This is a collection of three short stories. They're all bad and unedited. There were supposed to be two more stories, but I couldn't work up the motivation to work on them. I'm only posting these, despite knowing they're bad, to get them off of my mind. These were supposed to be a way of world-building, or taking world-building and appying it to a story, but that didn't work out. I also tried to write in different perspectives, tenses and styles, but that didn't work either. I'm much more proud of the map, which I'm attaching to the end of this post, even though it's nothing special. Obligatory disclaimer: there's no canon diaper dimension, outside of the original author's stories, and I don't claim that my little world-building experiment is canon or the end-be-all. Hopefully, someone can get some enjoyment out of these three stories.
1. Iyyem Nimna
"And that concludes the chapter on the morality of universal conscription and the duty of citizens. Anyone have any questions? No one? Anyone have any topics they'd like to bring forward for discussion? No one again?"
Doctor Sobol is only met with a resounding response of cricket chirps. He looks down and adjusts his brown blazer. I feel bad. Sobol is a sweet old man, and he has a passion for the subject. I could maybe bring something up, but I want to get home. He definitely didn't expect a response, though, so I don't feel bad about staying quiet. History & Moral Philosphy courses were mandatory but unfailable. Even in this class, filled with second-year university students, half of the room is asleep.
"Alrighty then." He looks up at the clock behind him. "We'll let out early. You're all dismissed. Get home safe, everyone." The professor goes and sits at his desk. My classmates begin to wake each other up and gather their things. I do the same. I slip my book, notebook, and pencil into my bag. Standing up, I take my jacket off the back of my chair and put it on, alongside a hat and gloves. Finally slinging my bag over my shoulder, I make a beeline for the door alongside my classmates.
"Miss Hillam!" Damn it. "Miss Hillam, please come to my desk for a moment." Damn it. Damn it. I turn around and make my way to his desk.
"Yes, Doctor?" Please, don't take too long.
"Sorry to keep you, I just wanted to double check..." As he spoke, my brain tuns him out. Blah, blah, blah. Nod my head, say an affirmative at pauses, look him in the eye, and pray that he doesn't talk for too long. Yes, yes, I am listening, sure. Something about graduate school opportunities. Not interested. I plan on serving my two years after I get my undergraduate. Do my part, and all that. Still, I try to act interested.
"Alrighty, thank you for your time, Miss Hillam. You have a good evening."
"You too, Doctor Sobol." With that, I finally leave.
"Thank God." I mutter under my breath, as I pass the threshold of the doorway.
It isn't that I hate Doctor Sobol or History and Moral Philosophy. Lots of people do, and for good reasons. I'm not mong them. Doctor Sobol is a passable teacher, who has the best in mind for his students, and H&MP is my minor, actually. No, my reason for wanting to get home is much different. An unshareable secret. Something incredibly shameful. Many could even argue that it's unpatriotic. I'm liable to agree at times.
Cold wind slams into my face like a semi-truck as I step outside of Shenur Hall. Winter on the archipelago isn't as bad as in some places, but it's still rough. Half a foot of snow is on the ground, and the temperature is negative six celsius. A chill sweeps through my body with every gust of wind. A very rough walk to the dorms awaits me. The paths and walkaways around the university are clear of any other students, as most are still in class, so my walk is peaceful and unexciting.
The university isn't and has never been the most beautiful place. It's absolutely nothing compared to cities on the mainland, apparently. It's utilitarian through and through. Multi-story. Concrete and steel. Each building is hardly distinguishable from the next, except for the placards indicating building names and purpose. Passing featureless after featureless building, I eventually find my destination. Zim House. My dorm, just the same as every other building. A set of metal doors imposingly sit at the end of the path. Entering any door in the university requires a student or staff ID. I fish mine out of my bag. One quick swipe, and the heavy doors open.
Once entering, a reception desk sits right across from the door. The usual receptionist, a classmate, doing his cozy work-study job, greets me as I enter.
"Hey, Aliza. Package for you."
I freeze. Panic. Stay calm. There's no way he knows what it is. He's not allowed to look in it. Panicking makes him think something's wrong. Stay calm. Stay calm. He bends over and effortlessly places the package on the counter.
"Pretty big box for something so light."
"Yea, kinda weird." Dangerously weird. I chuckle, even though I don't mean it. "Thanks, Sam."
"No problem. See you in class, tomorrow?"
"Sure. See you later." I grab the package and vacate the area as fast and inconspicuously as possible. Close. Way too close. No idea what I would've said had he asked what was in it. I was lucky. Now, I'm excited. It's here. I'm holding it in my arms. The object of my desires. Objects, more accurately. Twelve glorious objects, plus some extras. Involved in every lustful fantasy I've had since puberty. Tonight was going to be the best night ever.
My dorm is on the second story, and it is close to the stairwell. It's small. There are only two rooms, a private bathroom and the living area. The living area is a combined kitchenette and bedroom, with just enough room for my bed, a wall-locker, and a desk. My room is still in it's usual spick-and-span state, with a clear floor, organized desk, and well-made bed. Not that I expected anything less. I place my package on the floor. Immediately, I pry the tape off, and open up the cardboard box. Inside, another box peaks out at me. I see a recognizable logo on the top end of the box. Littles R' Us, one of the premier sellers of Little-care goods. The bane of free Littles. Hesitantly, I open the box. A case of twelve diapers take up most of the container. Diapers. A forbidden word. Something that I, as a college-aged member of my race, can never think about, outside of child-rearing. A much-hated object in this country. The subject of numerous propaganda posters and films. A symbol of oppression across the world. On top of the case are a few items. Some baby powder, some wipes, a pink pacifier, a DVD case, a stuffed bear, and a baby bottle.
I knew what the box would contain, but it is still baffling. A starter kit, that I bought. I'm betraying my people and my country. I know it. I can't think like that, though. This is my biggest fantasy. Twelve diapers and some baby stuff, meant for no one but me, to enjoy in private. No one was being harmed. Sure, I funded a Little-supplies manufacturer on the mainland, but what is a drop in the ocean of money they make from Amazons? Besides, the deed is already done. Agonizing over that would be silly. Pushing my worries aside, I want to immediately dive into my new possessions. The pacifier is the first thing I reach for. I stop. No, I can't. There are preparations to make first. Tonight is going to be the amazing.
First things first, I need to boil some water. A pacifier and a bottle are supposed to be sterilized before use. As the pot of water heats up, I decide to get changed. My winter-wear is put away, leaving me in just a shirt and jeans. Like all of my clothes, my shirt is plain. It's just a simple white t-shirt. I slip the jeans off. For right now, just my shirt and plain panties will be sufficient. I don't intend on being in the latter very long. Soon, I hear the whistle of boiling water and plop the two items into the pot. I can't wait. This is going to be great. Pacifiers have always fascinated me, and I assume I'll like mine. And drinking out of a bottle? Nothing is more babyish. It means you can't be trusted not to spill.
As the pacifier and bottle sterilize, I open the case of diapers. It's time. I slip off my panties. Then, I grab the bottle of powder and spread the diaper out on the floor. It needs to be as flat as possible. Powder is sprinkled onto the inside of the diaper and onto my nethers. Next, I sit down on it, and pull the front up onto me. Some of the powder falls from the diaper onto me. Then, I tape it. Two tapes, one on each side. The right tape is first, and then the left. This is it, my very first diaper. My cheeks heat up at the thought. Standing up, I check the leak-guards and see how it feels. Never having been diapered before, I'm unsure, but it seems to be secure enough.
To kill the next minute or two before the pacifier and bottle are sterile, I pick up the DVD case and look at it. Its purpose seems to be two-fold. The DVD has a few instructional videos, such as 'How to Change a Diaper.' A cartoon, intended for babied Littles, is also included. That's not good. That's not good at all. Cartoons are tools of the Amazons. Most of them hypnotize Littles, either outright making them mindless or giving them babyish traits. The title of the cartoon is 'Bee and Me.' Note to self: look it up. It might not hypnotize me if I watch it. I've heard that not every cartoon for Littles does that.
Setting it back in the box, I walk to the kitchenette to fish the pacifier and bottle out of the pot. Finally, they're done. I wipe the pacifier off with a napkin and let it cool a bit, before popping it into my mouth. It isn't an inflateable pacifier, but it still takes up a sizeable portion of my mouth. Uncomfortable, isn't quite the word. Awkward? Maybe. I try suckling it, like a baby would. Easier said than done. The act is unnatural. My muscles have to work to suck. Not how I imagined it would be, but keeping it still in my mouth is okay. Grabbing the stuffed animal and DVD, I sit down at my desk and open my laptop. Time to do research.
According to a couple forums I browse, the show is safe for consumption. No hypnosis, no Amazon-magic, it's just a normal cartoon. Good, now I have something to entertain myself with. The DVD is popped into my laptop. The stuffed bear finds its place in my arms. Comfy. Instantly, I've taken to this. The bear is the perfect size. Not too big, but not so small that it's uncomfortable to hug. Besides that, it's soft. Incredibly soft. I'll be keeping this for the rest of the night, surely. Cartoon time. I click the play button on my screen, and then lean back into my chair. Ready to be fully engrossed in this cartoon.
Thirty minutes later, and it was just okay. The show was decent. It was childish, but it was also clearly meant for a Little with their adult faculties. The cartoon follows the adventures of Bee, a Little in a bee-patterned dress. The 'and Me' from the title refers to the viewer. Me, in this case. She talks to and tries to engage the viewer. Requesting that I say a phrase to help her on her journey, and the what-not. The colors were incredibly bright, and it gave off a cheery atmosphere. It was silly. Too silly for me. Maybe it's just the first episode. I'll have to give it another one or two episodes to really judge it.
My stomach growls. It's time for dinner, not another episode. Quickly, I fix a cup of instant noodles and scarf it down, while watching the second episode. Another thirty minutes and the second episode of the show is done. I'm still not very interested. I'm much more interested in what's going on in my body. An immense pressure has made itself known in my bladder. I have to pee. The event I've really been waiting for. I decide not to try and hold it, as that would be pointless. Releasing your bladder into your pants is a lot harder than I thought, however. The forums I read talked about this, but I never thought it'd be like this.
I stand up from my chair and head to the kitchenette. I flip the faucet on and croutch slightly. The feeling is like I'm about to burst. My body keeps trying to hold it in, while my mind is telling it to let go. My mind wins the fight, and a wet heat spreads through my diaper. No stopping it now. The combination of release and warmth over my privates is awesome. Incredible. This is the best thing I've ever felt. Even better than an orgasm, maybe. I finish my business.
The padding doesn't even feel wet. That's crazy. It's warm and moist, but it doesn't feel like I'm sloshing around in piss. It's heavier, certainly, but that makes it even better. It's made to be comfortable for the wearer, but it still lets me know what I did. I pissed in my pants, like a baby. Oh god, this is great. I fiddle around with my diaper a bit. Shaking my hips, feeling the diaper move slightly. I check myself, like an Amazon would. Two fingers inbetween my legs. And finally, I croutch all the way, and then I plop down onto the floor. God. I rock back-and-forth on the floor a couple times. This is really something else.
It's not just something else. It's hot. The hottest thing ever. My cheeks are flushed by this point, and my privates aren't just wet from the pee. I'm horny. I start rubbing the front of my diaper. Wait, wait, no. It's too soon. The diaper has taken one, only one, wetting. I can't waist it already, can I? I glance over at the pack of them. There are eleven left after this one. That's enough. Eleven can last me a long time, I bet. Whereas, I can't last another minute without going insane. I need to cum. Somehow, I manage to get onto my bed. Time for things to heat up.
I go wild on the plastic garment. Rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. Pressing as hard as I can. Harder, harder, harder. More, more more. It feels so good. My mind drifts to one of my favorite fantasies. An Amazon man, a vague and hazy shape. No real appearance to the figure. I can hear him saying embarassing, demeaning things. Silly, soggy girl. No better than any other baby. Aww, sweetie, you don't need a change. You won't need a change for hours. Dumb babies like you are used to sitting in their waste. Close, so close to climax. So close. And then it happens. Something else squirts into my diaper, and my pleasure ends.
And the disgust sweeps in. Did I really just do that? Yes, yes I did. Here I am, post-orgasm, sitting in a used diaper. What if someone walked in right now? What would my parents say? They'd be upset. Grossed out, disappointed, and upset. How could their daughter be a degenerate traitor? Most Littles are oppressed, and they would do anything to be in a free country, like me. And here I am, wasting it. Using my merciful existence to piss in a diaper and then masturbate. Using it to waste my night and my money on stupid baby-stuff. I'm awful. I'm a horrible, awful person. I need to do something to correct myself. Something to get myself off this path. I know. Instead of being conscripted after college, I'll enlist tomorrow. That'll turn me into an upstanding citizen, instead of a traitor.
I stand up and I rip off the used diaper. I throw it into the trash-can, and I follow that up with the rest of the starter kit. The remaining eleven diapers, the bear, the pacifier, the bottle, and the DVD all end up in the trash. Throwing on my clothes from earlier, I exit my room, trash-bag in hand. These items had to be removed from my room. As I walk into the lobby, I remember something. Sam. He's supposed to keep an eye out for suspicious behavior. Hopefully he doesn't suspect anything. He shouldn't be able to smell the used diaper or me. Just act natural. All I'm doing is taking out some trash. I wave as I walk by the receptionist, and he waves back. Good. No issue.
After returning to my room and getting a quick shower, I fall into my bed. I'm not tired, but I'm not sure what to do either. How could I do that, really? Why am I interested in this stuff? I'm a Little. Not just any Little, but a Little in Iyyem Nimna, the only free country in the world. Taught from birth that diapers, on an adult, are oppressive. Taught that no fate is worse than being an Amazon's ward. Instead of doing something meaningful, I spent my night betraying every Little that is and ever has been. Well, no longer. Tomorrow I'll go to a recruiter. Everyone has to serve at some point, so they'll definitely take me. I'll get my two years in, be turned into a better woman, and come back to university free of my desires. With that, I closed my eyes. Maybe sleep will take me soon, so tomorrow will come quicker.
The next day, I really did go to the recruiter. I took the oath before lunch, and I was sent to training by the end of the week.
Daily life is a routine. No one can expect every moment of every day to be exciting. The most anyone can expect is normal, which for most, ends up being the same thing every day. You have to get up at this time, you have to get to work by that time, you eat right after you get home, and you fall asleep after your favorite TV show. It's just the way it is. Most people thrive off of this lifestyle. Some people say that, like children, Littles especially need a strict schedule. How true is that? I'm not sure. I do know that I have been subject to a strict routine, and I'm no worse for wear.
My days used to start at six o'clock in the morning. The first thing I would see was my mommy's gorgeous face staring down at me. Her straight black hair, already done up. Her makeup was perfect, as always. No bags under her eyes, and not a single yawn escaped her mouth. I don't know how she did it, when she always woke up before me. She would gentley shake me, and say something cutesy in a sing-song way. My replies were much less enthusiastic, but I'd do my best to act sweet. We weren't in love. Unlike some people, our agreement was based on money. She payed me to be a baby, for four years, so I tried my hardest to be the baby she wanted. She wanted sweet and cuddley, so that's what I gave her.
We would then venture over to the changing table. Changes were talking time, in her eyes, so we would chat. About how we slept, our dreams, that kind of stuff. Within moments, my face would be pressed into her chest, doing my best to be her baby. She loved to carry me everywhere. I could walk, and I was allowed to, but she enjoyed it. Being honest, the enjoyment was mutual. I begged to be picked up, as often as she swept me into her arms without warning. She might bounce me around for a bit, while watching the news, or we might head straight to the dining room. By this point, Mommy would have already eaten. My stomach would be running on empty, though.
Having already eaten, Mommy would spoon feed me. Even my food was on a schedule. Fridays, for instance, were always oatmeal and blackberry-blueberry-prune babyfood. Being the angel I still am, there was never a mess. Mommy guided the food into my mouth, and she never purposefully got it on me. I always readily accepted. A bottle of forumla accompanied my meals. Not many Littles get formula, due to their prescence inducing lactation in female Amazons. Mommy was one of the few female Amazons who didn't have this happen. She could induce it with medication, but we agreed to go with formula instead.
After breakfast, we'd meander back to my room. I was always dressed after I ate, so that my clothes didn't get dirty. Pajamas could get a few stains. The pretty dresses, onesies, and shirts that I had weren't allowed to get even a speck of dirt, though. We would dig through my closet, taking our time. Mommy would hold up one article of clothing after another. I would throw out suggestions, but rarely did they matter. Not that I cared too much. Baby clothes are baby clothes. Whatever was picked for me was fine, but I still had preferences. Eventually, Mommy would find the 'perfect' outfit for me. She'd set me down, just to slip it on me, and then I would be back in her arms.
After that, with time to spare, we'd be out the door to start the day. A high-rise office-building was our destination. Mommy was some sort of executive. What her job was, exactly, I still don't know. We would arrive at the office a little before eight. Being carried in her arms, I'd be taken to the company daycare on the second floor. This was where my weekdays were spent. Often, my saturdays were spent there as well. A good chunk of the floor was dedicated solely to the adopted Littles of employees. We had a room for everything, from a gym to a napping room. After getting out of the elevator, we'd only have to walk a short distance down the hallway before seeing a set of glass doors. This was the lobby. Decorations were simple here, as it was mostly a place of business. A wooden door, next to the check-in desk, was the most stand-out part of the room. It was always covered in papers with crayon-scribbles on them.
A staff-member, normally a nice lady by the name of Miss Tina, would be behind a desk opposite the doorway. Mommy would check me in, and then I'd be carried through the wooden door. This led into the main playroom. Setting me down onto the carpeted floor, Mommy would give me a peck on the forehead before heading off. The playroom was colored in bright pastels. There was consistently a mess of toys all around the room. Already, at around eight in the morning, several Littles would be running around, with all the energy in the world. A few of my peers might be hidden in the nap-room. Unless I was particularly tired, my destination would be a table in the corner. It was made of plastic, and it was way too small for an Amazon. There were no chairs, just a few Little-sized beanbags. This was one of a few tables spread around the room, dedicated to activities like coloring. Coloring was my favorite activity. It's just childish enough to make my mommy and the staff happy, yet it passed the time easily. It was something I could really lose myself in.
Most weekdays, there'd usually be someone else at the table. A couple other Littles and I had become something akin to friends. Lauren was a sweet girl, a former college student, who fell in love with an Amazon man. Connie was a chatterbox, who was adopted for the same reason as me. We talked a lot, and we kept each other entertained. Initially, our bond was formed over a shared love of coloring, but it wasn't the only thing we did to keep busy. Boardgames were something we spent a lot of time on. We also occasionally took part in group activities, and the classes that the daycare offered.
Classes at daycares were and still are fairly common. Most can't offer much more than the standard ballet lessons, which every Amazon adores, and Little Studies classes. The ballet lessons are so common due to the high-demand from Amazon parents, and the Little-studies classes were cheap, usually taught by volunteers from a local university or a local Little Studies club. Some, like my former daycare, did a rotating schedule of classes. Alongside the classics, we'd have a cooking class one week, a crafts class the following week, and so on. We had a choices of three different lessons each morning. Classes started at ten and ran for two hours. Very rarely did our little clique go for these classes. Most weren't very interesting, and some were downright degrading. We also didn't care to have a class monopolize our free time.
For the most part, daycare was a humdrum escape from our adopted families. It was a chance for some to stop acting babyish. For others, it was several hours away from your over-bearing love. The staff, being few in number, only bothered their wards when necessary. Something that interested me, when I first went to daycare, was the amount of Amazon staff. There was hardly any. A few workers, and whoever taught the classes for that day. Turns out, Littles-only daycares didn't require as low of a caretaker-to-child ratio. For actual children, the law requires a 1:4 ratio, whereas for Littles, there's no mandated ratio. So, plenty of places skimped on staffing.
Lunch happened at around noon, right after classes let out. A normal lunch consisted of oatmeal, pureed fruit and veggies in a jar, and a drink. Oatmeal was easy to make in large batches, so that's what the staff defaulted to making for us. We got to pick our puree from the daycare's selection. My favorite was the plain banana, but sometimes I got stuck with something gross, like pickled plum and peas. The drink was usually formula for me. A lot of other Littles had breastmilk, that their Mommies had sent in. Due to the lack of staff, we either had to wait to be fed or use our hands. A lot of us regularly used our hands, making an incredible mess for the staff to clean up.
After lunch, we'd be put down for a nap. That didn't necessarily mean we had to sleep. One of the classrooms would be used for quiet-time, where Littles who didn't want to nap could sit and read, or do any number of quiet activities. There was a dedicated napping room, with a few rows of cribs. The staff would help us in one-by-one. Naptime lasted an hour, usually. We could nap longer, if we wanted, but I usually didn't. Being an adopted Little means early bedtimes, so I got plenty of sleep at home. I always took the chance to sleep at naptime, though.
The rest of the afternoon was basically free time. Lauren, Connie and I would sit at our table and mess around. We might play a board game to pass the time, or we might just sit and chit-chat. None of our adopted parents got off of work until five. We would have plenty of time to laze around until then. If we were really adventurous, we might go to the gym and play tag. Afternoons would usually pass slowly. We'd slowly lose our peers, as they got picked up by their Amazons. Until, eventually, ours came for us. Our parents, knowing we were friends, might make us hug eachother and wave goodbye. Then, I'd be on my way home.
Despite still being scheduled at home, things would be a little unpredictable. Mommy made sure that she got some playtime with me, for at least an hour. We'd play babyish games together. Pattycake was one of her favorites. We might just cuddle during playtime. She might put me in my stroller and take me for a walk. Anything could happen. Dinner would usually be whatever she cooked but pureed. I wasn't always happy with that, but I had to stomach it. Bathtime was usually at eight. Mommy would always get the temperature just right, and she'd gentlely clean me. Baths were always nice. Bedtime followed bathtime. I'd usually be tucked in by half-passed eight. Mommy might read me bedtime story, or she might simply give me a kiss on the head before leaving.
That was my average day, when I was an adopted Little. Schedules are good for you, and I didn't mind my tedious day-to-day life. Even to this day, I still wake up at six o'clock. Although, I usually roll over and go back to sleep. I still eat around the same time, and I get tired around the same time. I listen to my body, like most people should. That's a benefit of being adopted. Someone else listens to your body for you. Sometimes, they shape your body's needs, within reason. I'm definitely not worse for wear.
Life sucks. That's a phrase you hear thrown around quite a bit, by people who don't know how good they really have it. For me, life really does suck. I'm in the worst position possible. I'm a Little in the worst country to be a Little. Hesperia is one of the few countries to have fully exterminated their Little population. So they use people from my home, a so-called protectorate controlled by Hesperia, as their human farm. Not only that, they did a ninety-degree moral turn from those days. Instead of killing us, they torture us. They own us, and they treat us however they want. They put on a veneer of babying us, but it's to further humiliate and destroy us. It's to give a justification for owning and hurting us.
My life is one of torture. I didn't get a 'good' Amazon, even though they do exist here. I didn't even get a 'neutral' Amazon, one who would act a strict mother. That's what most Littles here end up with. No, I got a 'bad' Amazon. Horrible might be a more apt description, really. An Amazon that gets her sadistic rocks off by using me. Ever since I turned eighteen, and I was shipped here, it's been nothing but a nightmare. Some would count me lucky that I didn't just get hypnotized or have my mind turned to mush. That's unlucky, in my opinion. Lucidity is a curse in my state.
Right now, I'm in a crib at daycare. The lights are dim and the snores of napping Littles fill the air. Some might think this as a respite, but it's not. Daycare workers have to treat me, in accordance with my adoptive mother's requests. There's no laws regarding Littlecare in Hesperia, so those requests don't make the workers look twice. The worst thing is, I don't get changed. Mommy changes me once a day, usually before bed. Due to what she feeds me, my diaper rarely stays dry or clean for very long. I spend most days at daycare, today included, filthy. Mommy is merciful, however, and usually uses a cream to prevent rashes. Many Littles, especially the 'infants' like me, spend a lot of time in dirty diapers. I know, because in my crib, I don't just get to smell mine. The stench of a dozen or so messes waft around in this room.
Naptime is always right after lunch. I don't know if every daycare does that, but this one does. Today, I had pickled sausage, sauerkraut, and apple. All mixed up, pureed, and in a jar, of course. It was spoonfed to me. Miss Kathy, the worker assigned to feed me, made sure to get as much of it on my face as in my mouth. She blamed me. That was typical. I did gag and try to refuse, but she's the one who continued to shove the horrid goop at me. Thankfully, I wasn't punished for my disobedience right then. Miss Kathy said she'd tell Mommy, which means I'll be punished later.
I wonder what the punishment will be. Maybe a dozen swats on the back of my thighs, in addition to my normal, daily spanking? Maybe I'll have a soap-flavored pacifier in my mouth all night? Maybe I'll be forced to eat my bodyweight in the goop from earlier? Maybe she'll use that implant to shock me until I pass out? The last outcome would be the best. Shocks aren't that bad, and passing out is always a god-send here. Maybe Kathy won't even tell my mommy? She might forget by the end of the day. It's an unlikely option, but it is a possibility.
It didn't matter much. Sometimes I wonder why I think so much, and about everything that happens. Then I remember, there's just not much for me to do. Being classified as an 'infant' meant that I didn't get to do much. Mommy wasn't big on surgeries, but she made sure I had a few big ones, when she first got me. The worst one was the surgery that ruined my motor-skills. No walking for me anymore. Doing anything but flail my arms is a herculean task. Rolling-over is the best I can do. Tummy-time was the extent of my athletics. The almost-as-bad surgery was the one that took my teeth. No more pearly-whites, just gums. Mommy justified it by saying that it was safer to nurse me. I can still talk, though, even if it doesn't sound right. Not that I talk much anyway, as talking out of turn or saying the wrong thing gets me punished. The other, much more benign surgery, put that implant in me.
The implant gives Mommy and the daycare staff a lot of control over me. They can temporarily make me mindless, shock me, control my emotions, remove skills, and do the whole nine yards. It was mainly used to shock me. Mommy rarely makes me mindless, and the daycare staff has never used that feature, so I'm sure Mommy told them not to. Same deal with removing skills. The daycare staff has used it to make me stop crying or stop throwing a hissy-fit, by changing my emotion, but Mommy has never done that. She feeds off of those emotions. Anything negative energizes her. Like I said, I got the worst kind of Amazon. A complete sadist, with no regard for a lesser being's feelings.
I wonder when she'll be here to get me. Clocks are almost never in view, and a Little asking for the time here would be punished severely. I've never been here past dark. That could mean anything, though. It must be around noon, yet lunch could be anywhere from ten in the morning to two in the afternoon. We have snacktimes and a schedule, yet the time is still difficult to ascertain. I have no clue when I get to daycare. I have no basis to use to determine the time. The date is also unknown to me. My mommy has thrown me several birthdays since my arrival, but who knows how real they are? They're definitely not my real birthday. They might be a year from the day she adopted me, but she might've thrown two birthdays in the same year, just to confuse me. Mommy is like that.
One of the daycare workers, Miss Paula looks down over me. It must be the end of naptime.
"Peee-yew, what a stinky girl." She paused, and then quickly added. "You best get some rest, or your mommy is going to hear about it."
No emotion came up in me. I'm long over being embarassed over words, and Mommy doesn't scare me much. Miss Paula leaves my view. She wanted to get a rise out of me, and she didn't get it. Naptime is definitely over, for most of the Littles here. 'Infants' get longer naptimes. Most of the day, in fact, is naptime for us. The 'toddlers' just had a nap after lunch. Unlike most of the others in my classification, I still have my mind. When the staff talk to me, they know that I understand it. They've made a game out of getting a response from me. Miss Kathy won today, with that disgusting flavor of babyfood. Miss Paula, with milque-toast comments like that, did not win.
As the staff walk around, waking up the 'older' Littles, I close my eyes. Miss Paula is probably right, though. I do need to get some sleep. It's hard to do, since I don't really have an infant's sleep-schedule. Most of my day, every day, is spent in a crib. As a free woman and an adult, I slept around eight hours a night. I assume I still do. A little nap never hurt anyone, so I make the effort to actually try to go to sleep. My favorite day-dream soon fills my mind. I'm back home. I'm a free woman, instead of a plaything. I have a loving husband, and we've started a family. Our day-to-day life runs through my head. Teaching our kids and working on our farm. Even the mundane things, that I have no hope of doing ever again, run through my mind. Using a toilet and eating real food are my favorites. Soon, sleep takes me, and I get a brief reprieve from my mundane yet torturous life.