: “We can’t let our feelings stop us from doing the right thing.” Damn you, Ivy. “Got it.” The woman behind the counter rang up the total, and Jessica paid with her card. The price was high enough that I was pretty sure I could have bought groceries for at least a couple months with that price tag. Probably close to six. My stomach growled just thinking about it. “I’m hungry.” “Oh yeah,” Jessica remarked. “I guess you kind of haven’t eaten today, have you?” I was embarrassed to realize that I’d become accustomed to snack breaks and chalky sweet treats. “We’ll get an early lunch next.” “How are you gonna get those bags out of here?” Each one was big enough that I could have hid in one had it been empty. “We’ll cram them in the stroller. I’ll carry you.” I snorted. “All the way back to the van?” “Me Auntie Jessica!” she mock-growled. “Me strong! Carry big boy long ways!” That got a giggle out of me. I let out an “eep!” when I felt the palm I’d been sitting on squeeze me. “Before we go,” Jessica asked the clerk. “Is there someplace I can change him?” “Sorry,” the clerk told her. “We don’t have any changing stations here.” The one bit of childish ‘clothing’ this place didn’t carry were diapers. No diapers. No changing tables. Fewer snaps. The near constant buzzing in my head dimmed considerably. I liked Barnaby’s a little better just then. “Looks like we’ll have to wait till we get back to the van.” ************************************************************************ The Silver Spoon was a diner on the other side of Oakshire, but only just barely off the main road before you get to the Oakshire Wildlife Gardens. It’s also one of the few places I knew locally where a body could get a fried egg and a chocolate shake at any time of the day. “What are you gonna get?” Jessica asked, carrying me inside onto the checkered floor. “I don’t know,” I said. “Franz fries. Lots of Franz fries.” “What is Franz, anyways?” she wondered. “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe Franz was the guy who invented them?” “Wouldn’t that make them Franz’s fries?” Jessica asked. I gave the closest I could to a verbal shrug. “I ‘unno. Maybe it’s one of those things that got shrunk or forgotten over time.” “Maybe…” A Tweener in a light blue waitress’s dress and a paper hat approached us. “Hi there. How many?” “Just the two of us,” Jessica told her. The Tweener clocked me, and smiled. The smile didn’t reach her eyes, but it wasn’t a Brollish smile. It was closer to what I’d seen from Elmer’s mother in the grocery store “Great,” she said. “No problem. I’ll go get him a highchair.” Something was wrong. There was a problem. Jessica stepped further into the restaurant and I knew exactly what the problem was: At the back of the diner, two booths sat occupied, jam packed together. A dozen Little men crammed together in booster seats sat with dirty hands and scruffy bears and sweat stained jumpsuits. They were younger and only a little bit smaller than I remembered my ex-father-in-law. They had more muscle on their arms too. No beer guts, either. Each table of six men at each booth were eating half a plate of Amazon portioned smash burgers and fries. Jawing, and joking, and bitching about whatever job they were taking a break from. A smattering of Tweeners and bored looking Amazons ate nearby, but they paid them no mind. They got real quiet when they saw Jessica and me, however. No one stared; quite the opposite. They all settled down, chewed more slowly, and did everything they could to avoid looking at me. One of them quietly held up his hand, asking for the checks, even though many of the men clearly hadn’t finished their lunch. They looked like they’d just started. No questions came to mind. Me. They were leaving because of me. I was the babied Little to them. I was the reminder of what could happen to them if they weren’t careful. I was the bad omen. Mine was the fate worse than death. I wasn’t one of them. Not anymore. I wasn’t an adult. I was a victim, a loser. I’d played the game and I’d lost. I was a baby. They thought they’d be safe from seeing someone like me out here this time of the day. Someone like me was supposed to be at daycare far away from where they could see me or have to deal with the crazy Amazon who’d dragged me in here with her. No screams for help were required. No pleas for aid or screams that I was married and had a teaching degree needed to go ignored. I didn’t need to say anything. I was ruining their meal just being there. Panicked, I grabbed Jessica by the chin. “Jessica. Take me home, please.” Jessica looked confused. “We just got here.” “I know. I’m not hungry. I don’t like it here. Take me home.” “The waitress will be back in just a second.” “Auntie Jessica…” “What’s wrong? Are you embarrassed?” “I can’t explain.” “Did you poop?” I released her chin and grabbed her ponytail in an absolute stranglehold. “Auntie. Jessica. I need to go home. Now, please!” The enormous Little slapped my hand aside like it was tissue paper. She made a quiet “ow” sound and then stared at me. “Please listen…” I begged. “Please.” We started moving back the way we came. “Okay, baby.” *************************************************** “Come on Clark,” Jessica begged me. She held the spoonful of applesauce up to my lips. “Eat. Please.” I was starving. I withdrew. It being cinnamon applesauce made it easier. “Are you doing this to punish me?” Kind of. I turned my head sideways so she couldn’t shove the spoon in my mouth. “No.” I was punishing myself more than her. Felt good imagining that I was punishing an Amazon at least. “No you won’t eat? Or no you’re not punishing me.” I wilted in the highchair. We were back in Janet’s kitchen. I went quiet all the way back. Jessica had asked me questions but I didn’t bother answering. If she couldn’t understand that Maturosis was bullshit, there was no way she’d get why inhabiting the same space as those free Littles was existentially disturbing to both parties. No grand plan. No short term scheme. I just wasn’t eating and feeling sorry for myself. “You’re really starting to worry me, Clark.” Good. Or bad? I didn’t know. Too much to process. Too much to take in. Me sabotaging Picture Day; Beouf shouting my real name; then covering it up in front of Brollish. The feelings in my head at Barnaby’s. Seeing those Littles who still had jobs and homes and maybe families. Janet. Just Janet. Too fucking much. “You know if you don’t put something in your stomach, Janet really will have to take you to the doctor.” Wow. Jessica was calling Janet by her name in front of me. Yay, I guess. “If you don’t eat they’ll have to find another way to feed you.” She put the spoon down and held my head up. “Tubes will be involved.” “Fine,” I grumbled. “No applesauce, please.” Jessica was over to the fridge with a stride. “Okay fine. What do you want? Pears? Corn dog nuggets? Chicken? Milk? Banana? Orange slices? Orange juice?” I rested my head on my chin. “Milk.” Maybe if I had a bottle to suck on she’d stop expecting me to talk. No magic words or ‘pretty, pretty’ or sugar on top was required. “Okay, there’s some right here.” My sitter removed a baby bottle from the refrigerator, pivoted and stepped to me. “Drink up.” “Thanks,” I reached for the bottle and closed on thin air. “Almost forgot,” she said. “You like poison proof, don’t you?” She opened her mouth and squirted some in. She froze and made a face. “That’s not moo milk,” she said. “It’s not sour but… that’s not moo milk.” I wanted to bang my head on the tray. “We were bored and switched to goat milk. Carton in the fridge. Jessica re-opened the fridge, dug the carton of milk out and took a swig directly from it. She swished it around in her mouth with questions in her eyes. It reminded me of the look I sometimes got when I was expecting to sip soda out of a straw, but actually got sweet iced tea. The Little in the giant’s body, swallowed. “Okay,” she said. “Yeah. That adds up.” She handed me the bottle. “I prefer cow milk. Definitely prefer cow.” Her preferences aside, I took the bottle and started sucking from the rubber teat. Gently at first, but only at first. Sips turned to gulps. Gulps turned to chugging. My body had done its best to abate the hunger and was starting to get comfortable. Once the sweet, fatty milk touched my tongue, my stomach was open for business. I downed the whole thing in under a minute.The belch that followed was for close to two seconds. “Nice!” Jessica offered me a high five. I took it. A yawn bellowed out of me and I started to wilt again. I’d tanked up quickly enough and now I was feeling sluggish. “Auntie Jessica?” I asked. “Can I please take an early nap?” “Sure, baby.” Jessica said. “Sure. But you’re gonna eat a snack after I wake you up. Solid food. Deal?” Another yawn and then, “Deal.” She checked my diaper and declared me “Good enough.” High praise considering the source. Made sense. Nothing had gone in, so nothing really was coming out. Fringe benefit of purge and starvation? I was released from the highchair and carried back into the nursery. I was laid down in the crib and the only things that came off were my shoes and socks. She went over and closed the bedroom curtains. The room still wasn’t dark, but it was sufficiently shady to snooze. “Night night, Clark.” My eyes closed. “Night night.” A terrible thought entered my head, followed by a brave one. “Jessica?”. “Yeah?” I pointed to the monitor. “Can you please take that out?” “I don’t know if your Mommy wants me messing with that.” She sounded hesitant. I opened my eyes back up. “Pleeeeeeeeease?” I stared up at her looking over the edge of the railing. “Why do you want me to take out the monitor?” A lie wouldn’t work. So a truth would have to do. “It scares me.” “Why?” She was puzzling out whether I was telling the truth or manipulating her. These two things could be true. “I can’t explain it in a way you’ll understand.” I told her. Technically, another truth where I was concerned. “It just scares me. It’s a Little thing.” She turned her head and considered the device. “Will you call me Auntie Jess as much as you can?” “Yes.” That was just vague enough to work. Sure. In reply, she walked to the monitor and unplugged it. “Okay, but only for your nap. I’m leaving the door open so I can listen.” “Deal.” She was winding the chord up around her massive fist. “And I’m putting this with the receiver so I don’t lose it.” “Double deal.” My eyes were shutting. “And I’m putting it back before your Mommy comes home.” “Triple deal.” I stayed awake long enough to see her take the cursed subliminal messaging device out of my room. I fell into a deep and wonderful sleep like I hadn’t had in ages.

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Time is meaningless when you’re dead. “When we’ve been there ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun,” that stupid song went, “We’ll no less days to sing God’s praise than when we first begun.” They had the right of it, or so Isabelle felt, but they were completely wrong too. Time is a construct. Any idiot trying to seem sophisticated or smart will say that, usually before giggling smugly and then telling you what time it is. It’s true though. Time is just a way of marking or noticing changes outside oneself that occur due to external and internal forces. Time is what people ascribe to noticing patterns such as the seasons, growth, maturity, entropy, and death. Time is attaching logic and other basic cause and effect relationships to oneself. Time was how mortal minds cataloged and tracked basic predictable changes. When dead, you’re out of time. Literally outside of it. Upon death, ten seconds and ten thousand years were equally relevant and long and important to each other. The rules and predictability that govern the passage of time cease and loop back around on each other. Someone in Heaven experiencing that Amazing Grace would be in such a state of perpetual bliss and nothing about that bliss would change or shift to the point that ten thousand years would be as inconsequential to them as a single day. Time has no meaning or necessity upon death. That’s how eternity worked. That’s what the song meant. That was how it was for Isabelle. Literally outside of time. It was the only way she could comprehend her current eternal situation. Isabelle wasn’t in Heaven, at least not any Heaven she would have selected for herself. “Wakey wakey,” came an overly cheerful voice from elsewhere in the room. “Time to get up!” The woman whom Isabelle knew only as ‘Mommy’ popped her head suddenly over the railing that defined the outer border of Isabelle’s crib . “I hope you slept well, Izzy! We’ve got a busy day ahead!” Mommy’s voice was always cheery and bright sounding, her eyes bright and possessed of the curiosity and intensity that a housecat paid to a lizard. Isabelle was the lizard. Isabelle squalled from her spot on the mattress, her tiny yet chubby hands balled up into impotent fists as she screamed up at Mommy; hammering the crib mattress beneath her with her fists and feet. She couldn’t so much as roll over onto her side, and it had everything and nothing to do with the bulky infant’s diaper wrapped around the girl’s hips. “I know,” Mommy cooed. “I know.” She reached down and picked the tiny blob up off the crib’s mattress. A tiny blob: That’s all Isabelle was first thing in the morning and last thing at night. She had no other choice. “You want your breakfast. First, let me check your pants, Little Miss Squirmy.” Isabelle continued to squall while Mommy held the entirety of her in just one arm and pulled back the rear waistband of her diaper. It was more of a scream than a cry, newborns couldn’t properly cry. Mommy repositioned Isabelle into a cradle. “You definitely need a change,” she said. “But not quite yet. We’ll wait till after breakfast.” Inwardly, Isabelle’s heart sank. So that’s how this particular morning was going to go. Sometimes she’d be changed first thing and then given breakfast. Sometimes she’d be fed and then changed. Sometimes she’d be whisked out of the house in a pretend rush wearing the same diaper she woke up in. She hated those mornings the most. Isabelle never knew ahead of time which it would be, and nothing she did seemed to matter. Time didn’t matter. “That means you get to eat sooner! Isn’t that good?” Newborns are all but incapable of expressing any emotion beyond quiet or screaming. Isabelle chose screaming. That didn’t affect Mommy one bit. “Yeah,” she said. “Someone’s hungry. Someone needs her morning titty.”’ The air rushed by like a rollercoaster and Isabelle was screaming like it. Her gumless mouth resembled a caught fish in so many ways. Unperturbed, Mommy opened her pink bathrobe and exposed her nipple. Isabelle felt the tit brush up against her cheek and her mouth automatically turned and latched on, greedily sucking at the breastmilk. “There. That’s better.” It was and it wasn’t. Her infant body felt an animal level of satisfaction in the suckling the same way one feels when scratching an itch. The actions taken though were highly involuntarily. Her mouth and tongue suckled and explored the nipple and downed the creamy fat filled milk in the same way that her knee spasmed when tapped with a hammer. Speaking of involuntary, Isabelle heard herself grunt slightly as her body pushed out a soft mushy mass into the seat of her nighttime diaper. Her bottom lit up with pain and itching as her persistent low-level rash made itself known. Mommy peeked back in and examined the mess for herself. “Good girl,” she said. “Knew I was right. If I’d have changed you first before breakfast I’d just have to change you again.” Isabelle got out the tiniest scream as she was switched over to the other breast. “And it would probably have been a much bigger mess to clean up,” she said as she let out a pleasant sounding sigh and patted Isabelle’s mushy bottom. The pats were simultaneously affectionate and agonizing as each pat further inflamed her sensitive skin. The most annoying part was that Mommy was right. The baby didn’t wince or flinch. She couldn’t. She just kept sucking on Mommy’s tit, her body operating on pure instinct, heedless of the fact that it was in a thoroughly used diaper. She didn’t care either. The diapers, she decided, were the symptom of a much bigger problem. It was awful being so completely out of control of her own body. It sucked being Mommy’s personal plaything every single day and not knowing what she’d be subjected to. It sucked being dead. “Okay,” Mommy said. “All done. Time for burps! Can you give me some burps?” She propped Isabelle up over her enormous shoulder and started gently patting the newborn’s back. Isabelle was tempted to keep her mouth closed and make the gas bubbles come out slower; possibly hold her breath. It might make things difficult. Mommy must have anticipated it. “Give me some burps and maybe you’ll get a bigger diaper,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet with the devil’s bargain.. That was all it took for Isabelle to give in. “Urp! Er. Urp.” The gas bubbles came out in funny and nearly inaudible pops. Petite little things, just like Isabelle tended to be this time of morning. Only herself and Mommy could have possibly heard them. “URP!” Mommy readjusted the girl to look at her. “Oh! That was a big one! Good girl!” Against her will, Isabelle allowed herself a feeling of pride, and with it hope. Said hope was rewarded on the changing table. The velcro tabs on Isabelle’s diaper came undone and her legs were lifted into the air by the ankles while Mommy wiped her down and cleaned her up. Isabelle tried not to inhale the scent of own mess, but it was inescapable. It wasn’t that bad, actually. When it was only breastmilk in her system and her digestive tract was functionally under a month old, the poop smelled more like warm dairy than anything else. Extremely bearable. What wasn’t bearable was the constant teasing and taunting from Mommy. “Such a good baby!” she said. “Getting so big! Just was a wiiiiiiddle fussy cuz she wanted her Mommy’s milk. That got her tum tum moving right along and she made Mommy a present. Yes she did! Yes she did!” She finished wiping the newborn down, balled up the used diaper and threw it away. “You’re gonna be such a big girl someday. Talkin’ and going to school and even using the potty all by yourself!” A wicked gleam shone in Mommy’s eyes as she unfolded the new diaper and slid it under. “But not today!” Isabelle laid back while Mommy rubbed in diaper cream and dusted on baby powder. She was still too weak to lift her head. Hopefully that would change soon. At least the cream gave her some respite from the rash. She couldn’t feel herself growing there on the changing table with her legs up in the air. Never could. Living people never felt it either, but it still happened. Isabelle’s growth happened much more quickly, even if it was just as subtle. The changes started as soon as Mommy lowered Isabelle’s bottom down onto the soft padding of the fresh, but much larger diaper. Dark hair sprouted out of Isabelle’s head, making her realize just how cold her skull had been moments before. She moaned and whimpered a little as a few fresh teeth sprang out of her delicate gums. Yes! That meant that she was at least a crawler! Her excitement dimmed, naturally, when the pain stopped and her mouth still resembled a Jack-O-Lantern. Finally, she was able to crane her head to the side and look at herself. Mommy had a strategically positioned mirror angled towards the changing table, just so Isabelle could see herself as Mommy tended to her. Still pudgy, but there was muscle to it. Just not the lean meat of a preschooler that she’d been vainly craving forever. Mommy finished diapering her, bringing the front up and tucking the sides down over Isabelle’s non-existent hips snugly enough so that the back ends could fold over to the front and be taped on. “There we go!” This, among so many other reasons, was why Isabelle knew she was dead. Everyday she’d wake up as a newborn, Mommy would change her into a different sized diaper, dress her into matching baby clothes, and Isabelle’s body would shift to fit. Then every night, when frustration after frustration had taken its toll, she’d go back into a fresh nighttime diaper meant for a newborn, be breastfed, and then find herself lowered into her crib. Her body matched the clothes she was in, and she ended and started each day as the same relative ‘age’. Those were the only rules; everything else was seemingly random and inconsistent. Some days she’d be a newborn all day. Others she’d be a crawler, or a sitter, or a cruiser, or a walker, or just shy of preschool. But she never got old enough to be in anything other than diapers. Diapers: She supposed that was the other consistency. That was her own personal Ten Thousand Years. Always diapers. Never training pants. Certainly not big girl panties. Those weren’t meant for her. Ten Thousand Years. Maybe that’s how long Isabelle had been doing this. Maybe longer. Maybe shorter. Perhaps it had only been ten seconds and in real time her body was still cooling in her death bed or driver’s seat or bleeding out in the street. Time didn’t matter. Isabelle didn’t remember how she’d died. It’d been so long from her perspective that she’d totally forgotten. And if forgetting had bothered her, she’d forgotten being bothered by forgetting it too. She was dead, and to be dead one had to be alive at some point. It was academic really. Just like to be alive, one had to be born and have been a baby at some point. Similarly, Isabelle knew she’d been an adult at some point in her life. It had been so long since she’d been one though, that she couldn’t remember herself as one and any lingering traces felt more like imagination to her than memory. She knew she used to be an adult and had worn big girl panties and had had a job and her own house and gone potty all by herself and had sex. She knew that she’d once been a woman with breasts and hips and curves and hair that went down to her back and a voice that did more than just squeal and whine all the time. Problem was she couldn’t remember it. In the face of eternity, a human mind can only remember so much with any sort of clarity. For the last however many forevers, every waking moment of Isabelle’s existence had been filled with diapers, bottles, highchairs, playpens, onesies, pacifiers, and so on and so forth. Everything even remotely less infantile was all academic at this point. She was left constantly missing something that she could no longer remember having. Nostalgia felt like envy. That’s how she knew that this existence wasn’t heaven. Mommy wasn’t her real Mommy, obviously. Isabelle had forgotten her last name, but some part of her still knew how to profile based on appearance. To put it bluntly and engage in stereotype: with her dark hair and caramel colored skin, Isabelle’s last name while living might have been Garcia or Sanchez. Mommy’s milky white complexion and strawberry blonde hair marked her as more of a Rogers or a Smith. The woman who diapered her every day was certainly not the woman who had given birth to Isabelle the first time around. Thinking of Mommy as a mother in the adoptive sense didn’t feel right either. She might act kind, but Mommy never lost the malicious edge that convinced Isabelle her sole purpose was to taunt and tempt and tease, and she was magnificent at her job. If passive aggression, condescension, and infantilization were a person, Mommy would have been it. Mommy wasn’t a person though. She was a demon of some sort. That much was clear. Isabelle only referred to her as ‘Mommy’ because she literally didn’t have another name for the beast that breastfed her. In all her memory, she had been given no other name. Even other denizens of this fragrant scented hellscape called the woman ‘Mommy’. Mommy wasn’t her mother. Mommy wasn’t her caregiver. Mommy wasn’t even a person. Mommy was just…Mommy. It was oddly appropriate given how few children at Isabelle’s perpetually young ‘age(s)’ knew their parents’ real names or understood complex family dynamics. Given that this place was Hell maybe it wasn’t so odd. Mommy pulled Isabelle into a seated position on the changing table and leaned away to grab a baby dress. “Let’s get my busy Izzy dressed for the day. Can’t just have you going around all nakied!” From her seated position, the girl shuddered. She hated that name. It grinded against her brain like no other, and every adult bodied being she encountered insisted on calling her that. A spare thought: Hey!. She could sit up by herself. That was something. In the few seconds she had to herself, Isabelle began a sort of diagnostic of the body she’d been granted. Looking down at the new diaper she had on, she saw some lines that she knew meant numbers, but it had been so long she’d forgotten what scribble meant what number. The same for letters. That was no help. Decoration wise, it was mostly white with pictures of fish dotting the waistband. There were a few fish stencils going down the cloth-like cover, but that didn’t offer any clues to how old she was supposed to be, either. Experimentally, she squeezed her thighs together. The nice new diaper was still pretty thick between her legs, but not so puffy as to inhibit movement. That meant she could probably walk or cruise. Babies who were less ambulatory had comparatively thicker diapers down here. She might have a chance. It still had that yellow line down the middle. She still didn’t know what that line was for, but she knew that the diapers for the older kids, the ones who were precariously close to potty training, didn’t have these little streaks down the center. Damn. Rarely. Very rarely, Mommy would dress Isabelle as a toddler or preschooler, someone who could talk more than a few words, could potentially feed themselves, and the only thing keeping them from doing something ‘bigger’ was lack of ambition or experience; a little kid on the verge of becoming a big kid. That was the trick. That was the torture. Isabelle became whatever age best suited the clothes she was wearing. That meant that if Isabelle could manage to get into clothing more befitting a big kid- or better yet, an adult- she’d be freed from the eternal prison her body had been reduced to. No more pissing and shitting herself uncontrollably. No more drooling and teething. No more wobbly legs or knees scuffed from crawling on the carpet all day. No more highchairs or cribs or bouncers or exersaucers. No more diapers. She’d be a big girl. There was the rub. That’s why this was Hell. She’d never managed to pull it off. Not once. Not that she could remember. And every day, a new opportunity would present itself to her…and she’d fail. If she could get over it and accept her lot, she might be okay. If she could, though, it wouldn’t be Hell. Might as well see what she was getting to work with this time. Isabelle ran her tongue over her few teeth. Time for a systems check. “Ma-ma?” she said. “Yes Izzy?” Mommy cooed, returning with a dress. Basic communication? Check. “Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma! GAAAAAA! Buh!” More advanced forms of vocalization? Negative. She was a babbler. Probably not even a year old. “Ma-na-ga-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ma-ma!’ None of the other words she was intending would come out right. She’d been trying to recite what she could remember of the ABC song. She could still remember the words despite not recognizing the letters. “Somebody’s quite the chatterbox,” Mommy replied. “Good. Maybe soon you’ll say your first real word today.” That made Isabelle’s blood boil something fierce. She’d had an uncountable number of first words, and not just because it was getting harder and harder to count. Isabelle held her babbling tongue for Mommy to dress her. The order of the day was a black and white checkered dress with a white peter pan collar. Mommy slid the dress over Isabelle’s head and guided her arms into the sleeves pulling it down. It was a snug fitting number but not uncomfortably tight. That could be bad. Onesies, rompers, and just plain old t-shirts and shorts were usually indicators that she was expected to crawl. Crawlers didn’t get clothes that might trip up or get snagged on their knees. She couldn’t help but smile when Mommy boosted her slightly so that the hem of her dress could settle. It was still short enough that it didn’t quite cover the very bottom of her diaper but Isabelle had the feeling that it would drag on the ground were she to crawl. She probably wasn’t just a crawler. “What am I gonna do with all this hair?” Mommy asked. A rhetorical question meant to torment Isabelle, obviously. Isabelle got her answer in the form of a matching bow that kept her raven hair up in a single pony tail on the top of her head. Gingerly, she reached up and patted the single tuft. The ponytail was pulled just tight enough to be uncomfortable, tugging ever so slightly at the hair. One of the most precious memories Izzy had left to her was the time she’d have enough hair to put up into pigtails. Her dress had gone down to her knees, a pair of tightshad gone over her diaper and her and her mouth had been coordinated enough for her to scream things like “Big girl! Potty! No diaper!” She must have been close to two. Mommy had slipped up and left one of her shirts from the laundry folded up on the living room couch. To this day, Isabelle held fast in the belief that she could have fully grown up if she’d only gotten her head through the right hole in time instead of getting all tangled up in the comparative circus tent. Her chief tormentor slipped some socks onto Isabelle’s feet and declared “That’s good enough,” brushing her hands. “Come on Izzy, let’s get busy.” Socks. Of course it was just socks. The demon woman liked the subtle nuance of torment. Shoes would have been a giveaway. “Up we go!” Isabelle was on the suburban monster’s hip, but not very long. The trip was less than thirty steps to the playroom. Where most middle class families might have a living room or a family room, a space beyond the dinner table for family members to congregate and sit; Isabelle’s personal Hell had a playroom. It was a white walled space decorated with colorful dollar store alphabet and number posters that were just out of tiny arms’ reach. Much of the floor was covered with foam mats for children to plot and tromp and run around on and two out of four walls were stacked with toy bins full of colorful but functionally useless pieces of plastic or wood. Another wall was dominated with plastic playsets to simulate kitchens and grills and other suitably ‘adult’ things. The final one had a mesh playpen and a spare changing table that was primarily occupied by Isabelle when the sun was up. Within the hollow fiction of Isabelle’s padded prison, Mommy ran an at home daycare. Isabelle was always the only one who wasn’t at least in training pants. With complete automaticity, Mommy stepped over the baby gate and into the playroom. “Here we are, Izzy!” she chirped. “All ready to start another wonderful day!” Another wonderful day Isabelle’s ass. In short order, the eternal child was placed back in the playpen, bottom first. Stone walls did not a prison make nor iron bars a cage. Mesh netting and fabric over steel frames more than did the job, especially when the playpen was empty of toys or stuffies or anything other than Isabelle herself. “You be good, Izzy.” Mommy said. “Mommy will be right back after she freshens up.” Isabelle tried to say something sarcastic, but the words only came out as sleepy burbling. Sarcasm was hard to convey through tone alone. Mommy gave her another kiss for her trouble and flounced out of sight. Isabelle huffed and sighed, staring down at her nearly bare legs. They might work. They might not. If she was going to be stuck with a body that could only stand for a matter of seconds before tumbling back on its rump, she might as well find out now while no one was around to hear or see her struggle. Learning forward, Isabelle cocked her legs into a kind of W-sit that gradually shifted so that she was on her hands and knees. Okay. So she was at least a crawler. Her dress still dragged on the ground. Experimentally she shuffle crawled a few paces in her pen, feeling her knees scrape and catch on the dress; sometimes stopping her so that she’d have to adjust. Not optimal for crawling. That gave Isabelle some hope. Mommy never dressed her inappropriately for her body’s abilities. That would have ruined the game, Isabelle supposed. It was only torture if the girl thought she could win. Isabelle proceeded to curl her toes and push herself back onto the balls of her feet. Her eyes widened in discomfort for a moment before catching her balance. A sliver more of pushing would have sent her cannonballing back onto her bottom. Balance was okay, but only just so. With a nearly explosive push from her legs, Isabelle rocketed herself up to a standing position. Yes! She tried to maintain her position and counted. One…two…three…five…eight….no six!...seven… The girl started to tip forward around then and was forced to put one clumsy foot in front of the other until she steadied herself on the playpen railing. She caught her breath and held herself there, feeling much more secure and in control. Okay. Okay. Good crawling motor skills. Decent ability to balance and stand. Walking was limited at best; cruising by grabbing onto something preferred, but she might be able to manage. She could work with this. She could definitely work with this. She could pilot this body today. Mommy would have to be more on guard today. DING-DONG!. The doorbell rang, and Isabelle heard Mommy’s voice echoing through the house “Coooooming!” She called. “Always early. Never fails,” she muttered. Isabelle’s legs started to shake from muscle fatigue. Isabelle took a mental note of it and managed to set herself down quietly back at the bottom of the pen. That was another factor. Plenty of times she’d gotten painfully close to victory only to have a padded thud alert Mommy. She didn’t bother trying to tip over the playpen or climb out of it. That wasn’t going to happen. Not by herself. Not in this body. She didn’t have the weight or the athleticism to credibly try. She’d have to be clever and manufacture a way out, preying on Mommy’s need to play the roll or by manipulating one of the other kids into helping her. Speaking of which… “Well helloooo!” Mommy said just out of sight. “Hello Missus Izzy’s Mommy!” a little boy’s voice answered. “Hi Damien, would you like to come in and play?” “Uh huh!” Flapping slapping sneaker steps signaled the child’s approach before Isabelle even saw him. The towheaded boy with a bowl cut couldn’t have been older than three but to Isabelle he was regularly a blur and a giant by comparison. “Lemme in! Lemme in! Lemme in! Lemme in! Lemme in! I wanna plaaaaaaaay!” Damien was always hyper and always very, very loud. “Okay,” Mommy called and laughed. “Kind of makes you miss the days when he’d cry as soon as he was out of your arms. They grow up so fast.” Mommy was supposedly talking to Daminen’s mother. Isabelle had never seen or heard the other woman speak or see her or Damian in any of the ‘out on the town’ tortures that she could remember. Damien was here now, though. “Have a good day at work!” Mommy called out. The door hinges squealed as the door shut and Mommy came back up. “Good morning, Damien!” “Lemme in! Lemme in! Play! Plaaaaaay!” Mommy smiled and chuckled good-naturedly. “Okay. Okay. Go ahead. Go play. Just be careful with Izzy.” Solemnly, Damien nodded. “Be careful wif the baby.” “That’s right.” Mommy lifted Damien up by the armpits and gently placed him down on the other side of the impassable wooden lattice wedged into the playroom’s threshold. Like he did every morning he was there, Damien blurred up to the side of the playpen and waved his arm with speed and coordination that Isabelle could only dream of. “Hiiii Izzy!” Meekly, Isabelle waved back with one pudgy arm. Damien didn’t say bye as much as he screamed and ran to the toy bins, dumping them all out on the floor before bending over and picking something out to play with. Damien was worse than the terrible twos. Damien was terrifying. Yet from her spot in the bare playpen, Isabelle felt more than a twinge of jealousy regarding the blue Pull-Up poking up out of his shorts. The next hour proceeded about as Isabelle expected. In packs of one and two, each of the usual big kid suspects came in, were placed in the playroom, said “Hi Izzy” and then started running around like crazy. Besides Damien, there was Lucien who had a full set of teeth, Selene who was by turns a sweetheart and a total brat; Seth who was a big kid among the big kids, Carmilla who had so many accidents in her pants that she should have been put back into diapers alongside Isabelle, and the twins Peter and Pandora. As with so many other things about being dead, Isabelle had more questions than answers. Were these actual children? People like her that had fully lost their minds after several eternities? Constructs and simulations? Demons like Mommy? None of that had been answered, and on the rare occasion that Isabelle could form coherent words, she didn’t think to ask. She was afraid to. These tiny terrors, whatever they really were, were the closest things she had to friends or consistency in all of existence. Whether she was a newborn blob, a roller, crawler, butt scooter, a cruiser, a toddler, or just a month or two behind Carmilla, they always stayed the same. Isabelle took comfort in that. It made them part of the game to her; part of the vast puzzle to figure out. “Hi Izzy!” Lucien said for the fourth or seventh time and ran away to play kitchen for not too terribly long. Lucien was particularly unfocused this morning. He ran so fast that one of his coal black sneakers slipped right off of him. Lucien stopped mid stride, frowned and looked over his shoulder. Instead of doubling back and picking up his shoe, he scraped the other one off with his foot and ran off. Isabelle’s tiny eyes widened with possibility. This! This was her chance! A big kid’s sneakers totally counted! If she could get those on…! She rocketed back up to her feet, grabbing the pack-and-play’s railing for extra balance. She let loose a guttural grunt. “Uh!” She arched her right arm up and over the railing, reaching out for the pair of shoes. “Uh! Uuuuuh! Gaaaaaaaaah!” The sneakers weren’t even close to the pen and Isabelle had no means of getting any closer. She might as well have been Luke Skywalker upside down in the wampa’s lair willing the Force to bring his lightsaber to him. That wasn’t happening, but neither was it what Isabelle was counting on. Selene stopped running and screaming and took notice. “Hi Izzy!” she said. She did not run off. Good! Selene was in one of her less bratty moods. She wanted to be helpful. “Uh! Ga ga ga!” Selene frowned, her curly, dirty blonde locks tumbling into her face. “Ba-ba? You want your ba-ba?” She looked behind her, and much to Isabelle’s eternal frustration, she looked right past the sneakers laying haphazardly on the floor. “Sorry. I don’t see your ba-ba.” “Nnnnn!” No! Not ‘ba-ba’! “Ga ga ga! Uh!” This wasn’t rocket science! Selene kept scanning the floor. Her brow raised and she pointed at one of the discarded shoes “This? Do you want this?” Isabelle gripped the top rail with both hands and started bending her knees, bouncing and bobbing. “Baca!” She babbled. “Bububububub!” She made sure to put her biggest goofiest pumpkin toothed grin. “Ooooooh!” Selene bent over and flashed her robin’s egg blue cotton panties in Isabelle’s face. The tormented soul didn’t care. Grabbing both shoes, Selene started for the playpen. Closer. Closer! Yes. Yessss! “Ga-ga-ga!” Izzy was making all the happy baby noises. Any minute now she’d be making happy big girl noises on top of it! How old was Lucien supposed to be? He rarely had potty accidents, that was for sure. Selene lobbed the first one in over the playpen.. “Here ya go!” “Hoooooooo!” One more! One more! “Hooooooo!” “You want the other one?” Just over Selene’s shoulder, Isabelle saw Mommy come back in with a plastic grocery bag. It swayed and its contents lightly clinked and rattled against one another while she stepped over the baby gate. “Hooooooo!” “Oka- “Drinks!” Mommy called. “Come get your juice!” Selene’s head whipped around. She dropped the shoe and dashed over to Mommy, while the demon handed out juice boxes and sippy cups to sticky reaching fingers. Over their heads, Mommy smiled and offered a sly wink. Damn it! It definitely wouldn’t count if she couldn’t get both shoes! Mommy finished by adding insult to the injury. She waded through the thirsty toddlers and lifted Isabelle, out of the playpen. “Awww, can’t leave busy Izzy over here by her lonesome!” she cooed. Down from the bottom of the bag, she produced a baby bottle full of milk and shoved it into the girl’s face. Izzy had no choice but to accept the rubber teat and start suckling. Her body went on a kind of autopilot and her hands reached up to grasp the cylinder. “Such a big girl!” Mommy lied. “Holding your bottle all by yourself!” She lowered Isabelle down to the floor where the girl helplessly emptied her bottle with almost the exact same intensity as she’d latched onto Mommy’s breasts. At least this milk was chilled… Isabelle finished her bottle and let loose an annoyed growl. Lucien’s other shoe was right next to her and completely useless. The other was stuck in the playpen, denying her the set. None of her big kid friends had the ability to climb back into the playpen from the outside and Mommy was keeping watch to prevent them tipping it over. She’d be in the playroom with them until she snuck out to make lunch. That other shoe might as well be a world away. Time to come up with another plan. Isabelle took stock of the room, looking for an opening. That shoe idea was a good one. Too bad she’d been denied it. Her rash was starting to itch again. It made it hard to focus. “Pee-peeeeee! Damien was in the middle of the floor, pants down around his ankles. True enough, he was peeing. Problem was he wasn’t aiming for any kind of potty “I’m going pee-peeee!” “Oh!” Mommy dashed and grabbed a potty to catch the stream and minimize the damage. This is why so much of the play room was covered in foam tiles; easier to clean and replace than carpet. “Good job Damien!” Mommy said. “But next time go pee-pee in the potty!” It was things like this that made Isabelle question whether or not her daycare playmates were in on the cruel joke or not. A bit of blue caught her eye and she turned her head. Damien had ripped open the sides of his Pull-Up right off and tossed it aside. “Hmmmm….” Izzy wondered. Could she wear that? Would his broken Pull-Up count? Would she have to put it back together? Still pondering, she turned her head in the opposite direction towards the changing table. There was a small pack of boys Pull-Ups on the upper shelf shoved in the back behind several stacks of diapers. Unlike Carmella’s pink Pull-Ups, the bag had already been ripped open with a few of the not-diapers poking out. The dead girl considered today’s pudgy, indelicate fingers. The odds of her being able to sneak a training pant out and slide it up over her diaper without getting caught a million times over were incredibly low. Would it count if it was a boy’s Pull-Up? She felt and feared there might be some kind of gray area regarding gendered clothing. Seth walked up and patted the girl on the head. “Hi Izzy!” Izzy rolled her eyes. Seth was the oldest and knew it. He was the least likely to help her in any way that mattered. “How are you? Can you say ‘Hi’? Say ‘Hi!” ‘Hi?’ ‘Hiiiiii!” Isabelle grumbled and mumbled her annoyance. “You’ll get there!” He started to go away but stopped before he’d turned all the way around. “Miss Izzy’s Mommy! Miss Izzy’s Mommy!” He shouted. “Izzy needs a change! She’s wet!” Izzy felt her face grow incredibly warm. How had he known before her? She hadn’t even felt it. Curiously, she lifted the hem of her dress and stared at her diaper. The blue line running between her legs told her nothing. Whether by magic or just general atrophy, Izzy’s brain refused to make the connection between the wetness indicator on her diaper changing color and the state of her pants. “Oooooo!” Carmella said. “Busy Izzy is a potty pants!” Mommy scooped Izzy up and carried her over to the changing table. “She’s just a little baby,” Mommy lectured the second littlest girl in the house. “Not a big girl like you.” “Yeah!” Carmella proclaimed. With zero modesty she yanked down her pink shorts and pointed to her training pants. “That’s why I’ve got my-” she gasped. “Oh no my stars! They’re gone!” Carmella waddled over to the nearby pink princess potty. “Such a big girl,” Mommy praised her. “You had an accident but you’re taking care of it yourself!” Isabelle peed her pants and was a baby. Carmella did the same and was praised as a big girl. So unfair! She harrumphed as she was laid down on the changing table and her dress was hiked up. “Ga poo!” The velcro tapes ripped open with a scritch and a scratch. Isabelle shivered as the open air hit her urine soaked diaper area. She couldn’t remember it, but she was sure she missed having pubic hair something fierce. “That’s right baby girl. Let’s get you cleaned up. Babies love having their diapers changed, don’t they?” Izabelle did not dignify this with a response, and instead stewed in silence, only letting out a tiny whimper as the demon woman wiped between her legs. Clad in a denim jumper, the ever curious Pandora toddled up to the side of the changing table “Missus Izzy’s Mommy?” “Yes Pandora?” “Why does Izzy wear diapers?” Oh no. Not now. Izzy slammed her hands into her face in an infantile attempt to hide. Mommy went on wiping and changing. “Because she’s a baby. Babies wear diapers.” “Why?” “Because babies don’t know how to listen to their bodies like big girls do.” Izzy felt her legs crossed and lifted so that her bum could be wiped. “Why?” “Because they're too little. So they wear diapers and when they get wet or stinky, grown-ups clean them up.” The wiping finally stopped. “Why?” “Because it’s our job.” Izzy felt and heard Mommy ball up and toss the old soiled diaper away. “Why doesn’t she just go potty?” Pandora asked. Mommy slipped the new diaper underneath Izzy. “I already told you. She’s not a big girl. She’s a baby. Just like you used to be.” Pandora audibly gasped. “Really?” “Yes ma’am,” Mommy said. “You used to be a little baby just like her, and I changed your diapers.” She added another soothing layer of diaper cream and some powder for good measure. “What happened?” Mommy finished re-diapering Izzy. “You grew up.” “When will Izzy grow up?” Izzy peaked from behind her hands. Mommy answered Pandora but looked directly at the baby. “Someday…maybe. If she wants it badly enough.” She lowered the girl onto the floor on all fours. Annoyed and frustrated, Isabelle tried to push herself back up to her feet. She hated being on her back with her butt up in the air and wanted to get as far away from the changing table as humanly possible, even if it meant her weebling and wobbling until she fell back down. Her body wouldn't cooperate, however. She could get on her hands and knees, but no further. Oh no! Mommy must have changed her into a smaller diaper without her noticing! She could only crawl now. Isabelle probed with her tongue and could swear that she felt fewer of the tiny bumps called teeth than before. No! This wasn’t fair! Mommy wasn’t supposed to switch diaper sizes in the middle of the day. “Waaaaaaaaaaaaah!” she bellowed. Her cries went unheeded, however, mostly because someone was yelling in joy louder than she was crying in anger. “I did iiiiiiit!” Carmella looked almost like the kid on the side of the Pull-Ups box. She sat there on the pink princess potty with her fists raised high up in the air. The biggest difference was that she wasn’t wearing anything below the waist. “I got ‘em pants all the way off!” Isabelle’s eyes felt like they were going to explode. Carmella had taken her shorts all the way off and flung them across the room. More to the point, she’d kicked off her shoes. Today she’d come dressed in flip flops. “Oh Carmella,” Mommy said. “What am I gonna do with you?” Mommy started to trudge to the middle of the playroom and slowly, oh so slowly, bend over to pick up the discarded shorts. This was her chance! Going at the crawling equivalent of a sprint, Izzy shuffled across the carpet, not daring to lift her knees for fear of tripping over her own dress. Flip flops! Literal flip flops! So easy, even a baby could put them on! She wasn’t thrilled about aging up to only Carmella’s stature, but starting potty training was still better than hopelessly diaper dependent. Greedily, Isabelle snatched the things up and rolled onto her back. She didn’t have the coordination to easily shift back to her bottom, and didn’t care. She didn’t need it. The first flip flop went on her foot, no problem! The second did too! She took special care to put her big toe up against the little foam pole near the front that held the straps together. “YUAAAAAAAH!” Her feet did not grow. Nor did her stature. Nothing about her changed at all. She looked at her feet, still pointed to the ceiling and wondered what was wrong. Mommy walked by and snatched the flip flops off with ease. “Ah-ah-ah!” Mommy said. “Musn’t play with other people’s shoes.” She smiled cruelly. “You couldn’t even get them on all the way because of the socks. Flip flops are supposed to go between the toes, not over them.” The socks? The socks. It didn’t count because she was still wearing her socks! Izzy started to wail inconsolably. This only served to land her back in Mommy’s arms as she trembled with rage and frustration. Mommy smoothly teased a pacifer over Isabelle’s lips and gently pushed it into place, holding it with two fingers to muffle Isabelle’s cries . “Good try, baby girl,” Mommy whispered. “Maybe next time.” (The End)

Chapter 86: The Great Picture Day Fiasco I slept like the dead that night. No stirring. No dreaming. Just the grim certainty of what I was going to do the next day. I still woke up with an uncomfortably full bladder that needed to be evacuated for the sake of comfort, but the sun was just starting to crest and it would be a few more minutes until Janet came in to wake me. None of the giddy excitement that I’d had for Silly Sock Day came to me. There was no anticipation, happy or otherwise. Just a clear certainty of what I intended to do that day and the confidence in what I was going to do. Silly sock day- man I missed that day- was a clever barb against Brollish and a trap against Forrest. It had the feel of a performance, a dangerous one, like dancing on a highwire. Butterflies. Anticipation. Looking forward to the applause that I’d hear, even if only in my head. None of that danger, none of that thrill was with me down in the crib that morning. This was more mathematical certainty. Something that was going to happen, had to happen, like a law of nature. Just as two and two made four, babied Clark plus Picture Day equalled a bad time for everyone taller than me. Had I been feeling more charitable, I might have given myself an out. Vary the equation. ‘Pantless Babied Clark plus Picture Day’. There was still the chance that Janet would give me that tiny bit of dignity back this morning. Maybe if I asked for it… Nah. Who was I kidding? I didn’t want to give myself the out. This was going to happen, pants or no pants. Picture Day only happened once a year. Okay, twice, technically, once in the Fall for individual pictures and then again in the late Winter or Early Spring for whole class shots. Point is, by my own timeline, I was likely to be free in the next few months. Why not give my dear colleagues something to remember me by years from now? Janet opened the nursery door. “Morning,” she said. Her voice was loud and powerful, but devoid of much emotion. “Morning,” I said. I bit down on my tongue to stop from gabbing more. Give Janet nothing to work with. I laid there and let Janet pick me up, forcing her to bend over. Her mouth twitched as if she were silencing herself. We were both being quiet to each other. Good. Fuck her. The only sounds that came for the next five minutes were ripping of tapes, the crinkling of diapers old and new being balled up and unfolded, the quiet snips of wipes being pulled one at a time, the clicks of a pail, and rattling of clothes being taken of hangers. It turned out I didn’t need to put the condition of pants on. Janet was putting them on me anyway. She sat me up on the changing table and worked white socks and sneakers on me.. Should I make a fuss? Or would that be too obvious? Would remaining silent be more of a give away. “No pants?” I asked. “Nope.” I huffed and rolled my eyes. “Typical,” I said just loud enough so she could hear it. That ought to be enough token resistance to allay suspicion of anything grander. “Yup.” And so it was. We didn’t match this time. No navy blues or pristine whites for Janet, just her hair up in a bun like always a pink blouse, a gray cardigan and a matching ankle length skirt. Very little makeup. Just a hint of flowery perfume. Full school marm. Prison uniform of the day complete, Janet deposited me on her hip and walked me out through the hallway to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a heaping bottle of breakfast shake for herself. My pulse started to pound ever so slightly. Would she notice that a vial on the spice rack was out of place? I did my best to look at her instead of the spice rack. No sense in cluing her in by looking at the scene of my crime. A terrible thought intruded on me then and there: What if what I took wasn’t missing? No. Don’t do that to yourself, Clark. No sense in it. Even if she’d found what was wrong in her kitchen and taken steps to remedy the situation, it’s not like I actually needed what I’d stolen and stashed away in the diaper bag. Training chocolate and other Amazon strength laxatives weren’t exactly necessary for Littles to have accidents in their pants, in the sense that anybody could do it under the right circumstances. Training chocolate just made the odds much more likely. Similarly, my plan didn’t require what I’d stolen to be successful, but it made my objectives that much easier to accomplish. Janet almost walked right by the diaper bag on the way to the garage. Two months in and she was still kind of spotty on that front, especially when going to school where there’d be enough supplies to keep me bottled and pacified. One would think she’d constantly want that bag of ammunition against me, but it was largely redundant when the time lapsed between the garage and Beouf’s room was roughly fifteen minutes. I almost had to settle for Plan B, but Janet had perched me on her right hip, so that the bag was just outside my reach. When she grabbed the door handle, I threw my entire body weight violently back and out of her grasp. She let out a startled yelp of gasp trying to catch me. “Clark!” She caught me, twisting and contorting to get at the bag. “You forgot the pacifier!” I complained. “I want it!” With my left hand I took a spare pacifier and held it up defiantly to hold Janet’s attention. Simultaneously with my right, I clutched my secret weapon and tucked it under my armpit. A low growl came out of Janet, while she hoisted me back upright. “You never want your pacifier.” “I do now,” I spat. With a petulant glare, I popped the rubber nipple between my teeth and sucked loudly. Janet seemed confused rather than suspicious. “Why?” “Becuff you didn’t clif ick on meh fish tun.” The sincerity card and the baby card already had too many holes punched in them. So I went for the contrarian card. “But if I…” Janet stopped herself. “No. I’m not doing this with you. You want your pacifier? Fine. Just keep it in.” So I spat it out. Contrarian stratagem initiated. Janet looked down at the pacifier by the door like it was a dead rat. She stiffened, shouldered the diaper bag, opened the door, and left it there where it lay. I started to have second thoughts when she buckled me into the carseat. Not out of conscience, mind you, but out of logistics. An Amazon scaled spice shaker was almost a Little sized soda can, and made of hard clear plastic instead of bendable metal. Tucking it in my armpit and slipping it up the short sleeve of my sailor top wasn’t impossible, but keeping it from being noticed wasn’t exactly feasible. It was like the Muffets. After a while you started to notice that their right hands were almost always tucked in. I briefly considered stashing it down my Monkeez, but all it would take is one check or change for that jig to be up. That and no matter where I put it, things wouldn’t end well. I’d look like I either took a massive dump or that my penis had a growth spurt. Fate was with me it seemed. As I was reclining in the car seat, clenching the contraband and pretending to be in more of a huff than I actually was by folding my arms awkwardly, Janet got a mean look in her eye. “Oh yeah,” she said. “Almost forgot.” She opened the diaper bag and fished out a hat. A big, ridiculous, floppy sailor hat with a navy blue anchor stitched to the front. One big enough to stash something in. Oh be still my heart! She slapped it on my head and straightened it, taking extra care to pull the top of it up over the wide brim. Perfect! Just perfect! I made my nostrils flare and huffed out a “Why?” “I forgot this in the bag,” she replied evenly. “If you hadn’t put it in the effort to dive out and hurt yourself, I might have forgotten it. So if you don’t like it you only have yourself to blame.” I rolled my eyes and tried to look blase instead of excited. “Whatever.” “You only have to keep it on until after pictures. There’s a strap attachment if you can’t wait. After pictures you can take it off and get into a regular t-shirt.” On that much we agreed. She added, “Shorts too if Mrs. Beouf thinks you’re being good.” I would not be getting shorts today. “Do I have to smile?” I asked. “No.” Janet punctuated the door with a slam and a slower, tired walk round the front of the car. Good thing too. If she’d walked around the back and been able to keep her eyes on me at all times, she might have seen me lift my hat up and slip my secret weapon underneath. Janet started the car and I tilted my head this way and that, trying to get a better view of myself in the rearview mirror. The tippy top of the hat stuck up a little bit, but it was barely noticeable. Most people would just assume that’s where Janet had pinched and pulled up to unflatten the top. We made eye contact briefly in the reflection. The normal Janet might have remarked that I looked cute or said something else to encourage me. Normal Janet was gone. Quiet Janet was like a prison guard. She said all she’d needed to say to feel good about herself and do her duty. The rest was on me. I leaned back in silence and brooded. I’d gotten very good at brooding. It helped distract me from the feeling of a foreign object pressed against the top of my skull. Fifteen silent minutes later Janet had me back on her hip and was marching towards Beouf’s room. Another lucky break. Being closer to eye level made her less likely to notice the bulge on top of my head.. Not that she looked at me. “Sorry we’re running late,” Janet said, putting on her best fake Mommy face. “Just a slow start to the morning.” No longer encumbered with a mesh bag filled with stuffed animals, Beouf was ready to go. “Not a problem. Let’s just power step it to the front. Mrs. Zoge?” Zoge was already gathering up the mass walking leash. That particular bit of security theater hadn’t vanished with the stuffies, unfortunately. “I’ve got everything under control here, ma’am.” I waited inside the door, as the first two giants strode out. Leash in hand, Zoge strode up. “Clark,” she asked, “do you need a change?” “No ma’am,” I said. Then corrected myself. “No.” She knelt down anyway and violated my personal space. Same as most mornings. “I know you probably just woke up and your Mommy just changed you, but it never hurts to check.” That it didn’t, not for my purposes. A leash slipped over my torso and went taut around my waist. Had we been earlier, I might have been invited to play with some toys or read a propaganda book. Good thing we were late. “We gotta get going. Ivy, honey, let’s go.” “Yes, Mommy!” Ivy trotted out from the book nook, even frillier than usual. Her sky blue dress had puffs around the shoulder and sleeves that cut off near the top of her bicep. Matching lace trim ran from the shoulders down her neckline to form a bow, and then straight down the middle until it ran around the hem. Even more ruffles blossomed throughout the skirt giving it a kind of layered wedding cake look. Beneath the skirt, she wore speckled white tights and something close to ballet slippers, also with completely useless bows. Of course she was also wearing a plastic tiara. More impressively, the dress was long enough that I couldn’t tell she was wearing a diaper. “Hi Ivy.” Ivy’s face soured for a moment. Only for a moment though. “Hello, Clark. I am glad you’re well today.” The speech was stilted, practiced, and clearly insincere. Ever since last week, Ivy had kept me at arms length, watching me out of the corner of her eye like I was a rabid dog. You bit one finger and suddenly you’re the bad guy. “Thank you Ivy.” In reply, she did a curtsy. Wow. The dress was so long that even bending over or curtsying one couldn’t see the padding beneath. I couldn’t even hear the crinkling over the air conditioner. Wow. There was an unexpected emotion: Envy for Ivy Zoge. “Very good curtsy, Ivy.” Mrs. Zoge said, finishing fastening me in my restraint. “Let’s go and get your other classmates.” Zoge opened up the door and held it with her body. Ivy waddled up and took her Mommy’s hand and I exhaled at hearing the muffled rustle beneath her skirt while she passed by. It was another new procedure that Mrs. Zoge had put in place: Ivy got to hold her Mommy’s hand while I walked ahead of them on the leash. It suited me just fine. The air was starting to chill. By next week, chances are me going without shorts wasn’t going to be an option for my captors if they wanted to pretend at ethics and childcare. This morning it was still just warm enough. I trudged on. Fifth graders were trying on their first clip on ties and fidgeting with them off the bus and girls were smoothing out pleated skirts when they would clearly be wearing jeans. Kindergarteners were wearing clothes they only wore at big family gatherings and holidays. The kids who were neither in their first nor last year of elementary school subsisted on polo shirts and light turtlenecks. Ivy and I were by far the most over and undressed respectively. Like tweeting birds, I heard “Aw’s” and “Oooohs” from passing staff members and students alike. We really stood out. A few tidbits of mocking laughter made their way in from Jeremy Merriwether and his ilk. It didn’t so much as phase me, anymore. Who cared what that twerp thought? Not me. The last two buses pulled up in the loop and I stole a glance behind me while Zoge quickly threaded and laid out the other parts of the mass walking leash down behind me. I was going to be a line leader this morning. I looked behind me to see Tracy getting the youngest kids off of their bus. Ambrose stood by like a general reviewing the troops while my kids carefully got off the bus and in near military formation. At the rate that kids grew, this would probably be the first and last time some of them wore these particular outfits. Damn it, they looked so grown up. I sighed and blotted the sight out of my mind so that I could face forward. Luck of the draw saw Billy next to me. Annie was placed behind him. He looked me once over. “You look ridiculous,” he whispered with a grin. “You’re gonna tell me that wearing a vest?” I jeered. “Who tied that bow tie for you? Your Mommy?” “Of course she did, who else would?” he snickered. Inside jokes were fun. “Least I got pants.” “Touche,” I said. I bumped fists and I turned around to look at Annie. For Picture Day she was wearing a pink A-Line dress that went all the way down to her knees. I could almost see her cleavage. “Annie, you look like much more of a harlot than usual.” “Thank you, Clark. I’m trying.” She gave me a flattered smile. When the world wants to make you a child against your will, being called a whore can be oddly empowering. It was for Annie, at least. Zoge didn’t react. She was bi-lingual, but didn’t know a lot of old-timey or outdated words. It took her longer than usual because the others all had tiny backpacks with them for once. Their Mommies and Daddies had gotten the memo about play clothes. I waited till Zoge was out of earshot hooking up Sandra Lynn and Shauna. “How would you like to go home early today?” I hissed. A moment of fear flashed across their faces. “What are you talking about?” Annie asked. “There’s no way we can…” I kept my voice low and calm. “No, not like that. Just get picked up early.” The relief was instant and palpable. They weren’t ready to escape. Neither was I, but they’d never be ready. To be fair to them, I’d lead them to that conclusion, but even in my wildest fantasies I only imagined getting away by myself. Today was going to be my spin on a prison riot, not a jailbreak. “Yeah,” Billy said. “I could start my weekend early.” I wanted to smile so badly, but I kept it at bay. Perfect! “Follow my lead. If you can get Chaz in on it, great. Eat a big breakfast this morning.” “What about Tommy?” Annie asked. I shook my head as lightly as I could, trying not to rattle the spice wedged between hair and hat. I didn’t trust Tommy enough for him not to fuck it up. We waited for the last of our classmates to be secured and leashed, until two by two we marched off to the cafeteria. All of the other Littles were dressed as ridiculous as I was, even though I was the only one with my not so secret. The boys were dressed up as mockeries of old men with suspenders and bow ties, and the girls looked like they were maids to a very condescending bridezilla. There was something ironic about the fact that the only time we weren’t forced to dress as caricatures of children was when we had to look like caricatures of adults. Breakfast was something special that particular morning. After we were pushed through the blast fan doors and all threaded into our seats, the cafeteria cooks came out with massive towels and draped them over us in place of our usual bibs. “Am I getting breakfast or getting my hair cut?” I joked. The Tweener cook chuckled and told me, “You’re getting your pictures taken right away. This is to make sure you don’t spill nothin’.” She eyed the top of my head. “Let me put your hat to the side, Mister Clark.” White terry cloth cradled my chin as my hands shot up over my head. “Ms. Grange told me not to take this off until after pictures.” I said. I was gambling that my discontent was well known enough that calling Janet by her last name would be seen as more honest than if I’d called her my Mommy. I was also gambling that Janet’s name carried some weight as a teacher. “It’s fine Martha,” Mrs. Zoge waved the Tweener off. “I trust Clark.” A slight pang of guilt settled in my stomach, followed by a belch. Then the guilt was gone. Zoge and Beouf were setting up bowls of cheesy grits, and pouring milk in to help them cool. As had been the case this past week and a half, Beouf was keeping her distance from me, leaving Zoge to do the heavy lifting. I hadn’t quite broken, Beouf yet; not like I’d done Janet. She still wasn’t afraid of me; she hadn’t given up. Give me under an hour and we’ll see. Maybe I’d break Zoge too and get me a hat trick. Breakfast went slow that morning, as it’s want to do when there’s two ‘adults’ and ten ‘babies’ and spoon feeding all of them. Even at peak efficiency, I was still only getting one out of every five spoonfuls that Zoge doled out. What I mean to say is there was a wait. I opened my mouth and swallowed like a good Little doll, careful not to tilt my head too much one way or another, saying thank you after each swallow, and then cast my eyes to the site of my upcoming disaster. As the cafeteria emptied and the majority of students went to class, the custodial crew was already busy folding up the rightmost two rows of tables and stowing them and their corresponding chairs off to the side. Simultaneously another crew of Tweeners and Amazons were busying themselves setting up a portable portrait studio. Green screens were being raised and hung in front of the walls. Lights and reflectors were being positioned and anchored. Massive cameras on tripods were being set up and turned on. It wouldn’t be long now. “Right after we finish breakfast, we’re going to go get our pictures taken, and then we’ll go back to class,” Beouf said loud enough so that everyone could hear over the working crew still barking out directives to one another. Wouldn’t be long now. Wouldn’t be long now. I downed the grits with gusto. It was all I could do to not ask for the bottle of milk that followed. The milk flowed down my gullet and I pretended I was loading a cannon. In many respects, I was. “Okay, Miss Zoge,” Beouf announced. “Let’s line ‘em up.” “Yes, ma’am!” Zoge took the towel to my face, dabbing the corners of my lips for me. I held my breath one last time hoping that the vial of spice didn’t jostle too much or fall out of my hat. Delicately I patted the top of my head while she dug Billy and Annie out. “Hold hands. We’re not going far. We’ll be back for your backpacks after pictures.” I heard her mutter “Almost forgot.” Back to the old chain gang formation, I linked up with Jesse from the back of the other table and walked towards the makeshift set. A giant, even for an Amazon, alphabet block was being wheeled in and placed in front of the camera. Perfect! Just perfect! A slender Amazon man with a dark brown goatee wearing a black turtleneck sat on a stool as we approached. “Morning,” he said to our warden at the front of the line. “Name?” “Beouf,” she said simply. Then she turned her head. “You can stop holding hands.” A collecting sigh of relief hissed out of us. The photographer looked down at his clipboard. “Perfect timing, we’re just about set up for you guys.” He looked down at us. “Wow you kids look so big! Your Mommies and Daddies are gonna be so impressed!” Not even Ivy fell for that one. He got only uncomfortable stares in return. He turned back around to Beouf and I realized his hair was in a ponytail. If I had grown my hair out that long someone would have pulled a dress over my head. He handed the clipboard to her. “Do you mind jotting down the names of your students? In line order?” Beouf scanned the line, quickly committing the order to memory. “Not at all.” I looked behind me to Zoge. She’d hopped forward in line and was fiddling with Ivy’s tiara. I couldn’t have asked for better. Luck was with me. Time to make the most out of it. Quickly, I tilted the back of my sailor hat back and grabbed the plastic can of grainy brown sandl-ike spice. I twisted the knob but it wasn’t budging. I had to hide it behind my back and pass it to Billy while Beouf moved the line forward and got Mrs. Zoge sat Ivy up on the big prop block. “Here,” I whispered. “Unscrew this.” “What is it?” Billy asked, his whisper tinged with wonder and fear. I hissed back over my shoulder, “Cinnamon.” That’s right, my secret weapon against picture day was bland breakfast toast’s greatest enemy. Arguably among the mildest and sweetest of spices. Cinnamon. So simple that even a Little could handle a mouthful. Thanks to a viral sensation on MistuhGwiffin.web a few years prior, I also knew that swallowing enough of it all at once was all but guaranteed to make you gag. “That’s right! Over here, baby girl!” The photographer called. “Smile! Smile!” A flash lit Ivy up. “Good girl! One more!” Another crack of lightning without the thunder. “Good girl! Next!” The line moved forward. Billy was still struggling at the moment, having just as much trouble as I was. Why hadn’t I tested the lid first? Damn it! “Got it!” he whispered a second later. “It was just stuck.” He passed the can back to me. “You loosened it. Promise.” “Shut up,” I growled. “And what’s your name Little boy?” The photographer said. Somewhere, his college dreams of being an award winning photojournalist or an artist were spinning in their graves. “Tommy, you look so handsome today! Can you give me a big grin? There ya go! Good job! One more?” “When I go up there,” I told Billy, “take a swig of this, pass it to Annie, and wait for my signal to swallow.” “What’s your signal gonna be?” “My my! Little Miss Mandy! Don’t you look cute as a button this morning! Watch the ducky! Smile!” Another flash. Another step forward past the point of no return. Beouf was on ducky duty, her back to us so that she could make dopey faces to Littles she’d humiliated past the point of caring. Zoge was minding the Littles who had already been processed and gathering up backpacks. “If you can’t figure it out,” I said, “you deserve to be in this class.” “Tommy boy! Looking sharp my dude!” Another few flashes. Another few steps. Less than sixty seconds to go at this rate. I tilted my head back and poured the cinnamon in my mouth. According to tutorials it would only take a spoonful. By my own estimation I had at least three. Having chugged pepper infused tequila, I can safely say that my mouth had been in more pain before, but that knowledge and comparison didn’t lessen my discomfort. My mouth wasn’t on fire; it was a fucking desert. Every millimeter of saliva in my mouth was instantly absorbed and dried out. Grains of the normally tasty stuff coated the roof of my mouth and trickled down my throat. The inside of my throat was already beginning to tickle and itch in the worst way. For all intents and purposes I had a mouthful of sand and every bit of water in my head had already been absorbed. “Next!” I felt like I was dying of thirst and desperate for water, even as Beouf boosted me up on the block and positioned me sitting spread eagle with the bottoms of my sneakers visible to the camera. Her nose twitched like she smelled something. Could she smell the cinnamon? Whatever her instincts were she ignored them and returned over to just behind the tripod. “Ahoy!” the photographer, whom I had decided to name ‘Todd’ in my head proclaimed. “Looks like we’ve got a cute Little sailor boy on board! Somebody get ready to swab the poop deck!” Yes Todd! Feed my resolve. Be that fucking cringey! Be typical! He winked cartoonishly at Beouf. Melony did not return the expression. “Right then. Moving on. What’s your name matey?” I did not answer. I couldn’t have. Any attempt to open my mouth would have just let out the spice. It wasn’t supposed to go that way just yet. “Clark?” Beouf said. “Go ahead. Tell him your name.” Her brows started knitting together behind her glasses. Uh-oh! “It’s okay. Kids are shy all the time.” Beouf’s eyes were narrowing at me. “He isn’t, though.” Back beyond Beouf and Zoge and my fellow prisoners, another class was lining up for pictures. It was to be expected. To cram an entire school through this place before lunch took expert timing. I expected this. To vomit and puke my guts out on camera in front of another class. What I should have expected, but didn’t, was that it would be my class. Tracy hadn’t had the preschoolers leave the cafeteria. She’d cleared their trays away and had them sit patiently for Ambrose to thunder in. Just past the reflector umbrellas, I saw them lining up behind Chaz’s stroller taking their place behind us. “Oooooooone…” Too late. No time. No turning back now. “Twooooooooo…” I swallowed as hard as I could, slamming the spice down the back of my throat. I didn’t even get a third of it down. I might as well have been trying to drink pebbles. Things were clumping up, clogging my airway. My lungs started to contract and try to cough, but nothing was coming out. My eyes bulged out ready to pop out of my skull. “Clark?” Beouf held her hand out to me, as if she could magically will me to her, or she was second guessing the urge to run to me. “Are you…?” I couldn’t breathe! I couldn’t cough! I was only supposed to gag, but I was suffocating instead! I could practically feel the blood vessels in my face threatening to burst! I clutched at my throat. My heart thudded out of my chest while my lungs and throat struggled as hard as they could to expel the foreign objects I’d lodged inside of me. Spots started to dance in front of my eyes. My panic and surprise was only speeding up my bodies need for life-giving oxygen. I couldn’t calm down, though. I was going to die! I was going to die for a stupid, childish prank that would have inconvenienced my oppressors for the better part of a day at best. How stupid! How immature! How incredibly, irredeemably idiotically stupid! Something a child might do. Something a baby mi- “Thr-” A small explosion of brown powder ignited and burst forth from my mouth, making a breakfast scented cloud three inches away from my face. I hacked powder up meekly puffing out in short, pathetic breaths, ravenous for air. “ee!” I bent over, heaving, my throat muscles screaming at me and begging to be turned inside out. I got one semi deep breath just before the flash began. My stomach, filled with grits, artificial cheese and whole milk, had had enough. If I wasn’t going to lubricate my innards by drinking something, it would solve the problem in its own way. Frothy, milky white vomit leapt out of me, burbling forth like a pot of pasta boiling over, spilling out over my mouth and down my chin dripping over onto my formerly pristine sailor suit. “UUUUUUUUURGHLE!!” I snuck in another gasping breath just in time. Beouf was by my side, gently rubbing my back as I heaved another round onto the prop I’d been placed on and leaned forward to make sure it’d hit the floor, too. “UUUUUUUUUUUURGHLE!” It was the closest I’d yet come to baby babble. “EWWWWWW!” came a chorus of high pitched and revulsed. “GROSS!” “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” Beouf was back to being a surrogate Mommy in Janet’s place. My own foul play wasn’t suspected, yet. That presumption of innocence despite evidence ended with the sounds of more coughing and sputtering coming from the line. Annie and Billy followed my lead and seconds after me were spewing gobs of partially digested grits and cow juice all over the floor. Annie went the extra mile and puked right on Sandra Lynn behind her. “UUUUUUUURGHLE!” That got Sandra Lynn going. Sandra Lynn in turn, got Ivy going, doing her best to cover her mouth as heaps of homemade cottage cheese oozed out between her finger tips and dripped onto sky blue frills. Jesse, similarly, had a weak constitution. After my third or fourth wet heave, I could have sworn I saw Chaz trying to stick his finger down his throat. “Ugh! That smell!” I heard someone say. “So…UUUUUUUURGHLE!” Screams joined and drowned out the sounds of mass vomiting. The acoustics and high ceiling of the cafeteria were perfect for it. The very thing that created a constant white noise in the cafeteria thanks to overlapping conversations amongst hundreds of students made it so that the barfing and puking and screams and shrieks could be heard note for note in the largely empty space and otherwise shocked silence. “URRRRRRRRGHLE!” “EEEEEEK!” “EEEEEEK! URGGGLE!” “UURRGEEEEEURGLE! Elmer ruined his dress shoes and Tracy was doing her very best at separating the children who had vomited away from the children who had not, inching tiny feet away from a growing pool of puke with all the deadly seriousness of someone avoiding hot lava. I faintly heard Zoge say something about custodial services back and fetching a mop. Todd looked like a deer frozen in headlights milliseconds before impact. Todd was likely considering new career options. Ambrose just stood glaring at me like I’d declared war on her, personally. So that was nice. Beouf stood next to me, clawing at her face, confused, angry, and frozen next to me, looking like she was having the mother of all war flashbacks. I’d just dropped a bomb on her. Red faced, and gasping for air, approximately thirty whole seconds had passed before my stomach had run out of contents and another ten before my throat gave up digging for more. I spent another three deep breaths regaining something resembling composure. “Clark Gibson,” Beouf uttered in pure undiluted existential horror. “What have you done?” Panting, red faced, with a mouth tasting of stale milk and stomach acid, I gave no reply. I just threw back my head and crowed peeling cackles of laughter. VICTORY!

“Kyyyyyyyle!” Mommy called from across the playground. “Come heeeere.” She sounded happy. Whimsical even. This made Kyle feel the opposite. He’d just started getting into a rhythm, climbing up the low winding stairs of the jungle gym and then sliding down safely into the rubber mulch. “Damphiff” He mumbled behind his pacifier. He was just getting brave enough to consider going down the slide a different way besides butt seated and feet splayed out. The slide ramp went straight to the ground so no freefall, and it was wide enough that two littles could go down at the same time…or one Little to roll sideways down it. Such as his life was, things like which way to go down a slide was one of the few actual choices Kyle got to make. “Kyyyyyyle!” Kyle hiked up his green shorts and pulled down his green shirt so that the minimum amount of his diaper would show, even though he knew that the shirt would ride up and the shorts would inch down as soon as he started walking. He spared a glance at the cartoon dog on his shirt. Mint’s Hints. Weird that a show from his childhood-his first childhood- was still on the air. He wanted to think that it was weird that he was still watching it, but for a Little, it really wasn’t. “Kyle!” Mommy was losing patience. The sandy blonde Little boy waddled and shuffled through the park’s playground. Other Littles in their twenties, thirties, and forties played games meant for children aged two, three and four, all under the watchful eyes of their giant adoptive parents. Not thirty feet from the bench where Mommy and some other Amazons were sitting a really intense game of duck-duck-goose was under way. “Yesh, Mommy?” Mommy had the exact same color hair as him. It’s probably why she adopted him in the first place. Next to Mommy another giant woman was breastfeeding a Little girl in a pink jumper dresser. Kyle gulped. He hoped Mommy wasn’t about to the same same. “Kyle, there you are! Could you not hear Mommy?” “Shorry Mommy…” He looked down at his light up sneakers and crinkled lightly in place. It was hard enunciating around the pacifier, but Kyle had gotten good at it over the years. “It’s okay baby,” Mommy said. She grabbed him by the shoulders and maneuvered him closer. “Let’s check your diaper.” A weary sigh made its way out over the pacifier bulb. Kyle readied himself. Mommy squeezed at his crotch and snaked two fingers up his shorts and inside the leg gathers of his diaper. “Kyle! Is your diaper wet?” Mommy asked. “Yesh, Mommy…” “Do big boys go pee-pee in their pants?” “No Mommy…” “Did you know you went pee-pee in your pants?” “Yesh, Mommy…” “Why didn’t you come tell Mommy that you had an accident?” “I wush pwayin’...” “That doesn’t sound very mature, does it?” “No Mommy.” All of this was just a script that played out time and time again, especially when Mommy thought he was acting a little too big for his britches. Kyle knew his diaper was wet. He couldn’t help it. Conditioning-hypnotic and otherwise-had made him functionally incontinent. The second his bladder was full enough to register to his conscious mind, it emptied itself right into his pants. Trying to hold it in only gave him anxiety. Same with telling on himself or asking someone to change him; it made his fear response go through the roof. He knew it was complete bullshit, but his unconscious brain had been given the connection that bothering Grown-Ups about one’s diaper is not something good boys did. So anytime he even considered whining or crying about the state of his pants, he felt incredibly anxious, akin to stepping out onto a twentieth story ledge. Trying to take off his diaper was on the same emotional level as being trapped under water and needing to inhale. But as far as Mommy and her conditioning was concerned, this was all just reinforcing how immature he was and how he needed his baby pants. “Turn around,” Mommy said. Kyle did and drooped his head, readying himself for the next phase of the ritual, feeling the air rush into the back of his diaper while Mommy pulled the waistband back and looked down. “Kyle! Is your diaper messy?” “Yesh,Mommy…” “Do big boys go poopy in their pants?” “No, Mommy…” “Did you know you went poopy in your pants?” “Yesh, Mommy…” “Why didn’t you come tell Mommy that you had an accident?” “I wush pwayin’...” “That doesn’t sound very mature, does it?” “No, Mommy.” Mommy turned Kyle around so that he could see the knowing look to her peers. “Littles. What would they do without us.” That got some knowing nods from the assembled giants. The one breastfeeding switched the Little over to her other breast. “What happens to big boys who go pee-pee and poopy in their pants?” Mommy asked. More of the script. “They get shpankt” Kyle mumbled. “What happens to babies who go pee-pee and poopy in their pants?’ Kyle bit down into the pacifier to spare his tongue. Then said, “They gesh a diapher chahshe.” “Why?” “Cush dere Mommiesh wuf dem.” A chorus of ‘Awwws’ accompanied Mommy grabbing the Mints Hints diaper bag and picking Kyle up by the waist. It wasn’t a long trip. Just enough to be on the grass away from the bench. Kyle realized what was happening and spit out his pacifier. “Mommy! No! Bathroom please!” They were close enough to the circle of Littles that Kyle could make out when someone enthusiastically yelled ‘Goose’! Mommy kept laying out the changing mat in the grass. “Your diaper was clean when we got out of the stroller,” she said. Kyle’s pants were down around his ankles and he was laid down. His shirt was yanked up above his belly button. “You said it yourself. You pee-peed and poopied in your pants and you were too busy playing with all your Little friends to stop. That means you shouldn’t mind getting changed in front of them.” She stuck the pacifier back in Kyle’s mouth. The answer was final. Kyle huffed and crossed his arms as his diaper was untapped and his legs were lifted into the air, broadcasting his messy bottom for all. He’d be embarrassed, but he’d already been through so much worse. It was more annoying than anything at this point. “Good baby,” Mommy cooed, wiping him up. That gave him a rush of endorphins. The programming he’d been subjected to worked both ways. Being called ‘cute’ and ‘good’ made all of his happy brain chemicals lurch into sudden overdrive. “Nooooooo….” Kyle looked up and over to the benches. The Little girl in the pink jumper dress was off her Mommy’s tit and was being burped. She was moaning pitfully and lightly squirming while her Mommy patted her back “Nnnnn…ugh…Nooooo!” Kyle saw the back of her diaper expand and sag. Her Mommy contentedly patted the back of her diaper and the girl’s shoulders started shaking. She must be new to this. “All done,” Mommy said She’d finished changing him while he’d been distracted watching somebody else’s ‘Year One’. “Go play.” She gave him a pat on his back seat to send him off. At least she didn’t want to breastfeed him right now. The Little boy toddled away, sucking on his pacifier. He joined in the Duck-Duck-Goose Game just so he’d have an excuse to sit and brood without looking like he was pouting. That and the jungle gym was so far away as to wind him. Between the thick diapers and the lack of coordination forced onto him with subsonic treatments to his inner ear, things like balance took a lot more stamina than they used to. Playing a game of Duck-Duck-Goose might qualify as quality cardio now. “Duck-Duck-Duck-Duck” .He shouldn’t have to be dealing with this nonsense at his age. Just because he was almost numb to the daily condescensions and humiliations didn’t make them right. He’d done his fair share of screaming and crying and denying and more crying early on, but all that did in the eyes of the Amazons was justify his treatment and his diagnosis of ‘Maturosis’. Leave it to the baby crazy titans to make up a disease that they didn’t catch and the only ‘cure’ was treating people with it the exact way Amazons wanted to treat Littles. “Duck-Duck-Duck” If Maturosis was really a health condition, and something Amazons could catch or develop, there’d be a worldwide panic. There’d be vaccines and hospitals and charities all rushing for a real cure. And clothing that didn’t have cartoon characters on it for people suffering from it. Or even better, what if they stuck to her own rules? Mommy lost her marbles when a Tweener misspelled her name on her coffee. Imagine her getting told that she was too immature to go to wipe her own ass or drink from something without a spill proof lid. Imagine Mommy getting fired from her job and slammed into a daycare. As traumatizing, embarrassing and humiliating as Kyle’s first year of this had been, Mommy’s first day would be hundreds of times worse…for her. “Goose!” ******************************************************************************************************** “Open up!” Mommy said. The spoon full of…eggs? Was it eggs? Whatever it was it was coming in low and slow towards Kyle’s mouth. Like a good baby, Kyle opened wide and let the yellow stuff be spooned in. Yup. It was eggs. Not salted or seasoned and somehow both dry and runny, but it was eggs. Maybe egg substitute? Regardless, the Little closed his mouth and swallowed the bland tasteless stuff. At least it wasn’t strained beets. “Do you wanna try feeding yourself?” A suppressed sigh. “Yes, Mommy.” Another ritual. Another bit of conditioning to just reinforce how absolutely helpless he was. Kyle didn’t have the fine motor skills or hand eye coordination to use a spoon anymore. She just wanted to get good use out of the bib tied around his neck and the ever present packet of wipes just out of reach. She loaded the plastic spoon and slipped it into his hand. Like a hungry predator she watched the spoon trembling in his grasp. If he just gave up and spilled it, he’d be punished. He had to embarrass himself and prove that he was an immature baby and not just an adult that had given up. Suport a lie to cover the truth. “We interrupt Helen in the Morning for this breaking news!” The mindless talk show that featured Middle Aged celebrities doing Click-Clack Dances and Rappers doing at home cooking segments was cut off. Two news anchors, a man and a woman, sat at their desk staring straight out to the camera. “Growing unease continues to spread around the world as more and more Amazons start to exhibit behaviors normally associated with Littles and Tweeners afflicted with the genetic condition commonly called Maturosis.” The lady anchor’s hair was bigger than her face and so pale as to be white. “That’s right Diane,” the dark haired anchor jumped in. “Maturosis, which is considered an inherited condition common in people with Little ancestry, is marked by symptoms that reduce them mentally and emotionally to small children, often requiring full time care and adoption.” “Best thing for them, really, Chuck” the lady anchor chimed in. “Right you are, Diane.” The male anchor continued. “Common symptoms of Maturosis often include emotional volatility, decreased balance, fine and gross motor skills, language impairment and decreased vocabulary, dyslexia, dysgraphia and of course a near complete inability to go to the potty like a big boy or girl.” The lady anchor arched an eyebrow and looked over to her cohort. “You mean incontinence, right Chuck?” There wasn’t enough makeup to hide the rising blush in the Amazon man’s. cheeks “Right you are, Diane.” The woman took over. “While this is considered a normal and adorable part of everyday life for most Littles, Tweeners and their parents, reports are starting to come in that such behaviors are starting to manifest in Amazons and in relatively large numbers.” “That’s impossible!” Mommy scoffed, completely absorbed in the T.V. Yeah, Kyle thought. Mostly because Maturosis didn’t actually exist. Just a set of ‘therapies’, ‘medicines’, ‘products’, and ‘treatments’ that caused and later exacerbated the symptoms. He put the spoon in his mouth and swallowed the eggs. ??? He put the spoon in his mouth and swallowed the eggs! “Mommy!” he screeched. “Mommy I did it! Look!” The Amazon waved it off. She was too busy staring at the screen. “Mommy! Look!” “Not now baby.” Kyle shut his mouth, feeling the dread rise up at him. If he argued or disobeyed her, he’d be being purposefully naughty. “As we all know, Amazons, Littles, and Tweeners have a shared ancestry,” The lady anchor said. “However, only Littles and Tweeners tend to exhibit Maturosis with Amazons requiring the same level of care being only a percent of a percent of the total population.” “But all of a sudden,” the male anchor took back over, “Amazons everywhere are beginning to show similar levels of immaturity across the board. Scientists always knew it was possible, but why now? Why so widespread and across the board? Is it the government doing something to the drinking water? Are foreigners to blame? Or is this some kind of terrorist attack?” “I personally think it’s a prank,” the lady anchor said, “that people are taking too far. Just like crop circles, or the Lockness Monster.” Mommy tilted her head sideways. “Huh?” Kyle’s brain took a moment to process her confusion. Two out of three friends from daycare had such extreme oral fixations that Kyle’s ear had trained itself to understand it when people were mumbling over pacifiers or around their thumbs. What the Amazon lady on the news had really said was. “Uh pershony fink isha pank phat peefle aw tayghin too fah. Chus wike cawf firkuhs.” “Diane, take your fingers out of your mouth…” The feed cut immediately. Mommy stood up and turned the television off. She did not sit back down, however. “That’s ridiculous,” she said to herself. “Some kind of joke or deep fake or whatever.” She was pacing the kitchen floor. Kyle stared at his forced caregiver’s feet and narrowed his eyes. Something was off about her, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. “Mommy?” Mommy stopped pacing and doubled back to the highchair. She grabbed a wet wipe. “Yes, baby? Are you finished trying to eat your eggies?” She looked at him. There was disappointment in her hazel eyes when she saw that the plate was clean and there was no mess on Kyle’s bib or face. She looked down at the floor to see if he’d spilled it. “Nothing?” Kyle didn’t take his eyes off her feet. “Mommy? Are your shoes on backwards?” Mommy bent over and inspected her flats. She let out a surprised gasp. “Oh gosh! How did that happen?” She hurriedly tried to correct the mistake, tripping all over herself and stumbling like a newborn foal. She finally remembered to sit down in the kitchen chair. Intensely curious, Kyle leaned forward in his highchair and almost fell over when the tray slipped out of place. Mommy had forgotten to click it all the way in. He had to catch it with both hands to prevent it from banging and clattering on the floor. Mommy was still muttering to herself, wondering how she’d gotten something as simple as her left and right shoes mixed up. She was having trouble getting the shoes back on, too. Cautiously, Kyle leaned out and placed the tray on the side of the breakfast table. Mommy had also forgotten to buckle him in, so there was no fighting against Amazon strength buckles. He still had to do his best not to look down, shimmying from the highchair to the floor. He felt the ache in his bladder and gritted his teeth. Holding it in until his feet safely touched the floor. “Got it!” Mommy said, and then looked up. Hunched over in her chair he was at about eye level with her Little baby. “Huh?” “I did it!” Kyle threw his arms up in the air. Some part of his training was still reinforcing desires to impress the woman who’d conditioned him back to toddlerhood. Mommy beamed. “Oh! You got out of your highchair!” she said. She sounded happy and surprised. Like a parent witnessing their child’s first steps. “You got town out of the highchair?” she repeated. “All? By? Yourself?” The color drained from both of their faces for completely different reasons. Kyle just consciously realized that he’d been holding his bladder all the way down the highchair and even now barefoot on the kitchen floor. He was so excited that he accidentally released it, flooding his Koddles. Mommy looked relieved when she saw the wetness indicator change color. That added wetness dampened his mood just a tad. “Mommy,” Kyle whimpered. “Can you change me?” The smile bloomed back on Mommy’s face, the shoe incident forgotten. “Of course, baby boy. Let’s go get you changed.” The change went the same as the countless changes beforehand and the same as the countless number that would follow. Except for one thing…. “Wipes…ball it up…pail…new diaper…powder…aaaaaand….done…” Mommy loved narrating so many of the humiliating events in Kyle’s life. Meals. Baths. Bedtime. Diaper changes. She Zon-splained everything as if Kyle was too stupid to understand that he’d spilt something or was bewildered about being carried around on her hip. Sometimes she got so into it that she would do it for everything that happened to him until bedtime and Kyle could hear her voice in his dreams. Right now was different. Her voice was quieter. She wasn’t narrating what she was doing to Kyle. She was talking to herself. And there was the slightest hint of doubt in her voice, like she wasn’t sure what the next step was. Was she…was she struggling to remember how to change a diaper? “All done!” Mommy chirped. “Let’s go on with our morning routine.” The pace picked back up to normal as Mommy carried Kyle out to the garage and grabbed the diaper bag off the hook by the door. Just like every morning, Kyle was buckled and strapped into his car seat-this time quietly- and Mommy walked around to the driver’s seat. She closed the door, clutched the black leather steering wheel and sat ready to drive. Except that she didn’t drive. Mommy just sat there, white knuckled, trying to will the car to life. “Mommy?” Kyle called. “Is everything okay?” “Everything fine, Kyle.” Mommy said. “Mommy’s just having a little car trouble.” The Little looked at his captor turned caregiver in the rearview mirror. “Don’t you need keys to turn the car on?” Mommy gasped. “Right right!” She slapped her forehead. “Silly Mommy! Mommy definitely needs her coffee. Ha-ha!” She scrambled around in her purse for the keys and the ridges on her forehead became more pronounced with every passing second. The closest she got were a rainbow colored plastic set. Her eyes lit up and she eventually found the actual car keys in the bottom of Kyle’s diaper bag. “Wow! How did those get there? Mommy really needs her morning coffee.” She fidgeted trying to find the right key, but eventually got the engine started on the third try. “Mommy…” Kyle called from the back. “What?” She was beginning to sound flustered. “Shouldn’t you put your seatbelt on?” Kyle said. “You always put your seatbelt on first before driving.” The car shut off. “On second thought, Mommy said. “Let’s go for a walk. The weather is wonderful this morning and your daycare isn’t very far away.” True enough but…”Won’t you be late for work?” “Let me worry about that, baby boy,” Mommy cooed. “That’s a Grown-Up problem, not a Little problem.” He supposed that was true. It was still weird to be unbuckled from his car seat without having actually gone anywhere. The transfer from car to umbrella stroller was a quick one, and Mommy was speed walking (speed strolling?), ill at ease down the street and out of the neighborhood proper as if something was chasing her. Kyle leaned back and just took in the sights, sucking on a bottle of juice that Mommy had shoved in his mouth after buckling him in. Being in his stroller gave him a certain level of protection. He was socially invisible, he could people watch, and his face was obscured most of the time. “What’s the matter, honey?” A voice caught Kyle’s attention. “Are you lost?” It sounded feminine, but also very, very small. Little. Yet the confidence and power it oozed was only regularly spouted by the giants. “She looks lost.” A second voice said. The words sounded concerned enough, but there was an underlying poison in the tone. “Do you need help sweetey? Where’s your Mommy and Daddy?” Kyle had seen this happen so many times before. Some poor Little would be surrounded by Amazons and if they didn’t play their cards right, there’d be a Monkeez or a Koddles on their butt by lunch. “I’m…I’m fine. Thank you very much.” The voice was deep and masculine and near booming…and…timid? “You don’t look fine.” The first said. “You look lost. Where’s your Mommy and Daddy?” “I…I…I don’t have one.” Cringing, with the same type of morbid curiosity of watching a flaming car crash in real time, Kyle turned his head to witness the scene playing out at a city bus stop. “Of course you do,” the second stranger said. “Everyone has a Mommy and Daddy. Don’t fib. Unless you still think the stork is real?” The two strangers, both women, put their hands to their lips and stifled giggles as if the idea that a grown man might believe in the stork was both natural and condescendingly precious. The boy, a man, actually looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I’m a Grown-Up. I don’t live with them anymore.” Despite his button up shirt, pleated pants, and loafers, he had the aura of a child who just happened to be dressed up to match Daddy. The fidgeting he was doing could be written off as being very uncomfortable at having his space invaded, or… “Do they know you’re out here all by yourself?” The first lady asked. “No…?” “I don’t think they let babies get on the bus without a guardian.” The second stranger said. The poor man was getting flustered, clenching his fists and fidgeting. “No…no…I don’t need...” “Do you want us to leave you alone?” The first one asked. Right on the heels of the first question, a second one came. “Do you need to go potty?” She addressed her friend. “I don’t think he has any protection on under those pants.” “One tiny tinkle and those pants will be ruined,” the first stranger agreed. “No snaps, either. Makes it more difficult to change. We should help him with that. Wouldn’t want his nice big boy pants to get all yucky because someone had an accident. This bus doesn’t stop for potty breaks.” The poor man finally lost it, overwhelmed, and stamped no foot. “No!” he said. “No! No! No!” “Awwww!” The first stranger said. “Poor thing doesn’t want us to leave him alone all by himself.” The two bullies were pretending that he was answering the first question about leaving him alone and not the full volley of taunts that had followed. “Come on, sugar,” the pair reached out and grabbed his hand, leading him away trembling but powerless to stop them. “We’ll catch the next bus. Let’s make sure you don’t have an accident, first.” The man turned around and flashed a frightened, overwhelmed, frustrated, and yet hopeful gaze behind him as the two strangers led him away, most likely to the closest shop that sold diapers in his size. It was the look of the damned searching for respite. Kyle had seen variations on this scene play out so many times that he’d become practically numb to it. It’s why he enjoyed playgrounds and daycares as much as he did because the worst of the trauma; adoption, had already happened to everyone. Kyle had seen something like this happen at least a hundred times since his own adoption. But never like this. Never with an Amazon man being the target. And never with two Littles being the ones setting him up for failure. That silent look of desperation and commiseration wasn’t directed at Kyle, but at the giant woman pushing his stroller behind him. “Poor thing thinks that just because he’s big means he’s a big boy.” The strangers threw Kyle a knowing conspiratorial wink. “We’ll help teach him the difference. Being an adult and being mature aren’t the same thing.” Kyle popped his thumb out of his mouth and wiped it on his shirt. “What the fuck?” he mouthed.. “Let’s get some coffee,” Mommy said loud enough so that Kyle could hear. The stroller swung wide and to the right, crossing the street so that they wouldn’t come across the giant who was about to be helplessly babied by people that were barely knee high to her. The bell above the coffee shop door jangled when they entered. It was actually very busy here, with people of all sizes side by side, many of them nervously sipping coffee and staring at a large flat screen T.V. Kyle hadn’t seen so many non-diapered Littles in one place since getting snatched up. Smart Littles tended to avoid Amazon spaces unless they absolutely had to. But here they were making coffee, mopping floors, and cleaning tables. More importantly, they had the strong, cheerful demeanor of someone who felt strong and secure in their work; and not at all intimidated. It was something like a herd of confident antelope trotting around a pride of hungry but oddly out of sorts lions. Kyle blinked and did a double take. Was the only adopted Little in the building? “Hello cutie!” The Tweener behind the counter said. “What can I get for you?” The presence of the black haired Tweener seemed to put Mommy at ease. Amazons liked Tweeners; people that they could boss around and be terrible to without feeling like they had to take care of them. Mommy regained a bit of pep in her step on their way up to the counter. “I’ll have a red eye.” “Say please.” Kyle looked up to see his Mommy flinch. “What?” The Tweener smiled. “I said, ‘say pleeeeease’!” “Please?” “Please what?” Mommy stiffened. “Please, I’d like to order a red eye…?” The woman behind the counter feigned thoughtfulness. “That’s an awful lot of caffeine,” she said. “You’re gonna be bouncing all over the place!” “I know.” Mommy’s tone was turning annoyed. She was struck temporarily mute when the Tweener leaned over the counter and made eye contact with Kyle in his stroller. “Is that okay with you, sir? Can she have a red eye?” Kyle felt his Mommy’s confusion. He was “Uh…yeah. Sure?” “Kay kay.” The cashier punched the order in. “Sorry about that.” Mommy found her voice. “It’s quite alri-” “I should have asked you first on whether she could have that much caffeine, but when she forgot to say please I saw it as a teachable moment.” The Tweener shuddered and gulped. “Not that you don’t teach her manners,” she quickly added. “It’s just that some people need a lot of help in learning. It takes a village, right?” Beads of nervous, confused sweat were forming on Kyle’s forehead. “Um…okay.” “What’s your name?” “Kyle.” “Thank you, Mister Kyle. The red eye will be ready in a minute.” Mommy wheeled him away to a clear table close to the Cafe’s flat screen television. “The nerve of some Tweeners,” she muttered to herself. “Some of them get too big for their britches. I oughta…I oughta…” But Mommy had no more threats. Even idle ones. “We’re back with Helen in the Morning,” the T.V. broadcast. Standing in front of the camera was an Amazon lady in a blue pantsuit with bleached teeth and an artificial tan. Weird that Amazons had perfected nanites that could simulate or relieve diaper rash but hadn’t figured out how to make a convincing tanning bed. “In light of recent news, we’ve rushed in a guest specialist to ask her what’s her opinion on so called current events.” The camera panned over to the big, eggshell white, overly cushy couch, the kind that only seemed to exist on morning talk shows. On it was an Amazon woman “With me today,” Helen prattled on, “is renowned Child and Little psychologist, Dr. Margaret Jameson. The so-called psychologist wore a yellow turtleneck sweater and jeans. She looked more like a Kindergarten teacher than a doctor. Amazons, however, sometimes had the privilege of being underdressed. “Dr. Jameson, what do you think of the current panic that’s being reported on?” The psychologist shrugged with practiced ease. “Well Helen, as we all know, Littles make up for their innate lack of maturity and reason with overactive imaginations. So it’s no surprise to me that Littles,” she paused for a drink of water from one of the show’s coffee mugs, “Littles who either have or are on the verge of full blown Maturosis but have yet to find Adoption are concocting these overly elaborate stories.” “So you think this is, what?” the talk show host asked, “Little propaganda?” The psychologist fake laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far, Helen. Propaganda is such a malicious word. Such a mean spirited one. It’s too…too…” “Grown-Up?” “Precisely,” the psychologist said. “This is all just a very silly joke that some very clever Littles with more creativity than sense cooked up.” “Excuse me!” A voice chirped in from the crowd. “I’ve got something to say!” The camera panned around to a Little boy standing on an audience chair. He was waving his hand and hopping up and down to be seen since the middle aged Amazon women in front of him were still taller than him despite being seated. This Little wasn’t one that was allowed to live as an adult, either. Unadopted Littles didn’t wear dalmatian spotted overalls that stopped at the knees. Nor did they tend to have such perfectly formed freckles on their cheeks. The boy could have been someone that Kyle had met on the playground. Heads turned and a collective. “Awwwwww!” reverberated through the studio audience. “It looks like we’ve got someone who wants to share with us,” Helen said. “Come on down, kiddo!” The invitation was met with thunderous applause and Helen got herself a photo op by climbing the stairs and carrying him down after the halfway point. When things had settled down, the Little boy stood in front of the couch, and the talk show host squatted down to hold a microphone to his mouth. “Well hello there!” The psychologist beamed like she was talking to a toddler. “What’s your name?” “My name is Maxwell MaGee, but my Mommy and Daddy call me Maxie and their last name is Sanders.” “Well, Maxie Sanders,” the psychologist said, “what would you like to say?” “I just wanted to let you know that Mommy and Daddy agree with everything you just said. They tell me that Littles are just babies that don’t grow up no matter how old we get.” “And are they right, Maxie?” “No,” the Little boy said sweetly. “They’re not. Amazons are the real babies. They’re just big babies who treat people smaller than them like baby dolls.” No scoffs came, just tittering laughter aimed at a child who didn’t know what he was talking about. Back in the cafe, Kyle looked down at himself. He fit that mold perfectly. For the first time in a long time he felt emotionally invested enough to feel ashamed of himself, for his state of dress. Carefully, Kyle unclipped the pacifier from his shirt and lowered it to the ground… “Really?” the psychologist said. “Do they change your diapers for you?” “Not any more!” Maxie said proudly. “I got to use the big boy potty! All by myself!” A third wave of ‘Awwwws’ bubbled up. “Your Mommy and Daddy let you go potty all by yourself?” Helen asked. Maxie paused and smiled deviously. “No.” Helen leaned in. “Where are your Mommy and Daddy, sweety pie?” “I dropped them off at daycare,” Maxie said with complete and utter seriousness. “They’re the ones in diapers now.” Kyle was beginning to think that this Little boy wasn’t a ‘Maxie’ as much as a ‘Maxwell’. Come to think of it, he looked a little thinner in the middle. It was hard to tell on camera, but he didn’t have that certain roundness between his legs that most Littles had. The psychologist crossed her legs, casually. “It sounds like someone has a very active imagination! Aren’t Littles the best? So cute! So precious! Always pretending to be more mature than they really are!” The laughter this time was more nervous than delighted or charmed. “It’s not pretend, Doctor.” the Little on T.V. said, snatching the microphone away from the talk show host. “It’s the truth. You’ve all been fibbing this whole time. We’ve all just finally figured out the truth.” “What truth?” the psychologist scoffed. “That Littles can’t be independent? That they need Amazons to take care of them? That they do this all for free and at no cost to the Littles?” The grin on the Little’s face became positively devilish. Like he knew a secret no one else did. “Oh really? Is that the truth as you see it? My, my, what a fantastic imagination!” Rumbles and grumbles were moving through the studio audience. Something was happening. “I think you were naughty and ran away from your Mommy and Daddy,” the psychologist said. “I think you’re telling fibs to make yourself feel bigger and more mature than you really are. Maybe we should call some real adults to get you back home where you belong.” She sniffed and smiled, “and get you changed. Someone had an accident.” No condescending laughter rang out this time. “Oh, I’m not the one who’s having an accident,” the Little on T.V. replied curtly. “Well of course you’d think that,” the Amazon replied. “Littles can never tell when they need changing. That’s kind of the point.” Kyle looked down at himself and gave himself a pat and a squeeze. Still dry. That was weird. He’d have half expected himself to be at least a little wet by now. The unsupervised Little on television closed his eyes and exhaled. When he opened them again, they narrowed, suspiciously. “Who’s checked you, Doctor Jameson?” he asked. “Why aren’t you wearing your diaper like a good girl?” “I don’t need them,” the woman who’d shown up for a T.V. interview in jeans, laughed. “Amazons don’t experience Maturosis, silly boy. Only Littles and the occasional Tweener.” There was a mean smile on the Little’s face. “Are you sure about that, cupcake? Uncross your legs.” “Hm?” The woman spread her legs out and looked down aghast at the spreading wet patch on the front of her denim pants. “Wha-? No!” The only thing the big woman had the presence of mind to do was stand up and let the puddle continue to stream down her thighs, dripping onto the studio floor. She was so humiliated she didn’t even have the presence of mind to cup her hands over her crotch or otherwise hide the sight of the very real, very public accident. Kyle could relate to that. That had been his face to a tee way back before his pants were padded full time. “Awwww,” the Little man cooed. “Is the big girl having a potty accident? You better have diapers in a bigger size than that, Helen.” “Th-th-th-” she stuttered. “This is not happening!” “Babies,” Maxwell crowed. “Such big imaginations they have. I hope you have some pretty big diapers backstage, Helen. You’re gonna need them.” The talk show host nearly dropped her mic. “Huh?” she grunted. “No! No-no-no! I’m not gonna…hnnng…I’m not changing her!” “I know,” the LIttle said. “But someone is going to need to change you. It wasn’t me your baby friend was sniffing” The camera switched angles to catch the lump forming in the back of Helen’s pantsuit skirt.. “You’re pooping, Helen. Right here. Right now. In front of everyone. You’re pooping.” Shocked screams exploded out from the Amazons in the studio. The host started to panic. “Uhh! Hrrnnn! We’re gonna take another commercial break but we’ll be right back! And in our next segment we’re gonna show you how to change a really big…baby’s…diaper..?” She blanched, not at what was going on in her pants, but at what she’d just said. “Hey! Why’s that on the teleprompter!? And who are you? You're not my producer!” The signal went black and the station switched over to an advertisement for Monkeez diapers, featuring a diapered Little pretending to play football with real Amazon toddlers… “This is ridiculous,” an Amazon woman said. Kyle looked back over to the counter. Two giantesses were pointing to their coffee cups, specifically the lids. “What’s the meaning of this?” “Those are safety lids,” the Tweener behind the counter smiled, courteously. “Coffee is very hot. You wouldn’t want it to spill all over you or it could burn and give you an owie.” The second Amazon at the counter scoffed. “We can’t remove the lids!” “It wouldn’t be very safe if you could, would it?” The Tweener made a shooing gesture and turned her back. “Drink your bean water, hun. Go on'' She looked at the next cup of coffee. “Kyle? Red eye for Kyle?” The two oversized Karens didn’t walk away. “They look like sippy cups!” The Tweener glanced at the lids and puckered her lips. “Huh. They kinda do.” She thought better of it right away. “I mean, no they don’t. Those are safety lids. And they’re only for special big girls just like you. Isn’t that neat?” A beat. “Kyle? I’ve got a red eye for Kyle!” “Mommy!” Kyle hissed. “That’s you.” Mommy rattled her head, breaking out of some kind of trance. Her eyes hadn’t left the television set since before it cut to commercial. ‘Huh? What?” She rubbed her eyes the way that people do when they’ve just woken up from a dream. “Oh yeah!” “Red eye? Kyle?” “Actually,” Mommy said. “That’s mine. Kyle’s my Little.” The Tweener brushed her hair back. “Oh yeah. Right. Just a sec.” She slapped a white plastic lid over the cup, same as with the other two ladies in front of her. Kyle did a quick, baffled scan of the room. Only the Amazons had the white plastic sippy lids on their cups. Everyone else drank their coffee like adults. Again, she leaned over the table. “Sorry about that sir.” “Uh..no problem?” Mommy started sipping her coffee through the lid without complaint. The two giantesses before her were also drinking from their definitely-not-sippy cups, just not without complaint. “Can you bewieve that mean ol’ Tweenuh?” “I know! We should tawk to the bossy boss!” “Yeah! Tell ‘em she’s bein’ a big ol’ meanie doo-doo head!” Something clicked upstairs in both Amazons at the same time. “Why awe you tawkin’ wike dat?” Her companion growled. “You duh one tawkin wike a baby!” “Nuh-uh!” “Uh-huh!” “Nuh-uh!” “Uh-...” Both stopped talking and gasped. Two puddles of warm pee were trickling down at their feet. One of them had more than just a puddle, with a solid lump sagging from the pack of her slacks. “Clean up!” The Tweener called. “Big babies had an accident in their pants!” She sighed in disgust. “Again!” A crew of Littles with mops zipped in and started wiping up the mess. Two more took each of them by the wrist and with impossible strength started to lead them towards the restroom. “Come on, baby girl,” the Little coffee shop worker cooed. “Let’s get you changed.” “Noooooo!” the Amzaon who had only wet her pants shrieked. “No baby! No baby! Nooooo baby!” “Let’s just get you taken care of, dear.” The two giants dug their heels in. It did nothing to slow their progress to the restrooms marked with helpful plaques indicating Baby/Little changing stations inside. Someone had put a strip of masking tape and written “Amazon” over the “Little” section in black marker. Pulling against the Littles, the one of them, the one who had done more than just pee her pants fell onto her backside. Her lip trembled for a second and then she started screaming, “NOOOOO! NO! NO BABY! NO BOOM BOOM! NO GOO GOO GA GA! NO BABY DIAPEE BOOM BOOM!” Her cohort couldn’t even say that much, her speech regressing to nothing more than repeated babbling syllables. “Gooo-goo-ag-ga-ag-ag-ag-gaaaa!” And the first wasn’t far behind. Within seconds, ‘Diapee’ and ‘boom boom’ would be too complex for their mouths to form. The Little employee patted the blubbering giant on the top of her hand as she dropped to her knees. “Of course you didn’t go boom boom in your diaper, sweet pea. You’re not wearing one. Let’s go fix that. Then you can finish your coffee.” The women crawled on three limbs the rest of the way to the lady’s room to be changed, her hand still being held. The Tweener behind the counter shook her head and Kyle heard her mutter. “Amazons. Seriously. Why can’t they just accept that they need help?” Mommy hurried herself and Kyle out of the store. Her red eye was dumped into the nearest potted plant. “This is not happening,” Mommy said. “This is not happening. This is just a dream. Only a dream.” Kyle felt her pat him on the top of his head. “Right baby?” Kyle didn’t answer. “Oh right. Babies don’t talk. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” The world whipped by at nearly breakneck speed. The “stroller” was now effectively a “sprinter”. Kyle turned his head this way and that. All around him he caught familiar scenes cast with different players. “I’m not a baby!” “Uh oh. Big girl isn’t so big!” “Come here honey. You’re going to look so adorable with a shave and a sailor suit.” “Why do Amazons even bother trying to grow up? They’re just going to fail anyway. Much easier for everyone involved if they just find a nice Little Mommy or Daddy to take care of their mush tushes.” Every line, every condescending taunt, every cooing syllable, had the sweet acidity of someone delivering the world’s cruelest joke. The pounding of Mommy’s shoes sputtered and then changed to the slapping of her bare feet. “Gotta get to the daycare! Gotta get to the daycare!” Poor thing had lost her shoes. “We’ll just get you to daycare, and I’ll go to work and everything will be okay!” A devilish grin flashed across Kyle’s mug. “Mommy? Did you lose your shoes? Maybe you should switch to velcro!” “Baby!” Mommy barked. “Not now!” Kyle tittered with laughter anyways, suddenly much less afraid. Mommy was panting when they ran up to the daycare. She shuffled around to the front of the stroller, diaper bag slung over her shoulder, and unbuckled Kyle from his restraints. “Come on, Kyle,” she panted, “Let’s get you settled in and Mommy will-” The front door to the daycare burst open. “Don’t! A daycare worker screamed out. Run! Save yourself!” Mommy froze. Kyle gawked. Mrs. Abernathy wasn’t just an employee, but the proprietor of the daycare itself. Neither Kyle nor Mommy recognized her at first glance. How could they? Her graying hair was up in pigtails. Her face was covered in stickers. Her arms were scribbled on in markers. A giant, obviously wet diaper, was taped to her hips and hung between her thighs. She was missing her glasses too. If not for the daycare’s signature polo shirt uniform that she always wore she might have been completely unrecognizable. “Leave!” The woman screamed. “Before it’s too late!” Behind her, more crying and protests of ‘I’m not the baby! I’m your Mommy!” bled out into the open air. Kyle looked around the daycare’s parking lot. There weren’t usually that many cars here at one time. Amazons would just drop off their Littles and leave. “I’m an adult! A grown-up! A big girl! A biiiiiiig girrrrl!” They weren’t leaving… “They’re making us finger paint!” Mrs. Abernathy cried, her tears wetting the sunshine smiley stickers on her cheeks. “Finger paint!” “There you are, Michelle!” A Little woman, dressed like an employee came out and grabbed Mrs. Abernathy by the hand. “I can’t take my eyes off of you for a second, can I missy?” “Please…” Mrs. Abernathy sniffled. “Don’t do this to me.” “You’ll feel much better after a change. Then we’ll film you playing with all of your Amazon friends and you’ll be so cute you’ll get Adopted into a good Little home in no time.” Mrs. Abernathy started bawling beyond words. The Little finally seemed to notice Kyle and Mommy. “Oh sorry about that. You know how it is.” She was talking to Kyle and only to Kyle. “Are you checking her in?” Mommy let out a wordless scream and ran away with Kyle in her arms, cackling with abandon! Normally, if he laughed this hard he’d expect his pants to be wet but his diaper was still as dry as a bone. The juice wasn’t going through him. “Careful, baby!” Random passerby called after Mommy. “Uh oh.” “Someone needs a timeout.” “She is going to get such a spanking when this is over…” “Don’t you be like that one, Pamela. You suck your binkie like a good big baby.” In the distance, a billboard was being papered over. It was still a diaper ad, but the drooling, toothless models were no longer Littles. Traffic was at a standstill; Amazons were being strapped into newly enlarged car seats, gagged with pacifiers and diapers splaying their legs apart. Littles were busily installing booster pedals and seats so that they could drive. Amazons moaned and cried out from top of the line remote controlled carriages, piloted by Mommies and Daddies much much smaller than them. “Why?” Mommy panted. “Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?” She tripped over something. Only soft grass broke her and Kyle’s fall. “Whyyyyyy?!” “Because you deserve it.” Kyle answered. He stood up and brushed the freshly mowed grass clipping off of his thighs. Mommy had managed to make it all the way back to the park before breaking down. “Because you deserve it.” Repeating his damning accusation with a cold relishing” He toddled over to the diaper bag and dug out a pair of shorts. Deftly, he slid them up over his hips, covering the diaper. Then, he reached into his pants and pulled the sticky tabs loose, ripping the diaper off of him while keeping his modesty intact. “No!” Mommy slammed her fist into the ground. “No! This isn’t supposed to happen this way! I’m the adult! I’m the Mommy! I’m the big girl!” She stood up. “Susan!” Kyle exclaimed. It felt amazing calling her by her first name. “Are your pants wet?” There was no puddle beneath her. She looked down at herself and her face melted. “Yes, Kyle…” “Do big girls go pee-pee in their pants?” “No, Kyle…” “Did you know you went pee-pee in your pants?” “N…” she stopped herself. “Yes, Kyle.” “Why didn’t you stop and tell Daddy that you had an accident?” He felt himself stand a bit taller, a bit stronger calling himself ‘Daddy.’ Susan looked ashamed. “I was busy…running.” “Playing you mean?” “Yes, Kyle…” “What?” “Yes…Daddy.” “That doesn’t sound very mature, does it?” “No, Daddy.” Kyle walked around her and inspected the back of her pants. Goodness it felt amazing to be able to take a step without hearing the soft plastic crinkle coming from behind him. A quick breeze carried the fetid scent of what Susan had done to herself. “Susie! Are your pants messy” “Yes, Daddy.” “What?” Susie stuck her thumb in her mouth. “Yesh, Daddy.” “Do big girls go poopy in their pants?” “No, Daddy.” “Did you know you’d had an accident.” “Yesh, Daddy.” “Then why didn’t you tell Daddy you had an accident? “I wush pwayin’...” “That doesn’t sound very mature, does it?” Susie, formerly Mommy, was quivering. “No, Daddy.” He walked back around and bid her come closer to the ground so that she could look him in the eyes. “Amazons,” he said once she was crawling on all fours. “What would you do without us?” Susie just softly cried. “What happens to big girls who go pee-pee and poopy in their pants?” Kyle asked. Time to finish her programing. “They get shpankt” Susie mumbled. “What happens to babies who go pee-pee and poopy in their pants?’ Susie winced like she’d just been slapped in the face, or more likely, just bitten her thumb. Then said, “They gesh a diapher chahshe.” “Why?” “Cush dere Daddiesh wuf dem.” Kyle patted her on the head and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “That’s right.” He went back over to the diaper bag and pulled out the changing mat. It was big enough to fit even an Amazon. Kyle thought nothing of it. “Lay down.” Susie popped her thumb out of her mouth “Here? Now” “Your panties were clean when we left the house, young lady.” Kyle said. “That means you had your accident out here in public in front of all your Amazon friends. If you can go in your pants, in public you can get cleaned up in public.” Weeping, Susie crawled over to the changing mat and layed down. Kyle reached his hand into the bag and pulled out the perfect diaper. Just like what he used to wear, but sized for a very, very, big baby. “Ooops!” he said. “Daddy almost forgot!” He slapped his forehead. “Silly Daddy!” He took out the pack of baby wipes. “Before I put you all nice and cozy in your diaper I’ve gotta clean up your accident.” That got a mumbled moan of despair from around the Amazon’s thumb. Kyle put the wipes down by Susie’s knees and bent over Susie’s waist, deftly unbuttoning her pants for her. She didn’t have any snaps, so it was nothing at all for his tiny fingers to unfasten the big buttons and unzip her pants for her. In the near future, he’d make sure to get her a proper onesie; one with strong little sized buttons that big clumsy baby Amazon fingers wouldn’t be able to manipulate. It wouldn’t do to have a baby try to go streaking, or worse yet, dress like a big girl. Using leverage and just a tiny bit of effort, Kyle pushed her knees up to her stomach. “Hold it for me,” he instructed. Obediently, his former Mommy did. “Good girl.” He yanked the pants off her hips, followed by her soiled, filthy panties. Susie’s mewling cries doubled over as she felt the sick mess pull away from her delicate skin. “I know, I know.” Kyle shushed. “It doesn’t feel good to have an accident in your big girl undies. That’s why you shouldn’t be wearing them.” Without him having to tell her, she lowered her legs and outstretched them so that he could take her shoes and socks off followed by her soiled pants and undergarments. They were left in a pile in the grass. He’d pick them up later after he got Susie sorted out. “You’ll feel much better in a nice clean diaper,” he promised. It was a lie, of course, or rather a half truth. Clean diapers only felt good in comparison because dirty diapers happened, and one inevitably led to another. More importantly, diapering her made clean up easier when he wouldn’t have to slide the soiled padding all the way off Susie’s ankles. One step at a time, though… “Okay. Lift one more time for Daddy.” He instructed. “Good girl.” Wipe after wipe, Tommy started cleaning her bottom. Taking extra care to wipe the laminated mat that had become stained with her feces. A diaper would definitely help this in the future. “Gotta wipe the baby nice and clean,” he told her. “And get rid of her mess.” Susie was taking it rather well. She was only quietly crying now, resigned to her fate. Just as he had been once upon a time. Time for the piece de resistance. With both hands he unfolded the giant diaper. Had it been on him, it would have dwarfed him, coming up to his armpits and being too baggy. On her though, it would be just right. Not wanting to make a rookie mistake, he eyed the tapes and slid the diaper the right way under his new charge’s elevated bottom. “Okay…” he said. Susie lowered her hips. A second round of wipes was taken to Susie’s front side. He wasn’t going to let her get a rash because he was more focused on the solid waste and forget about the glistening droplets of urine clinging to her pubic area. “We’re going to have to get rid of all this big girl hair later,” he tutted. “Mo…” Susie mumbled. “Non’t” “Are you a big girl?” Kyle asked. Susie remained silent, sucking her thumb. “Exactly. Don’t worry though. We’ll take care of that later tonight using the special shampoos you keep under the sink.” Susie sometimes threatened to make Kyle a bald baby if he misbehaved. Now the bootie was on the other foot. Oh she’d look adorable in just a diaper, bonnet, and booties! A note for later! Leaving her waiting on the open diaper, Kyle backtracked to the diaper bag one last time. “Let’s help the baby smell nice and clean.” He said. The cloud of powder he dusted her with was enormous. “Will definitely need to get rid of that big girl hair though…” Finally, enjoying it, saving the moment, he pulled the diaper up between Susie’s spread thighs, making sure to center the front and pull it taut so it tucked neatly into the back as he taped the first side. A quick scramble over to the other side so he could tape it nice and snug, completing her well deserved and much needed reduction of status. He panted lighty and proclaimed her “Done!” He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. Taking care of big babies really was hard work, but it certainly was rewarding. Susie tried to sit up, but the sheer mass of the plastic backed padding gave her difficulty. Kyle’s firm and steady hand touched her shoulder and guided her back down to the grass. “Not yet, Susie,” he told her. “Not yet.” One final trip to the diaper bag yielded a very big baby bottle, filled with nice cold milk. Confident and satisfied, Kyle strode over to the Amazon’s head and made her lift it so that he could position his legs underneath them. “Here you go,” he offered her the bottle. “Drink up.” She did, her lips puckering and suckling on the rubber teat. “Good girl,” he said. “Drink up. Make it all gone.” The stuff in that bottle, he knew, would make her a very good girl and ensure that she didn’t need those pesky big girl panties for as long as the stuff was in her system. She’d get used to sitting and nursing and playing in a wet diaper soon enough. Messy diapers would follow. Kyle was just helping things along. Content at last, Kyle closed his eyes and breathed in his moment of victory. “I get it, now.” He said to himself. “I really get it.” There in the darkness behind his closed eyes, Kyle sighed luxuriously as his new big baby suckled on her bottle, (the first of many) and shifted and crinkled in her diaper (the first of many). Slowly, the darkness swirled into mist, as darkness does between dreams, and the scene faded from Kyle’s mind’s eye if not his memory. The sound of Susie sucking on her ba-ba yet lingered. Slowly, very slowly, his brain wishing for sleep that his body no longer required, Kyle’s eyes opened. Just past the Little boy’s nose was his balled up fist. The sound of sucking that had stuck with him had been him suckling on his own thumb. Just a dream. But, oh, what a dream! A slight creaking of floorboards and hinges, and the door to Kyle’s nursery opened and Mommy’s voice sang out. “Wakey wakey!” She said, “Did my baby boy enjoy his afternoon nap?” A petite yawn later, and Kyle slowly sat back up in his crib. The afternoon sun shone past the thin pastel blue curtains of his babified bedroom. The feeling of his soaked diaper squishing beneath his weight was a gentle reminder that he was back in the real world. His mouth hadn’t quite caught up to his brain, however. “Huh? Wha? Susie?” Mommy cocked an eyebrow. He hadn’t even thought of her as anything other than ‘Mommy’ for a long time. She’d broken him of that habit a long long time ago; or so they both had thought. “What was that?” Kyle’s mind went into overdrive as unconscious and conscious thoughts traded places and memory of the real world kicked into high gear. The soaking wet diaper between his legs helped. He’d been laid down clean and dry. “Sorry Mommy. I was having a dream.” Mommy approached the crib and picked him up. “About what?” “A girl at my daycare,” he lied. Kyle was soon plopped on the changing table, which was a much better place than over Mommy’s knee. “Oh.” Mommy said. “That makes sense.” She undid the tapes on his diaper and started wiping him. “Don’t worry. You’ll get to see all your Little friends and Mrs. Abernathy at daycare tomorrow.” Kyle started sucking his thumb. “Yesh, Mommy.” He couldn’t help but smile. Wow! What a dream. It was just a dream, but it was a really nice dream. One that made the Little boy both a tiny bit sad, and very very happy. “I love you, baby boy.” “Yesh, Mommy.” Kyle lied through his teeth and over his thumb. “I love you too.” He’d be holding onto the image of Susie crying and laying down to get her diaper changed like a big dumb baby for as long as he lived. Even as a dream, it was better than nothing. If he could, he’d tell all the other kids at daycare tomorrow… (The End)

I'm not going to defend or explain my narrative and creative choices to you. There'd be no point in that. If the writer has to break the fourth wall to explain what they're writing about, then something has gone wrong for that reader. If you can't find the value in what I'm doing with this story, or if it does not entertain you enough for you to continue reading, that's your opinion and you have a right to it. Like any creative endeavor or expression I'm not going to appeal to everyone all the time. That's just a fact of sharing writing and art. Nor am I going to criticize you for no longer enjoying this story. Your tastes and what you see as a "natural progression" and "sadistic cringe" differ on my own in this matter but both of our tastes are completely subjective. What I don't understand is what you hope to gain or how you think you're helping anyone from voicing your opinion in this way? I'm sharing my stories for free. You're not a commissioner so it's not like I've agreed to write exactly according to your tastes. You're not a patron of mine so it's not like I'm trying to make content to keep you engaged so that you'll continue to financially support me. I'm not at the point where I'm selling my stories on Amazon or whatever, so it's not like you're leaving a review so that other people don't spend their valuable money on something you wouldn't recommend. This isn't a discussion thread about ABDL authors and really good or really bad stories so you can tell people who haven't read this story to not bother. And as other people have said, I am much farther ahead in the narrative than what I post here. So it's not like comments about the pacing not being to your liking or the content being cringe is going to be able to change it. The future has already been written, as it were, so there's not much I can do at this stage to change it for you. If you don't like my free story, what good are you doing by loudly announcing that you don't like it? Why not just decide that it's not for you, stop reading, click away, and continue to not click and read? You said you like some of my other stories. Why not just put this one down and go read those? Do you think anyone who hasn't read this far in the narrative hasn't made up their own minds on whether or not to continue reading it? What effect did you think your words would have other than possibly hurting my feelings?

Chapter 85: The Big Quiet Janet shut down the next day. I expected her to be extra clingy to me after her date went wrong with Douchey Horseface Pukerton, aka. ‘Mark’. I automatically expected her to do terrible, horrible things like cuddle me harder, or impulse buy some Amazon gadget or gizmo that would ‘accidentally’ reinforce her view of me as a baby or whatever. But no. She picked me up out of my crib. She laid me down. She changed me. Then picked me up. Super quick. No declaration of “All done” or any of those stupid songs she’d memorized from Little Voices meetings. And she didn’t talk. I was anticipating another condescending condemnation. Some speech about how I’d crossed a line or needed to accept things as they were and she was my Mommy and that she loved me, but I needed something adjusted for my own good. Maybe she’d take away my shirt and shoes, and just leave me in Monkeez that she’d drawn numbers on the back so that people would know how many diapers I’d used that particular day. Seemed like a twisted but logical step. That didn’t happen. She put me in the kitchen highchair and locked me in. She went to the refrigerator, took out a carton of goat’s milk that she’d had delivered, and filled a baby bottle up. Then she tightened it, and filled a bowl of cereal, that badly needed some raisins or banana slices, with the same carton and put the milk away. “Here,” she said, handing it to me. “Thanks,” I replied. “You’re welcome.” None of the chirpiness or cheeriness was in her voice that was normally present in our interactions. Everything was flat and robotic. Fuck ‘robotic’, I’d seen UsBox prank videos of malfunctioning nanny robots that had more inflection in their soundcards. I downed the bottle of goat milk, while Janet ate her cereal at the table. She looked at me, taking her time to eat the cereal, but the way she looked at me: It wasn’t hate or fear. Not really. Even now I struggle to put into words what I saw behind those eyes. It was like her mouth was chewing slowly, but her mind was replaying and reliving last night. More than that last night. More like she was silently going over every interaction we’d ever had, and quietly reviewing and puzzling out what was sincere, what was manipulation, what was emotion, what was impulse, what was calculated lies, and so on and so forth; literally questioning everything and very likely coming up with so many frustrating conclusions. Probably silently chewing me out. In short, Janet looked how I felt most days. Silent and brooding, Janet finished her cereal, rinsed her bowl out in the sink and approached me. “All done?” “Yeah.” I made my voice almost as monotone as hers. “Want any more?” “Not right now, thank you.” She took me out of the highchair, set me down on my feet and said, “You can go play.” And that was it. No suggestions. No annoying pat on the butt. Not even a smile. Her lips just kept fidgeting and twisting like it couldn’t decide, kind of like when someone is on the verge of laughing and trying to stop from bursting out. No laughter though… So I went and played. I fiddled with the toys that I was physically able to fiddle with, made up imaginary stories where I was taking my vengeance against Beouf or the therapists or Brollish. I thumbed through some garbage ‘baby books’ in the nursery so that I could scoff at them. Played on the indoor playset. Really boring, really. Really boring without Janet trying to coax me into something or being ever present so that I was conscious about what she was seeing or what I was doing. She was leaving me alone. Not entirely, mind you; every twenty minutes or so she’d poke her head around a corner to make sure I wasn’t doing anything she considered bad, but she showed no interest or curiosity in my activities beyond that. No diaper checks, either. At eleven that morning, I waddled up to her cutting up fruit and putting it in a bowl. “Janet,” I said. “Can you change me, please?” She didn’t so much as bend over. Her eyes glanced over my padded crotch. She lightly sniffed the air. “No. You’re okay,” she said. “I’ll change you after lunch.” So much for ‘please’ having magical properties. Fine. If she wanted to play hardball, so be it. “If I need to go to the bathroom and tell you, will you take me?” “No.” Janet had already turned back to her cutting board and was slicing up strawberries. “Why not?” I asked. “You know why.” And that appeared to be that. Lunch was fruit salad on my tray and goat milk in my bottle. True to her word, Janet changed me as quickly and efficiently as before. No talking or singing. No nothing. The afternoon went the same as the morning. Not once did she pull me into her lap on the couch or try to entice me with Muffet reruns. It was…odd. The quiet was disquieting. It’s not like she was abusive or neglectful or anything. Technically, she wasn’t even being mean. She was just on her phone. Or in her head. Or flipping through a teacher guide, jotting down lesson plans. Just quiet. “Can I help with that?” I offered. If I knew what subject she was covering in Math I might have a better way to cover up my meddling. Her eyes didn’t even reach me. “No thanks. Go play.” So yeah. That was that. That was Sunday. So-called playtime. Another change. Dinner. Bath. Bed. “Night,” Janet said once she’d plopped me into the crib. “Janet?” I called out. She stopped in the doorway and turned back around. Laying in the crib and looking at her through the bars, I took a deep breath. “About yesterday,” I said. “I’m sorry.” A strange feeling of cognitive dissonance rang out inside me. I was definitely lying so that she’d relax and forgive me, but for some reason it felt wrong. Like I was lying about something else. “I’m really sorry.” “I know.” She turned off the lights. I sat up. “What do you mean you know?” It wasn’t quite that monotone that I’d heard all day. Sounded sadder, yet there was a not-quite alien undercurrent to it. Like her definition of ‘sorry’ and ‘mine’ were different and only one of us knew it. *********************************************************************** The quiet didn’t stop on Monday. Janet got me up, got me dressed, and took me back to Beouf’s room with nary a word. Just “Morning, Janet.” Then “Morning, Clark.” Then off to school. Dropped me off and left me without so much as a goodbye. When she came into Beouf’s room later that day, her mind was clearly somewhere else. I kept catching her staring at the clock. She loomed over me, but didn’t hover or participate in any of the activities. At the end of her time, she just left. That afternoon after school, I thought she was finally starting to get over ‘the Mark thing’ as I was beginning to think of it, when she picked me up and started talking to Beouf. “He was a little bit mouthy with some of his friends today, but he only needed one reminder each time,” Beouf reported. “That's an improvement.” Beouf hadn’t let her professionalism slip, either. I now had two ex-friends that were holding back on me all the time. Good? The first smile I’d seen from Janet in close to forty-eight hours blossomed. “That’s good,” she said. She sounded happy. Relieved even. I allowed myself a big cheesy grin, too. I’d been ‘good’, but it was mostly because my mind was on other things. They started walking towards Janet’s room, continuing the conversation with one another and me just along for the ride. They made small talk about television that was on after I’d been locked away in my crib, and about Beouf’s granddaughter, Emma. Nothing much to report there, she wasn’t quite two months, so very much still at that newborn blob stage of life. Janet opened the door to her room and Beouf followed us inside. “So, picture day is Friday,” Beouf said, “I wanted to talk to you about it real quick.” Janet didn’t put me in the playpen, right away. She held onto me, holding me like I was the one who didn’t want to be put down. “Okay,” she said. “What’s up?” The existence of Picture Day itself wasn’t a surprise. Of course Janet knew it was coming. Every teacher in the school knew picture day was near. No doubt half a dozen emails had already gone out as reminders for teachers to sign their class up for a listed time slot. That and the Fall Festival were constantly being harped on this time of year. Janet had her own students to shuffle one at a time in front of a photographer trying to get kids to sit in uncomfortable, unnatural poses and smile at the same time. Who the heck sat with their legs in profile but turned their upper body so that it was facing forward? I never got that. Nor did my students…literally. “Nothing much. Just a quick aside. I know this is your first year with me,” Beouf went on, “but I suggest sending some extra clothes with him on Friday. My class always goes first and fancy baby clothes look nice, but they don’t play nice if you know what I mean. So we always get them lined up, take the pictures, and then dress them in something more comfortable for the rest of the day.” Janet bobbed me up and down like I was a fussy toddler, even though I wasn’t trying to say anything. “I was thinking the sailor suit he wore on his first day.” Great. That monstrosity. Beouf squealed a little bit. “Oh that would be so cute!” She looked at me, and then seemed to catch herself, embarrassed. She’d let her guard down for a second and she knew it. “Shorts or no shorts?” Janet asked. My old mentor looked at me and sized me up. She remembered herself, and adopted that more formal, more detached demeanor she’d been presenting lately. “Honestly? If he continues to show improvement this week, I think he could come to school with the shorts on. We can evaluate more from there.” Beouf cocked her head and eyeballed a stack of graded papers ready to be handed back, on Janet’s desk. “Okay…” Janet seemed hesitant, like she was hoping that Beouf would have definitively forbade me from having even a bit of modesty back. Beouf clearly still thought of me as a toddler. By the time Friday rolled around, my legs would have been bare for a week and a half; an eternity in toddler time. “But it’s your call, really,” Beouf looked up from the papers. “He’d still look fine in just the top half. He wouldn’t be the first Little dressed like that on Picture Day. Just don’t put him in a diaper with a wetness indicator and he’ll be fine.” “We’re almost out of those anyhow,” Janet said. “We’ll definitely be out by Friday unless we get some more.” “Great,” Beouf said. I exhaled, suddenly realizing that I’d been holding my breath. “Okie dokie. I gotta go put my room back together and set up for tomorrow. You know how it is.” “Mmm-hmmm.” Janet agreed. She started lowering me down into the tiny playpen by her desk. Beouf was already out of the room by the time Janet stood back up, but I caught sight of the older of the two women stopping and looking back. At Janet? At us? At just me? It was hard to tell. The moment Janet heard the door click closed behind her, she stiffened back up and went back to her desk. “Hey, Janet?” I said. “Mhm?” She was already typing stuff into her computer and shuffling papers around. “Whatcha doin’?” “Grading papers.” Her voice regained the same melancholy coldness of Sunday. “Trying it day by day instead of all at once over the weekend.” Uh-oh. That meant no papers for me to grade on the weekend. “Can I help?” “No.” “Why not?” She didn’t answer me. “Why not?” She was actively ignoring me. “Why not?” Janet rotated in her chair, scooted over to the playen and grabbed the pacifier dangling from my shirt. “Quiet, baby. Mommy is trying to concentrate. Okay?” “I was just trying to-” The pacifier went in. “Mommy is trying to concentrate.” She didn’t sound much like a Mommy just then. Or she sounded exactly like one… The bulb couldn’t inflate. There was nothing preventing me from spitting it out and continuing to pester her. I just decided not to. ********************************************************************************************* The quiet continued into Tuesday. I was half expecting Janet to completely snap and go full Typical Amazon on me. There were no enema bags waiting, however. No pacifiers that were anything other than fake nipples to suck on. No new hypnotic cartoons. If there was anything she was putting in the milk- that she was clearly drinking herself- it didn’t seem to be affecting my continence in any particularly drastic or noticeable way. Just because things weren’t getting worse down stairs, didn’t mean they were getting better. “Wipe, wipe, wipe!” Zoge half-sung half-talked, while she did the dirty work of cleaning me up. “Cleaning up the baby. Cleaning up the baby.” Oh, so that’s what I was supposed to be seeing reflected down at me from the ceiling instead of me getting stripped down and degraded like it was normal. Those of us in class who still had enough wherewithal and pride to not shit ourselves the moment the urge hit, tended to wait until we were hidden safely in the alcove of Beouf’s independent reading area. The routine was: grab a book, huddle up behind a bean bag or face the wall, then pretend to read and not think about what was really going on. The bitter sweet part of the equation is that Zoge’s station was next in rotation and she’d check and change as soon as she got so much as a whiff. Bitter for obvious reasons, sweet because getting changed could be a form of stalling. “Bye bye old diaper,” Zoge narrated, tossing it into the trash. “Hello new one.” I hadn’t even seen her get the new one. She’d done it one handed, too, using her other to keep my legs crossed and up. Lady could make a killing out of being a magician. “Powder, powder, powder. And all done.” I stared up at the ceiling mirror, fresh Monkeez snugly taped on. Embarrassing to admit, but I was starting to notice subtle differences about the way the various giants in my life changed me. Zoge was still fast, but she had an element of playfulness to the routine. “You’re getting very good at this, Clark. I’m so proud of you.” Getting good? What did that mean? Should I be struggling more? She pulled the pacifier out of my mouth, and I said. “Um…yeah…” It wasn’t a compliment that I wanted. At all. Finally, Zoge did what she almost always did after wiping my butt for me. “I love you.” As always, I remained silent on that front. It never stopped her from saying it. Not once. Something didn’t feel right in me. My stomach flipped and it had nothing to do with digestion. Yikes. That line hit harder than I’d anticipated today. Janet was quiet all that afternoon and that night too. She just shut down. All the while, Zoge’s voice kept running on repeat in my brain. I even forgot to do my whispering into the baby monitor. ************************************************************************************** Wednesday night I waddled up to Janet. She was by the sink, washing dishes. Pre-washing actually. She had a dishwasher, but she was the type to scrape food and spray sauce off of things before racking it up in the machine. I always loaded everything in and let the washer sort it out, personally, back when I was allowed housekeeping duties. It wasn’t a lot to wash. Plates, glasses, bottles, and Amazon scaled cutlery. I was dieting strictly on bottles and finger foods; no spoon feedings or stuff mushy enough to need a bowl or jar. “Janet?” I asked her, tugging on her skirt. She didn’t look down. Something in the kitchen window had evidently entranced her. “Hm?” “Do you still love me?” I asked. “Why? What do you want?” Whoah! I didn’t have time to hide the surprised shock on my mug. “Nothing right now. I was just wondering.” Immediately Janet’s face softened and she looked at me. I got a glimpse behind the mask she’d been putting up. At least I hoped the quiet face was the mask. “Of course I do,” she said. “Absolutely.” There was surety in every syllable. “Do you like me?” The quiet came back to Janet. She kept washing dishes. I walked away and wandered through the house unescorted. Things were beginning to make sense. Longingly, I waddled into the bathroom. There was no way I was getting the diaper off. It didn’t stop me from envisioning several amusing scenarios involving dunking myself ass first and seeing what mischief I could make from there. Nah. Not worth it. Janet could just put a lock on the lid and she’d still have access to her own bathroom. I could probably do better. Next to the toilet was a wastebasket, meant primarily for empty toilet paper rolls and wet diapers Janet didn’t want to go all the way to my room to toss out when she was stripping me down for a bath. Something else was in there that night, gleaming in the light: Torn up pieces of paper, colored and glossy. Like a brochure. The balled up waste didn’t bother me. It was mine, after all. It was nothing to reach in and pluck out the curiosities. It didn’t take long for me to piece it together. The Little Voices Logo of the two outlines walking hand in hand had already been seared into my brain. Janet was tearing up Little Voices pamphlets. Why? ********************************************************************** “Janet?” I asked Thursday night. “Why aren’t we getting ready to go to Little Voices?” The clock was fifteen minutes past the time we normally left. I was as dressed as I was going to be, yet Janet made absolutely no moves to leave. Janet sat on the couch, sighing to herself. “I don’t feel like going tonight.” I heaved myself up onto the couch ledge and joined her. “Why? Are you sick?” “No.” “Oh…” I sat there in the silence with her, hoping my own would unnerve her. It didn’t. Fuck. I actually wanted to go to Little Voices now. It was important that I did and suffered through the bullshit opening and the lap games. I had a lot of things to do there, and not very much time each week to do it. “We could leave late,” I suggested. “You could still go to the sharing time and I could get to play with the others.” “No.” “Why not?” I asked. “Because you don’t trust me?” Might as well just come out and say the quiet part out loud. “You think that because it’s something I want it must be something specifically meant to defy or embarrass you?” She’d be right to think so, and it was kind of true in this case, but still… And to my surprise, she answered, “Yes.” Ow. That kind of stung hearing it out loud. I genuinely wasn’t expecting that response. Heaven forbid an Amazon speak so plainly and tell me what they actually thought. Wow. It was a dream come true in a twisted way. I’d connected the dots. I’d broken Mark. I’d broken Janet, too. She was just too deep into the sunk cost fallacy of this forced relationship to do anything about it. After two months I’d finally reached the point of making her suffer around me as much as I’d been suffering around her. She was hiding it where she could in front of other Amazons to keep up appearances, but she was genuinely miserable in this moment. That was good. Then why didn’t I feel good about it? I sat on the cushion next to her, giving her the same cold tone she’d been giving me for nearly a week. “Whelp,” I said. “This is bullshit.” My own face was a placid, nearly dispassionate mask. I didn’t make eye contact; didn’t even look directly at her. I picked the same spot on the wall she’d picked and drilled a hole in it with my irises. “Yup.” she said. “You drag me around everywhere and I have to behave exactly how you want me to behave.” “Uh-huh.” “But the one time I want to go somewhere, somewhere you like too, it’s a bad idea because it was mine.” “Pretty much.” My voice was clear. My vision focused. “You cosseted me. You wanted me even before I…” No. I wasn’t going to so much as dignify the idea that Maturosis was real. “You wanted me even before this. And when you couldn’t get a kid you went straight to me.” “Yeah. I did.” She wasn’t even defending herself. “Well you got everything you wanted,” I said. “You got Clark and you got a baby, all in one package, right?” “Right.” She sounded bored now. “You tried to trick me after your marriage fell apart. You probably poisoned me too just to make sure I’d be stuck with you.” “If you want to think that,” Janet said, “there's nothing I can do about that. I’m sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry. We were fighting. Neither one of us was shouting or crying or pointing our fingers. Our voices were completely calm. Our body language was damn near animatronic. It was still easily more intense than any other interaction I’d yet had with someone. “Well, Janet, you’re stuck with this too.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw her nod. “I get that.” “It isn’t going to get better, Janet.” “Probably not.” “I’m not your fucking baby.” Silence. Two minutes of silence. I counted the seconds myself. Saw the digital clock on top of the television change twice. Janet stood up, fists clenched. She towered over me but still had her back to me. She hung her head. “I’m going to go to my room for a few minutes. Are you going to be okay on your own?” I kept my mouth shut. “I’ll be back to give you your bath.” The bitch trudged off, leaving me by myself on the couch. That certainly could have gone better. I wasn’t angry or outraged though. My feelings sunk deeper than that. Like going into shock, I just felt numb and cold and analytical, unable to feel any number of complex but ultimately painful feelings. No time to be angry. No time to be sad. No time to be guilty. Little Voices wasn’t on the menu for tonight’s mayhem. Time for Plan B, never mind that I didn’t have a Plan B until right that moment. The gears in my mind turned fast enough to whip up something else. I walked over to the kitchen and pushed a chair up against the kitchen counter. Giant furniture isn’t easy to move, but not impossible.Amazon society invested research into restraints and adhesives that Little hands couldn’t undo. Wooden furniture? Not so much. The groan of the wood scraping against the tile made me have to work fast. My captor was tired and broken and now I had an opportunity that I hadn’t had before. Didn’t mean she wouldn’t come running to see what the noise was. Clambering up onto the kitchen counter, I bypassed the knives entirely. She’d miss one of those. Instead, I crawled over to the spice rack and grabbed one of the containers. Perfect. Ungracefully I climbed back down to the kitchen floor, trying not to pant out of ego more than any practical reason. I toddle-ran over to the diaper bag hanging on a hook by the door to the garage. I’d move the chair back over to the fridge in a minute, let Janet think I was trying to get something from there, but I needed both hands and a near running start to get that thing going again. The bag had a long enough strap that I could just barely reach it if I stretched on my tip toes. It was easy enough to stand as tall as I could and dump my weapon of choice right into a shallow side pocket normally reserved for teething rings and binkies. If I played my cards right, I’d get it out easy enough. If I didn’t, it’d likely be forgotten until Janet thought to check days or weeks later and then wonder how my little piece of contraband got in there. This week sucked. Way too quiet. Not enough to talk about. Tomorrow, Picture Day, however, would be very, very fun. Lots of noise. And oh, I’d give them something to talk about.

And you are free not to read this.

You're free to not read. You've asked this before and I think someone answered you already.

Every story and fortune ever told is just a window into the multiverse by way of kaleidoscope and funhouse mirror. Crossing the great interplanar divide, the signals and actions reverberate until they are recognizable, but just barely. The where might be right, but the when is years or decades or centuries off. The players are seen clearly, but their circumstances misunderstood or misinterpreted and thus things get decidedly…muddled. It’s all left to the receiver of these visions - be they writer or seer - to figure it out and everyone ultimately leaves their own fingerprints on the retelling. That being said this is either a true story that a certain writer and director with the initials J.H. completely misinterpreted, or my own mind has warped events that have happened or will happen across the multiverse even further. You be the judge -P.A. December 24th. The Chicago Suburbs. 671 Lincoln Avenue, to be specific. Eight fifty-five P.M. The sun had gone down and the streetlights had come on hours ago. Everyone who wasn’t on third shift working was partying, already passed out early from too much eggnog, or out of town for the holidays. Nobody was around and if they were they wouldn’t see or hear jack. “And while the cats are away,” Marv said, “the Wet Bandits will play!” There in the van, Harry cast a disgusted look sideways at Marv. “Who the hell says that?” Though shorter and stouter than his literal partner in crime, Harry was infinitely more intimidating. It might have been the Napoleonic complex. “Who the hell are you talkin’ to, huh? Me? I know what we’re doin’, and it sure as hell ain’t playin’!” As tall and hairy and wild as Marv looked- he could easily be a knife wielding maniac on any given subway car, the kind of stranger that children were warned about, the kind that left hook hands dangling from car doors- he was really just a big kid who hadn’t bothered to properly groom himself. He slumped down and said. “Sorry, Harry, I’m just trying to build the mood, ya know? It’s Christmas!” “Yeah,” Harry grumbled. “But we ain’t no Santy Claus.” “That’s right! We’re the Wet Bandits.” Marv pumped the brakes and stared at his companion. “What is it with you, huh? Wet Bandits? Is this a joke to you or somethin’?” “What?” Harry replied, confused. “Everybody’s gotta have a gimmick these days. It’s our calling cards.” Marv shook his head. “You are sick, you know that?” Harry just smiled and hissed laughter. Marv pointed to the house, tonight’s target. “Alright. You ready?” “Yeah. Let’s do this.” Harry cut the engine and the pair opened the doors of their van. Marv shut it less than a second later. “I mean, are you sure about this Harry?” Harry paused. “Yeah. I’m sure I’m sure. This house is the whole reason I started casing this neighborhood. I want that house!” “But there’s a little kid in there, Harry,” Marv said. “And he’s all alone. And it’s Christmas.” He was quickly losing his nerve now that it was go time. “So we’ll gift wrap him and then rob the place!” Harry tried to go but Marv’s hand on his shoulder gave him pause. “Come on, Harry. He’s eight. And he’s home alone…do we really wanna do this?” Harry shirked off Marv’s hand. “He’s eight friggin’ years old and still in diapers. He’s a spoiled little rich kid whose Mommy and Daddy couldn’t even be bothered to toilet train him. What was your life like when you was eight?” Marv wobbled his head to the side, seeing the logic in Harry’s statement. They’d done their research and tailed the kid, from a far enough distance so he didn’t suspect, keeping him just on the horizon. No one else was coming in or out of that house, and every other house in that culdesac they’d already scouted and hit. That was a fact. Having spent so much of their life in and out of prison, the two ne’er do wells were still novices at social media, but had struck lucky when they found a twitter account with shots of the house. No pics of the family, no pics of anyone, but lots of talk about diapers, video games, scout meetings, Mommy, and the like. Kids’ stuff mostly. Something about con for bottle cap collectors or something. The kind of stuff that kids who got beat up were into. They didn’t know what terms like ABDL and AD and NSFW meant. Who did anyways? Kids these days were always shortening things. And what was “Ageplay Age?” Was that like a playgroup thing or something like 7 and up? The kid definitely wasn’t doing himself any favors by saying “8 but still in diapers”. Sheesh! What they did know is that this Kevin kid was frequently alone, and that he had no. Scouting and his social feed. “What I don’t get is why hasn’t anybody called the cops,” Marv wondered aloud. “That’s child neglect.” Harry adjusted his ski cap over his nearly bald head. “Who knows? Maybe he’s got like a roomba babysitter, or his parents ‘zoom’ or whatever. Rich folks are friggin’ strange and can get away with just about anything.” On that, Harry had no idea just how right he was about to be proved. Clad in trenchcoats and with crowbars in hand, the pair of thieves finally climbed out of the van, just outside the targeted house. “So how do you wanna go in?” Marv asked the brains of the operations. Harry spoke quietly and confidently. “We’ll go to the back door. Maybe he’ll let us in. You’ll never know.” “Yeah,” Marv agreed. “He’s a kid. Kids are stupid.” Inside the house a grandfather clock toned the hour, and both Harry and Marv salivated with greed and anticipation. Fancy clocks meant fancy furniture. Fancy furniture meant so much more. This was going to be such a great score. From the outside, their silhouette’s loomed large and intimidating. Good thing that brat already wore diapers. He’d need them tonight. Harry rapped on the outside of the window. “Merry Christmas little fella…” he sang. Even he didn’t think he sounded sincere. He continued anyway, cupping his hand to the back kitchen window while Marv grinned quietly to himself. “We know that you’re in there…and that you’re alllllll alone.” “Yeah kid,” Marv added. “C’mon, open up. It’s Santy Claus…” he looked to Harry. “And his elf!” That made the shorter of the two chuckle lightly. Trouble is they were both envisioning themselves as St. Nick and the other as the little helper. “We’re not gonna hurt you,” Harry lied in the same sing-song cadence. Harry kept piling it on. “No, no. We’ve got some real nice presents for you.” “Be a good little fella now, and open the door!” Harry was smiling, to be sure, but not because of the Christmas spirit in his heart. The smile didn’t last long. Shink! Pain! Sharp! Stinging! Pain! Like a mosquito made love to a dentist drill and the bastard love child played left tackle for the Bears. All concentrated right in the short man’s dick. “Mother! Fffu…raggan maggan ruzza! It hurt so much he couldn’t even properly curse, and Harry knew how to cuss in two different languages. Waddled and wobbled out into the backyard, hoping on some instinctive level that the snow would numb the incredible burning pain he was being subjected to. Marv bumbled after his compatriot, trying to parse out Harry’s hoarse, mumbling, whispering non-curses. “What?” he asked. “What? What happened?” “Get that little-!” Harry managed to grunt out and thumb in the direction of the back door, before continuing to tend to his privates. Why was it hurting so much? Marv turned from his friend back to the rear entrance, trying to puzzle things out. Where had the attack come from? Aha! They hadn’t paid the doggy door any mind, but it was so obvious that even a Marv could figure out the logical course of events that had transpired. As Marv ‘smartly’ got down on his hands and knees, Harry grabbed a hold of something sharp and pointy. He’d thought he’d been shot downstairs with a b.b. but the tiny cylinder he pulled out of the front of his pants said otherwise. A needle? Like from a tranq gun? Who the hell gave a kid a tranq gun? Meanwhile, Marv stuck his head through the flap of the doggy door and got his first good view. Straight down the barrel of a gun. “Hello,” a new voice said. Shink! Pain! Literally blinding pain! Like somebody loaded a tattoo gun with a railroad spike and drove it right between Marv’s eyes! Marv flopped backwards and started writing on the ground, screaming in agony, gripping at the needle that had embedded itself in his forehead. It might have been the excruciating stabbing sensation, something inside the needle’s payload or just Marv’s natural lack of mental acuity, but in that moment, Marv completely forgot everything about the previous two seconds beyond the barrel of that gun and the excruciating pain. It didn’t occur to him that the “hello” he’d heard didn’t sound like it was coming from an eight year old or that the person holding the gun, even at a glance, was much much too big to be in diapers. What Marv did realize was redundant and stated too late. “The little jerk is armed!” “That’s it! That’s it!” Harry shrieked. “I’m goin’ around the front! You go down to the basement!” ******************************************************************************************************* It was a rough trip for both of them. Literally. SSSSK-THUNK! Harry found out that the walkway up to the front door had been iced over the hard way. He didn’t stumble as much as completely fall flat on his back, spread eagle, resembling a certain cartoon coyote. It was like those bad comedians who slipped on banana peels. Nobody slipped like that! Evidently they did. Harry was in no mood to do bad pratfalls, yet here he was on the icy pavement… Ka-THUNK, Ka-THUNK, Ka-THUNK, Ka-THUNK! Marv likewise discovered that the steps to the basement had been tampered with to similar results. He skidded down them, his ass and then the back of his head meeting each and every step on the way down. KLUNK! The closed basement door stopped his slide, and for a sweet second he was only semi-conscious on the ground, curled up in the fetal position. The impact with the door caused a light smattering of snow to dust itself onto Marv’s still frame. If they had chosen at that moment to leave, they might have been able to lick their wounds, cut their losses and burgle another day. It was a potent mixture of pride, greed, anger, and perhaps something in those needles that made them press on. ********************************************************************************************** On wobbling, newborn deer legs, Marv climbed to his feet at the bottom of the icy stairwell leading to the basement; using his crowbar to grab ahold of the indentation on a window pane and pull himself up. Grunting and groaning, he struggled up until the soles of his feet were touching the ground instead of the door. Any relief he felt was incredibly short lived. He barely had time to peer through the less than paper thin curtains and get a lay of the inside before his feet slipped again and he plummeted back down. CHHHHHHHUN! His face got a minor case of road rash, skidding down door and scraping against the cement at the bottom. A low moan leaked from his lips. This was going to be one of those nights…except he’d never had to go through a night like this in his life. He felt like a one-year-old trying to learn to walk. At least the first time around he didn’t have so far to fall… Also he basically had a pillow in his pants to cushion his fall back then. ********************************************************************** Harry whipped around to all fours, growling and grasping at the iron hand railing. “That smart alek!” he hissed to himself. His hands were sure but his feet were doubly the opposite, making his top and bottom halves at war with each other, scrambling and skidding around. It might have been easier to just tromp through the grass and snow up to the front door. Such a thought didn’t have time to register to Harry, however, as like his compatriot he was sent slipping backwards, ass over tea kettle and legs to the sky onto the back of his noggin. Folded like a book, it’s a good thing the wind was knocked out of Harry’s lungs. The words that would have come out of him would have been something that no child should hear. As his kneecaps came away from his chest and he laid there spread-eagle on the street, Harry resolved right then and there that he was gonna get the little so-and-so for putting him through this. ************************************************************************************************** The doorknob! Marv used his crowbar to pull himself up by the door knob! Success! Struggling and slipping, he regained his standing position, and as he had done nearly a hundred times before, he leaned in and tried to force open the door with his crowbar. No locks or hinges snapped.The wood cracked and splintered but barely creaked, as if the door wasn’t putting up any resistance. It wasn’t putting up any resistance. At all. That’s when Marv remembered to check the doorknob. And found it unlocked and the door to the basement open… It was dark inside, but to Marv’s eyes it looked like your average suburban basement: Ladders and gardening supplies, and power tools, and such. Even in the dim light, Marv could make out the large blocky shapes of either old or half done projects. He saw highchairs and crib railings leaned against the far wall. Was that an unfinished rocking horse? Kids’ parents must be trying really hard for another baby or else they were just hoarders. Quiet as a cat he slid through the darkness until he found a lightbulb. He pulled the cord gently and was more than a little befuddled when the entire light fixture hit the floor. Weird. He hadn’t pulled it that hard. A length of cord was falling down right behind it, coiling up like a snake. The bulb hadn’t been in the ceiling but dangling from the cord instead. What was on the other end? Marv looked up into the old laundry chute directly above him. WHAM! PFFFFFFFF! THUNK! The flour sack that rammed into his skull hit him like a clothes iron, exploding and bursting all over him while sending him sprawling back to the floor. It wasn’t particularly hard, but anything dropping from the height of two stories with that kind of mass was going to be a piledriver. A man relying on more of his brain to function would have been killed. But not Marv. Bruised as he was, the powder in the sack masked it nicely. It wasn’t flour though. It was sweeter smelling, of flowers and lilacs. And for some reason, it reminded him of a baby's bottom. Through his throbbing headache, the thief felt like he’d had thick sunscreen overdone all over his head and face. He opened his eyes and coughed out a mushroom cloud of the stuff. Disgusting! At least he smelled good. The raw chafing marks from where his cheeks had dragged across the doorframe felt better too. ************************************************************************************************************* Harry had not yet given up on sieging the front of this suburban castle. His likely concussion only emboldened him. “All right! That’s it you little…you little…son of a-...” Wow, it was hard to even think of a swear world. Harry must’ve hit his head harder than he thought. “Little brat.” The shorter of the two burglars was no more graceful in his second attempt, but much more determined and stubborn besides. He leaned hard to the left on the railing while his legs splayed hard to the right. It was hard work but he eventually got all the way to the door, growling and panting for breath. It’s amazing what determination, a low center of gravity, and good upper body strength can accomplish. Forgetting his tool of choice, Harry went for the doorknob and instantly regretted it. Though to be fair to him, who would have thought that a car battery would have been hooked up to the other end. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ! Sparks leapt out from the metal knob and lines of lighting arced up and down Harry’s arm causing his entire body to seize and quake like an old time preacher channeling spirits. For some reason, his arm refused to let go and the electrified smell of burning, charred flesh embedded itself into Harry’s nostrils. “Hugg-ag-ag-ag-ag-ag-ag-ag-ag-ag-ag-ag-ag-uuuuh!” A final bit of voltage trailed from Harry’s fingertips when he finally managed to let go, still vibrating on the ground like a cheap windup toy. “Uguguguguguugugugug!” Drool started to leak out of the corners of his mouth and drip down. As he lay there on the cold pavement convulsing, and shaking, unable to control any part of his body, he knew right there that he would murder the child tonight. The first bit of control he regained allowed his hand to spasm up to his lips. The only thing shaking worse than his limbs was his mind and Harry was afraid he might swallow or bite off his tongue and was trying to make anything as a barrier. Better to lose a thumb than his tongue. He popped his thumb in just as the shaking stopped, and sucked on it for a moment, trying to get control of himself. Thuk-thuk-thuk-thuk. The old, infantile gesture was oddly comforting right then and there, even though Harry was grateful that no one could see him like this. Out of context he looked like some kind of bozo instead of a poor mook who’d had his circuits fried. Thuk-thuk-thuk-thuk Ssssssssssssssssss…… Speaking of comfort, a comfortable warm sensation began to spill out over the front of Harry’s winter pants. He allowed himself a silly smile before he realized that warm wet stuff coming out of a body usually wasn’t good. “Mmmph!” he exclaimed over his thumb. Blood? Was it blood? He’d been shot in the dick? Was he bleeding out there, too? He dashed to his feet and started pressing his hands against his pants trying to stem the tide of blood. What a terrible way to go! His cousin Louie had gotten his throat stabbed in prison and Harry was gonna bleed out through his dick! He held up the palms of his hands and saw the wet glisten they held, yet no trace of crimson presented itself anywhere on his person. Gingerly he sniffed his fingers. “Piss!” In reality, it was nothing to be frightened or upset about. Just a muscle spasm. He’d been electrocuted and all his limbs were flapping and his heart was jackhammering. Why wouldn’t his bladder get in on the act? Of course he’d pissed his pants. Who wouldn’t? He’d still tell Marv that it was melted snow or something. ************************************************************************************************************ Schwiiiiiick-Schwiiiiiiick-Schwiiiiiiick-Schwiiiiiick. The first step up the basement had taken Marv’s left shoe. The second had taken his right. The third had taken his left sock. The fourth, his right. Schwiiiiiick. Tar. Gross, thick, sludgy, disgusting, sticky tar! The little brat had coated the stairs with the stuff, and each step up claimed another piece of foot adornment from him. Schwiiiiiick. Marv wasn’t going to let that stop him. Even as he winced with every successive step, the black morass clinging to his bare feet. It was almost like wallowing in pig shit. Schwiiiick. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Marv was really good at not thinking about things. Harry told him that kind of stuff all the time. Just don’t think about it. Just keep going. One step at a time. One. Icky Sticky. Gooey. Gross. Disgusting. Mucky. Careful step at a time. Left foot. Right Foot. Left Foot. Right Foot. Left Foot. Right- CLACK! “Huh?” The metallic snapping sound of something like a bear trap closed in around Marv’s left foot. It didn’t hurt, but it sure as heck got his attention. His problem was, it didn’t close until he’d already planted it and picked up his right foot, which he also promptly set down on the next step. CLACK! “Whuh?” Stuck! Trapped! Booted! He couldn’t move. He leaned forward and gritted his teeth straining to take that next step up the stairs, but the box clapped around his ankles was some combination of too heavy or too stuck to the tar. “Hrrrrrrn!” He struggled against his new bonds, looking like a two bit mime fighting against the wind, but his feet stayed frozen in place. Stubborn as always, Marv leaned forward and grabbed the underside of his right knee. If he couldn’t step out of these beartrap box shoes, he’d yank himself out. When his arms failed, he started throwing his whole back into it, wrenching his head back like an old school rocker….if only he looked so cool. “Gotta! Get!” Schwiiii-EEEEEE! “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Rrrrack-ack-acka-ack. Things came loose and gravity kicked in. Momentum did the rest. Marv tumbled through the air, screams bouncing off brick as he jackknifed off the stairs and onto the back top of his skull. The impact had been so hard that several crib railing clattered from their spots leaning against the wall. The unfinished rocking horse across the room seemed to whinny and mock him, judging and staring at him, even though no one had painted on its eyes yet. At least the trap boxes had broken off in the fall. What kind of psycho doomsday prepper did that kind of thing? Wouldn’t just using a really sharp nail have been easier? Free though he might have been, fresh air did not lap gently at Marv’s ankles. Something yet remained. Something that had been inside the trap boxes and were now stuck to his feet. “Socks?” Marv wondered aloud. But based on the gentle pink and blue colors and the duckies stitched in, ‘booties’ would have been a more apt descriptor. The lanky, bearded thief tried to peel the new garments off of his feet, but his soles were too heavily coated in tar to get them off. Whatever. Marv got his feet underneath him and stood up….for approximately three seconds. They weren’t just booties. Something was sewn into the bottom of them; something round and spherical, like tennis balls. Marv’s knees shook and his arms splayed out trying to keep balance while he weebled and wobbled on his own two feet. “AAAAAH!” OOOF! He tried again, this time grabbing onto a nearby shelf. It was easier…but not good. Experimentally he let go and automatically reverted to the same awkward, barely standing stance. “Heh!” He laughed to himself. “Heh-heh!” He had this. He totally had this. Marv lifted up his foot to try and take a step. He didn’t have this! His body titled violently to one side like a boppo doll, only there was nothing automatically popping him back up. Desperately, he flailed and tried to latch onto the tool case to catch himself. EEEEEEEEEEEK! BONG! The heavy wooden case avalanched down on top of him with a cling, clang, and a clung. Marv found the tool case the hard way. With no choice left to him, Marv dug himself out and crawled on hands and knees back the way he came. There was no way he was getting up those awful tar covered steps and he didn’t want to see what other surprises lay that way. What if his hands got stuck in more booties? Hobbling around on all fours, he looked and felt ridiculous “Harry!” He cried out. “Harreeee!” He sounded like a baby calling for his Mommy. ***************************************************************************************************** “Rasanfrasanmasan…friggin…rasan…muther…cruthathat…!” Feeling like he was still sparking like a firework and smoking like a cigar, Harry abandoned the front door assault and doubled back shaking as he walked. The cursing made him feel better about the state of his pants, but only a little. “I’ll rip his head off!” Swiftly, smartly, Harry kicked at the doggy door at the back entrance, standing to the side lest another volley of darts whiz through. He exhaled when nothing happened. “Ptew!” He spit on his hand and reached for the doorknob. He stopped himself and instead tapped it quickly and gently. He jerked his hand all the way back to his chest, fearing a shock and another round of horizontal break dancing. When he felt nothing he tried it again, a little braver this time. “Heheh!” Alright! This door wasn’t booby trapped. That must have been why the kid was posting guard there. Now he’d run out of ammo or gotten scared or both and ran away. Harry did a few more taps on the door knob just in case and was pretty much rattling the brass knob before he was confident enough to give it a full grip. “You’re dead, kid.” Confidently, he turned the knob and stepped inside. SQUUUELSHHHHH Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick! Christ on a cracker! Burning hot wax squirted out of seemingly nowhere right on top of Harry’s noggin. The ski cap offered minimal protection, it’s fibers singing, sizzling and dissolving with close to a bucket of scalding hot goop poured on top of it. He was a fresh candle put under a blow torch! He was an action figure getting put under a magnifying glass and his head was starting to melt! Most people believe in a thing called a “Fight or Flight” response, and that when presented with danger, a person will either get aggressive or run away. Harry found out the hard way that there was at least one additional option: Freeze. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” He stood there in the threshold face contorted in agony, screaming while more and more of the clear white lava sprayed on his head. The scene was something out of a B-Movie when he was a kid: “The Wax Museum of Corpses”. Harry didn’t think it was so impressive watching back then. Now he knew why the people in it screamed. Adrenaline and something resembling bravery finally kicked in and Harry pushed his way forward and was rewarded with the sound of mounted knick knacks coming loose and hitting against the kitchen floor. BRONG-ong-ong-ong-ong-ong-ong! The world went dark and gray. A bucket of wax had been sprayed onto his dome, so it only made sense that a literal bucket had been perched to fall on his head as soon as he’d pushed past the door. Oldest trick in the book, right out of the funnies, no less. Harry should have seen it coming… He didn’t see much of anything at the moment, what with the bucket on his head. His curses and muttering only echoed back at him while he stumbled around blindly, spinning like a drunken tornado and bumping into kitchen cabinets. “Ooof!” He folded himself over what must have been the kitchen table. “GRRRRR…”Finally, he was able to pry the bucket off his head and send it clanging across the room. “Grah!” He looked around at the kitchen and the havoc that had been wrought. Some messed up cross between a super soaker and a hot glue gun lay on the floor, still attached to white ropes and a pulley system meant to go off as soon as anyone was unlucky enough to burst through the kitchen door. No more traps though. Not in here, anyways. The burning sensation had stopped. The wax had cooled. Gently, Harry patted the top of his head to inspect the damage that had been done. He was gonna use this kid’s baby teeth as a chisel to get this stuff out. “Hm?” He’d been expecting a hard outer shell, still dripping, or the remains of his cheap knit cap, or even parts of his own scalp. Imagine his surprise then, when instead of any of that, he touched upon something rather soft, with frills on it. “Wha?” Angry and confused, he slammed the door and caught a glimpse at his reflection in the window. There hadn’t been nothing in that bucket…. Hot glued, practically fused to Harry’s head, was a big, frilly, adorable, teal baby bonnet. He looked kind of cute, too. Harry roared! “Where are you, you little creep?!” ************************************************************************************************** Marv clambered back up the stairs on all fours, his crowbar in his mouth like a dog with its bone. Foolishly, he tried to stand back up once he reached the top of the stairs, and that only resulted in the same manic flailing and futile spasms moments before he was plopped back down on his butt. Dejected and frustrated he crawled on hands and knees through the snow, past decorative trees and ferns. Briefly, the thought occurred to him that he may be able to get in through the doggy door, even though realistically there was no way he’d fit more than his head through. The glint of festive lights caught Marv’s eye and he looked up. A Christmas tree lit up inside the house! By an open window! A first floor window, no less. Something low enough to the ground where even a crawler might be able to shimmy his way up and over with relative ease. “Harry!” Marv called from his knees. “I’m coming in!” *************************************************************************************************** Harry tromped through the house looking for the damn kid. Huffing and puffing, he closed in on a closed panel door. “Oh no, I’m really scared!” A voice called from behind the kitchen door. Odd. It sounded high…ish. Falsetto almost. Like it was an affection or something. Maybe the kid was on puberty hormones or whatever… “It’s too late for you, kid,” Harry sneered. “We’re already in the house. We’re gonna getcha!” “Okay,” the voice taunted back. “Come and get me!” “Why you-!” Fortune favors the bold, or so Harry believed. He’d already been dinged by being cautious and slowly opening the last door. It made sense to charge forward. Harry flung open the door and dashed straight into-! THWICKSHHHHH The world went blurry. Hands and face went sticky. It didn’t stop Harry, but it made him slow down to peel the massive sheet of fly paper off of his upper body.. “Ptew! Ugh! Now you’re dead!” It also distracted him from the trip wire until his shins had already tripped things. VRRRRRR! A mechanical whirring. A hot wind and then… SPLOOSH! The trip wire had led to a high powered fan posted right outside the dining room door. The tray of pea green gloop directly in front of the fan sailed through the air, finding a home by splattering all over Harry’s face, hands, and part of his chest. Add wet and sticky the amount of textures that Harry was being forcibly exposed to tonight. He licked his lips, and tasted hints of actual vegetables. This was literally baby food! And now it was dribbling down his chin, with no easy way to wipe the stuff off. Harry looked like a tot that had gone a couple rounds in a highchair with a jar of gerbers and either lost or won depending on whether or not eating it had been the objective. He looked like he didn’t even know how to feed himself. The only thing missing was a bib. ******************************************************************************************** Peeling back the curtain with his crowbar, Marv peeked in to make sure the coast was clear. No kid in sight. No Harry, either, but one thing at a time. He coughed up a little more of what he’d decided was baby powder, and pulled himself up over the ledge, being careful not to put too much weight on his now useless feet. Leaning forward, he tipped over the ledge towards his next painful mistake. Marv had seen the tree. He’d seen the window. He saw no kid, or Harry. He also didn’t see the small mountain of tiny legs perched just beneath the window sill. Anyone with a child will tell you that those tiny bricks are suburban caltrops and hurt like all get out when coming into contact with unsuspecting feet. As it turns out, they’re not that much better on the palms of one's hands or the knee caps. CRUNCH. CRUNCH. CRUNCH CRUNCH Blonted pins held up by square beds burrowed into Marv’s cold and weary skin, and the lanky intruder’s mind bubbled over with rage at the grave injustice that was being done to him. “GAH!” He screamed. “I”M GONNA KILL THAT KID!” He shuffled over to the carpet to pick yellow, red, blue, and green miniature mines out of him. ****************************************************************************************** Harry was swatting and the bits of mashed pees, wiping away the bits that hadn’t been completely smeared in. If he hadn’t been looking down at himself and trying not to fall for any more tripwire traps, he might not have noticed his best friend whimpering, drenched in white powder and crawling on the floor. “Marv?” Marv looked up, surprised. “Harry?” “Why the hell are you crawling around on the floor for?” “Why the hell are you dressed like a toddler?” He noticed the stain running down the middle of Harry’s pants.. “Did you pee yourself?” All the cold got chased out of Harry’s body and any part of his skin that wasn’t peppered with baby food was very obviously blushingly pink. The third voice broke in from the stairs. “I’m up here you morons! Come and get me!” Instinct preceded thought. The two thugs rushed to meet each other in the middle and get to the stairs. Harry did another banana peel slip worthy of the great Vaudeville legends. It wasn’t ice this time; just those little toy cars that are in every toy aisle across America. Of course the brat had toy cars. Marv? Marv couldn’t walk and just forgot. Standing, rushing, and then toppling like a shoddy block tower that had been stacked too high. The toy cars might as well have been more lego bricks crunching underneath his frame. Nevertheless, they thudded in stereo, the bass of their falling forms adding to the soundtrack of an otherwise silent night. “You guys give up? Or are you thirsty for more?” Room was spinning. Vision blurry. Head throbbing. Harry and Marv followed the taunting voice up the red carpeted stairs. The kid was sitting there at the top, smiling cockily down on their prone forms. He wore red footie pajamas with a Santa Claus logo on them, and his blonde hair was cut in a dorky bowl. Between his legs, the bulge of a likely wet diaper gave a rounded shape to the lower portion of the jammies. The only thing that was even slightly intimidating was the tranq rifle slung over his back. And he looked damn near thirty. They let that sink in while he waddled just out of sight at the top of the stairs, his crinkle still giving away his position. They’d screwed up. They’d really screwed up! How had they gotten this so wrong? This wasn’t a kid at all! Just some…some…some weirdo that liked dressing up as one and playing pretend! This was supposed to be child’s play, but it was somebody else who’d been playing child with them! Harry and Marv looked at each other. Their pride had been wounded and it demanded vindication. There was no turning back now! This padded prick was really going to get it. Harry was the first to his feet. He shambled over Marv, forcing out popping farts when he stepped on the taller man’s gut. Marv was doing his best to crawl up after Harry, quickly getting used to skittering on his knees. “Duck!” Harry called out. “Huh?” WUMPH! After everything they’d already been through, the pair shouldn’t have been surprised that this madman whose home they’d invaded had more than a few packs of adult diapers in his possession. Neither should they have been surprised that the diapers weren’t just plain old medical Depends like what old people wore and had colorful cartoonish designs. Neither one was surprised by that. What had surprised them, equally, that several of said packs had been bound together and swung down on a rope from above like a plastic backed wrecking ball. They’d both been surprised. But Harry had been quicker to duck. THUD. Harry looked back to see Marv moaning and groaning back on the floor, his legs and bootied feet raised slightly off the hardwood floor. “Don’t worry Marv, I’ll get him for you!” Marv looked further up the stairs, and pointed, “Harreeeeeeee!” That’s when Harry got nailed with the second load. WUMPH! THUD! BLORT! The shorter thug spun through the air and landed face first, belly flopping straight onto Marv’s prone body. Marv’s intestines groaned with the sudden added pressure and gave out without a fight. It was as if a bomb exploded inside Marv’s belly, and the resulting shock waves were making themselves known. Without warning his bowels violently emptied themselves into the seat of his pants, spreading wet much everywhere dripping down his boxers and clinging to his thighs, all while Harry lay uncomfortably atop him. It was over before he could so much as inhale. Marv let out a pained, pathetic whimper. The fact that he couldn’t so much as stand to get his damned pants off extra salt in the wound. One thief with wet pants, the other with a full load in the back. Now both of them were decidedly and definitively in need of those diapers. “He’s not a kid, Harry,” Marv quietly pleaded. “I don’t think we can take him.” Harry was still chest to chest with his cohort. “Aw, shut up, will you?” “Ooooh…” “What?” Marv winced. “You’re missing some teeth.” “Where?” Harry started feeling around his mouth with his hands, and ignored the taste of baby food that he was adding to his palette. He found the gap. “It’s my gold tooth! My gold tooth” He clambered off of Marv. “I’ll kill him!” he bellowed. “I’ll kill him!” Insensate with fury, Harry limped up the stairs with Marv crawling after him, wincing with every jiggle in his hindquarters. He was still wary enough to hold his hands out in front of him lest another nasty surprise swing down from the rafters. He couldn’t see it, but the gesture only added to the guise of a baby who hadn’t quite mastered the art of the stroll yet. “If you bean me one more time, you freak, I’m gonna snap off your cajones and boil them in motor oil!” Marv looked around for imminent threats. To the right of the stairs, the pair caught a bit of red and a crinkling sound. “There he is!” Harry shouted, charing after their prey. Another trip wire, this one more sturdy and not connected to any gadget or gizmo, lived up to its name. With all the grace of a pregnant giraffe Harry tripped and somersaulted through the air crashing once again on his back. By this point, both criminals had spent more time prone than upright. Marv had learned from his time closer to the carpet, though, and easily outmaneuvered the trap. Getting good at moving on all fours, it was relatively simple to push off the balls of his feet and leap forward and tackle the so-called kid at the knees. “I’ve got him, Harry!” Marv yelled. “I’ve got him! Get up!” Marv closed his eyes and braced himself for a flurry of panicked blows to the head. Nothing he couldn’t take. No fists came raining down, though. Instead their adversary was reaching for something. “I got him!” Harry barely stirred, the events of the evening more than taking their toll on his mind and body. The ‘something’ was just out of sight. “Come on, Harry! Give me a hand!” Something up on the attic stairs. “Harry! Help me! Get up!” PLUNK! “Hmmm?” THHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Something got wedged in between Marv’s lips. Something big, round, and rubbery, with a plastic guard on it so that he couldn’t swallow it. The little ring from the middle flopped slightly. A pacifier? Except not! Marv would have just spit it out, but the bulb inside was inflating somehow, expanding to take up most of the room in his mouth, turning a children’s soother into a ball gag with no key! “MMMMMMMPH!” All of Marv’s panicked screams as he wrenched and yanked at the pacifier failed. “MMMMMPH! MMMPH! MMMPH!” Their victim forgotten, Marv tried his best to revive Harry, who seemed to be dozing peacefully, a baby taking a nap after a big Christmas Dinner. Marv shook Harry’s shoulders, but the shorter man only ragdolled. He started patting Harry’s cheeks. “MMMMPH! MMMPH!” Which was supposed to mean “Harry wake up.” He gave a tap. Slp. Some more taps. Slp-slp-slp Nothing changed. THWACK! Harry rose like Frankenstein from the slab. “OWWWW!” He shouted. “What gives?” Marv did his best to try and explain, but only muffled mumblings made their way past the plastic shield guard. THWACK THWACK THWACK! Harry repaid the pain triple fold onto Marv. “See? How do you like getting slapped in the face? You like it? Eh? No?” He blinked and finally noticed the gag lodged into Marv’s mouth. “What do you got that for?” Marv pointed to the pacifier and tried to explain. “Mmmmph! Mmmph mmph mmph!” “So spit it out!” THWACK! Harry shook his head in disgust and tears started to form in Marv’s eyes. “Ugh. You’re just as bad as he is.” He climbed to his feet and hustled up the attic stairs; a weeping, pathetic Marv crawling up behind him. “Oh crap. Will you look at this?” When the two climbed to the attack, they came upon it: The thing that must have existed considering all the crazy, yet they never expected. A giant nursery, painted baby blue with cutesy animal drawings stenciled along the ceiling’s edge. A giant crib. A giant rocking chair. An adult sized walker. With everything to scale as it was, both grown men felt decidedly smaller than they really were. “Check the closet,” Harry barked out. He went over to a large wooden chest painted in primary colors; a toy box of some kind. Marv sighed behind his paci-gag and started trudging on hands and knees to the wide open closet. The freak probably wasn’t in there anyways. Everything was on hangers and there wasn’t anything long enough to hide a pair of feet. Just a bunch of onesies and too-short overalls. He stopped by the giant changing table and looked longingly at the stacks of diapers. It might be nice to slip into one of those. It’d be embarrassing but a lot more comfy than what he was stuck in now. Harry slammed the lid down on the toybox. “Where the hell did he go?” he wondered. “MMMPH MMMPH MMMPH MMMPH MMMPH” said Marv which was supposed to mean. “Maybe he committed suicide.” From outside came that same taunting voice. “Down here, you horse’s ass!” The two followed the sound to the window. Sitting in a tree house (because of course he was) was the padded maniac who had been tormenting them this whole time. Between the real house and the tree one, was a thick line of rope. Diaper boy had obviously ziplined it down to the tree house. “Come and get me before I call the police!” “MMMPH MMMPH! MMMPH!” Marv started to crawl away, but Harry grabbed him by the belt. “Wait. Wait.” He peered out the window, staring down at the not-so-little boy. “That’s just what he wants us to do. To go back downstairs through his funhouse so we get all tore up.” He took out a couple of handkerchiefs that he used to wipe fingerprints and started wrapping them around his hands to prevent blistering. He looked oddly wise, and awfully dangerous, despite the frilly bonnet, goop covered face, and missing teeth. “MMMMPH MMMMPH! MMMMPH!” Harry waved the objection off. “He’s not calling the cops. Do you know how much we could sue for with all these booby traps? This is a game to him.” He stepped out the attic window and onto the roof, using the rope as a balance. “So I say, let’s play!” Marv was protesting all the way, even as he crawl-climbed out of the window and followed Harry, even has his partner taunted him. Funny that the taller of the two was scared of heights. Slowly, inch by inch, the two went out on the rope, more than a story up above the snow covered ground. Marv couldn’t stop whimpering or looking down. His whimpers became a groan when something leaked out of his right trouser leg. So gross! Then the thought of how far it fell made him grip on tighter. “Keep going!” Harry urged. “Keep going!” When they were about half way, the duo heard another catcall that made them look up. “Hey guys!” In his hands, the maniac in the red jammies now held a pair of hedge clippers. Like a psychotic Tweety Bird he opened them, positioned them just beneath the rope at his end and smiled wickedly. “Go back!” Harry yelled! “Go back!” SCHNIKT! The rope went slack and the pair went free falling, this time, they knew, to their deaths. They land and break their necks, and only one of them was so much as physically able to scream. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “MMMMMMMMMMMPH!” Except. Something broke their fall. Something round, and plastic, and click-clack-cluttery. For split-moment, each one had thought they’d died, and that Heaven (or the other place) was rainbow colored. When their heads breached the surface and the world made sense in terms of up down left and right again, they realized what had happened. “A baww pit?” Harry lisped. “Why awe we inna baww pit?” “Mmmph? Mmmph?” Through the snow, their adversary approached, seeming so much bigger and more confident than they were. Brushing his bowl cut back, he smirked and said. “Aaaaand I think that’s about enough time. That was fun though. Thanks.” “Huh?” Harry mumbled. “Wha?” Getting harder to focus. Words were making less and less sense. Maybe it was the balls, but everything seemed to be spinning. Spinning…. Spinning… Spinning… “Did you already forget the little darts I stuck you guys with?” the child said. Holy crap, how did he suddenly turn eight? “Fun little cocktail. Tranquilizers, muscle relaxants, a taaaaad of LSD.” “Bluh bluh bluh bluh?” Marv just sucked silently on his pacifier, looking at birds made out of stardust. “Oh yeah. It’s hitting you guys good. Really good. Not surprising. Get your heart rate going and that stuff spreads like crazy.” “Yeah. I remember the first time I hit on that stuff. Wooof. Really good headspace, though.” Both of the “Wet Bandits” were now living up to their namesake and not caring. The words that the “kid” was saying weren’t even registering. “So I’ve got some good news and some bad news for you guys. The good news is you get to spend Christmas with me and some friends. They love taking care of big dumb babies with no thoughts in their heads. It’s good practice.” He dug into a pocket hidden in the jammies. “The bad news is, by the time you two sober up, you’ll be in jail and there will be some very embarrassing pictures of you online.” With that, he took out his cell phone and clicked the first of what would be many, many pictures. (The End)

Chapter 84: A Different Date Night It was Saturday night and Janet was buckling me into the carseat. “Ugh,” I groaned. “Do I have to go?” “Yup, yup,” Janet said. “Sure do.” She clicked the five point harness into place, locking me in. No escape now. “Why?” I whined. In reply she gave me a look, like I was deliberately trying to stall. To be fair, she was half-right. “No, seriously,” I said. “What about Jessica? She can come and make sure I don’t escape.” Janet stayed there bent over in the rear passenger door. “Jessica has a life, too, you know. She’s busy.” She tapped me on the nose. “That and after what a terror you were on Wednesday she might not want to for a while.” The way she said it, it sounded both condescending and begrudging. Like she was still kind of upset with me, but still adored me. Damn, I hated that. She closed the door and I followed her with my eyes as she walked around to the driver’s seat. Even through the steel and glass I could hear her humming. She’d been humming all damn day. Changes, lap bounces, meal time. All humming. She even hummed when she was leaving me alone or letting me sulk or batting around baby toys or hiding in that obstacle course box. Because she wasn’t humming to me, she was humming to herself. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why she was humming. Not that it was a secret. She’d started preparing me for this as soon as we got home from school that Friday. As the hours whittled away, and she started brushing her hair down and putting on those jeans that clung to her hips and that white off the shoulder blouse the whole thing became more and more real to me. She was excited about tonight. Making herself pretty. Not that she wasn’t normally pretty. It’s just that “teacher pretty” and “date night pretty” are two different categories. Makeup can be used to make someone seem warm and inviting and nurturing, and then reapplied to become enticing and alluring. Even her perfume was different. Most days, Janet smelled of lilacs and violets and jasmine. Settling, comforting, gentle scents that made the brain want to sit down and cuddle up. Or at least take a breather and listen to a lecture about sentence diagramming. Very maternal. Very motherly. Very Amazon. At present, she smelled like citrus: Wild, vibrant, and alive! The kind of smells of a tropical forest where one danced and drank and lived until one’s heart was ready to explode out of their chest! As for me, I was in a diaper and a Muffet Littles T-shirt. My pantsless punishment procedure was still in full effect on the weekends.. No shoes or socks either. I wasn’t going to be doing much walking this trip. So she was dressed for the dance floor and I was dressed for the ball pit in one of those crappy pizza places. “What if Mark meets us here, instead?” I asked once Janet had turned on the engine. Fewer people would see me that way, and I could at least retreat to the relative privacy of my nursery. Would probably still be stuck in a highchair for dinner, though. Such was life. Janet glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Do you really want Mark to know where we live?” she asked, coyly. “Would that be okay with you?” Once again, she’d cut past my defenses and hit at a broader soft spot. “I’m not calling him ‘Daddy’.” I said, firmly. “Or ‘Uncle Mark’ or anything like that.” I inhaled and grimaced at just the thought. “Not even ‘Mister Mark’ or whatever his last name is. He’s not a teacher. He’s not my…he’s not you…he has no authority over me whatsoever.” “Whoah! Whoah! Whoah!” Janet laughed. The car turned out of the neighborhood and started heading towards the highway. “Slow down there, buddy! This isn’t that kind of dinner.” Sure seemed like it. “Oh?” “Mark is just a nice man who wants to be my friend.” Bullshit. Janet kept going. “And I enjoy talking with him at the meetings. Now I want to spend some time with him outside of the meetings. See if we have more in common.” I rolled my eyes. “But why do I have to be there for it?” “Clark. You know why.” Yeah. Because she wanted to be peak Amazon and tote me around as her padded, drooling trophy. I looked down for my pacifier. Lion was still M.I.A. and I needed something to crush or smother. Funnily enough, Janet had forgotten to re-clip it on. How about that? “Because you can’t afford to pay a sitter and Jessica is busy,” I said. “Because you’re one of the most important people in my life and I’m not ashamed of you.” I had no comeback for that that I hadn’t tried a million times before. “I hhhhh….hhhhh….” Nope. The words still weren’t coming out. “Janet…” “Look on the bright side,” Janet took the ramp up to the highway. “It’s a long drive to the city. The three of us might talk for a while, or the service might be slow. Chances are we won’t be back home until past your bedtime.” “True…” “I get to talk with another Grown-Up, we both get to eat some fancy food, maybe some dessert, we’re going out of town to a place where there’s zero chance anyone will recognize you from school, and you get to stay up past your bedtime.” She gave me just a second to let me absorb all of that. “And all I’m asking is that you try and not say anything nasty to Mark. Deal?” Logically, Janet made a great deal of sense. Just why did she have to make sense about this? I rubbed my cheek, thoughtfully. The phantom sting of Tracy slapping me yet lingered. It’s not like I had a lot of agency or any friends at the moment. In war, peace talks are often used as a stalling tactic. “Fine,” I huffed. “But I get to talk smack about him all the car ride back. Forrest too.” My former co-worker laughed and said, “Deal. Do you want to listen to some music?” “As long as it’s not kiddie music.” Janet smiled. “Not quite.” She patched her phone into the car speakers and that’s how I learned about the abomination that is Tot Rox; where Top 40 hits are remastered, rearranged and re-recorded by heavily autotuned children accompanied to classroom instruments. At least I knew most of the words without it being nursery rhymes. Approximately forty five minutes later, Janet parked the car and scooped me out of the seat. I looked up at the sign on top of the building and read it. “Mer-Cow?” The sign, all in yellow, featured a detailed sketch of a creature with the front end of a cow and the back half of a fish. “That’s…different.” “Burgers and sushi,” Janet explained. “Ah.” Still next to the car, she gave the front of my Monkeez a quick squeeze and a pat. “You’re fine. Still crinkly. A little wet, but still crinkly.” Then she lifted me over her shoulder long enough to gaze down the back. “Yeah. You’re fine.” And she readjusted me and kept walking. She took her purse but left the diaper bag in the front seat and carried me through the parking lot. That made me oddly happy. It signaled that I was going to get changed in the backseat instead of the ladies’ room, assuming I got changed before the car ride back at all. As counter intuitive as it may seem, having the car roof over my head and Janet leaning over me provided me more privacy than out in the open of a restroom. Too many restrooms put changing stations just past the doorway so that everyone could get a look at your business before they did theirs. A feeling of like a rock in my stomach signaled that sometime within the next twelve to fourteen hours, I’d be forced to mess myself. Darkly, I considered forcing it at an opportune time to end the date. It’s not like I hadn’t done it before or that it was below me at this point. A douche like Mark deserved no quarter. The place was a slightly upscale “fusion cuisine” restaurant, meaning it was casual hipster pretentious instead of rich and snooty pretentious, with an entrance made of glass so that you could see the all yellow interior and people already seated and having a good time. Janet opened the door and carried me in, so that I could see the fully stocked bar (that I would not be allowed to partake in), and what passed as modern art paintings hanging on the wall above the booths and tables. An Amazon hostess stepped up to greet us. “Hi there, welcome to Mer-Cow! How many in your party and how many highchairs, or will just the one be enough?” She looked Yamatoan, but she had none of Zoge’s accent. So Yamatoan, but not from Yamatoa? I was probably overspeculating. None of my business anyway. A random intrusive thought: That might be how Ivy had gotten Adopted. A vacation to the old country turned into something much much worse. It would certainly explain a lot. “Oh no, it’s just him for the highchair.” Janet said. As was her habit she gave me a light bounce in her arms whenever she was talking about me. “Lucky Little guy!” She made a curling motion with her finger and started zeroing in on the underside of my chin. “Somebody’s gonna get all the attention at din-din! Yes he is! Yes he is!” Janet pivoted, putting herself in between me and the hostess. “We’re meeting someone here, actually.” She craned her neck. “Mind if we look around?” “Oh sure, go ahead and-” “Found him!” She walked past the hostess and straight to the booth. Of course she found him. How could you miss anyone that face? With oily black hair, ears that were too far back, a nose that was too pointy and somehow a chin that was too big and weak at the same time, Horsey McDoucheface aka ‘Mark’ was easy to spot. He was wearing a maroon turtleneck too! Like some kind of beatnik or a wanna be college professor minus the tweed jacket. Oh no, was he a professor? Please no! Not another so-called educator in my life! Not Mark! “Hey,” he waved to us, and stood up and gestured to the seat in front of him. “Good to see you, Janet!” The way he smiled at her: Ugh! And those teeth! If he didn’t have braces as a child it was only because those chompers were literally too big to wriggle out of place. “You too, Mark. You don’t have to stand up.” Janet and Mark each got their own side of a booth. I got a wooden highchair slid up to the middle, so that every server would have to shimmy and slide behind me. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Janet threaded my legs through the holes and buckled me in, tightening the strap around my waist. It was the cheap, generic kind of highchair that only existed in public eateries. No tray. No real backing. It was basically a bar stool that I was physically incapable of removing myself from. The soles of my feet barely grazed the uppermost rung. With me secured, the two giants hugged each other, and I had to do my best to not vomit up the chicken tenders I’d been fed for lunch. It was just a friend hug, but Mark was no one worth being friends with. The pair sat down and were more or less eye level with me. Mark regarded me and flashed a weak smile. “Hiiiii Clark.” His voice was subdued and unobtrusive…like a total douche. He looked nervous. Oh crud, was he cosseting me? Was this why he was interested in Janet?! No. No, no, no. Don’t panic. Not yet. It’s too early in the night. Try to be decent. Try to be decent. Just try. Such a fucking douche! I inhaled and exhaled again before speaking. “Hi. Mark.” The asshole smiled like he’d just won something. “It’s good to see you!” “Thanks,” I said. Just be nice. Just be nice. Just be…nice. A brunette Tweener waitress in elevator shoes that could have doubled as stilts walked up to the table. “Hi, welcome to Mer-Cow, I’m Laurel and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” “Thank you very much, Laurel.” Mark said. Oh how fucking corny. I closed my eyes so I could roll them less offensively. The Tweener handed out two menus and slapped down a paper mat on my edge of the table. “Before we get started, how many checks will this be? One, two, or three? I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” She fake laughed at her own joke. “One or two?” The giants exchanged pensive looks. “I don’t mind.” Mark said. I saw Janet’s eyes glance over to me.. “No, don’t worry about it,” Janet said. “Two’s fine,” she told the waitress. “And I’m covering him,” she indicated me. My spirits soared. Then she looked back over to Mark. “You can get the next one. Then I’ll get the one after that.” “Sure, sure,” Mark said. My expectations were immediately tempered. Just a friend. And the Hydra was just a snake. “Okay,” the waitress said. “Before I give you folks a minute to look at the menus, what can I get you to drink?” “I’ll have a Mocha-Cola,” Janet said. Mark said, “Sounds good to me.” “And what about the Little guy?” the waitress asked over my head. “Milk? Juice? We’ve got apple and orange. Is he allowed to have soda?” Janet turned her head and regarded me. “Clark?” Me? She was asking me what I wanted? Not ordering for me? “Um…uh…” I wracked my brain. You don’t realize that exercising choice is a kind of skill set until you go without it for nearly two months. What to order? Vodka! No. No one would give me vodka! Not here! Not dressed like this! What though? “Can I just have a water?” “Sure, hon!” The waitress beamed. “I’ll get you some water!” “Thank you,” I said. “Oh wow, Clark.” Mark said. “That’s very polite of you.” “Clark can be very polite,” Janet said. “When he wants to be.” Touche. Mark laughed. Fuck Mark. He wasn’t wearing glasses anymore. I wonder how much damage I’d do if I stuck my thumb in his eye. Would it be more or less if he had contacts in? I wondered. “Let’s look at the menu real quick.” They looked at their full menus, thumbing through thick laminated pages describing the intricacies of each dish: hipster appetizers, spicy martinis, burgers that had sushi ingredients and vice versa. I was relegated to the kids section. I picked up the paper placemat and flipped it over. On the back there was a maze, several blank tic-tac-toe boards and an even goofier looking version of the restaurant’s mascot. I flipped it back over and read it. I didn’t technically need to read it, since every entry had a doodled version so that children or prisoners could just point instead of reading. The menu looked…kind of interesting, actually. It had the typical options like grilled cheese, and chicken tenders, but it also had some sliders. A slider to an Amazon might mean a decent bite for me. Simple sushi options too. Too bad the sushi section bragged about not needing chopsticks. The waitress returned with our drinks. Janet and Mark got tall glasses filled with bubbling soda. I, of course, got a cup with a sippy lid. “Okay, guys, do you need more time to look over the menu or are you ready to order?” “I think we’re ready to order,” Mark said. He double checked with Janet. “Right?” Then looked to me. “Right?” “I’ll have the firecracker roll,” Janet said. “And give me the black and bleu burger, hold the bleu.” Mark said. Smartly, the waitress pivoted around so she could make eye contact with me. “And what about you, sir?” Janet was grinning like an idiot, as if a Tweener talking to me like I was a so-called big person was just so gosh darn cute. I gave the menu one last look. A particular item had, in fact, caught my attention. It was weird, and very childish by design, but it seemed too weird not to try at least once. Odds were I wouldn’t be eating here again any time soon. “Can I please have the peanut butter and jelly sushi?” It was just the sandwich cut up and fashioned into mock rolls, but the idea was amusing. Better than macaroni and cheese or messy boneless wings covered in teriyaki sauce. The waitress smiled her big fake professional smile. “You certainly may.” She turned her head to Janet and stage whispered, “He’s so polite!” Janet looked more than a little proud. Almost like she wanted to abduct me all over again. “Ohhhh,” Mark said to me. “Very sophisticated. Good choice, buddy.” My blood turned cold as a lanky, bony hand playfully patted me on the shoulder. He addressed the waitress. “Any chance I could get one of those too? Might be good for a side dish or a dessert.” The wink settled it. I tugged on the Tweener’s sleeve. “Actually, would it be okay if I changed my order to the cradle roll with the fish, cucumber and extra sweet cream cheese?” “Of course, sweetie.” She pivoted slightly, “As long as it’s okay with your Mommy.” Just calling her my Mommy had sealed the deal and we both knew it. Janet nodded her approval. “Do you still want that pee-bee-and-jay roll, sir?” Mark looked like someone had snuck up and given him a wedgie. “No, no. That’s fine. Thank you. I’ll just stick with the burger and fries.” “Okie dokie. I’ll put those orders right in.” She reached down a pocket of her half apron. “Crayons?” They were a pair of plastic wrapped and double sided cheapos. Red and blue on one, and green and yellow on the other. Janet started to speak for me. “I don’t think he’s inter-” “Sure.” I said. “I mean, yes please.” I reached up and took the crayons. The wrapping was so flimsy that it broke in my grip. “Okay. I’ll be back to check up on you in a bit.” The Tweener scooted around my chair and back towards the kitchen. Mark and Janet waited till she was gone and tossed one another a look. “Still testing boundaries?” Mark asked. “Always.” Janet said. “And that’s okay.” She reached out and brushed my increasingly curly hair. I didn’t flinch. “Clark likes things on his own terms as much as possible. It’s something I love about him. It means he’s always thinking of new and interesting things to do.” “You mean like painting the frog?” Mark joked. “Oh my gosh. That was such a good story!” I scowled. “Hey! What the-?” “Clark…” Janet’s face was more pleading than stern. I stopped myself. Be nice. Be nice. Be nice. I had to at least wait till I got my sushi. Douchey McHorseface feigned sincerity and said. “Sorry, Clark. I didn’t mean to talk about you like you’re not here.” Fuck this jackass. “It’s okay.” “It’s not okay, and I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.” The balls on this guy! Telling me I apologized wrong! “Your Mommy told me the story based on what your teacher told her. Would you like to tell me what happened when you painted the frog?” I picked up my cup. “No, I would not.” I started gulping down refreshing cold ice water. “Sure thing, dude.” Clearly, Mark was trying; really trying. Trying to get on my good side as a way to suck up to Janet and weasel his way in, but he was still trying. Creeping on Janet. Creeping on me. Janet might deserve that, but I certainly didn’t. Scratch that thought, not even Janet deserved that horse toothed scarecrow. Mark was savvy enough to stop leaning on me and pay more attention to Janet. Janet was lonely enough that she let me be and talked with Mark. I minded my business: drinking my water, and scribbling on mindless paper. Occasionally Janet leaned over and inspected my ‘art’. When Mark talked, I pretended to listen and worked on the maze at the back of the menu. From bits and pieces that I picked up on accident, I learned that he was a sales representative for a frozen food delivery company and had been promoted to regional manager and Oakshire had a lower cost of living. Boring! Also, he was an aspiring Indie Game Designer and his real passion was in programming, game mechanics, and non-linear storytelling. Damn it! That was kind of interesting! Cool even! Also, people usually didn’t have to look at a game designer’s stupid face or hear their annoying voice so if he made it big in that field he might be making the world a better place. Janet talked about her crop of students this year and the various stupid kid eccentricities and stupid stories of them literally saying the darndest things. Then she mentioned the frustrations she was having, as students who were acing her lessons were still making simple mistakes all over the place. “It’s like they’ve got it in class, but as soon as I let them try it on their own, they keep messing up,” Janet winged. My focus shifted and my brain switched priorities so that I listened more intently and only pretended to doodle. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t cackle maniacally and shout ‘You fool! You’ve fallen victim to my masterstroke!’ Fucking around with a few times table tests and grammar homework wasn’t going to be my masterstroke. Not by a longshot. “It’s like I’m trying to teach them to ride a bike, and everytime I let go they crash into a mailbox.” I saw a pair of lanky, greasy, disgusting hands twitch. Janet had placed her hands near the center of the table. Mark was.resisting the urge to reach out and take them. “It’s okay, Mommy,” I said. “You’re doing your best. They are too. You just need to figure out what misconceptions there are in their schema and build up from there.” She was doing her best. I was doing my worst. “You’re a good teacher.” Janet leaned over and pressed her forehead against mine. “Thank you, Clark. That’s very nice of you to say, and makes Mommy feel a lot better.” “You’re welcome.” The waitress came back carrying a tray of food. Saved! “One black and bleu burger, hold the bleu. One firecracker roll. One cradle roll.” She passed out the dishes the way a card shark dealt a hand of blackjack. “Some more colas. And one extra water for the thirsty boy.” She swapped out the glasses, mine included. Finally! Some food! Maybe now people would shut up when there was something to stuff in their face holes. “Clark do you need help with-?” I’d already shoved the first piece of sushi in my mouth. “I guess not,” she laughed. Playfully she picked up her own piece of fish wrapped in rice and seaweed and popped it between her lips, mirroring me. “Who needs chopsticks?” Mark’s mouth was too full to be coherent, a great improvement, but I was pretty sure he said “I know, right?” The first piece was pure impulse to show that I didn’t need Janet to separate the pieces for me or help me any more than she already had. The second piece was purely for my enjoyment. Taking the time to really chew and savor the different flavors and texture. Mostly savory, and a bit dry, but there was more than a hint of sweetness that didn’t overpower the dish and the crunch of the cucumber really brought something to the table. This was good. This was really really good. It wasn’t proper barbecue, but it was damn good! Food that wasn’t pureed and poured in a jar to be spoon fed, or come with a toy. It was near heavenly. At that moment, I felt kind of like an adult again, and if I just ignored literally everything about me below the neck I could let myself pretend for a few minutes. The food was good enough that this seemed reasonable. I started paying attention to the restaurant and people watching. Nothing I hadn’t seen thousands of times elsewhere, of course: Amazons and Tweeners all enjoying a meal. Littles were confined to highchairs or laps. By turns they were being fed or feeding themselves finger food. A few were munching on sushi rolls, too. Their Amazons alternately talked to each other and fawned over them. None of them cried or called out for help. They’d all learned that lesson, or were too broken to learn much of anything anymore. All of them seemed…happy enough. Content? Or maybe just beaten down. No adult Littles, though. Not a single person my height or shorter wasn’t adopted. Were we really so rare a breed these days? Or was this part of town just known to be unsafe? We? Wow. How about that? A baby’s cry, a real one, sounded off, and a young mother got up and started rocking her child. I popped in another roll and witnessed a wave of Amazons paying sudden extra attention to their Littles. Basically, the real child slammed up against their collective lie and cognitive dissonance was forcing them to double down on their particular brand of madness. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Janet decided just then to pepper me with kisses to the cheek and whisper sweet nothings about how good she thought I was being. Turns out I was half right. I got a quick peck on the cheek, but then Janet stood up and grabbed her purse. “Excuse me, I’ve got to go freshen up.” She had that same look from yesterday. Almost like she’d peed her pants. Both Doucheface McHorserson aka ‘Mark’ and I watched her until she disappeared behind the swinging door. I wondered if he was jealous knowing that if Janet had checked me just then, I might have been able to convince her to take me with her. More than likely she’d have to double back. It’s not like she could leave me on a fold out table while she sat down, but the jab was still there. “So Clark,” the thing that would not take a hint said, “you like the Muffet Littles?” He pointed to my shirt. “I used to watch them all the time when I was a kid.” He was trying…very trying…extremely trying. “Not really,” I said flatly. “I prefer the Muffets. Janet just couldn’t find a shirt my size.” “Janet?” “My Mommy.” “I know, just…nevermind. I won’t tell. Why do you like the Muffets? What do you like about them, I mean?” My eye twitched. Had I not been in a low quality highchair I would have grabbed a soapbox to stand on. “Their best comedy is timeless and while it isn’t offensive to children, it doesn’t purposefully dumb anything down so adults can enjoy it too. The Muffet Babies are okay but it’s very much a show targeted at children to teach them about using their imagination. It’s well meaning, but not as good.” Mark nodded. I swear I could hear his brain clanging around in his skull. “Cool cool. Cool cool.” Jackass hadn’t really been listening. He just waited until I stopped talking so he could reply. He took another bite of his burger. “They’re also losers.” The giant swallowed and took a sip of his drink. “Beg pardon?” “They’re losers. Screw ups. Misfits. Their comedian can’t tell jokes, their chef can’t cook, and their diva is literally a pug. Things break all the time and something always goes wrong right before the final act that forces them to improvise or cobble something together. One episode they had to perform at a bus station because their usual theater was being bug bombed. But they always do it. The show goes on, and they get to perform another day, even though any rational person would quit or give up. There’s something kind of endearing about that.” “Are you a Muffet?” Mark asked. Now it was my turn to take a drink, swallow, and ask “Beg pardon?” “Are you a Muffet?” Mark repeated himself. “Do you feel like them? Like a loser, or a screw up?” Poor Mark. I swear I was very very close to kind of, sort of, almost tolerating him. Just because he sat in a room with other Amazons swapping stories about how they managed to emotionally and psychologically whip their Littles into submission, now he thought he was a therapist or something. How Typical. “Look Mark, just bec-” “Hi Janet.” Janet took her seat. “Hi boys. Sorry about that.” “Don’t worry about it,” Mark said. “Hope you two behaved yourself,” she ruffled my hair. She really meant me, even though she was signaling both of us. Proving my point, Mark said. “Oh yeah. Clark was great. He was telling me about the difference between the Muffets and the Muffet Littles.” “Muffet Babies,” I said. “Right. What did I say? What’s the difference?” “I can explain it to you, but I can’t make you understand.” Janet threw her hands up in mock exasperation. “Don’t get him started!” They laughed. I didn’t. I took another slug of water and finished my dinner. Janet was so going to hear about this on the drive back to her place. “So Janet,” Mark said. “I was thinking…” “Yes?” The horse with two feet leaned in and rested his elbows on the table. “I’ve learned a lot from listening to you and the others and doing the research into the benefits of Adoption and doing it right. So I’m going to do it. I’m taking next week off and calling an agency.” “Awwww!” Janet squealed. “I’m so proud of you!” The queasy feeling in my stomach wasn’t just because I was close to being stuffed. That poor Little! “So maybe next time we do a date, it might not be a date-date, but it can be a playdate.” Oh geez! Screw that. This misery was in no mood for company. Especially if it meant seeing more of Clip-Clop the Frozen Food Clown. “You bet,” Janet said. “Girl or boy?” “No clue. I’m going in with an open mind. I’m going to look through the available case files and go from there! See who really reaches out to me.” Janet let out another “Awwww!” Followed by, “That’s so good of you. You’re gonna make a great Daddy to somebody.” “You and the others have inspired me,” Mark gushed. “I don’t just want to Adopt a Little. I want to save them. Just like you saved Clark.” Save me? Save me?! What did Janet save me from? From my marriage? From my job? Technically, she saved me from New Beginnings but… “Though thinking on that,” Mark interrupted my inner ranting and rambling, “I’ve got my suspicions about my secretary. She’s been acting rather erratically lately. Lotta potty breaks too. What did you say were some of Clark’s symptoms when his Maturosis started to manifest?” Okay. Enough. Full stop. Time to derail this the only way I felt I could. I gripped the sides of the bar stool highchair, raised my bum and gave in to the pressure that had been silently gnawing on me and growing the whole evening. BLORT! Janet popped up and I plopped back down “I know what that means!” She started looking down at her feet and under the table Blushing furiously, I settled back down, promising myself that it would make more work to clean up. Hadn’t thought it would be that loud, though. Or that wet. But mission accomplished. Heh. Butt Mission Accomplished… “Oh Mo-!” I stopped. My cocky grin didn’t even have time to settle. Nothing was settling. Something was dripping however. There’s no delicate, dignified way to say this, but it’s very easy to get used to a diaper over the course of several months. The way the wetness wicks away, or out the lumps settle into place. I’m not referring to the degradation or humiliation of the act. Forget about hygiene. I’m just saying that a body gets used to how things feel when the diaper is working properly and everything is contained. The warm not quite solid wetness scraping at the back of my thighs and the putrid wet trickle going down my legs were signs that nothing was properly contained within. Whatever had been crammed up inside of me had been placing pressure on my bladder too and it exiting made my bladder relax. It was my final I.E.P. meeting as a teacher all over again, with shit running down my legs and piss dripping down the front. Mark grabbed his napkin and started dabbing at my ankles and calves. “Uh-oh! We’ve got a bit of an emergency.” “Mommy I…I…” I couldn’t get the words out. I looked down at my ring finger, the tan line long since faded. “Janet…” “Diaper bag? Where’s the d-ohnoIforgotitinthecar!” She blurred out of the front door with me reaching out after her, silently begging her to take me with. “It’s okay,” Mark shushed me, dabbing me down with napkins. “It’s okay. Your Mommy will be right back.” “No…” I whispered. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed. This happens to everybody.” Not to everyone. “N..” A stranger came up with a pack of wipes and a fresh diaper. “I saw Mommy run out to the car. If you want to, Daddy, you can change him so he doesn’t have to wait.” Mark’s tremendous Adam's apple bobbed up and down like a lure that had snagged a big one. “That’s okay.. it’s just…he’s just…he’s not… I don’t know if I should..” “Oh, that’s fine. Keep the wipes and she can give me the fresh diaper when she gets back.” “He’s not my Daddy!” I said. My protest was instantly waved off. “Oh don’t be so fussy, baby boy. Just because you Daddy and Mommy Adopted you doesn’t mean they don’t love you.” She was practically shoving the supplies in Mark’s lap. “No,” Mark interrupted. “I’m not. I’m really not. And his Mommy hasn’t…I don’t know how she’d…we’d just both feel better if we waited.” He handed the diaper back. The stranger shrugged and went back to her table. Her Little was blushing and trying to crawl into his own private embarrassment death hole. Both of us at the table clenched up. “Some people…” Mark said. “I know, right?” Douche had a point. “You know what, Clark? I like you. You’re really lucky to have Janet as your Mommy, you know that?” I’d tried to be nice. I really tried. Something about that last comment just set me off. “Lucky?” I hissed. “You think I’m lucky? I leaned in, no longer caring that some poor server was going to have to run a mop over my chair. “You think this is lucky? I used to be married. I used to have a job. A fucking career! I used to do things! Things that fucking mattered! Maybe it wasn’t as important as I pretended it was in the big scheme of things but it mattered to me damnit! But all of that is gone. Fucking gone! And I’m stuck here! With you! Waiting on the woman who snatched me up to get back with a new fucking diaper! I can’t dress myself! I can’t feed myself! I can’t even go to the fucking bathroom anymore! And it’s got nothing to do with some bullshit disease that doesn’t exist, it’s because people like you won’t let me! You’re not helping Littles, you’re just lying to yourself so you can kidnap us and pat yourself on the back at the same time!” It all came out bullet quick. I didn’t cry this time but I was still beet red and panting by the end of it. It might have started as a hiss and a whisper but by the end it was shotgun loud and the rest of the restaurant had gone deathly silent. They’d made themselves an audience to the melodrama of the evening. Janet came in. All eyes were instantly on her. Scorn and pity and loathing radiated from the other giants. So-called parents muttering about how their so-called children never talked this way to them or any other ‘adult’.. “I’m back…” Janet puffed out of breath. “She saw the look of absolute hurt and terror in Mark’s face.” I had done that. Me. I was too angry to show it but I felt kind of proud. This was the face that had made Zoge cry. I still had it! “What happened?” The giant douche canoe stood up.. “I gotta go.” “Why?” Mark didn’t answer. He just went right to the waitress and dug out his wallet. Janet went into autopilot and got me out of the chair and took me to the bathroom to change me. No talking. No cooing. No humming. Definitely no humming. Mark had already left the restaurant when Janet had finished with me. The waitress said he’d paid for all of us. No one in the restaurant was talking, only pointing and whispering. We didn’t talk on the ride back. No music, either. Not even Tot Rox. Janet tried calling Mark a couple times but it went straight to voicemail. Her messages were all apologies and asking what was said or what happened. She never got a call back. We got back to Janet’s house and she dressed me into jammies and tucked me into bed without a kiss. Still no talking. From either of us. She left the nursery. In the stillness and quiet of everything I could hear her start to sob walking down the hallway. It almost sounded like she was bawling out the word “Why?” over and over again. “What?” I asked her through the baby monitor. “It’s not my fault he’s a total douche!” Mark never showed up to another Little Voices meeting ever again.

Chapter 83: Something Broken… I bounced in my feeder seat, waving my arms. “Tracy!” I called. “Over here! Over here!” It was easier to bounce and jiggle and all but hop on my ass that morning. Zoge had already changed me into one of Billy’s Dino-Dips. It might have been me, but they felt more than a tad thicker than other brands. There’s diaper thick, and there’s pillow-strapped-to-your-ass. Billy’s Amazons dressed him in something close to the former. Maybe that’s why he was so unpotty trained. Maybe the thickness made it easier or more desensitized. Would having a giant load in my pants be that uncomfortable with all this extra cushioning? I hoped I didn’t have to find out. But I digress. “Tracy!” I flailed my arms. “Tracy!” I gulped down a spoonful of dry cereal, fed to me by Zoge. “Hey! Tracy! I need to talk to you!'' The rest of the class finger fed themselves or allowed Zoge or Beouf to spoon feed them in turns. Nibble. Nibble. Gulp. Nibble. Nibble. Gulp. I was too preoccupied to use my fingers. That and I didn’t want my honey glazed corn loops to taste like the rash cream I’d accidentally gotten on my fingers. Yeah, Zoge wiped it off immediately; the diaper was still under me when she’d done it. Didn’t mean I wasn’t paranoid. “Tracyyyyyy!” All my classmates stared at me between bites. Some in dread, others in rapt fascination. Tracy…ignored isn’t the right word. Ignored has too much malice in it. She kept looking over at me, just a table or so away, but then going back to patting preschoolers on the head, or opening milk cartons. I could tell that she wanted to come over and see me, but she couldn’t leave her post. That tyrant of a teacher,Ambrose, wasn’t technically required to be with my students (mine, never hers), until after breakfast, leaving Tracy with the bulk of the work. And like Littles, three and four year olds couldn’t be trusted unsupervised for more than thirty second intervals, albeit for very different reasons. Had I Lion, I would have chucked him as close to Tracy’s table under the pretext of her needing to get it back to me. Regrettably, I didn’t have Lion anymore… All the other stuffies were out of sight and out of reach, even Jessinnia “Tracy! We need to talk!” “Clark, my love,” Mrs. Zoge said. “You’re being too loud and Miss Tracy is busy working with the big…with the preschoolers.” As annoyed as I was, I heard the self-correction in Zoge’s word choice and was grateful. Not that I told her. She held a bottle. “Take a sip of milk. Your mouth looks very crummy.” I did as she asked. Taking a few gulps. Since Wednesday, Zoge had become my designated handler, of sorts. Beouf didn’t outright reject me or refuse me. On the contrary, she was every bit as outwardly warm and inwardly professional to me as she’d been since my enrollment. It’s just that.in every interaction we’d had for the rest of the week, unless it was absolutely necessary for her to do, Zoge or Janet did it instead. Objectively, it was a good call. Not every student listens to their teacher and chemistry makes interactions stressful for both. So if that interaction can be minimized, and thus the stress is minimized, learning can more easily occur. Teachers love their students. Can’t help it. Never said anything about liking them… It was calculated, but effective. I didn’t want to talk to Beouf that much either. As a bonus, I got treated to Ivy’s quiet but resentful glares every time her Mommy so much as spoke a kind word to me. Who I really wanted to talk to was both very close and impossible distance away. “Traceeeey!” A preschooler tugged on Tracy’s plain ankle length skirt. “Miss Tracy, I think that baby wants to talk to you.” I threw a preemptive sneer at Billy, Chaz, and the rest, cutting off teasing giggles and mocking repetitions in their throats. They would not weaponize the tactics I’d taught them against me. They wouldn’t dare. Tracy leaned over and said something to the kid, Roland I think…I’d only known him for that first week…but I couldn’t hear what she said. Tracy was smart enough to whisper in the nearly empty cafeteria. “Traaaaaaaaaaacy!” I saw Beouf press her lips together and throw Zoge a look. She was stopping herself from correcting me. “Clark,” Mrs. Zoge said. “Miss Tracy is busy right now. She has a job to do. Maybe you can talk to her after school?” I fluttered my lips like a horse. “She leaves right after school. Just like you. Most teacher aides do.” She used to hang back and grade papers every now and then, but that felt like a long long time ago. “I can talk to her.” “Now?” She shook her head softly. “Both she and I are working, right now. You should be working on finishing your breakfast so you can have lots of energy.” “Why do you want to talk to her?” Tommy asked from the bucket seat beside me. Damn it, Tommy! Butt out! I’d have flicked him in the ear right then and there if Zoge wasn’t watching. No! Wait! Opportunity! “She was my assistant, before,” I said. “My work partner. My Zoge.” I wiped away a tear just before it spilled “ I miss her.” My voice cracked. Damn, I hadn’t meant for that last part to happen. That’s the risk in running lies of omission. I wanted to do more than give my old Tweener bud a hug. “Yeah,” Tommy said. “I get it.” He looked far off for a moment. I wondered who from his past life he was missing just then. A paper napkin zoomed up and wiped my nose. “Do you need to blow?” Zoge asked. I sniffed. “No…” She rubbed the underside of my nose with the cloth and tossed it away. I itched it with my finger, and got a faint yet disturbing whiff of rash cream. I regretted the spoon feeding less and less right then and there. What I did regret is watching Tracy and the rest of my students walk away, single file holding hands, with Tracy quietly herding them outside in the opposite direction. Under normal circumstances, students came in one way and exited past the Littles’ Table. Tracy was taking them out through the entrance. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, since her classroom faced the cafeteria entrance. The kids would have had to walk all the way around the building to get where they were going when they could just backtrack through an uncrowded space. They were probably antsy, too. It was a smart move. It was also a marker of how much time I’d used up. “TRACY!” I tried again, anyway. The echo of my voice was beaten back by the overhead blast fan at the entrance. “Mrs. Zoge,” Beouf said from her multi highchair feeding table. Her face twitched like she was wrestling to choose the right words. If I hadn’t known her for ten years I might not have seen it. “How about when you go on your break, you cut through Miss Ambrose’s classroom and let Miss Tracy know that Clark would like to speak to her?” I waited for the condition. The ‘if he’s good’, the ‘unless he..’. Nothing came. Not even another micro-twitch. “I’d be happy to do that,” Mrs. Zoge said. She said it to Mrs. Beouf, but she was looking right at me. “Promise?” I heard myself asking. Zoge inched up to me and leaned in so that only I could hear. “Mr. Grange, when have I ever not kept a promise to you?” *********************************************************************************** “But no matter what, their Mommies and Daddies love them very, very much.” Beouf closed the illustrated propaganda book and smiled, softly. “So that’s something to remember: That even when you’re not acting your best, or you’re making bad choices, you’re still loved.” Janet hugged me softly from behind; a quiet physical affirmation that yes she thought I’d been ‘naughty’ or ‘bratty’ or whatever, but she still loved me. My cheeks flushed hard and I wanted to sink back and melt, but that would have only resulted in me leaning further back into Janet’s breasts. There were no therapists on campus today. Janet had found a few minutes to slink in, and as a result I was the only Little with a lap side seat for one of Beouf’s stories. My guard was up the entire time because the others kept looking at us. With Janet quietly giving me gentle hugs and squeezes every other page. I tolerated it. Her navy blue cardigan was light and more a fashion choice than protection against the elements. It still wasn’t very cold yet. Hence, my pantsless condition persisted. But if I bunched my legs up in a cannonball and pulled at the flaps of the coat, I could kind of sort of almost wrap it around enough to obscure the Koddles I’d been swaddled in. The real problem was throwing annoyed or menacing looks at my classmates everytime they looked at me, quietly chuckling to themselves. This was the third day and Janet’s presence still hadn’t gotten old to them. Except for Ivy. She was full to despair and had to be taken out of the classroom by her Mommy. Zoge never let Ivy sit in her lap during school hours. That poor idiot. “So, what would you say is the main theme of this story?” Beouf asked. Annie shot her hand up. “That we can do whatever we want?” “Where in the book does it say that?” Beouf asked. “Would you like to come and show me using the pictures?” Annie put her hand down. “No ma’am…” Was she trolling? Or had she been sincere? It was hard to tell with this lot sometimes. Jesse blurted out. “Love! It’s about love! Last page! Said so!” He was so confident. “On a surface level, yes. But why was love important? Can we go deeper?” Jesse looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Uh…yes?” I could see Beouf counting off in her head, trying to give a fair and ample time for response. “Let me ask the question in a different way without trying to give the answer away. When the babies act out, are they necessarily doing it to be mean?” “Naw,” Mandy said. “It’s cuz they don’t know any better.” “Sometimes they are,” Shauna argued. “Being mean, I mean. You don’t put mayonnaise in your big brother’s hair because you think it’s not gonna do anything!. It’s mayonnaise. Everybody knows that stuff is gross!” Beouf turned back to the corresponding page. “Good point! Good point! But what happens in the end?” An uncomfortable silence followed. I rolled my eyes and said what I hoped everyone with an ounce of sense was thinking. “The ‘moral’ of the ‘book’” I said using massive air quotes, “is that good or bad, bratty or babyish, we’re going to get the same end result.” “That’s not exactly how I would have phrased it,” Beouf said, “I think a better way to look at it is…” A gentle click of an opening door. Beouf stopped and looked up over the lot of us. “Sorry,” a familiar voice stage-whispered. “Miss Zoge sent me.” I rolled off of Janet’s lap and stumbled to my feet. “Miss Tracy,” Beouf said gently, “now is not a good time.” “Oh,” Tracy inched back towards the door she came in. She thumbed towards the nap room. “Sorry, Mrs. Beouf. Mrs. Zoge told me that uh…one of your students… needed some company. Thought they were in the…” She finished with an exaggerated and embarrassed shrug. “I think she meant after school,” Beouf said. I looked back and forth at the two Amazons, too proud to beg, and too impatient to wait. If I’d been a “good baby” it was only because I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to check in with my aide, and I was too preoccupied with what I’d talk to her about. Tiny Tots. Little Land. Sunshine Academy. And Enchanted Forest..? No, that didn’t sound quite right. “Oh yeah,” Tracy scratched the back of her head. “Yeah. Sure.” Janet twisted and leaned back. “If you want to come to my room after the buses, you can.” Tracy brightened a little. “Sure!” She already had one foot back out the door. “I’m just…gonna go now.” “Everyone say, ‘Bye Miss Tracy!’ “Bye Miss Tracy!” A couple of them parroted because Beouf had already broken them. Sandra Lynn and Jesse especially, I reckoned. Chaz and Billy just wanted a chance to be obnoxious and shout anything at the top of their lungs. The Tweener, all primped up and proper looking like a schoolmarm, backed out of the room. “Bye” That got another loud smattering of bye-byes. Janet stiffened and shot up to her feet.. “And on that note,” she laughed awkwardly, “I only have ten minutes to get any food in my gullet.” She readjusted her cardigan and hurried out without so much as giving me a kiss. “Bye, Clark! See you after school! Love you!” She slid out the door just in time for Mrs. Zoge and Ivy to slide back in. The two almost bumped into each other and gave polite squeaks of apology in passing. The blood was rushing to Janet’s face. Why had she been blushing? I looked back towards the door Tracy had left by. Oh dear, was Janet cosseting Tracy, now?! I in no way wanted a ‘big sister’, and I wouldn’t want the past month and a half I’d gone through to befall anyone. (Maybe Brollish. Okay, Forrest too). A darkly humorous thought: Maybe it was nothing I did. Maybe there was something in the air ducts of that room that drove Amazons baby crazy. I put the whole thing out of my mind, lest it sour my mood and I lose my focus. Tiny Tots. Little Land. Sunshine Academy. Enchanted Forest? That still didn’t sound right. What was it? ************************************************************************************** Tiny Tots. Little Land. Sunshine Academy. Enchanted Forest Daycare? No. Enchanted Woodland Daycare. That was it! I had been saying those names to myself over and over and over. Based on what Amy had told me about the regulars at Little Voices, those were the big four independently owned and operated daycares in Oakshire and the surrounding areas. There were smaller, religiously operated ones that I knew existed. St. Judy’s was one I think. Then there were the Daycares that practically banned clients from attending Little Voices; or more likely the Amazons that dropped their padded livestock there off were so old fashioned as to avoid Little Voices meetings on principle. Those four daycares weren’t the only rackets in the county. I just wanted to cross off the biggest ones first… I looked up from the collapsible playpen in Janet’s room. Her head was down, she was grading papers with one hand and entering them on her computer with the other. Hyper focused and productive like a machine. A pity. That probably meant that I wasn’t going to be allowed to grade papers this weekend. That meant that none of her students would get a taste of the Little experience: Every single one of them would get what they earned. Not that I could blame Janet. Still, a pity. Tiny Tots. Little Land. Sunshine Academy. Enchanted Woodland Daycare. That’d start. That’d be enough. I kept looking back to Janet’s classroom door. Where was Tracy? She was supposed to be here. Had she forgotten? Had she been escorted off campus again? Why? She promised. “Gonna be a while,” Janet said. “I’m getting all the paperwork done right now so that we don’t have to do any on the weekend.” “That’s fine.” My eyes kept drifting over to the door. Tracy? Really? Again? “Good.” “Do you want a toy or a bottle or…?” Her eyes darted down to below my waist. I covered myself as best as I could, folding my hands in my lap. It didn’t work, but I felt better about it. At least I’d been put back into Monkeez. “I’m fine, thank you.” She might have checked me with more than her eyes if her hands hadn’t been so preoccupied. Thank goodness for math homework and spelling tests. A polite, soft, timid knock at the door. Janet didn’t look up. “It’s open,” she called out. Tracy slinked in, still dressed in those prudish constricting clothes, but at least she had her hair down. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I had to help clean up the classroom, otherwise I would have been given heck for staying late.” “Sad but understandable.” Janet hadn’t looked away from her papers or school desktop. If she had she’d have known that Tracy was talking to me. “Yeah,” Tracy said. “Lots of small annoying things, and one very big one…” She threw me a conspiratorial smirk. I smirked back. Janet laughed, only paying half attention. “I bet. Like what?” “Oh you know,” Tracy went on. “Just making sure the room is ready for Monday morning and give the custodians less work to do. Vacuuming. Wiping counters and desks. Emptying the-” She lost a beat. “Emptying the garbage.” She looked at me uncomfortably. Mother fucker! Was that witch in my classroom still doing the same shit she’d done to Elmer? Beouf might not allow her in her room, but she was royally fucking up mine! I grabbed the playpen railing and squeezed it, pretending that I had strength enough to crush the cage. “Mommy,” I said. “Can Tracy take me outside to talk?” Tracy’s eyebrows almost reached her hairline. Janet didn’t even look up. “That should be fine.. Just stay close. Tracy, feel free to bring him back if he starts trying anything naughty or gets fussy.’ “Yes ma’am.” Tracy approached the playpen and hoisted me out of it. “Ooooh boy,” she groaned. You’re getting heavy!” I was set on my feet instead of her hip. “Come on. Hold my hand.” I took it, and we walked out into the fresh air and afternoon sun. “Thanks,” I said. We were about twenty feet. A small benefit of an open campus is that there aren’t as many hallways or corridors where secret whispers can be heard. We were basically talking in one big concrete and grass field with the third and fourth grade building to our backs, the Cafeteria to our left, the front office to our right, and way way ahead of us were the building that contained our respective classroom. The only way we could have gotten more auditory privacy would be to mosey all the way out to the P.E. field. As long as we didn’t shout, we’d be fine. “Mommy?” Tracy scoffed playfully. “Really?” I blushed. “What? When I call her Mommy I’ve got a better chance of getting my way.” “That’s how they get ya, Boss” Tracy said. It wasn’t mean. It wasn’t inaccurate either. Also, I felt buzzy hearing her call me that. Talking to Tracy was the closest I’d gotten to talking with a non-mindfucked Little. “I get it though. You’re trying to survive as best as you can. Just like you told the Littles in our corner.” That made me grimace. “Pretty much.” “What did you want to talk about?” “About your promise,” I said. “The one you made me on my first day?” She looked away and nodded, trying to seem inconspicuous. “Yeah. I remember.” “So I’m working on something. I’m not sure of all the steps yet, but in a while, probably after the fall festival but before Winter Break…” Shit. How to phrase this without sounding suspicious? It would be difficult for someone to listen in without us knowing, but not impossible. “Before Winter Break, I was thinking of taking a vacation. A very long one.” Tracy stopped and took a knee. She grabbed me by the shoulders. “Clark. Stop. I can’t know. Everyone at the school is a mandated reporter. If I know and anyone finds out…” I brushed her hands off. “No no no no,” I shook my head. “Not what I was talking about. Completely misunderstood!” Not really. She was pretty spot on about this. I was getting out of here and back to freedom, eventually. It just wouldn't do to have anyone overhear that. “I meant Janet is taking me to the Littles Museum!” “Oh. Okay.” She kept kneeling. “Had me worried for a second, boss” “But it’s a surprise,” I added. “A surprise?” “Yeah, I think Janet is going to be taking me there. As a surprise. That I’m not supposed to know about.” “So you think,” Tracy repeated, “that you’re going to go away. On a vacation with your Mommy. But it’s a surprise so you don’t know when? But you think it’ll be sometime between the Fall Festival and Winter Break.” Lie code established. “Exactly. I’ve only figured out some of the details. I said, but I’m pretty sure there’s a really good chance that it’ll happen.” “Okay,” Tracy said, guardedly. “So what do you want me for?” “I was hoping that I might take a friend with me.” I said. “A Little friend. Or even if I couldn’t take her, I’d like to know where she is. Make sure she’s safe…or…or something.” The Tweener stood up, and looked away. “Okay. Yeah. Um. I haven’t had a whole lot of success in that area.” That hurt to hear, but it wasn’t surprising. “Okay. That’s what I figured. You’d have told me if you’d found anything.” “Of course.” “I’ve been talking to people. People that know stuff.” I meant Amy. “Where have you looked so far?” My friend was on the lookout. I joined her, nervously glancing over my shoulder. “Oh. You know. Here and there.” “Cool. Cool. Where? Tiny Tots?” Tracy thought for a second. “No. Not there.” “Little Land? That’s a big one.” “Not there either.” “Sunshine Academy? That’s the next city over, but it’s still pretty big and not that far.” She was looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I don’t think so…?.” “Enchanted Woodland Daycare?” She took a breath, and closed her eyes. “No.” “Okay,” I said. “Where have you checked?” My arms flopped at my sides in exasperation. “I can definitely tell you that she’s not at New Beginnings,” my assistant said proudly. “I know a guy who knows a guy, and there’s no Cassie there. Nobody that even looks like her. Nobody who was enrolled the same week as you.” A sinking feeling was making its way in my stomach and it had nothing to do with lunch. “You haven’t checked back? She might not have been enrolled right away.” It was then that I realized that Tracy wasn’t keeping a lookout for eavesdroppers. She was doing her best to avoid eye contact with me. “Um…I can check again if you want..” My leg twitched with me wanting to stomp my foot in anger and frustration. “Tracy,” I almost yelled. “Where have you searched for my wife?” Fuck lying. Fuck code. I needed answers. Right now. “Well I…uh…” she stuttered and stammered, “I…uh…I looked online for local daycares and…um… I found a few that had…um… limited capacity and zero openings.” She exhaled and offered me the weakest smile. “So I’m positive Cassie isn’t at any of those.” I suddenly realized that my mouth was hanging open. “Tracy!” She held up her hands defensively to her chest. “What? What am I supposed to do? Go to every daycare and ask if they’ve got a Little that looks like her?” My fists bunched up and gnarled up to my chest. “Yes!” “Boss, do you know how those places work? I’m a Tweener! If I’m not dropping off a Little or looking for a job, they might decide that I’d look good in diapers and a bonnet!” “So ask for a job!” Her response was rapid fire. “When? On the weekend? Most daycares are closed then! What happens if they offer me a job? If I don’t accept then and there, they might think that I’m being immature or have maturosis or whatever!” If I didn’t know any better, she’d been thinking about this more than actually searching for Cassie. I exhaled and pinched the bridge of my nose. Tracy was screwing around and needed me to tell her exactly what to do. Oddly enough, it felt kind of empowering. “Okay,” I said. “Okay. Here’s what we can do. How about when we walk back, we talk to Janet about you becoming a babysitter. So far she only has one.” “Clark…” “Maybe you can get some extra cash and store it away for later. It’ll give us more time to research and plan together.” “Boss…” I was pacing. “And then on the next three day weekend, or maybe an early release day, you could offer to sit me and take me out on the town, and we can investigate together. You’ll pretend that you just adopted me and that you’re shopping around. That’ll get us a tour. And nobody cares what the babied Little is searching for, so I can be more brazen about it. I’ll just be looking for friends or something…” I was also avoiding eye contact, staring at my shoes so that I didn’t notice Tracy’s uncomfortable fidgeting. “Maybe you could get me some pants for me, too.” I stopped and took a breath. Tracy’s mouth was opening and closing like a fish. “You’re not gonna do it. Are you?” “Boss,” Tracy tried, “I’m sorry.” “Sorry?” I snapped. “You promised!” “I know, but…” “You promised me!” “It’s really hard!” If anyone was out, walking to the front office or the cafeteria, or just from one unconnected classroom to another, they could hear us. “Clark, it’s been really hard without you! I’m scrambling just to keep our class together. Half are developing really nasty attitudes and the other half are this close to falling apart! I can’t risk leaving them! Every night I come home I’m completely physically and emotionally exhausted!” I gestured to myself. “My time hasn’t been restful, either!” She turned her head slightly and grabbed her right elbow with her left arm “Well, you at least have an earlier bedtime…and a comfy crib.” My voice lowered back down to a whisper. “They didn’t force you to leave campus that day, did you?” Tracy looked blindsided. “What?” “Someone might have come into your classroom and asked you to leave, probably phrased it as telling you that you could go home for the day, but it didn’t really take that much persuasion, did it?” “What? No…Boss.” “Maybe somebody followed you to your car to make sure you left, but that was it. You didn’t even try to go with the plan to adopt me. Didn’t even mention an interest.” I was building up steam. More than steam. “Clark…” she said. “We had that plan, but it wasn’t really a plan. Just a fantasy. And you cooked it up and kind of pressured me into it.” Something close to a growl rose up out of me. “Typical Tweener,” I hissed. “The only thing you’re good at is looking out for yourself. “You’re only sad you lost a cushy job working with me.” “Boss, that’s not true.” She looked like she was close to crying. “It’s more complicated than all of that.” “Come here. I need to tell you something.” Trustingly, stupidly, Tracy leaned in to meet me eye to eye. On some level, I think she knew what was coming. That’s when I spat in her face. The glob of saliva landed right above her right eyebrow and dripped down to her cheekbones before she wiped it off and gingerly flicked the spittle to the pavement. “Okay,” she said. “I kind of deserved that. So you get that on-” I gave her a matching glob on her left eyebrow, this one straight on. THWACK! The slap rocked my world and I stumbled over myself trying not to fall over and skin my knees on the concrete. “I said you only get one.” Tracy told me. “I meant it.” Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. It didn’t hurt as bad as a giant spanking but it was straight to my face. “Oh. So you… keep that promise!” That didn’t sound nearly as cool out loud as it did in my head just then. My face wasn’t throbbing but it stung like hell. No bruising, though. “I warned you.” “You hit me.” “I warned you!” “You hit me!” The last syllables echoed off the bricks. Tracy leaned in again. “What are you gonna do about it? Tell your Mommy on me?” I had nothing. Not even saliva. Of course I wasn’t going to do that. She stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt. “Come on. Let’s go to the bathroom. Put some cold water on your face. Wait for the.redness to go down.” My hand took hers. “Yeah, fine. Whatever.” If the redness hadn’t gone down enough, I’d just tell Janet that I was crying and screaming at Tracy and that I never wanted to see her again for the rest of my miserable life. That wouldn’t have been a lie. Tracy never got caught for slapping the taste out of my mouth. Late on a Friday afternoon, even in a place like Oakshire, people want to go out and start their weekend as soon as possible. Even educators. Especially educators. Brollish very well could have gone home. Forrest’s spot up front was too far away. Only the teachers in hardcore mode remained on campus, and they were all holed up in their classrooms, grading and filing everything all at once so that they could have a few days’ relief on Saturday and Sunday. A custodian might have seen something, but they were all Tweeners, too. They weren’t snitching. Me? I’ve never told anyone. Not until now. “I really am sorry,” Tracy said on our way to the girl’s bathroom. “Fuck you.” “Yeah,” she agreed, looking straight ahead and not at me. “Sounds about right.”

Chapter 82: A Dialogue “And then what happened?” Amy asked. I bowed my head. “I don’t want to talk about it…” I tried tucking my head in between my knees but that only made me think of how naked my legs were. It was Thursday night and I was approaching forty-eight hours wearing nothing but a t-shirt and diaper. Janet had changed my shirt after school so that instead of the plain red I’d worn all thursday, I now had a light brown shirt with a yellow smiley face that read “I’m In My Happy Place.” Outside of the sneakers, all I had was my diaper. Amy was wearing a blue onesie with yellow rubber ducks on it. I never thought I’d want to kill for the chance to wear a blue onesie with yellow rubber ducks on it. As had become habit, I was sulking in the back of the Community Center’s rent-a-nursery while the Amazons swapped mind fucking strategies. No doubt Janet was talking about me and all the ‘challenges’ I was facing or some such coded talk for me not being babyish enough to her liking yet. I should have been doing something to assert my dominance here like I had in Beouf’s classroom, or at least schmooze to make the right connections. But once a week with half-an-hour at best wasn’t enough to do anything too complicated beyond blending in. Besides, it’s hard to plot and bully and schmooze and make connections when you’re so deep in your own rollercoastering emotions. I sat there with Amy while in the lap of a Tweener sized teddy bear next to an equally large stuffed bunny, both propped up against the wall as makeshift recliners. Amy had crawled up to me and propped herself up next to me. No shouts of “Hi Clark!” or nothing. She just came up to me, planted herself in the big bunny’s lap and asked how I was doing. So I told her… “Did the other kids make fun of you for being embarrassed, were they wearing just diapers too, did Ivy cry the rest of the day is Jessennia okay, is there any difference in the blue Hippobottomuses than the pink ones, what was for breakfast that day, does Mrs. Beouf talk about me, do you have any non-gluten free cookies, did you know that a giant invisible bunny is called a pooka?” I looked up and turned my head to meet her unblinking hyper-focused gaze. “You’ve been waiting the entire story to ask those questions, haven’t you?” “Yeah.” That almost made me laugh. I managed a weak smile. “Thanks.” “Welcome,” Amy said. “Now about those questions.” “I said…” My voice was rising. I was on the verge of shouting. I took a deep breath. Amy didn’t deserve that. “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Okay.” She said. She leaned back and away from me, relaxing. “Do you want to tell me about school today?” It was more of the same without the shock value. “No…” “Do you want me to tell you the upsides? Like pants are overrated or how diapers can be a legitimate fashion choice?” “No.” “I haven’t done an experiment, most of my experiments are mouth experiments, but I think I get changed more often when Grown-Ups can see mine, so that’s a plu-” “I don’t wanna talk about it.” I was trying really, really, hard not to growl. My fuse was burned down to the nub and I didn’t want to explode today. Not at another LIttle, even if they were almost as mindfucked as Ivy. My face felt hot. I’d really bit her… The fuck? “Want me to tell you about the daycare lady that really gets me upset? All our food comes at once but she never lets me eat the pudding first.” A shocked look came over her face. “Oh. Oh fudge. I think I just gave away the entire story, what if I complained about how most of our clothes don’t have pockets but we’re not supposed to put things up our nose or in our hair, how else am I supposed to make sure the other kids don’t use my crayons before I’m done with them, why do they have scented markers but not flavored markers? I think that just gives us false hope.” “I don’t want you to complain,” I said flatly. “Oh,” she said. “Do you still want to complain?” Yes. “No.” The white haired kid toddled up. His romper came down to just above his knees. Color me jealous. “Hi guys, what are you up to?” “Not now, Dawson,” Amy said softly. “I’m working.” “It’s Danny.” “Uh-huh.” “Ugh. Whatever.” He went back the way he came. Amy shifted and tilted over the bunny. She crawled around in a tight circle like a puppy and layed on her stomach so that she was still looking at me. “So what do you want to talk about?” I huffed and puffed for half a second. “Last night sucked.” “After Diaper Day?” “We’re not calling it that.” “Oh yeah,” she mused. “I guess every day is Diaper Day. How about the No Pants Party?” I didn’t know if Amy was purposefully trolling me or if her head was just that empty. Were they mutually exclusive? “No. Moving on.” “Okie doke,” Amy said. “Why was last night rough? Were all pants banned from your sight? Were you not allowed to watch T.V. that had pants in it?” “What? No!” I said. Feeling silly, I added. “Muffets don’t wear pants anyways.” Amy nodded as though I’d said something profound. “Ah yes. Can’t wear pants if you don’t technically have legs.” She tapped the side of her head and gave me a wry smirk. “It’s not about the pants!” I gripped my hair and tugged at it, trying to keep my voice down. None of the other Littles paid us much mind. They’d all learned to give me my space, at least. All except Amy, who was giving me someone to talk to, so I didn’t mind as much. If you feel the need to confess something, a witness lacking credibility is better than a priest or a therapist. She gave no retort or reply. Her question was in the silent waiting she was doing while everyone else was clearly doing activities that to her would have been more engaging or interesting. “Last night, Janet had a game night.” “Janet?” I bristled. “My…y’know. My…” Amy showed no sign of recognition and every sign of infinite patience. “My Mommy.” My shoulders jerked up towards my ears and my upper lip curled. It felt like losing calling her that when she wasn’t around to be manipulated by it. “Gotcha,” Amy said. “Your Mommy was playing games with you. What games? Go Fish? Yahtzee? Old Maid?” “Not with me,” I said. “She was playing a game with Jessica and a couple other people. I don’t remember their names.” “Jessica?” “My babysitter,” I clarified. I forgot that I hadn’t told anyone about Jessica. “Her best friend. Likes to pretend she’s my Aunt.” Amy rolled to her back and leaned her head so that she was staring at me upside down. “Is she your pretend Aunt because she’s not really related to your Mommy or is she your pretend Aunt because you think your Mommy is pretending to be your Mommy?” “They’re not related,” I said. “They’re just best friends. Auntie Jessica is what she wants me to call her.” I caught myself. “Both! I mean both!” “Gotcha. How do Grown-Ups even make friends?” Her eyes shot up to her bangs just scraping above the carpet. “I don’t get it. Where do they find the time?” Considering that my entire friend network now numbered among my jailers, all I could do was run my hands through my hair and say, “I don’t know.” After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Amy redirected the conversation. “What kind of games did they play? Go Fish? Yahtzee? Old Maid? Is Old Maid still socially acceptable?” Her tongue fidgeted between the missing tooth gap at the top of her mouth. “No,” I said. “None of those games. It was one of those weird…custom games.” I reached out into the air, imagining it. The closest thing I had to a friend rolled back over so that she was looking at me upright. “Like kitty cat where you crawl between the big person’s legs? Or Why Day?” “Huh?” I pouted my lips searching for the words. “No. This was like one of those fancy complicated games sold in hobby stores or whatever. Where before you play you’ve got to put together the entire board with all these props and pieces.” I started miming piecing together the three-dimensional puzzle monstrosity in my mind. “And did your Mommy give you something to play with or perhaps something very tasty to chew? Or both?” I was looking at Amy with my eyes, but not with my mind. “No,” I said. Her brow furrowed “That’s unfortunate.” “I just sat there at the kitchen table in Janet’s lap and-” “You mean your Mommy?” “-right, and there were these dice and special rules, and some dice had symbols and other times they were doing math in their heads and everybody moved several pieces around the board at once every turn” My eyes were crossing just reliving it. “And they were using terms that I didn’t know what they meant in context like arbiters and mages and breach challenges and and…” I clapped my hands to the side of my face. “And cube roots and imaginary numbers….and…I don’t even know. It all sounded like babble to me.” “Sounds like a lot to take in.” Amy said. “Yeah,” I sunk lower in my bear recliner. “I didn’t understand anything that was going on.” “Did you ask your Mommy to explain?” “I tried,” I said. That part was mostly true. They were deep in gameplay when I finally realized I had no idea whatsoever. “She told me she’d explain later.” “Later sucks.” I was almost naked, but I felt sunburnt. “I felt stupid,” I admitted. “I felt dumb. I felt like…like…” I bit down on my tongue and fiddled with the ever present pacifier dangling on its clip. “I felt like…” “Like a baby?” My reply was more of a hot breath. “Yeah…” I half-expected Amy to tell me that I was a baby and that I should be okay with that. What I didn’t expect was what she did do. She crawled off her bunny to me, and asked if she could sit next to me. I scooted over and allowed her over. “That’s really tough, bud. Side hug?” I nodded and let her throw an arm over my shoulders. I bit Ivy for touching my shoulder. Amy asked. Also I liked Amy better. “It sucks.” I whispered. Amy neither lowered her voice to match mine nor raised it. “Yeah. It does. Don’t feel bad. Amazons are just really smart with numbers and complicated science stuff and not so good at explaining it.” “I really thought if I watched and listened enough,” I remembered, “that I’d catch on, but five minutes till my bedtime and I still wasn’t understanding what was going on. I just feel so stupid.” “I getcha,” Amy said. “My Mommy works at the bank.” That earned her a double take from me. “What? Do you know how banks work? Six years and I still don’t know what her job is. She’s a Fiduciary something something executive dividends something asset allocation something standard deviation something manager. All I know is she doesn’t have the fun job of putting the money cylinders into the whooshy whooshy tubes.” Helena Madra, Amy’s Mommy, was on daycare duty. Like a doting mother hen, she threw us- or rather Amy- a glance every thirty seconds, but she was keeping her distance while busily checking that every other brainwashed baby was playing nice. Hard to believe that people like her could be so obsessed with children’s songs and strollers and nursery rhymes, while doing complex mental equations math in base 16. But they did. I knew it. I’d known about it for a while. Seeing it in action made the whole thing more real. That crazy natural instinct for STEM subjects had allowed them to act on their baby crazy instincts in ways that their size never could. “You’re just throwing a bunch of words together,” I said, trying to reassure myself. Amy ran her tongue between her teeth again. “I dunno. Maybe.” Our conversation was interrupted yet again when a dark haired Little boy walked up and waved. “Hey Amy!” Amy brightened up. “Hey Brad.” “Guess what?” “What?” The kid took a deep breath. “I don’t like to pee my pants!” The dude wasn’t even wearing any. He was less dressed than me. I still had my shoes and socks on. “Join the club,” I said sarcastically. Amy quickly withdrew her arm and elbowed me sharply in the ribs. “What?” “That’s great bud!” Amy ignored me. “You’re doin’ it!” The manchild bent his knees like he was ready to jump for the ceiling, and tucked his elbows into his arm pits. He giggled and flapped his balled up fists, smiling like he’d won something. I legitimately thought he might cry happy tears. “Thanks!” He walked away. “I don’t like to pee my pants! I don’t like to pee my pants! I don’t like to pee my pants! Too late, I remembered who I was talking to. That was Bradley. The poor schmuck who’d been sent to New Beginnings. A few weeks ago he’d only been able to say things like ‘Do it cause Mommy said so!’ and “I like to pee my pants!” This really was a big accomplishment for him… Amy provided more context. “We go to the same daycare, now. He’s getting better. I think they got him out in time.” “That’s good.” I remembered how Chaz had a lisp from some hypno cartoons every time he was wet. It might have become permanent if I hadn’t told Beouf. Happier times. “How’d the game end?” “Huh?” Amy repeated herself. “How’d the game end? Did your Mommy put you to bed before they finished?” Yes and no. “I flipped the board.” That gave me a nasty smile remembering it. The tinkling sound of a hundred tiny pieces hitting the kitchen floor. The fluttering of a thousand game cards wafting in the air, some caught by the fan, going this way and that in the central air conditioning. The looks on the giant ladies’ faces. The shrieks of surprise. “They did not like that. Not one bit.” My face was beginning to ache, but in a good way now. “What happened then?” Amy asked, not seeming half as excited as I was feeling. “Time out? Vegetables? Did they make you pick up the mess all by yourself?” I felt like a supervillain in those old timey comic books. “That’s the brilliant part. It was so close to my bedtime that my Mommy had to just put me to bed.” I looked down at myself. “That and I think she’s being a tad spiteful by keeping me like this outside of school. But that’s it so far.” “That’s neat.” From the sound of her voice she didn’t really think so. “Would have been neater if you’d swallowed something that way they wouldn’t get all the pieces back until later.” “I don’t think any of those pieces were edible,” I told her. “Anything’s edible if you can eat it!” She punctuated the statement by flashing me two thumbs up. Right. Madwoman. Awkward. “Um…maybe next time.” There would be no next time. Not even close. Gross. If Amy felt the same way she didn’t show it. “So when you bit Ivy, how did she taste? Salty? I remember her hand being salty, I’m not big into eating people but I’m genuinely curious as to how her hand has aged, I thought it would taste sweeter than it did.” She held out her hands in front of her like she was holding a sandwich, her eyes scanning something that wasn’t there while she remembered her own past. “I was also a rattlebutt snake at the time, and they don’t taste sweet very well. It’s very sad. I get very sad that they can’t taste cookies or candy sometimes, but they get to have a rattle and that’s lots of fun. Ivy should have just listened to the warning of the rattlebutt.” “Why did you bite her?” I asked. I could still imagine the solid push of her finger on my teeth. Despite her freakish strength she still screamed like anybody else. Some itching nagging sensation at the back of my memory thought she’d mentioned it once already. Amy lowered her hands. “She tried to take my sandwich. I shook the rattle at her and even told her not to take the sandwich that was in my diaper. However when I took it out to take a bite, everything happened so fast. The rattlebutt snake can strike at 3 meters per second, and an average Ivy can strike at one table length per second so it was pretty evenly matched, but she got bit. Sadly the ol’ rattlebutt snake had no venom, musta been defanged….” She looked sadly at the floor. A realization. Amy had bit Ivy. I’d bit Ivy too. I felt myself scooting away. Very slowly. A random thought made its way from my brain and out my mouth before I had time to shut my trap. “How’d you bite, Ivy?” I asked. “I opened my mouth, and just chomped on it. It was really fast.” There was no easy way to say this. “With…what…teeth?” “My front teeth,” Amy explained. “I used to have them. Now I don’t.” There was an intrusive thought I didn’t want. Mittens were placed over my hands whenever I got too messy or destructive with them. The Amazons were more than willing to hold off on punishments until it was a convenient time and place for them. What if biting Ivy had earned me a trip this weekend to an Amazon Pediatric Dentist? “How’d you lose your teeth?” The woman-child, the nuisance, the nutter, the carefree Little girl that had absolutely no sense of embarrassment or shame; her face darkened. “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Okay.” I backed up a little more. Not enough to show fear or resentment, just enough to respect personal space…or get bit. Molars could still hurt. My escape instinct was flaring up, but I was out of time this week. “What daycare did you say you go to?” “Tiny Tots.” And just like that the old Amy was back. “Why?” “Do any of these other kids go to Tiny Tots?” “Uh-huh. Couple.” I looked at the clock. The back half of the meeting would be out any minute now. “Could you tell me the names of the other local daycares and tell me which kids go where?” “Sure.” “Oh, and Amy.” I said before she started babbling out information. “Huh?” “Thanks.” “For what?” “Talking to me.” I said. “And listening.” Right as it was ending, it occurred to me that I had just had the first actual conversation I’d had with no ulterior motive in a long time. Or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof. Some tiny part of me that still had a shred of empathy felt that it would be right to thank her for the kindness. “Aw,” Amy smiled softly the same way she had at Bradley. “You’re welcome, bud.”

There's more to come. Currently up to 112 on the patreon. Will be posting 82 here shortly.

Apology accepted and I appreciate the clarification. I'm sorry if I snapped. Besides writing, teaching is something that's really important to me.

Ex-Teacher here. Also the author. Wife is a teacher. Mother was a teacher. Both grandmother's were and great grandfather was on the school board. Taking Author Hat Off *********************************************************************************************************** Some offense definitely taken. I will forgive you, and I feel there was no intentional malice or purposefully devaluing teachers...but that statement still devalues us. If you believe that society needs something to function properly, then it should not be looked down upon as some kind of booby prize or something that lacks ambition or should not be aspired to. This goes for teachers, paraprofessionals, nurses, paralegals, food service, ditch diggers, garbage collection, transportation and delivery, and a ton of other underpaid and undervalued jobs that were called "essential" in lieu of getting paid more a few years back. If it fucks up your day because the job was not done or not done right, then the people who do that job deserve respect (and a liveable wage) despite not being billionaire CEOs or celebrities. Please keep this in mind when commenting further on that matter. ****************************************************************************************************** Putting Author Hat On. I'm glad you're liking the story and seeing the layers and flaws in Clark's character while also acknowledging that he had some reasons to be proud of himself pre-Adoption.

I can't resist! Don't you mean, "A Little comeuppance"?

Chapter 81: New Procedures I should have known that something was up the moment Janet sat me up from my morning change and I saw the sky blue Hippobottomus diaper taped around my hips. I didn’t though. That was because the toddler shorts and t-shirt that immediately followed were similarly colored. “Going for a theme today?” I asked, stifling a yawn. Like most school mornings, Janet was already busying herself putting socks and shoes on my feet for me. “I thought it would look nice,” she said. “Get some use out of the hippo diapers.” I opened my mouth to insist that I liked Monkeez, but that would have been a lie. So I shut it and considered the benefits. With blue shorts, blue shirt, and a blue diaper on, fewer people would notice the statistically inevitable peekage when my shirt went the wrong way or the elastic waistband on the shorts slid down. These diapers had a fade when wet design, which made certain other inevitabilities even less discreet than the bulging, puffing, and sagging that came with my forced wardrobe. I might have Zoge or Beouf pull my shorts down right outside the class bathroom to check instead of having them snake their fingers up the leg holes and straight into my padding, but that really wasn’t any more demeaning. Slightly less, perhaps. It probably wouldn’t have come to that, either. Unless people pooped or their crinkling undies were swollen to the point leaking was likely, we didn’t get checked or changed outside of routine intervals. The most I’d have to stomach was likely a comment about hippos disappearing or something. My eye twitched. “Are you gonna give Mrs. B. some of these?” I asked. It wasn’t likely, but the idea that someone might notice a white waistband when I’d been wearing blue earlier caused my skin to itch with anxiety. Just saying the words made my mouth taste of ash. “I’m not throwing them away, if that’s what you mean.” Janet said. She picked me up and smirked. “I mean, I am. Eventually. One at a time. But I paid for them so I’m not going to waste them.” I bit my tongue just in time for Janet to set me back down and remember to clip on the pacifier. If I hadn’t I would have called her out about how she wasn’t the one having to use these things. That wouldn’t have gotten me what I wanted, though. “I meant can you give her some for school…” I felt obscene just vocalizing that. “Already packed a few in the diaper bag last night.” That should have been another red flag that something was being planned. My life was full of them and my own hubris made them invisible to me until hindsight drenched them in glowing neon paint. My Amazon Mindfuckery Alarm went on full alert when instead of carrying me straight out the door and buckling me into the carseat, Janet took me to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. “Want a drink?” She held the milk filled bottle up and out so that I could reach but not enough. “Why? Don’t we have to get to school?” She motioned with her head to a digital clock on the oven. Wow. It was half an hour earlier than usual. “We’ve got to get their early, so I got you up even earlier. We have a little time together if you want.” She jiggled the bottle. “You want?” My stomach growled slightly. “What’s in it?” “Milk.” “What kind?” “Just cow. Haven’t had time to get goat.” “Just cow?” “Clark…” I was getting more and more used to the Amazons in my life saying my name as a kind of tired desperation or curse. “When have I lied to you?” Did lying to herself count? Or calling me a baby? Discretion was the better part of valor. I took the bottle and started nursing. Yup. Cow milk. Slightly more watery than the cafeteria stuff. Likely one percent or maybe skim. Definitely cow milk. Janet sat down in her chair and held me close to her in her lap. “Drink as much as you want, but I don’t want to take that in the car with us.” She took a long sip of her coffee. “I don’t want to forget it and have my car smell like overripe cheese in three days.” Damn! Note to self: Find way later to smuggle bottle of milk into Janet’s car. Not today though. She’d see that coming. Bummer. The five minutes we spent sitting there sipping our beverages in silence was kind of pleasant, actually. Very reminiscent of a certain ritual I used to partake in. Then Janet ruined it by burping me and peering down the back of my pants. “Sorry,” she said. “Thought I smelled something.” Oh to have the ability to instantly and quietly induce vomiting in oneself. Let’s see how Janet dealt with ‘spit up’. I resolved to make fun of Sandra Lynn all that day to make up for it. She wanted to play dumb games and actually read the books in Beouf’s library and eat mashed potatoes with her hands at lunch, she deserved to be called out on it. A few minutes later we were at school earlier than usual and Beouf was already busy when Janet and I walked into the room. “Hey guys,” Beouf said. She was busy filling up the tiny bottles we sipped from during centers with water. Janet let go of my hand and dug around the diaper bag. “I’ve got the diapers.” She took out a handful to show Beouf. It was like she was seeking approval or something… Beouf didn’t turn around, still busily washing and filling up bottles. She must have skipped doing that last afternoon. Or perhaps she prepped and filled things just a few minutes before I normally arrived on campus. “Good. Stack ‘em where his name is.” Most baby or Litte-centric diapers are white with some decorations on them. The decorations, amount and placement varies, and the stuff is always infantile so as to make someone sitting and walking around in their bodily waist seem cute; literally wrapping turds in happy smiley paper, but from a distance, most of them are generally white when first applied. From the way she was holding them and my proximity, I could tell that Janet was holding at least three different diapers, not just the blue hippo ones or my standards. “Ooo!. Who’s Billy?” Janet called from Beouf’s so-called bathroom. “These ones with dinosaurs are cute!” Beouf turned around and handed me a bottle fresh from her sink. I started guzzling if for no other reason than it might inconvenience her slightly to have to refill it so soon. “Oh, those are the store brand ones I think,” Beouf called to Janet. “They’re no Monkeez but they’re pretty good. What size are they?” “Four.” “That’s a nine in Monkeez. They’re the same size.” Whatever brand Billy wore didn’t market to Littles…not as parents at least. “Don’t tell anybody, but go ahead and swap one or two with Clark’s. I don’t think anybody will mind.” I wondered if Billy would think it was funny that I was stealing his underwear or whether he’d get mad in just how little say either of us had in the matter. Could be good fuel for stirring up trouble later. Still drinking the water, I made more than a few hippos disappear in my personal River Denial. The milk had rushed through my empty stomach and straight to my bladder. The loud belch as a ‘fuck you’ to Janet for patting my back went uncommented on. I was basically invisible whenever two or more giants started talking to one another. Janet came walking out into the classroom. “Where’s Mrs. Zoge and Ivy?” “They’ll be here.” Beouf said. “They promised.” The tone of their conversation was quickly taking on a kind of grim overtone. Something was going on. “Ready?” Janet chewed on her bottom lip “Yeah. Let’s do this.” I was suddenly very aware that I was being stared at. “Clark? We need to have a talk with you.” Stupidly, I pointed to myself and looked around, even though there were only “Yes, you,” Beouf said gently. She wasn’t using her ‘babytalk voice’ but she definitely wasn’t using her ‘fellow adult’ voice either. They both sat down at Beouf’s kidney table. Janet grabbed two Amazon sized chairs and seated them so that no one would be sitting in the ‘teacher’ position. “What’s going on?” I asked. This wasn’t how things went. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go… Janet patted a Little sized seat. “Sit. Let’s talk.” They were supposed to leave me with Zoge and Ivy. I’d quietly brood and think of ways to amuse myself. Then the day would begin and I’d get to work making someone-anyone- regret that my coffee had been spiked that one time. That’s how the world worked now! I sat down, feeling strangely numb. I wasn’t old or fat enough yet to go to a doctor’s office and be told I had congestive heart failure or cancer or something. I likely never would be based what I’d witnessed with Amazon medical technology and my current doctor had a jar filled with grape flavored tongue depressors. It very much felt like it. Janet started. “First, we both want to start by saying that we both love you very much.” Uh oh. “And we know you’ve been having a lot of big emotions and the reasons for a lot of those emotions are perfectly valid.” “This isn’t easy,” Beouf jumped in. “Maturosis expressing itself never is. That’s why my classroom exists. I’m trying to help you cope with your body changing and teach you new skills so that you can successfully manage your emotions and not feel ashamed of who you are and to pinpoint what degree of care you need so that you can have a happy and fulfilling life.” I was angry. Furious. Indignant. Later that night, stewing in my crib, I would go on to replay this a hundred times and come up with scathing one-liners and counter arguments. None of this was new information to me. Beouf had had this outlook on Littles for years and had spent close to a month and a half doing it to me. So my pulse did not quicken. My breathing did not change. All I said was. “But…?” Janet answered. “But your behavior has been unacceptable.” “We thought you’d grow out of it if we gave you some patience and time to process things,” Beouf said. “But it’s only getting worse and we’re here to tell you that we’ve seen what you’re doing and we’ve been patient with you, but feel you’re taking advantage of that patience.” My nose crinkled into a light snarl. “I thought my progress report said I was doing well.” “Only because there was no section for conduct.” It was Janet who said that. I was slightly taken aback, but only for a moment. I set my jaw. I didn’t so much as blink. “So what’s the punishment going to be?” Beouf shook her head, her curls of hair jiggling slightly after she stopped. “Not a punishment.” “Just a warning, then?” Janet mirrored Beouf. “Not that either. We’re changing a few things to help you follow procedure.” My fingers were now flexing, gently batting at the near everpresent pacifier on my collar. “So I am being punished.” I wanted to rip it off and toss it at them. I wanted to twirl it around in my fingers. “No,” my old mentor tried to correct me. “Rules are things that have consequences. You can make good choices, or bad choices. We’re helping you with procedures. You’re not going to be punished, but you’re going to start doing things the right way. You don’t get in trouble for not using soap when you wash your hands, but someone’s going to make sure you do it until you remember to.” That upset me more than it should have. I’d learned the distinction between rules and procedures a long long time ago. She’d taught me that. The fact that she was rattling it off to me again, using handwashing as the metaphor made me want to leap out and claw at her eyes. I was barely allowed to eat with my hands. No way was I given the autonomy to wash them by myself! I withdrew and leaned back, crossing my arms and trying my best to look nonplussed instead of pouty or bratty or defiant. I had to play it cool to find a way to turn things on their ear. “What’s going to happen?” Jannet huffed, definitely stressed, definitely afraid of how I’d react. Beouf reached out and patted her gently on the back. “I’m going to be coming here a few times a day to check in and help,” Janet said. She smoothed back her hair. “Instead of planning, when my students are at lunch or specials, I’ll be coming here to spend time with you and check on you. Give you a little extra attention.” Translation: Another pair of eyes on me. Some of my lackeys might try and razz me because my Mommy was coming in, but that was nothing that couldn’t be navigated. Kind of funny too. We’d met because Janet was coming into my class while her kids. Another parallel. This time she was taking her lunch off to spend time with me. Another role reversal. But my classroom wasn’t my classroom. “And?” Beouf smiled slightly, veering more into her comfort zone by the minute. “And we’re going to have talks during Circle Time and whole group about appropriate behavior expectations and what to do and who to talk to if someone is making you feel uncomfortable or if you see someone acting inappropriately. I won’t be mentioning anyone by name or calling anyone out. This isn’t to embarrass you, it’s to re-teach expectations and procedure.” Translation: The A.L.L. was being put on notice and the more mindfucked among us would be empowered to snitch. I could probably subvert that after a day or two. I’d done it before. This was fine. I’d lie low today. “What else?” Beouf kept rolling. “When you go to therapy, it’s back in small group. Not by yourself. We’ve already talked with them and convinced them to give you more opportunities for socialization.” I actually had to fight to keep from smiling. These idiots! They were giving me ammunition to agitate! The only reason I didn’t throw back my head and cackle maniacally is the old adage of ‘When your enemy is making a mistake don’t correct them’. “What else?” “That’s it.” Beouf said. Janet glanced, almost winced, like Beouf was lying about something. “Almost.” “Okay…” My frown was returning. “What?” The front door opened. In came Zoge, holding Ivy’s hand as usual. I looked at Ivy and almost swallowed my tongue. In general, Ivy Zoge was usually dressed as the consummate upper middle class girly girl toddler. Always wearing dresses and skirts of various styles; sometimes tights. Onesies happened but usually there was another layer to make it more than a t-shirt that snapped at the crotch. If her Mommy dressed her in pants it was dressing down and usually because of the weather. The Ivy that had just come in was certainly ‘girly’ with pink ribbons in her hair, matching socks that went all the way up to her knees and a t-shirt that stopped just after her belly button but I’d never seen her diaper so intentionally displayed. Not on her. She wore absolutely no bottoms or anything that had any chance of concealing her padded behind. Had she leaked or something? Zoge changed her in the car? No. If so Zoge would be carrying her straight into the bathroom and digging around for spare clothes. This was very intentional. Ivy looked up to her Mommy. “I thought me and Clark were going to get to match.” She was wearing the girls’ version of the hippobottomuses. She was just as pink as I was blue, diaper included. I stood up so fast that the chair knocked over onto its back. Janet’s hand struck out and grabbed me by the wrist. “Wait wait wait! It’s okay, baby! It’s okay.” It didn’t hurt, but I wasn’t going anywhere. “What’s happening?!” I demanded. “What’s going on?” I was pulling anyway. Twisting my arm anyway that it would go, vainly hoping that it would build up enough sweat so that I could maybe slip out and make a dash for it. Where? Fuck if I knew. “What are you going to do?!” “We’re going to take your pants off, honey.” Beouf said. “You don’t need them.” “For how long?” “Rest of the week,” Beouf said. “Longer depending on the weather if it stays warm.” I had already braced myself for something based on my behavior; ‘Until you’re good’, or even ‘the rest of the day’. But making it a kind of uniform? NO! Just no! It would be like at the grocery store all over again. It would be like my first day of class all over again. But worse! All of that was on the exhale. On the inhale I realized that there were at least four different diapers stacked up with my name on them on Beouf’s changing table. Each one different and distinct from one another. They would know! They would all know! Everyone would know what I was and what I’d done to myself! And they wouldn’t care that I’d been forced to do it! My knees buckled and I planted my ass straight on the carpet, still digging my sneakers in and pulling away from Janet. “No! Just no!” “This isn’t about choice,” Beouf said gently. “This is about procedure. You’re clearly still having major potty anxiety and this is to help you start to get over it.” “I’m not having potty anxiety!” I shrieked. “I’m having the opposite!” “Babies don’t have to worry about their diapers or who sees them,” Janet said, almost a whisper. “Diapers aren’t underwear. People don’t care if they see a baby’s diaper. Everyone already knows.” “I’M! NOT! A! FUCKING! BABY!” No one had come for my shorts yet. I was still flopping on the ground, dangling like a fish on a hook. Beouf stood over me, arms folded. She seemed a lot more confident when she did it than me. It had a quieting effect, and not in a way that felt good. Was I seriously the only one of my old clique that couldn’t do ‘the teacher’ glare? “Oh really?” Beouf said, firmly. “Do big boys make a mess and ruin their stuffed animals?” “Lion’s mine. I can do what I want with him!” Zoge came in for the double team. “So if you had a car, you’d be allowed to crash it?” My half-snarl became full blown. “That’s not the same and you know it!” “What about my stuffies?” Beouf rang in. “Those belonged to me and I was letting everyone play with them. Do big boys tell their friends to get other people’s things all dirty on purpose? I had to stay up all night trying to wash them and I don’t know if it’s safe to give them back.” Ivy whispered. “Bye-bye Jessennia.” She sounded sad. “How is what Billy did my fault?” I asked. I purposefully ignored everything I knew about incitement and conspiracy just to make that argument. Beouf didn’t let up. “Do big boys try and flick other people in the ears? Do they try to make circus games to purposefully make their friends feel bad or give themselves an excuse to rough house and push too hard?” My face melted in surprise. “You’re smarter than a lot of people give you credit for bubba, but you’re not nearly as clever as you think.” Janet came in for the kill shot. “Do big boys call out for their Mommy when they’re sick and then start acting all nasty as soon as they’re feeling better? Do big boys pretend to masturbate in front of people at school? Do big boys lie and say they heard things that never happened?” Oh. That. Skinner had told someone about it. Text and email were still a thing. On the lighter side, Zoge clapped her hands over Ivy’s ears as soon as Janet said the first syllable of “masturbate”. Impressive, really. I was on the backfoot mentally. “Quit saying big boy!” I whined. “Quit infantilizing me! I’m an adult!” “You haven’t been acting like one,” Janet said. “For a long time.” She softened. “Come on baby. You need help. Let us help you.” The air was still. Time was frozen. Ivy crinkled up to me. “It’s okay Clark. It’s not bad. That’s why I’m dressed this way. We get to wear things that Grown-Ups never could. It’s fun!” “Mrs. Beouf and I called the other parents and asked them to help, too.” Zoge chimed in. “Many of your classmates will be dressed the same way today.” “Exactly,” Beouf said. “Nobody is gonna notice. Nobody is gonna care. Nobody is gonna make fun of you. You’ll blend right in. Just another member of the class.” Translation: Just another baby. “No.” Ivy came and put her hand on my free bicep. “Pleeeeease, Clark! It’ll be fine! No more Grown-Up stuff. Let’s just be Littles!” So I bit her. Fucking bit her. Just like that. Snapped out, right past the tip of her middle finger, along the first knuckle joint. Bit down and clamped down as hard as I could. Ivy shrieked and yanked back, scraping it against teeth. Damn! No blood that I could see or taste but I think I left a mark. I was hoping to take something clean off and swallow. “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” and the rest was her blubbering incoherently. Zoge snatched up her pet and rushed her away, shushing into the bathroom to search for a bandage or to just kiss her boo-boo and sing bullshit, possibly brainwashing, Yamatoan nursery rhymes. “One thing at a time,” Beouf said. But not to me. Janet bent down and picked me up by the arms, holding me out while I thrashed, kicking in the air. “This is for your own good, Clark.” I clawed at her wrists and pounded as hard as I could. Only a few flinches and jerks of her head showed that she felt it at all. “I’m not thanking you later!” I screamed. Beouf circled around behind and grabbed the waistband. “You don’t have to.” My shorts came off quicker than when a magician rips the tablecloth off a dinner table. That’s when I started wailing in earnest. Everything bubbled over and I started screaming and crying, the lizard part of my brain still somewhat enjoying how uncomfortable Janet was becoming. I stopped kicking and did my best to cover up, failing the entire way. “He’s wet,” Janet said over my caterwauling. “Should we change him? Maybe start him off in a Monkeez?” Please! Please oh please! Don’t let me walk out wet so that everyone could see. Everyone would know! Monkeez too! Nice, mostly white, simple, uniform Monkeez! Same for the arriving buses! Same for breakfast! Same for lunch! Same for the playground! Same for the departing buses! I could keep dry and clean at least for those parts if I timed it right! This is why, I realized, they were having me drink up so early. They didn’t want me to deliberately starve or dehydrate myself to prevent me from disgracing myself. “It’s already started,” Beouf replied. Her voice was loud but nothing about her face read as ‘shouting’. “We’ll change him at Circle Time. Or in the cafeteria if he poops. Standard procedure.” The back door cracked open then shut itself. Had Tracy been watching this? Spying? Listening from the other side of the door? The bell started ringing! This intervention had run late! Teachers, assistants, monitors, and custodians were power walking by to their various posts. The few that turned their heads got to see me, dangling by my armpits and crying in just my t-shirt, shoes, and wet diaper. They would be just the first that day. Ivy’s crying mixed with my own in a battle to see who would be the loudest. How much had the people next door or just outside heard through the thick brick walls? What had they thought they heard? Had they like me heard of someone being condemned to public humiliation in the guise of helping, pushed beyond the brink of reason? More likely it sounded to passerby like a couple of babies; toddlers at best. Each one wailed because they lacked the emotional stability to control themselves as perpetual children did. No doubt, that’s what the Grown-Ups closest to me would retell it as such over the coming days until I inevitably found some other story to give them. Just a couple of fussy babies, one with a boo-boo and the other mad because he wanted a change and wasn’t wet enough. Armchair Maturorosis Experts might even label it the result of “Potty Anxiety”.

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