Unfair: A Diaper Dimension Novel (Chapters 115 Uploaded!)

[WehavePi314]

The only thing that really worked so far is gray rocking Janet, but they would probably see that as a “failure to engage with his surroundings.”  There is nothing their minds won’t interpret in only the way they want.

[Personalias]

PART 7:  Problem Child

Chapter 75: Flick

I was in line right behind Tommy, already belted into the line leash.  Clutching Lion in my arms, I stared at the back of his head.  Tommy had just been given a haircut that weekend and I could still see hints of pale flesh irritated pink by the morning’s chill wind.  

Everyone was relatively covered up that day and no one’s great padded shame was uncovered.  It was the first time since getting shoved into a bug zapper that I had something covering up my socks. Even Ivy had been dressed in leggings.  

Granted, no passerby would mistake us for anything other than ‘baby’ Littles: The cut, style, and palette of everyone’s clothes still screamed of infancy and toddlerhood.  All the pants had elastic waistbands and even a dry Monkeez still gave that signature puff around the target area.  Everyone still crinkled when they walked and had pacifiers clipped to their collars.  

Monday wasn’t quite cold enough to see our breath. Fall was weird in Oakshire. Instead of gradually decreasing temperatures, it would be cold for a couple days, but then the front would pass, and the temperature would crank back up and things would fluctuate back and forth and it wouldn’t really get cold until late November.  Sometimes the leaves wouldn’t change colors until a week before winter proper. As it stood,  I’d have bet even money that Chaz would just be back to a t-shirt or onesie by the end of the week.

Staring at the back of Tommy’s head I felt  the slightest pang of jealousy. As a boy I didn’t have to worry about pigtails and ribbons in my hair and all of the bullshit that my lady classmates had to go through. If I’d been allowed to dress myself, my bush of curly red hair would have made me look unkempt more than childish. Paired with the bright red one-piece sweat suit, I looked too immature to even go to my old classroom, which was very likely the point.  I would have yanked the hoodie up over my head if it didn’t have stupid teddybear ears on top.

Tommy, by contrast, seemed ages above me.  Heavy denim and a long sleeved navy blue t-shirt.  It didn’t matter that the t-shirt had fire engines all over it, or that his light up sneakers were identical to mine. From a glimpse from far away, and disassociated from the rest of us, Tommy might pass as a Little who hadn’t yet had his life ruined.

Maybe that’s why I started what I started.

I waited till Zoge plopped down Annie and Billy.  Like good Little children they took their places, practically buckling themselves into our tethered chain gang.  Zoge went back into the bus to get the next two, and Beouf took a knee to make sure everything was secure and to hand them their stuffies.  Ivy was chatting Mandy and Shauna up.

All eyes were off me.  Casually, almost lazily, I leaned forward and-

FLICK!
“Ow!”  Tommy rubbed his earlobe like a mosquito bit it.  He looked to his outside for the attack and then glanced over his shoulder at me.  “What was that?”

I blinked and jostled my head as if lost in thought, and Tommy’s voice just barely roused me from my waking slumber.  “Hm?”

“Something just bit my ear.” He rubbed it again.  “Did you see a bug or something?”

“A bug?”

The poor man wrinkled his nose in irritation.  “Or something.”  He looked up to the cloudy morning sky as though that might provide answers.  Nothing.  

My heart didn’t race. My pulse didn’t quicken.  I didn’t even feel the sadistic urge to flick his ear the moment he turned his head back around.  I was going to get through this day with a nice slow burn, I’d decided.

Breakfast went uneventfully: Grilled cheese sandwiches cut into tiny Little sized portions.  The cafeteria tended to favor finger foods, especially for breakfast; enough so that it counted grilled cheese as breakfast food. 

 My stomach gave a warning rumble. Nothing urgent, but it was like having a rock in my gut.  Quietly, I contemplated on whether or not I should poop here and inconvenience the Amazons to change me at breakfast or wait until just after Circle Time when everyone had just been changed.  

“How was your weekend?” I called over to Billy on the other side of the table.

Billy shrugged. “It was okay,” he said back. “You know.” Our tiff on the playground was all but forgotten.  I yelled at them. He gave me a polite ‘fuck you’ and the matter was settled. That was all the way back last week. 

“How’d you do on your progress report?” 

My friend/henchman cocked an eyebrow. “Progress report?”

“The paper in the folder,” I said. “With all our work underneath”

Billy gave another shrug.  “I dunno.”  He punctuated by popping another square of cheese and bread into his maw.  “I don’t read it.”

I pursed my lips in thought. Not all Amazon parents gushed and shared the perceived progress of their Little’s mind fucking with them.  Interesting. Interesting “Oh. Okay.”  I left it at that.

When we were all herded back into Beouf’s classroom after breakfast, Tommy took a seat in the semi circle before I’d been unbuckled. There wasn’t assigned seating per se, but routines and habits tend to take hold quickly.  I knew where Tommy would sit before he even sat down.

Casually, I walked to my spot on the far end, passed Tommy at the top of the arc and-

FLICK!

-kept on walking.

“Ow!” Tommy squealed.  It had been the same ear and in damn near the same spot as I had earlier that hour.  “Clark!” Like a good Little baby I sat down and ignored him. “Clark!”

I feigned ignorance. “What’s up?”

“Why did you do that?”

My face twisted into a confused mass of cheeks, lips and eyebrows.“Do what?”

“Flick my ear.”

My face melted and unscrunched itself. “I didn’t flick your ear.”

My target was still clutching the side of his head like he was holding back a torrent of blood.  “Yes you did.”

“Hey Billy, Annie,” I said.  “Who flicked Tommy’s ear?”

The prison couple disengaged from each other and looked at Tommy. “I don’t know,” Annie said.  “Why?”

Tommy put his hand down and muttered to himself.  “Whatever.”

I left him alone for a few hours. Correction: I didn’t flick him. I didn’t even touch him. But everytime he was close enough, like when we checked our visual schedules or during snack time, I’d start flicking my index fingers as hard as I could. Hard enough to make a sound and get his attention. 

Then I’d stop. Until the next time.

The first few times, I’d stop as soon as I was sure Tommy had reacted to the sounds. Tommy would flinch or turn his head and look at me, and I’d stop. He’d look at me and open his mouth to say something, but then would stop himself. 

A few rotations in I became a bit more brazen. I wouldn’t make eye contact but I’d keep flicking even after he started staring at me, as if I didn’t know it was bothering him and I’d just developed a very specific nervous tic.

When we went back into our whole group so that we could get yet another rendition of Amazon mind pablum in the form of story time, my index finger whizzed right past Tommy’s ear drum.  

He tensed up like it had been a bullet whizzing past instead of my index finger.“Quit it!” He hissed.

I played innocent. “Quit what?”

“You know!”

I made sure to be behind him in the leash order while everyone was getting ready for lunch. “Mrs. B. Can I get another spot in line?”

Beouf was busy buckling Littles into the group walking leash. Combined with pre-lunch checks and changes, they’d already managed to shave the transition routine down to about ten minutes give or take. If we’d been actual toddlers it would have been genuinely impressive.  Buckling us all in was still more time consuming than having us hold hands.  For all the hassle that Beouf and Zoge had been saved from keeping us from tipping ourselves over in used highchairs, they’d made extra work for themselves all over again by tying and untying us in colorful rope.
She finished snapping Ivy in before so much as looking at Tommy. “We’ve got to get going to Lunch, baby. Not everybody can be right where they want to be every time.”

“Clark flicked me in the ear.” His face paled as the accusation tumbled out.  Even as he said it, Tommy looked mildly ashamed. Littles did not tell on other Littles. Not unless they’d gone full native.  Not unless they’d all but forgotten that they were adults against their will or were trying to be a good Little Helper.  

“I did not” I gasped as though I’d been accused of murder.  Everyone save Zoge froze and stared at us, now acutely aware of the building drama. “Why would I flick you? How immature is that?”

“I was right here,”  Beouf said gently. “Clark hasn’t touched you.”

“I meant this morning,” Tommy said. “I don’t want him to do it again.” 

I stamped my foot in defiance. “Tommy! No!” I started huffing and puffing, making my face almost match my hair with how much blood was rushing. “I! Did! Not!”  Beneath the hurricane of emotions I was projecting, I felt nothing other than a light, scornful amusement.  I was just cranky and sleep deprived enough that I was able to force a hint of tears to threaten to burst forth. Not my best performance but it was working.

Beouf ignored my faux tantrum.  “When did he flick you?” she asked Tommy.

“This morning. In the bus loop.”  Every word was sounding like he was trying to whisper but was afraid to lower his voice. Tommy knew how this was looking.

“Why didn’t you tell me then?” Beouf asked. The statute of limitations was unsurprisingly short for things like schoolyard ear flicking.

Annie butted in.  “You told me he’d done it during Circle Time!”

“Yeah,” Shauna said. I buried my face in Lion’s mane and bit into my tongue so I didn’t accidentally grin.  Annie was already a known accomplice of mine.  Shauna was just a patsy and a bystander that circumstance was providing me. I hadn’t even known she’d been listening in on the exchange.  “That’s when I saw you grabbing your ear.”

“He did it both times!”

I looked up from my stuffie. “Did not!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Beouf repeated herself, asking Tommy.  

Sadly for Tommy, ‘snitches get stitches’ was not a viable excuse in Beouf’s world.  “We were busy!” Tommy said, sounding indignant. “And I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Such a good Little boy,” Chaz spat. “Such a Helper.”

“Then why are you telling her now?” Annie asked. Then she piled on with, “I’m hungry. Can we go to lunch?” This got more than a bit of support from the surrounding peanut gallery.

If Beouf had not invested in the mass toddler leashes, I wouldn’t have gotten away with it.  Getting me away from Tommy would have been as easy as moving him to the back of the line and plopping me in front with Ivy and her iron grasp. 

“Mrs. B,” I whined. “I didn’t do it! I swear! Tommy’s my friend!” Straight faced and pleading I looked Tommy right in the eye. “My first day you were one of the first people to be nice to me.  We climbed up on the tunnel together, remember?  You’re my best friend!”

I saw the doubt take root in Tommy’s mind. I saw him second guessing himself and questioning his own memory. “I..I..I..I..” he stuttered.

Real bullies aren’t the nasty thugs you grew up watching on T.V. who pound you up against your locker and demand your lunch money.  Those idiots get weeded out quickly.  Real bullies are abusive in different ways.  They aren’t outright mean all the time. They’ll buy your forgiveness again and again and again even as they continue to find ways to hurt you.  They use societal norms and implied threats against you to give themselves plausible deniability. They pretend they’re offering you chocolates or are just following the letter of the law.

“I thought you said a bug bit you,” I said. 

“I did,” Tommy got defensive. “But then you flicked me again. And you’ve been flicking all day.

In my most reasonable tone I flicked the air in front of my face. “You mean this?”

“YES!”

“It makes me feel good. How am I hurting you by snapping my fingers to myself?  I don’t complain about the crinkle when you rock in your seat.”

 Pressed for time and with nine people staring him down- eleven if you counted the teachers- Tommy started shaking.  “I…I…I…” he stuttered.

“Clark…”   If the Little causing this drama had been anyone but me they wouldn’t have gotten away with it. No chance.  Beouf would have picked them up and carried them to lunch on her hip.  Problem solved. Littles in a squabble separated.  

“Can we go now?” Chaz called from his cheap umbrella stroller. “I’m hungry!”

I ignored them as though this insignificant spat was the center of my universe. “Mrs. B. I swear! I didn’t do it!  Keep your hands to yourself is a big super important rule! And Tommy is my friend?” 

With all that I could read behind Beouf’s glasses, I felt like I had super powers. I saw her reliving ten years of friendships and wrestling with her own training. Ten years of being each other’s confidants wrestling against a lifetime of cultural propaganda.  The giantess broke eye contact and looked up at the clock.  We weren’t late…yet.  She still had time to wrestle with herself.

“It’s okay,” I said straight to Tommy’s unblinking eyes. “I forgive you for the misunderstanding. You’re still my friend.” 

I held out my hand offering it out as some sort of symbolic gesture of peace. Meekly, Tommy took it and shook. He turned around away from me and cuddled his stuffie.  Grasping Lion to my chest I gave two quick little thumping snaps as I flicked the air again.  The way Tommy tensed up was completely and utterly gratifying.

“Clark…” 

“Yes ma’am!” I said. “Sorry! Just nervous!”

On the way over to the cafeteria, Beouf kept glancing back over her shoulder, not quite trusting herself.  I kept my head on a swivel, like I always did, but made sure my hands were in plain sight every time.  My eyes never left Tommy’s feet.  Looking around was just more plausibility for what came next.

With all the precision of a mosquito threading a needle, I stepped on the back heel of Tommy’s right sneaker.  He stutter stumbled forward and away from me, almost bumping into Jesse in front of him. 

He didn’t even get a chance to protest before I blurted out, “Sorry Tommy! Sorry! Sorry!”

“It’s okay…” he grumbled, not even believing himself from the sound of it.

“Clark!” Beouf let out a warning bellow. Beginning of the week and I was already getting so many more warnings than I legitimately deserved.

Bullies are more than master manipulators of their peers and subordinates, but their superiors too.  This early in the week and Beouf was picking her battles. Janet would hear about this for sure.  I could live with that.

“I said I was sorry!” I insisted. “It was an accident!”  My own bullshit pleas were cut off by the overhead blow fan and the wails of the cafeteria.  Obviously, Tommy and I were seated at different tables, much to his visible relief. We got buckled into opposite ends of the leash on the way back, too.

“What’s with you and Tommy today?” Billy asked behind the tree at recess. “You’ve been bugging him all day.”  

I sat with my friends, Lion between my legs. “A few bumps in line doesn’t count as all day,” I said.

“Yeah,” Chaz said. “But you’re doing it on purpose. I can tell.”

“Oh?”

Chaz rolled from the seated position to all fours. “Yeah. I saw you do it in Circle Time. You just walked up and flicked him and kept going.”

Absentmindedly, I petted Lion’s hair. “I’ve got my reasons.” I stood up; something Chaz could no longer do without help.  

“Like what?” Chaz asked.

“You’ll see,” I said. “Just trust me.”  I didn’t wait for Chaz to reply.  “I just thought of a new game. Wanna come play it with me?” I spoke directly to Annie and Billy, barely looking at Chaz.  The pair cast doubtful glances at one another and back to their crawling third wheel. “It’ll bug Beouf,” I promised.

That was enough.  “Okay,” they said.

“How do you play?” Chaz asked.

“See how we’re all covered up?” I asked. “Perfect for battle tag.” I took their silence as consent to go on. “It’s like regular tag but instead of tagging it’s okay to give somebody a little push.” The shove I gave Annie’s shoulder was gentle.  “Or a smack!” The muted thud against Billy’s back would have stung like anything if he’d had a sunburn.

“Okay…”  Billy was getting on board.

Annie wasn’t. “But why?”

“So that it’s more convincing when we fall down,” I said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.  “In regular tag, you tag somebody and they stop and then start chasing you right back.  It sucks.”

“Tag backs are the worst,” Annie nodded.

“In battle tag, when you get tagged you die and then you’re it.” I got no reaction. I was trying to teach algebra to sharks. “Billy, tag me. Clothes only. No fa-”

As hard as I’d thudded Billy, the son of a bitch thudded me back harder. It was no Amazon spanking but I felt it.  “OOOOOOH!” I called out.  “YOU GOT ME!”  I threw myself straight to the ground and started flopping like a fish.  “OH AGONY! AGONY! GAAAAAH!” I took a deep breath and went limp.  “Dead.”

“Clark?”  In my exuberance, I’d flopped out and made a hell of a lot more noise than I usually did this time of the day. Beouf was standing up from the bench. “Are you okay, buddy?”

I jumped up like an acrobat and spread my arms out in a kind of ‘ta-da’ pose like I was a birthday party magician who’d just done some sort of lame trick.  “I’m fine, ma’am!” I hollered back; my voice loud but calm.  “We’re just playing a game!”

Beouf adjusted her glasses and sat back down.  “Okay…”

I turned to face my posse. “And now I’m it. Any questions?”

“I get it,” Billy said. “Make it look more dangerous and give the grown-...” he stopped himself and corrected.  “We make Beouf worry about us.”

“Sure,” I said. “It’s all about toeing the line of horseplay.  That and it’s a good excuse to get clothes dirty.” I received some appreciative nods. “And the more people we get in on it, the harder it’ll be to stop.”  I was completely ignoring the data of my first Why Day and using peer pressure as a selling point.

“Even Ivy?” Annie asked.

“Especially Ivy. She’s our plausible deniability.” I told them. I took a few tentative steps and motioned for them to follow. “Come on, let’s play!”

“How is this more mature or adult or whatever?” Chaz broke in. “Or are we not doing that anymore?”

My nostrils flared. “You’ll see.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Chaz said. “I can’t run.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as if I was summoning monumental patience.  “You can watch the stuffies. I pointed to our cotton boned menagerie.  “Make sure they don’t get stepped on while we’re playing.”

“That doesn’t sound very fun,” a hint of a pout was starting to form on his mug.

I scowled and scoffed. “Fun? This isn’t for fun. This is for agitating Amazons.  Do you really think I want to play a dumb baby game if it didn’t mess with Beouf and Zoge?”

“Yeah,” Billy chuckled. “Clark just being Clark.”  I preferred ‘Gibson’, but I’d take it.

“But what am I supposed to do?” Chaz repeated himself. “How can I help? I wanna help, too!”

“Get other people to play,” Annie offered. “Call them over and talk to them. They’ll listen to you.”

“Yeah,” I rubbed salt in the wound. “You’re the youngest. No way will they think you’re tricking them into fucking with the rules.” 

The little shit turned his nose up and sniffed.  “Fine. I’m in.”

“Who’s it?” Annie asked.

I grinned maniacally.  “Five…four…three…” They took off across our tiny playground.  “Two…one…”  Sparing one last glance at Chaz I told him, “watch Beouf and Zoge like a hawk. They won’t suspect you either.”  

That made Chaz perk up a bit. I couldn’t burn that bridge completely.  Chaz just needed to know his place.  “Okay. Deal! Go go go!”

I darted out from behind the tree and started chasing Annie and Billy. Billy was taller than me and more naturally athletic, the Monkeez wasn’t doing wonders for my stride either. Annie was the safer choice.  “I’m gonna get you!” I called.

“Nuh-uh!” she called back. 

We were being loud on purpose.  Loudness attracted attention and potential players.  “Get ready to die!”

“You wish!”   

I huffed and puffed until I finally, just barely nudged into Annie. “Gotcha!”

She’d only been barely poked, but Annie went down like a bribed prize fighter. “OOOH! YOU GOT ME! AGONY! PAIN! SO MUCH PAAAAAAIN!”

“Annie…?” Zoge called out.

My cohort raised her head.  “I’m fine! It’s just pretend!”

“Okay…”  It was the sound of a caregiver’s doubt that had yet to fully manifest. “Just be careful.”

“I will!”  She took a deep breath and continued. “AGONY! PAIN! MY SPLEEN! MY THORAX! OOOOH MY THORAX!  Dead.”  I was close enough to see her tongue flop out of her mouth.

Mandy trotted out from the concrete crawling tunnel.  “Annie, are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m dead,” she said.

“Oh cool. Can I be dead too?”

“Only if you get tagged,” I said. “Go to Chaz, he’ll explain the rules.”

“Kay-kay!”

Approximately ninety seconds later, Mandy was in the game and was the next to get tagged. .“OH NO!” She found a spot of especially worn grass and was all but making dirt angels. “DEEEEEEAD DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATH!  Grah.”

The death rattle was accompanied by delighted morbid giggles.  “Hey, Tommy!” I called out. “Wanna play battle tag?”

I must have given something away in my posture.  Tommy stayed firmly where he was on teeter totter.  Too bad for him Jesse wanted to play, too, leaving him stranded.

The game went on.

“Ivy’s playing!” Chaz called through cup hands. “Look out!”

I made sure to get hit. It didn’t hurt, but that was because I made sure to roll with it. The poor mindfucked doll literally didn’t know her own strength.

“Ivy! Too hard!” Beouf scolded. “Do you need to sit down?”

“No ma’am.” Ivy said, extremely contrite. “I’m sorry, Clark.”

I did Ivy a favor by going over the top with my ‘death’. I started convulsing on the ground, just flapping my cheeks and rolling around in a lop sided circle. I looked like I was having a seizure. I stopped, lifted my head, and said. “You’re fine, Ivy.” I flopped back down. “Dead.” 

“Clark’s it again!”

I climbed to my feet and brushed myself off.  I was tired, winded, and honestly too into the game to have it fulfill its original purpose. Speaking of original purpose, I saw Tommy playing on the balance beam, one foot in front of the other, away from the action pretending he was dancing on a high wire or something.

 “Time out!” I yelled, making a T with my hands. “Time out!”  I jerked my head and Billy jogged up to me.

“What’s up?”

“Let me tag you,” I whispered.  

He snorted. “No way.”

“Come on. You’re the only one who can tag Ivy back for me. I’m tired.”

Billy smirked. “She’ll kill me. I’ll bounce right off of her.”

“And if she does she’ll get in trouble. Just don’t whack her and you’ll be fine.”

My crony held out his hand.  “Fine. But only because you decided to be cool today.” I tagged him.  He convulsed and did a somersault.

“Billy’s it!” I screamed. “Scatter!”  I pulled my hoodie up, making me look like a cherry red teddy bear.  It also cut off my peripheral vision.  More plausible deniability for me.

As was tradition, everyone scattered the moment Billy hopped back up to his feet. Half a dozen Littles all scurrying around the same tiny playground. It’s a lot to keep track of. And I wasn’t it…

I charged straight for the balance beam. Boundaries hadn’t been established, but it was safe to say that the actual playground equipment was decidedly out of bounds. “Billy’s it!” I yelled. “Billy’s it!”  I pretended to look over my shoulder. “Billy’s it! Billy’s it!”  I course corrected. “Billy’s it! BILLY’S IT!”  One…two… “BILL-”

I plowed directly into Tommy knocking him to the ground with me pretending to trip as an excuse to land right on top of him.  I felt the meaty thump and heard the pained gasp as Tommy got the wind knocked out of him.  

I lifted myself into a pushup position. “Tommy!” I whispered, sounding surprised. “Dude are you okay?”

“Clark! Tommy!”  Both Beouf and Zoge had managed to see the spill.  Damn. Not surprising, but damn.  Hopefully.

“I am so sorry!” I said, rolling off of him and stepping away like he was made of brittle porcelain.

“What the fu-?” Tommy cut himself off. Either that or he didn’t have enough wind in him to finish the swear. 

The loose ground practically shook at the teachers’ approach.  A pair of giant arms lifted us off the ground and turned us over, checking for scratches and bruises.  “Are you okay? What happened? Does anything hurt?”

A river of false apologies shot out from me. “TommyI’msosorryIdidn’tmeantoIwasrunningawayfromBillycausehewasitandIwasn’tlookingwhereIwasgoingareyouokayIhopeIdidn’thurtyou.”

“Tommy are you okay?” Beouf asked.

My target was a few pants away from crying, I could tell, but he held it in like a champ. “Yeah,” he choked out. “Just…surprised.”

I repeated my entire apology again. Much slower but with just as many lies.

“I think that’s enough tag for now,” Zoge said.

“Battle Tag,” I corrected. “It’s called battle tag.”

“That’s enough Battle Tag.”

I sat down on the balance beam and looked Tommy dead in the eyes. “I’m sorry,” I fake apologized.

“It’s okay.”

I don’t know that either of us meant it.  He probably did.

“I swear it was an accident.”

“Okay.”

“We’re going to get ready to go back inside and get ready to go home in just a couple minutes,” Beouf said.

“Yes ma’am,” Tommy and I said in unison.

You might be wondering why I decided to pick on Tommy that day and the days that followed. Did I have a grand master plan?  Some way to reunite and empower the A.L.L. and strike back at the Amazons through reverse psychology?  Was I helping Tommy in some way? Toughening him up to keep him from regressing?  Getting vengeance for some unseen slight perhaps?

Yes. Exactly. Those were precisely the kind of excuses I gave to Chaz, Billy, and Annie the next day. They bought it too; even supplied answers I didn’t have on accident. Of course I was showing them how they could run interference for each other and act as distractions.  Of course Tommy, who was so close to us yet so far away was in danger of losing himself unless he remembered what it was like to be a grown-ass man instead of a toddler boy.  Of course I planned on giving Zoge and Beouf a thousand tiny heart attacks with plain reckless behavior.

Of course.

Really though?  The unabashed truth was that I needed another win, and I was all out of wins against Amazons.  So I took a day off.  Played the game on easy mode. I picked Tommy because he was nice and considerate and empathetic and patient but didn’t have the support system to back him up like some of the others did.

I needed a win.

Tommy sat down and panted next to me, seeming exhausted. Poor, innocent, trusting Tommy. In some ways more naive than even Ivy. I waited till the teachers were more than halfway across the playground and back to their bench.  I steadied myself, counted their steps. Annie ran up and tugged on Beouf’s pantleg, leaving less chance that she’d turn around. Billy did the same for Zoge. 

 Then with practiced ease I reached out and-

FLICK!

“Ow! Clark! What the fuck?!”  Same ear. Same spot.  I was three for three.

I blinked away pretend confusion. “Hm?”

 

[Personalias]

Chapter 76: Playpen Kingpin

Tommy had a very difficult next couple of days in Mrs. Beouf’s Maturosis and Developmental Plateau Class. As near as I could tell, Tommy spent the next couple of days completely red faced, trembling, growling under his breath, and fighting back tears.

“Awwww, look at the baby! Did the baby go pee-pee in his widdle pants? I bet he did! I bet he did!”

‘How adorable! He’s sucking his thumb!”

“I could just pinch those cheeks!’

“Is he gonna cwyy?  Does the baby need an extra nap?”

All of these damn near Amazonian remarks were coming out of much smaller mouths and said with a subtle underlying venom born not out of ignorance or societal brainwashing but with frustration and hate.  It hurt me almost as much as it did him.

On top of that came the pinches, the flicks, the pokes, and the back claps that were more than a little too hard. For some unfathomable reason, Tommy was attracting an inordinate amount of mosquitos, gnats, flies, and the like that just needed to be swatted and picked and slapped.  Maybe it was because his breath smelled like sour breast milk, or because he kept spilling sweet sugary mush on himself at breakfast and lunch, or because he couldn’t keep his diaper clean for even an hour.  It was for his own good, really.

“Just missed it.”

“You should have seen it!”

“Spider!”

Pile on how much help Tommy ‘needed’ and he had even more cause to be miserable. 

“Here, Tommy, let me help you color!”

“Tommy! Pick this one! This is the matching picture!”

“Let me break your cracker up for you so that you don’t choke.  Just in case!”

“Hey Tommy! Do you know what color this is? I can help you with the answer!”

He was getting so much wonderful help that he barely got a chance to talk or do anything by himself without some kind of comment or intervention.

The best part?  I wasn’t even doing most of it.  My treatment of Tommy had spread like a cancer.  Rebelling and twisting Amazon rules so that they were exposed to their own pathetic hypocrisy was asking a lot of my so-called peers.  Only Chaz, Billy and Annie had been trustworthy and foolhardy enough to make the attempt with me.  Picking on someone as friendly and genuine and well meaning and weak as Tommy? Too easy. He must’ve been the runt of this particular litter before I got tossed in, or something.

Beouf and Zoge hadn’t quite noticed yet; Tommy still hadn’t tried to tattle. But unlike with therapy sessions and centers, isolating me or putting me by my lonesome wouldn’t solve this for Beouf.  Chaz and Billy were friends with Jesse and Annie still had a form of solidarity with the other girls.  Little see.  Little do.  Razzing, teasing, tormenting, and otherwise reminding Tommy what a baby he was compared to everyone else was just another game.

Was he objectively any more infantile, regressed, or generally mindfucked than the rest of us?  Absolutely not. It was just part of the game.

Speaking of games:

“Alright guys!” I announced to the playground that afternoon.  “Let’s play circus!”  I used my best teacher voice with the same kind of cheery confidence that Zoge and Beouf used when they were presenting some asinine activity.   No one opted out or ignored or objected.  They’d been conditioned too well.  

The entire class waddled and toddled up around me.  “Yay!” Ivy clapped her hands like an idiot. “I love the circus!”  

I bit my tongue. I had other people to lash out at. “Everybody gets a role to play,” I proclaimed. “I’ll be the ringmaster, and announce the acts. Our stuffies can be most of the audience so we don’t have to carry them.” I took a second and set Lion down leaning against the low balance beam.  “Mandy and Shauna can be acrobats.”

They high fived each other and copied me, plopping their cotton homunculi down next to Lion.  Little see, Little do. I did a quick double take watching Mandy walk. ‘Walk’ was using the term generously. Her Mommy had switched her to a thicker brand of diaper and Winters had mentioned that Mandy was doing ‘very well’ in Physical Therapy.  “Um…no offense, Mandy, but are you sure you can do cartwheels…as is…?”

Mandy’s cheeks turned a shade rosier and she looked down at the padded bulge beneath her leggings.  Annie salvaged the moment. “Let them be trained elephants,” she suggested. “It’s impressive when Elephants stand on their hind legs or piggy pack on each other.”

“That’ll do.” The relief I saw on Mandy was a symphony.  I took note of that in case I got bored with Tommy. “Billy’s the strongman.”

“What’ll I lift?” Billy asked. “Everything that's cool to lift is bolted down.

I jerked my head over to the seesaw.  “See how many people you can boost up.”

“Deal.”

I kept passing out roles as if someone had died and left me in charge.  “Jesse? Lion tamer, yeah? Annie? Clown.  Slapstick or stand up. Billy can double as your volunteer.”

“Maybe some of the dirt is still wet from when it rained late this morning,” Sandra Lynn piped up. “Maybe she could make a mud pie to throw in somebody’s face.”

“Never mind,” I said. “Billy, focus on being strong. Annie and Sandra Lynn, clowns. Plural. I think you’ve got a routine in the works.”

“That would ruin my pretty new dress,” Annie whispered. “Do it.”

I spun around in a quick circle, pretending to be whimsical. Beouf and Zoge were still on their perch, looking at us tentatively.  Clumped up like we were, their attention wasn’t split. They were tired however, and still naively wanting to give us a chance at something resembling free play.  By my estimation we were at the very limit of their hearing so that they couldn’t quite make out what was being said as long as no one screamed or yelled.

“You two are on last,” I told them. “Go pretend to play while you gather the ingredients. We’re only gonna get one chance at this.”

“What about Mommy and Mrs. B.?” Ivy asked, innocently enough.

I stepped in front of her.  “They’re on the board of circus oversight. Have to make sure that everything is ethical.  Ensure that we’re staying within guidelines for the boundaries and staying complicit and not breaking any cruelty laws or ADA regulations and that safety regulations are observed and certification is up to date to prevent any risk of disease.  And that’s just Mrs. Zoge. Beouf is with the Circus Performer’s Union.  Don’t get me started on Beouf and Union stop. They’re busy, guys.”

“I know he’s bullshitting,” Chaz snickered underfoot, “but I’m loving it.”

Tommy finally reached the point of curiosity and wanting to belong enough to speak up. “What about me?”

“You’re a stooge”
 
There was a collective inhalation as if I’d just cursed at him.  “What?”

“A stooge,” I said. “A shill. A plant.  Your job is to sit among the audience and cheer for us. That way all the people in the audience know when to clap and cheer, too. But you can’t tell the audience members that you work for us.”

Tommy’s face fell.  “That just sounds like I have to watch and be part of the audience while you guys get to make jokes and do tricks.”

“What?” I gasped. “Noooooo. No-no-no-no-no-no-no-noooo!”  Yes. “Being a stooge is a super important job.  Keeps the rubes entertained. Get it?  You’re like a secret agent or…or…or…”

“A Helper?” Ivy offered.  Several pairs of lips sucked in in an attempt to stifle raucous laughter.

“Yeah! That!”  Tommy’s eyes were starting to water.  Ivy might not have known what she’d said, but just about everyone else did.  “Oh, I know, Ivy. How about you show Tommy how it’s done? You can be the audience plant, and to make your part more convincing, Tommy can be your baby!”

Tommy’s disbelieving “What?!” came out as a hoarse whisper instead of a shout. Lucky me. “Why do I have to be the baby?”

“It makes sense if you think about it.”  Everyone nodded in agreement.

“Chaz is the crawler. Why can’t he be the baby?”

“Okay, first off, that’s pretty ableist. Not very mature of you.  Second of all, I need Chaz to be the lion for the tamer. Duh.”

Tommy started looking around nervously, clawing for a way out. “Why not have your lion be the lion?”

“Are you asking because you think Lion is real and can actually roar, or are you just dead set on breaking the pre-agreed rules.” I got nothing but a stammering, stuttering, confused response. It’s all I’d wanted.  “Stuffies are audience members. Ivy’s the circus secret agent, and you’re the baby providing her cover.”

Tommy took a step out to walk around me. I closed my eyes and massaged my temples. “Ivy, take your baby to his seat.”  Ivy’s hand struck out like a snake.  Tommy froze and whimpered, but didn’t bother to struggle.  Resignedly, he went with her and sat on the balance beam amongst all the other toys. 

With years of practice watching her Mommy, Ivy reached down and helped pop Tommy’s pacifier in for him.  “There there, baby. You’ll love the circus along with all these other people.”  

My smile was grim that Tuesday afternoon.  Playgrounds were a peculiar sort of torture chamber to me, though I couldn’t phrase why.  But at least this playground was becoming my torture chamber. 

I inhaled and held my breath for moment. “Laaaaaaaaadies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Greatest Show in the World!”

**************************************************************************************************

The Amazons had started to wise up by late morning Wednesday.  That explained why Circle Time had an extra song about Friendship.  Whole group after centers was a book about how we should be nice to our friends.

Neat. Cool story.  Good thing Tommy wasn’t my friend.

“I’m sorry, Tommy,” I said. “I didn’t realize how sensitive you were.” I stood up and cut across the sitting circle over to him.  “I’ll be more careful from now on.”  I wrapped my arms around him and whispered, “Poor baby is getting picked on by all the grown-up Littles.”  His arms went rigid.

The rest of the class followed suit with equally backhanded apologies and hugs.  Zoge looked half-way convinced.  Beouf eyed me.  It was a familiar look; the same I’d gotten from Brollish on multiple occasions.

On the way to lunch, I spotted Jeremy Merriwether. He was full and tired and talking with his classmates. I’d blended back into the environment for him and most of the actual students.  “Hey!” I shouted out.  “Hey Jeremy!”  His head snapped down and he looked me in the eye.  I held up my plushie and proudly declared. “Lion says you can go fuck yourself!”

“Clark!” Beouf barked at me. “We don’t use that kind of language.”

“It’s not me,” I said, pointing to Lion. “Lion told me to say it.”

“And if Lion told you to jump off a bridge, would you?”

“Yes.”

“Then maybe Lion shouldn’t be allowed in our classroom much longer if he’s going to give you bad ideas.”

“So I can’t cuss anymore?”  The threat meant nothing to me, but I wanted the others to hear it.

Beouf didn’t answer right away. Maybe it was the overhead blast fan in the cafeteria, instead, but I could have sworn I heard her teeth grinding against each other.

While we waited to be unclipped and seated at the communal highchairs, I turned around to my favorite bully boy, Billy. “Keep an eye on Tommy. Let him know if he does anything particularly babyish.”

Billy nodded without thinking. “Deal.” A beat. “Wait. Why?”

“Why not?” That was more than enough for Billy.

Predictably I ended up at the exact opposite table as far away from Tommy as I could. Beouf and Zoge weren’t complete fools.  Fortunately I didn’t need to be by him.  I had the others.  The friendship lesson before Lunch had only succeeded in adding a few new words to the rounds of passive aggressive teasing.

For example, “Mrs. Zoge! Can you cut up my friend Tommy’s vegetables more? I'm worried that he’ll choke! Maybe he needs formula instead?”

Or “Ew, Tommy! That’s so immature!” with just enough of a pause so that the follow up “Sorry! I didn’t mean to!” sounded sincere instead of pre-loaded.

Our lunch period was halfway done and the bottles of milk were being passed out.  Being last to lunch meant that the room was at a fever pitch when we entered and slowly got more quiet as classes of fourth and fifth graders shuffled out with no one coming to take their place.

So it was perfect, just crowded enough, when Billy whispered something to Jesse and he shouted “Ew! Tommy pooped his pants again! Change him! Change him now! Hurry!”  Billy pooped his pants sitting down enough times to where he knew exactly what to look for.  I was so mesmerized by the ensuing fallout that Beouf had to swerve the plastic spork around so that the mashed potatoes would make it into my mouth.

A wave of giggles rippled through the cafeteria. Very rarely did such outbursts happen. Littles in Beouf’s were usually too embarrassed to tell on themselves and the quiet camaraderie of being trapped together kept us from ratting each other out.  That and until a short while ago, no one was getting changed until we got back to the classroom. It was more practical to suffer in silence.

“There,” Billy ‘helped’ pointing to the bottom of the cafeteria cart.  “There’s a fresh diaper there! Change him before I throw up!”

Older kids giggled behind their hands.  Tracy told the preschoolers at her table to hush and eat their food and to stop parroting us.  Oddly enough she looked at me quizzically, even though I only opened my mouth for gobs of shepherd's pie. Did she really know me that well?

“I got him,” Zoge said. Tommy was redder than a firetruck and was close to blubbering. His shoulders started heaving  and he let out a low mournful groan when Zoge picked him up, pulled back his jeans and gave his lumpy bottom a pat. “Oh yeah,” she said. “Definitely.”

The laughter from my old class redoubled and Tracy walked around and blocked their view of us. She was crossing her arms and widening her stance.  She was just a Tweener but was more than big enough to sneer them into submission.  I couldn’t hear whatever ultimatum she’d whispered to them, but it did the job.  

A few of my students reached behind them and adjusted their pants uncomfortably; kind of like how some people unconsciously scratch their heads the moment someone mentions lice. I couldn’t help but wonder…

Zoge bent over and picked up the fresh diaper from the bottom of the cart.   She started cooing at Tommy in Yamatoan. Tommy started huffing and puffing like he was fighting back tears, poor guy.  

We were almost done eating by the time Zoge came back with Tommy.  Most of the other classes had shuffled out and Beouf was pulling double duty.  He was almost in a ball like a cat that was scared to go to the vet, digging his finger into Zoge’s collarbone, and shivering like a hairless rat. 

Playfully, mockingly, I waved.  “Hi Tommy! How was it breaking in the bathroom changing table?”  Zoge stopped long enough to look right at me.  Something lingered behind her eyes.  It wasn’t anger. Zoge didn’t really do overt anger.  Just disappointment.

It took me just a second to realize that the change had gone longer than usual and it wasn’t because it had been particularly messy or that the strap on the changing station got stuck or something.  Tommy had had a good long talk with Zoge in the privacy of the girl’s room.
 
I had to sit between Beouf and Zoge instead of playing.  Fine by me.

Tommy got ignored on the playground.

“What am I gonna do with you, Clark?”  Janet asked after Beouf shared what she’d pieced together.

Good question.

*******************************************************************************************  

“Leave me alone, Clark.” Tommy begged me Thursday.  “Please.”

“Okay.” I said.  I kept following him around the playground. “I am.”  He led me around the slide. Over the balance beam.  Weaving in and out of the spring ponies. Through the tunnel.  All at the leisurely pace of a horse that was made to sprint across the desert. “I just happen to be going to the exact same place you’re going to at the exact same time. What a coincidence, huh?”

 The others had given him a hell of a silent treatment all day.  He didn’t want to be treated the way that Amazons treated Littles? Fine. He’d get treated the way I treated the giants. No talking unless absolutely necessary.  Cold stares. The absolute scorn reserved for the enemy.  Who would want to talk to a snitch?  

All it took was “Don’t talk to snitches” whispered in the bus loop that morning.

By naptime, he was begging for someone, anyone to talk to him. I started humming Hush Little Baby and the others joined in. We clammed up when Beouf poked her head through the door, but the message had been well sent. 

He wasn’t ready to break, but not for me.  “Hi Tommy, I heard you want to talk. Do you want to talk buddy? Come on! It’s me! It’s your pal! You wanted someone to talk to, well let’s talk.”  Four days of gaslighting and social shunning is a lot longer off of paper.  Memories are short when you’re happy. Even shorter when you’re miserable.

“Clark…do you need to have a seat?”  Beouf warned me.  Tommy wasn’t complaining, but his body language said enough.

“It’s fine,” Tommy yelled. “I’m fine!”  He was a poor liar.

“Come and keep me company, Clark.”

I shrugged. “Fine by m-”

“No! Wait!” Tommy called out. “I want to talk to Clark. Alone! Please!”

Beouf looked dubious. There wasn’t much to be done if my plaything didn’t advocate for himself. “Alright…but you can come and keep me and Mrs. Zoge company too if you want, Tommy.  We’re safe.”

“No thanks.”

I slung my arm over Tommy’s shoulders and flashed my biggest toothiest goofiest grin Beouf’s way.  She knew what I was doing. I knew what I was doing.  But what was she gonna do about it?  That’s the problem with having beliefs and rules to follow, I guessed. You had to follow them.  “Step into my office,” I told Tommy.

The A.L.L. gave us the back of the tree.  Annie, Billie, and Chaz coincidentally spit onto the ground right by Tommy’s feet on their way back into view.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Why?” Tommy begged me. “Why are you doing this? Why me? Why now? Why are you hurting me?”

A smirk played at the corner of my mouth. “Why not?  What did you do to deserve this. Must’ve been something.”

“Please stop. I just want to mind my own business and go to school and try and figure out a way to live my life and-”

“Be a baby?” I offered.

“Ye…No!”

I was a tiger playing with his mouse. “You sure?  Seems like it.”

Tommy buried his hands in his face.  I stood taller.  “I just…I…I’m sorry, okay.  I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but please stop picking on me.” He was close to tears. ‘I’m not like Ivy or…or…or even Sandra Lynn.  I know I’m an adult.”

“But you want to be like them?”

He was doing everything he could not to explode.  “No!” My pose was almost identical to Tracy’s in the cafeteria the day before.  “Yes?  I don’t know! I just want you sto..” He choked on his words lest he start weeping uncontrollably.

I sat down and leaned against the tree.  I was in control here.  “Okay. So who should I pick on instead?”  He could barely talk, but his expression showed the disbelief.  “Who? Should I? Pick on? Instead?  Who deserves it more?”

He was prey looking for predators lurking in the tall grass. Unable to see anything, yet fearing a trap.  “Sandra Lynn?”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“Sandra Lynn.”

“Why?”

“She’s been here the longest besides Ivy. She acts the most like a baby.  Giggles when Beouf makes her voice go high and cutesy.  Likes to show off.”  If not for the Monkeez his knees would have been knocking. “This is definitely gonna be her last year at this rate.”

I mimed thoughtfulness. “Hmmm…maybe. Maybe.” I looked him in the eyes and waited for him to look away.  He did.  I stood up and smiled. “Okay.  Sure.”

“Thank you!” He wrapped his arms around my waist. “Thank you!”

“Sir.”

“Thank you, sir! Thank you!”

I called my crew back and told them the news. Tommy was okay. Maybe more adult than he seemed.   Even said that Tommy might have potential, never mind that I had no idea what that meant.  I didn’t tell them about Sandra Lynn. That could wait till next week.

I finished that Thursday walking over to Beouf and Zoge on the playground’s bench and nestled myself confidently between them.  Melony spared me a glance, wondering what I was up to.  I smiled back, folded my hands behind my head and rested my eyes.

[YourFNF]

3 hours ago, Personalias said:

Then with practiced ease I reached out and-

FLICK!

“Ow! Clark! What the fuck?!”  Same ear. Same spot.  I was three for three.

I blinked away pretend confusion. “Hm?”

 

Ironically he's playing into the Amazon's hands with this...

[YourFNF]

3 hours ago, Personalias said:

I finished that Thursday walking over to Beouf and Zoge on the playground’s bench and nestled myself confidently between them.  Melony spared me a glance, wondering what I was up to.  I smiled back, folded my hands behind my head and rested my eyes.

And what sympathy I had for Clark is gone with these past few chapters. He's basically turned into a prison gang leader just to have some petty power.

[Tailie]

29 minutes ago, YourFNF said:

And what sympathy I had for Clark is gone with these past few chapters. He's basically turned into a prison gang leader just to have some petty power.

Petty, sure, but it beats turning into a baby full time. Anything to keep his mind intact.

[Samriis]

One of the reasons I love this story is because it plays against how I grew up... I was Very susceptible to gaslighting then as I just wanted to belong and believed everything I heard... now the curtain has been lifted and I recognize it for what it was, but it terrifies how easy and effective it can be, given enough people.  On the flip side... it can really reinforce desired behavior as well... kind of makes you wonder... 

Yikes... some dark lines of thought down that path....

But that is why this story hits me so hard.  Because it makes me think.  Not just feel.  

[BabyJilly_S]

 

Awww, I  was hoping Tommy was going to turn around and beat the living shit out of Clark

 

[Personalias]

Chapter 77: Tired

I woke up because I needed to pee.  Resting my eyes on the playground’s bench had been a precursor to me completely passing out in the playpen in Janet’s classroom not half an hour later.  Too many late nights cursing into the baby monitor.  

One by one, my senses started to come back online like an old computer slowly booting up.  Holy cow, did I feel old in that moment.  Joints ached. Eyes fought to stay closed. Lips felt dry and cracked like I’d been snoring.  And people were calling me “sir”.  Damn it felt good to feel old again.  

The cold blooded and efficient part of my brain considered shifting my weight a bit, peeing and then going back to sleep. Thursday was Little Voices night, big night ahead of me.  My eyes wouldn’t roll themselves, after all.  

I stretched and let out a yawn.  Some tiny, paranoid part of me wanted to reach between my legs and make sure I hadn’t already wet in my sleep. Me, an actual bedwetter?  That would have been low-key humiliating.

I heard Janet’s soft, whispering “Aw” as I stretched and let out my quietest yawn. My stirring on the playpen’s cushions must have alerted her. I wiggled my toes and felt nothing but soft fleece press against them.  No shoes. The cushions shifted underneath me and my brain roused itself from its dreamless void. The pen in Janet’s classroom didn’t have any cushions.

That meant…

I opened my eyes to Janet peering down at me, a soft contented smile. I must’ve looked like a cherub to her Mommy maddened mind. The traffic outside the car door whizzed and hummed by making almost pleasant white noise.  Easy to drift off too and not too. “Hey there sleepy bear.”

Half-sitting up, half-rolling over I looked around to figure out where we were.  The world went spinning and white the tiled floor of the Community Center rushed up to greet my face. “Fu-!” I yelped out in terror milliseconds before giant ropes of arms grabbed onto me.

“Ooops! Sorry! Sorry!”  Janet caught me just in time to stop me from face planting.

The fall chased the grogginess right out of me.  It also chased something else out.  The front of my pants was quickly warming up.  My bladder was still emptying when Janet sat me back up in her lap, and I was too shocked to try and stop it.

“Is he okay?” Another Amazon asked.

Janet answered for me. “Yeah. He just woke up all at once.  Surprised both of us.”

“He didn’t hit, did he?”

“No, no. Just had a scare.”  Just in case, she started looking me over. I chewed on my tongue, annoyed. It was the closest I’d gotten to getting out of an Amazon’s grasp and it was an accident, (pun not intended).  At least I didn’t need to pee anymore.

The last bits of my mind caught up to the present with that jolt of adrenaline.  I was in pumpkin patch print jammies, and everything but my head and hands was bundled up in soft fleecy cotton.  I’d more or less sleepwalked without the walking throughout the afternoon and into the evening.  

I’d been scooped up, put in a car seat, taken to Janet’s house, laid down in the crib, stripped and redressed, and then transported to Little Voices.  Success had made it so that adrenaline and spite waned enough for me to pass out.  I remembered it all happening through a haze, like tiny snippets from sleep.  On some level I probably thought it was part of the dream.

No flash memories of any changes either, which explained why I’d been full to bursting.  I wasn’t incontinent, just being subjected to unpotty training.  Right on cue, Janet prodded between my legs and sighed contentedly upon finding me wet.  She probably was worried that I was dehydrated or something.  At least she didn’t say anything about it.  No declarations of ‘wet’ or ‘good baby’.  The quick squeeze around my shoulders was still irksome.

As per usual, Amazons chatted with one another as if they were actual parents and their perfectly mindfucked Littles crawled underfoot and talked about things that should have only mattered to simpletons and children.  This mixture of self-satisfied smugness and toddlerized small talk was what my brain had warped, mixed together, and written off as the whitenoise of cars passing by on the freeway.

A middle aged Amazon let out an exhausted sigh. “She went to sleep after she calmed down, but you would not believe the amount of screaming one Little body can hold.” The pink haired woman I’d reduced to tears a few weeks prior sat in her lap.  Looks like her Big-younger sister was off vacation duty.

The other Amazon let out a small bark of laughter but gave a serious nod, “Oh I’d believe it. I’ve had my fair share of tantrums.” She brushed aside a strand of sandy hair and pointed to the Little girl waddling around in the common area. “So much effort over the silliest things, and all because she said the kitty cheated while they were playing a game. An hour of crying, and she had completely forgotten after the nap of course.”

“Oh they always do,” a Daddy joined in. “My little one once got upset because his sister was looking out of his window while we were on a car trip. Thankfully I was able to distract them with a movie, but it was a long trip.”

“Movies in the car,” the first sighed. “Wished I’d had that growing up. Would have made road trips with My Little brother and sister a lot easier.”  The three Grown-Ups laughed and nodded sagely.  

So this was generational… Amazons growing up with Littles forced to be siblings, and thought they should get some of their own.  That was low key terrifying.  Despite how much they patted themselves on the back, I was betting even money they wrote off ‘hypnotic trance’ as ‘distracted by cartoon’.

Speaking of cartoons: “So Daddy said we couldn’t see the Gubble Buppies movie cause they wouldn’t let him come in, and he wanted to see it super bad too.” It was the same girl who’d had no problem with being turned upside down to the point that her dress fell off.  “I don’t get it. The poster said ‘All Ages’.”

Other Littles nodded while moving around under the chairs, no more noticed than ticks on a dog. They just couldn’t stay still. “Mommy said I couldn’t see it either cause they wanted her to wear special glasses and they were uncomfy, but we got to go to see Princess Party instead and it was really funny! There’s a part where Eliza is playing a silly game with her Daddy, and it’s really funny…”

I wanted to slap my forehead as hard as I could.  Were they that dense? Were they really that oblivious? That willfully ignorant to the way the world worked and continued to work before their abduction?

A third let out an excited gasp. “Oh! I wanna watch that! Maybe Mommy or Daddy will take me, or maybe if Grandma or Grandpa come to visit!”

Must be.  Blissful mindfucked ignorance.

My ears pricked up to another conversation.  “...And she’s been so lonely lately, asking for more play dates, wanting to just go out more. She needs somebody else in her life that can be around more often. Someone besides Nick and I, especially since we’re both working so much now.” I honed in on an Amazon sitting next to her friend, both had to be in their mid twenties. “So…..” At this she paused and looked around surreptitiously, even checking under her chair, before confirming no munchkins were around, her own being across the room playing ball with a group of other Littles. “Nick and I have decided to start trying for a baby!” She said it quickly and in a whisper hard to catch. If they hadn’t been right next to Janet I wouldn’t have heard any of it.

That poor Little was in for a world of awkward being next to a real kid and them being allowed to grow up.  How messed up was that?  I remembered. Mary’s blue haired sister. This kind of thing was normalized.  The whole thing put lie to the idea that Amazons were overcompensating from an infertility epidemic or something.

My eyes panned over and across the room, scanning for Mark. Horsey McDoucheface was pleasantly absent, so I had that going for me. Several reasons why he might be absent caused my upper lip to automatically curl in disgust. If he adopted a Little so he could fit in better, that was bad. If he came back at all, that was bad. I snuck a glance above me and saw Janet’s chin pointed in the same direction.  Was she looking for him too?

In his usual spot was another woman idly going through her phone. At her feet a Little was rummaging through a seaweed green diaper bag. Wearing just a T-shirt and Monkeez, he was rummaging around like a booze hound looking for a nip.  It might have been the sound of the zipper or the crinkling of stacks of diapers being discarded, but he made enough of a noise to make her look down from her phone.

She didn’t talk loud enough for me to hear, but she pulled back and looked down inside his crinkling underwear.  Homeboy didn’t even flinch.  The idea that he might be trying to help by getting himself a fresh diaper made me lose any imagined respect I was having.

Turns out that wasn’t his plan. He kept digging, and his Mommy did a double take.  She stood up over him and bent over.  “Sweetie, no no no. No playing in your diaper bag,” I managed to hear, mostly through lip reading and context clues; kind of like when you’ve seen a movie so many times you can tell what’s being said even if the volume is down too low and there’s a million things going on behind you.

His own fingers firmly planted in the mouth, he kept trying to push and rummage through, trying and grabbing at things. “Mmmfmfmgurfft!”  A pacifier clattered to the floor, along with a teething ring, an empty bottle glazed on the inside with droplets of apple juice, a packet of baby wipes, plastic keys, and an orange terry cloth bib.  Wow.  This guy was good.

Strong hands began to impede the much smaller limbs in their mission of mayhem. “Give me a second and I’ll get you them, sweetie.” Her voice kindly soothed, trying to prevent a tantrum.

“Mmmfmfmgurfft!”  Evidently, it wasn’t working.  Now tucked under his captor’s arm, he kicked and reached towards the diaper bag like he’d seen his old wedding ring while munching on his fingers.  

The larger being easily moved the remaining items aside, quickly finding a yellow plastic pouch of some desired goodie.  The Little grabbed at it with the hand not plunged between his lips. Picking up the Little and placing him in her lap, the pouch was not given over. Instead a small amount of teardrop shaped objects was measured out and given. “Here are your yogurt bites, sweetie.” The man-baby happily began to munch, tension leaving his body, as they looked around the room, the frenzy over. Other Mommy’s and their Little Helpers picked up the discarded distractions and placed them back in the diaper bag.  She mouthed “thank you” and contented themself with petting her now oblivious ‘child’s’ hair.

I felt Janet’s massive form lean sideways.  A rubber nipple brushed lightly against my cheek.  “You hungry? Thirsty?”  Janet asked.  Seeing that Little get snacks gave her her own ideas. I tried to snarl up at her, but my face still sagged.  My mind was awake enough but my body was still feeling tired and old.  “You slept through dinner time. I didn’t want to wake you.”

My breath felt hot and dry.  My skin kind of did too.  Knocking Tommy in line this week had made me thirsty.  “What’s in it?” I asked.

“Goat’s Milk, remember?”  She held the bottle up to her mouth and took a sip to prove it. A few errant giggles from fellow Littles made their way up to me.  Evidently a giantess sucking on a baby bottle was amusing; they were Grown-Ups after all.

I reached up and accepted the bottle, tasting the milk.  It wasn’t cow milk, but it was definitely milk.  The differences were subtle and hard to describe.  It was the difference between a name brand soda and the store brand.  The flavor was similar but not quite identical.  Some key ingredient had been withheld or something had been thrown in, but it wasn’t inherently bad or inferior, just not what I was used to. It  was thicker and creamier, but not garishly so.  It wasn’t like a milkshake and flowed through the nipple and dribbled down my tongue easily enough. It was more like whole milk with some extra cream stirred in- extra whole milk- or buttermilk that leaned more towards milk than butter but still had that hint when I swallowed.

“Trust issues?” The middle aged woman to Janet’s right asked.  She mimed sucking on the bottle.

“Yeah,” Janet said. “He’s had bad experiences with people trying to give him candy.” The woman nodded, sympathetically, but said nothing more on the subject.  I kept sipping on the milk, leaning back into Janet while pacing myself.  She took the opportunity to adjust and cradle me in her lap.

Still kind of achey, I let her and slowly sipped at the bottle. Something had awakened in me once I began swallowing. I wanted to guzzle the whole thing down at once like it was a pint, hiccups and burping be damned.  I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.

I paced myself, however. Gently nursed instead of gulped.  The goat’s milk was good enough, but it was novel at best.  I wasn’t savoring the flavor as much as I was stalling.  No one expected me to sing the stupid “We’re All Together Again” song.  Janet didn’t bob me on her knee.  I managed to make it through two whole baby lap games before Janet tilted the plastic cylinder up and forced me to finish it.  “I’m glad you liked it,” she whispered.

I’d gotten out of “kissing booth” which was really just an excuse to violate a Little’s personal space by announcing which body part was next to be kissed, or nibbled, or nuzzled ad infinitum. The way Janet was staring I could tell she was taking notes.  I’d be put through this later, that much was certain, but she seemed sad she couldn’t do it right then and there in front of everyone.  So much of Amazon Mommydom was, in fact, performative reminders of everyone’s status.

I finished up my stalling just as another lap game was taught and reviewed.

“This is the way the baby goes,
Snappity snap, clappity clap.
This is the way the baby goes.
Peekaboo! I See You!”

Everyone under seven foot got turned into a living marionette with the bigger people puppeting their hands to make them snap and clap and cover their face.

I wasn’t going to escape the bouncing games.  Janet joined the others on the floor and turned me around to face her.  

“I went to town

To get some butter
And when I got there
I fell in the gutter!”

She bounced me and then opened her lap, plopping me on the floor with a squish only I could feel.  This was not how I was accustomed to getting between a pretty girl’s legs.  

Sooner than the Amazons wanted yet much too long for my tastes, the games ended and the Littles were being herded off into the empty nursery.  “Do you want to be changed?” Janet whispered to me.  “I can take you to the restroom for some privacy.”

Just imagining myself laying back down caused a pulsing headache to well up in the back of my skull.  I’d done enough lying down for a bit.  “No thank you,” I said.  It didn’t stop her from carrying me down the hallway instead of letting me get in line with all the padded sheep.  

I didn’t stop her either, and just allowed myself to enjoy being carted around.  It’s not like I was going to be able to nap again.  Experience had taught me that I’d get approximately three to five minutes alone to sulk or nap or just zone out before Amy would meander up and startle me with…wait.

I looked around.  No crawling, brown haired, gap toothed nuisance in sight. “Where’s Amy?”

“Ms. Helena and Amy didn’t come this week,” Janet said. “I’m surprised it took you so long to notice.” She booped me on the nose.

“Is she okay?”  I found myself asking.

“I’m not sure.  I haven’t seen anything online about Amy or her  being sick.”  For a split-second I was actually kind of appreciative that Janet mentioned the Little first.  “But I’ll be happy to text and tell Amy’s Mommy you missed her..”  And there the appreciation went; right down the toilet.  “Maybe Amy was just tired or they didn’t feel like coming this week.  Maybe Ms. Helena had an emergency at work, like Mark.” Before I could ask the question, she added, “He texted.”

So he wasn’t out looking to fill up a crib just yet.  Good.  One less giant getting a smug dose that adopting Littles was the one true way.  Bonus.

Maybe he’d end up adopting a Shetland pony. Horses wore diapers, too and Amazons liked it when their fake babies bore a passing resemblance to themselves.  It let them pretend they were related to their dolls.  Mark might be happier with a pony.    

“Oh Clark,”  Janet sighed.  She set me down on the nursery floor. “What am I gonna do with you?”  I hadn’t even said anything, but it felt like she was half-reading my mind.  She gave me a pat on the head and walked back to go swap brainwashing stories with her new friends.  Just before she crossed the threshold she paused and looked back at me, frowning slightly.

“What?”

She twisted her lips and then walked out of sight.

“Your Mommy’s pretty cool,” someone said behind me.  “I wonder what it was like before her Maturosis expressed itself.”

I looked to my left and saw the white haired Little boy I’d met my first time in this particular madhouse. He was wearing a black onesie and had on his hips for lack of pockets. I let out a quiet groan.  “What the heck are you talking about?  Maturosis is complete bullshit.”

“No it’s not,” White Hair said. “It’s very real. That’s why they’re meeting. This is a support group.”

I sat down on the carpet and grabbed a toy pull string giraffe just to have something to fiddle with.  Never let them know you’re interested.  Never let them know you care.  “This is a cult.”

“Same difference.”

“Look,” I said, “I’m just gonna call you Danny”.

He pointed to his onesie. “That’s my name, actually.”

I cursed under my breath and kept going. “Okay, Danny, whatever.  Maturosis is complete bullshit.  Littles aren’t babies.  We don’t spontaneously need to wear diapers or sleep in cribs or drink from bottles, and even if we did that doesn’t justify taking away our legal personhood and strip us of our agency.”

“I agree.”

The giraffe stopped moving, his long neck no longer bobbing up and down in a lever motion.  “Then what are you trying to tell me?”

“Maturosis is a legit medical condition. It’s just misdiagnosed.  We don’t have it,” he pointed to tonight’s lone caretaker. “They do.”

“Amazons have Maturosis?” I resumed pulling the toy along the floor. “Yeah…right.  Let me try telling all my ex-coworkers that.”

“They won’t listen because they have Maturosis,” Danny retorted. “Most of them anyways.”

The wooden zoo animal fell sideways with my swipe. “Then why aren’t they pooping themselves in a parent teacher meeting?”

The know-it-all’s eyes lit up slightly.  I’d given away something.  “Maturosis is what made them force you to poop,” Danny said.  “Maturosis isn’t what makes Littles act like babies.  It’s what compels them to treat us like babies.”

I rolled back and laughed so hard my bladder loosened slightly. My new idiot looked slightly offended.  First Amy wanted to make a conscious non-ironic distinction between Adult and Grown-Up, now this bleached mother fucker was trying to sell me on ‘reclaiming’ a bullshit term used to justify my enslavement.  Did wonders never cease?

“What else would you call their madness?” he asked me.  “Lots of Amazons are perfectly nice, reasonable people except for this one thing.  They’re absolutely normal and respectful and decent until something in them snaps and then they dress us up like this.”

The laughter in me started to die down and my breath felt hot in the back of my throat again. “That sounds totally…totally…”  It sounded familiar. It was exactly the same line of thinking that let me go to work for ten years.  “What’s your point?”

Danny laid down next to me and placed his hand behind his head.  “That’s what this Little Voices program is all about.  It’s not to help us, it’s to help them.”

My head felt heavy. I had been right.  I didn’t want to get up again, even though the nursery floor was harder and more uncomfortable than Beouf’s rough and tumble carpet.  My eyes felt itchy and in no way wanted to close, but there was almost nothing that was going to make me sit up again.  “Help them feel better about themselves,” I grumbled.

“You’re not wrong.  But it’s also helping them control themselves.”

I lifted my foot and wiggled my toes inside the pumpkin patch jammies.  “Yeah. A whole lot of self-control going on here,” I said. “Did you know she didn’t even wake me up to dress me in this?”

“How many times has she spanked you since coming here? How many of those mind fucky cartoons has she made you watch? How many punishment enemas? How many high grade laxatives? Does she not change you enough?  Does she gag you with those inflatable pacifiers?  Little Voices teaches Amazons to restrain themselves.  It teaches them to see as people, even if it’s just baby people.”

“Okay,” I admitted. “Point taken. The lesser of two evils is still evil, though.”

“But it’s still lesser.”

Silence was my only concession.  A shiver ran through me. “Besides. I kind of like it. It’s really not that bad.”  That was enough for me to muscle up back into a sitting position. Fuck this guy. Little Voices had gotten to him too.  I stood up and went to walk away. Empty cribs here I come.  “Hey, do you know Amy?”

I froze and turned. “We’ve met.”

“She’s not here tonight, but you should talk to her.  She has some really good ideas.”

“Like Maturosis being for Amazons?”

“Naw, that’s me and a couple of the other guys.  Amy’s pretty cool though. She can teach you a lot if you pay attention.  When I first got adopted, I-”

“I literally don’t care, Darby. Could. Not. Care. Less.”

“My name’s Da-.”

“Don’t care.”  Now that I knew this sub-Amy nutbag’s name was Danny I would never get it correct again.  I huffed over to an empty crib and lightly rammed my face against the bars. The cool untouched wood felt good against my skin.  

I was going to call the Daddy on duty to put me in so that I’d have a level of separation from this cult within the cult.  I’d be safe there.  Safe and alone.  Safe, and alone, and away from the door.  Safe, alone, and away from a poorly guarded exit that had only one trusting guard and with no allies or pawns to act as distractions.

And every day it was getting easier to pee myself. Or wear wet. Or drink from a bottle. Or be carried around.  Or half sleep through getting my clothes ripped off of me.
Well, fuck.

I was throwing away perfectly good opportunities here.  How to use them, though?  I was in a room full of people who had been broken in with the same methods that Beouf used.  I hadn’t asked around, but chances are more than a couple of them had literally ‘graduated’ from Oakshire Elementary on their way to a full scale daycare.  What could be done with a room full of people who were essentially like Amy?

Not quite, Amy, actually. Not even close in some aspects. I’d been able to make some of them cry.  I was getting good at controlling Littles through tears. My smile didn’t reach my soul, though.  Once a week for about half an hour?  Bullying wouldn’t work.

“Ooooooookay!” I shouted in the same teacher voice I’d used earlier on the playground  “Gather round one and all!” I mixed in a bit of an old fashioned carnival barker flare.  “Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! Step right up! Step right up!”  Just like before the mice gathered around me like I was the Pied Piper.  “Friends, do you like playing tag but are constantly flustered by tag backs?  Do you deserve to be in your school’s Winter Pageant but keep getting cast as Tree Number Four and yearn to flex your acting chops? Then do I have a game for you?!”

Among the mini-crowd Danny looked at my one-eighty attitude adjustment through confused and jaded lenses. I threw him a wink. Some might think I was being theatrical. I sincerely hoped he knew I was mentally flipping him the bird.

From there I taught the group Battle Tag.  It was an instant hit.  

“Oh Agony! Agony!”

“I’m melting! Melllllting!”

“Must! Stay Away! From! The Light!”

“But I’m too young!”

It was tamer than the playground version from earlier in the week.  No hard hits or tackles. No mud to roll in.  For all intents and purposes it was just a silly game of tag with a little extra sugary melodrama sprinkled on top.  Nothing to be suspicious of at all, just the same silliness as the game of keeping the balloon in the air or the feathers that made things light and heavy.  

Speaking of which.  “Gotcha!” I ran up to a pot bellied mammoth of an Amazon man. I was panting but not even working up a sweat, even though I was cocooned and fuzzier than a caterpillar.

“No thank you, Clark.” The Amazon man on nursery duty said. “I’m not playing.”

Damn.  “Okay.”  I filed away his appearance.  This one didn’t play with us.  I’d need a player at some point.  

I went and just barely caught up Danny. “Gotcha!”

While he contorted on the ground screaming about his spine, I rested my hands on my knees.  Goat’s milk was a bad choice.  I was only able to keep up with some of these guys because Littles’ playroom had less space to run in than Beouf’s fenced in playground.

“Alright everybody,” the Amazon called. “Line up. Time for checks and changes.”

Panting and giggling, everyone else made a single file at the changing table.  I looked around for explanation.  “Kylie’s Papa likes to check and change everybody before the meeting ends.”  They sounded annoyed but not put out.

The attendant heard that evidently. “I never give anybody back wet.”  He patted a couple packs of different diapers he’d brought in himself. “Don’t worry. I’ve got something for everybody.”

“Sometimes I like to hold it and go just after I get checked,” somebody whispered. “Just cuz.” Nodding and giggles was the reply.

I imagined myself in front of everyone stripped down and wanted to heave.  It wasn’t just the heat and the goat’s milk this time.  My hand shot up.  “Uh…sir.” I called, feeling my throat tighten.  “My Mommy and teacher are the ones who change me, normally. And our changing table is kinda…private.”

This was the wrong move, evidently.  The ground trembled beneath my feet as he strode.  “Then you can go first, buddy”

“What?!” My shriek came out as a cracking squeak.

“Everybody is single file and I’m a pretty big guy.” He grabbed his belly for emphasis.  He could have played Santa at the Mall.  “Don’t need a curtain when you’ve got me.”

“Um…I can wait.”

I was expecting taunting.  Something like “Awww, poor baby is afraid to get his diapie changed.”  Or “Widdle Clark wants to keep playing in his soggy pants! What a precious baby!”  It’s what I would have done if I’d had the backup and thought I could have gotten away with it.  What I got was the so-called kids of Little Voices politely looking away and pretending not to notice me pleading like a public change was some kind of execution.

“Seriously, Clark. It’s okay.” Danny said.  “We’ve all been there.”

“No thanks, Darren.”

“Dan-”

“Whatev-”

I was in the grip of the behemoth before I’d finished my insult.  “This won’t be so bad,” the big man confided in me.  “I’ll make it quick.  In and out; up and down.”

“No!” I croaked. “Stop! Not yet!”  I had the barest inkling of what that Little girl in the barbecue restaurant had felt like.  I wasn’t ready.  I was never going to be ready.  

“Come on, kiddo.  Let’s get this over with.  Make your Mommy proud.”  Like lightning I was trapped on the mat, my breath heavier than normal.  It was nothing for him to unsnap the inseam of my jammies.  I started quivering as ice cold air poured over my lower half.  “Monkeez, huh? Good. That’s what I brought.”  

He lifted my legs up so he could get the lower half out of the way; make it easier to slide the old diaper out and the new one in, but when he grabbed me the ankles he paused and let go of me.  “Wow, you’re kind of red.”

Of course I was red. A strange man was about to drag an ice cold rag across my privates in front of everyone.  Why wouldn’t I be red?  “But not sweating…”

“Clark?”  Janet’s voice got my attention.  She walked into the playroom, leaving the lower door wide open.  “Hey Don. What’s wrong?”

The big guy put his icy cold hands on my forehead and cheeks.  “I’m not a doctor, Janet, but I think your baby’s sick.”

[YourFNF]

I think Damien might be on to something with his theory though...

[Personalias]

Chapter 78: Fever
Teachers don’t get sick that often.  It’s not something we do. Part of it is just building up natural stamina and resistance. As a general rule, kids are germ factories, walking petri dishes of viruses and bacteria all spreading it around with one another.  Not counting hospitals, schools are probably the biggest hotbed for any number of diseases.  So teachers, as a side effect, often develop very robust immune systems.

If only that were the only reason why teachers were hardly ever sick. That’s barely a third of the reason why.  The rest of it is more of a cultural thing. ‘Sick’ for a teacher, and ‘sick’ for someone else in almost any other profession are two different metrics. Somebody else might get a case of the sniffles or a mild fever or toss their cookies first thing in the morning, and decide to call out of work.  It sucks, of course, and their boss will totally give them grief about it if it happens too often, but it’s not like the entire accounting division is going to be thrown into chaos for the day because Steve woke up with an ear infection.

As a teacher, though? No such luck.  Me being sick meant that I had to call into school as well as put in the appropriate digital paperwork advertising that I needed a substitute teacher for the day. Then I’d have to have plans that amounted to a script so thorough and detailed that a complete novice who didn’t know my classroom norms and procedures and likely didn’t have a teaching degree could run my daily routines as if I wasn’t really gone. This includes being able to tell them in perfect detail where everything is from worksheets to learning toys to art supplies and pencils.

Yes, I could have ‘Emergency Sub Plans’ filled with busy work but busy work in of itself is a misnomer. Even with three and four year olds, what was appropriate and challenging at the beginning of the year was nothing by the middle, and six hours worth of material come August might not last half an hour come April.

Every time a teacher feels under the weather, they’re faced with a choice: Stay home, rest, and heal, or pop a pill, suck it up, run on fumes and drone through the day like a zombie.  When it takes at least a day worth of preparation to be absent for an entire day, most teachers will take their chances and hope that their students are either empathetic enough or oblivious enough not to take advantage of the situation.  For me it was doubly so. All it would take was one slip up and…

And…

Well, you know…

Another fun fact, when teachers do get sick, it’s more likely to be on vacation. Three day weekends and other prolonged scheduled breaks are the most likely time for a teacher to finally stay in bed so that they can barf up a lung or something.  I’m not sure how accurate that is statistically, but that’s how it always felt to me.  

Perhaps it was more psychological than physiological, but if I was going to get sick it tended to be on the days when I knew I’d have the time to recover. Like my body would ignore symptoms or my brain would block out pain and exhaustion just long enough until my mind knew that I could afford to be sick and then suddenly everything would hit me all at once.

That was another thing about me in particular.  I’m a total wimp when I get sick.  All confidence and self-reliance goes out of me and I become a whimpering quivering mess who by turns wants to either be left alone in a dark room or to be held and cuddled and told that it was all going to be alright.

******************************************************************************************
There I was that morning, laying out in the middle of the living room on my ‘sick bed’. I was wrapped up in a thick wool blanket with a smooth comforter on top and I was still making the couch cushions vibrate with how much I was shivering.  I never stayed in our giant king bed in our bedroom when I was sick: Cassie needed the computer to do her work still, and the guest bathroom with the Little sized toilet was closer to the couch.  

My joints ached too harshly and my bladder ached too frequently to want to climb the old Amazon sized toilet in the master bathroom.  My eyes focused on the T.V.  The DVD that had been playing had gone on so long it had looped back to the menu screen.  

Damn.  I’d missed it too.

“Cassie!” I whimpered, not realizing just how quiet I was being.  “Cas?!” I called out, feeling like I was shouting at the top of my lungs, but it was probably just a more pitiful moan.

Quiet, almost gliding footsteps came.  “Hey hon,” Cassie said. Even at a whisper her voice sounded booming to me. “What’s up?”  She stopped and felt my forehead, her palm feeling icy cold on my face.  She looked down at the small wooden table she’d set up.  “Do you want more juice?”

The plastic sports bottle, something that only got broken out when I was sick, suddenly existed again in my mind.  My lips were chapped and my throat was dry, but it wasn’t why I had called out for her. Meekly I shook my head. “Uh-uh.”

“I’m gonna get you some anyways.”

“But…”

My wife picked it up and quickly walked over to the fridge.  “Apple or orange?”

“Apple, I guess.”

“What?”

I spoke louder. “Orange!”

“Okay.  Sit up so you can drink it.”

Reluctantly, I did and regretted it.  Sitting up brought me that much closer to the waking world and I realized that I had to pee.  When I’m sick the combination of dulled senses combined with constant hydration makes it so that my bladder either feels completely empty or is to the point of bursting with no warning or in between.  Most of my coworkers would likely snicker something asking how that was different from when a Little was healthy.

Typical.

Feeling like the dead rising from his grave, I struggled out of my cocoon and shambled to the guest bathroom, my clothing nothing more than a baggy t-shirt and a pair of equally baggy shorts.  Peeing felt like it took forever and any stamina I’d saved up felt nearly spent by the time I’d flushed and gone back to the couch.

Waiting for me on the table she’d arranged by the couch was a thermometer, a filled up bottle with watered down orange juice and a couple of pills.  “Come on,” my wonderful wife said. “Let’s get you back and wrapped up.”

“C-c-c-cold.” I felt like my lips were turning blue.  I collapsed back into the couch.  Something about Cassie’s touch made me shiver even more while she started tucking my legs under the blankets.  

She started rubbing my legs up and down, trying to build friction heat.  “Does that help.”

I shivered again. “Not really. But thanks for trying.”

She stopped rubbing my legs and put the thermometer in my mouth.  The metallic taste and the slight weight from it dangling from my lps made me want to spit it out like it was poison.  My eyes looked down at the tiny electronic readout.  Ninety-nine point nine. One hundred.  One-hundred point five.  

Cassie’s slender hand twisted the thermometer so that the screen was pointed down.  “Don’t look,” she said. “It only makes you more stressed out.”  I grumbled but knew she was right. After what felt like much too long the thermometer beeped and she read it.  “Hundred and one point nine,” she said. “Take your medicine.”  She slid the pills over to me and I reluctantly picked them up and took a swig from my bottle.

The orange juice tasted like battery acid to me but it covered up the taste of the pills.  I put the bottle down and wiped my mouth.  “Why do I even have to take my temperature?” I asked. “I know I feel sick.”

With extreme patience, Cassie finished tucking me in, practically swaddling me.  “Because if the fever gets too high, that’s bad.”

“It’s not like we’re gonna go to the hospital.”   That was a sure way to get plopped in a cot.  
Cassie dodged my whining. “Would you rather I stick the thermometer somewhere else?” She grinned with her eyes, but kept the rest of her face calm and patient.

I felt too weak to so much as say, “Pass.”  Instead I just feebly shook my head right before another cold flash ripped through my body.  

She leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.  I moaned in relief at the very touch of her. I hadn’t even realized that I’d closed my eyes again.  “Thank you,” I whispered.

“Welcome, hon,” she said.  

I didn’t even realize she’d walked away. I might not have realized I’d almost gone back to sleep save for that I startled myself awake snoring.  “Cassie?”  I heard only silence and some light clacking. “Cassie?!”

Her footsteps were heavier coming back.  “What’s wrong?” I couldn’t tell if she was annoyed, worried, a little bit of both.  “It’s only been five minutes.” Her focus honed in on the bottle. “Just sip, hon. Don’t tank up too quickly or it’s bad for your stomach.” She reached over and picked up the bottle; frowning when she felt the weight of it.  I hadn’t had a drop.  “Oh.  WHat’s wrong?”

What was wrong? I wasn’t sure.  I wanted to ask her not to leave.  I wanted her to be in the room with me, even if we weren’t directly interacting with each other.  I wanted to ask her to help me climb into our bed so that I could at least be bundled up and unconscious within thirty feet of her.  I just wanted her there.

A sliver of memory pierced through the mind fog I was feeling.  “Can you start my DVD again?”

Cassie looked at the screen.  “Yeah. Sure.”  She went over and pressed play.  “Sure, hon.”

“It helps me sleep.”

“I know.”

My eyes closed again and the rest of the day passed me by, interrupted only by the desperate need to not pee on the couch.

*******************************************************************************

I opened my eyes, needing to pee yet again. I actually held my breath releasing my bladder, irrationally afraid that the diaper would leak. When the leak subtle seeps out the leakguard and soaks your clothes it almost feels like a betrayal. It had one job and it couldn’t even do that.  

When the diaper leaks right as you're peeing, hot fresh urine actively dripping down your thighs and legs; it somehow feels worse.  It feels even more pathetic than usual. Like I was having my first accident all over again. That was unlikely to happen again.  After the first leak that morning, Janet changed me back into a nighttime diaper. I wasn’t feeling in any shape to walk anyways.

Janet had whisked me home immediately, changed me, and put me to bed.  It was the first time in a while that I hadn’t stayed up trying to curse her name, but sleep had not come for me. I spent the whole night closing my eyes, waiting for sleep, but never feeling rested.  Instead, the cold feeling just got worse, and anything that wasn’t cold was somehow on fire.

Night had bled into morning and Janet had seemed disappointed but not surprised that I’d yet to make a full recovery.  “Don’t worry,” she told me. “I already sent emails saying I’d be out today. Stayed up all night making sub-plans.”

Several quiet, hazy hours had passed since then, with only a leaky diaper and Janet opting to lightly swaddle me to mark the time.

“Hey,” Janet whispered to me, once she knew I was awake. “How are you feeling?”

Everything aching I flopped my head to the side. We were still on Janet’s couch. She was reclining in it, holding me gently against her with her outside arm while working a cell phone with the other.  The T.V. was onto some empty talk show where middle aged B-list lady celebrities talked in a circle to the hoots and hollers of their equally middle aged mostly lady audience.  

“What time?”

“Not quite lunch,” she said softly.  “I already called Dr. Milton and told him your symptoms.  He thinks it’s just a bug but if you don’t get better by Sunday we’ll be going to see him on Monday.”

“Mark’s last name isn’t Milton, is it?”

“No.”  She brushed some hair off my forehead. She didn’t laugh or roll her eyes. Just spoke to me softly like my paranoia was the most normal thing in the world. I suddenly felt silly. I’d forgotten that I already had a pediatrician.  Mark probably wasn’t even a doctor.

I chuckled at my own stupidity, but the laughter came out as a weak panting.

Suddenly my body shook and spasmed, and she just gripped me so I didn’t fall.  For either ten seconds or a year, every part of my body that was touching her felt like it was being nuked and the tiniest of slivers of skin that peaked out from the blanket was being flash frozen.  I squirmed and wriggled to be closer to the giant source of warmth that only wanted to cuddle me.  I was actually glad to have her there.

“You can go back to sleep if you want to,” Janet whispered gently to me.  “I don’t mind.”

My eyes closed, but they felt itchy and burning instead of nice and heavy. I tried to count sheep in my head, hoping that I’d lose count and drift off but only one of those things happened.  “No.” I said. “Can’t.”

Janet switched arms and picked up a bottle. She sat up a little straighter so that I was resting in her lap instead of curled up against her torso. “Here.” she said holding up the bottle with red liquid.  “Take a drink.”

I opened my mouth and accepted the nipple, taking more gentle sips of some kind of watered down artificial drink with a flavor that matched the color.  It wasn’t cherry, or strawberry, or watermelon. Just red.

Anxiety trickled down my brainstem, hissing to me about what the contents of that bottle were.  There could have been poison or an addictive drug that caused me to become completely incontinent or killed my brain cells until I’d forgotten my shapes and colors.  At that point in time I was so completely and utterly wiped out that I would have welcomed the death of self.  Also, the stuff tasted pretty good.  Once my cracked throat had some wash down it, it wanted more.

“Careful now,” Janet said. “Don’t drink too fast. You might upset your stomach.”  She took the bottle away from me, letting me have sips every once in a while over the course of several minutes.I didn’t mind. I was just glad to not be alone.

***********************************************************************************************
“How do you think you got it?” Cassie asked.

I was sitting up, spooning broth into my mouth.  “I don’t know. Probably just the summer campus crud.”

Cassie nodded.  She’d heard this song and dance from me a billion times.  “Somebody coughed on you last month or didn’t wash their hands or whatever and your body has just been putting getting sick on hold.”

I shrugged. “Yup.”  I couldn’t tell if she’d heard me so I repeated myself.

“You are such a wimp when you get sick.”  Cassie smiled at me.  I felt like crap, but seeing the smile on her face made me feel a tiny bit better. My stomach wasn’t hurting, but anything more substantial than chicken soup wasn’t the least bit appetizing.  The soup wasn’t exactly mouth watering, but I could picture myself eating it without feeling my throat tighten in rejection.

The way she was eating the spaghetti signaled that she was having no such problems.  “I’ll take care of you if you get sick,” I offered.

“I’m not a wimp when I get sick,” Cassie said.

I took a drag from my sports bottle. The orange juice tasted like I’d just brushed my teeth despite all evidence to the contrary. It might be just because my taste buds were shot.  “I’d still take care of you.  Get you things.”

She favored me with a weak grin and slurped more noodles. “That’s fair.” She finished off her plate in a few more mouthfuls. “Though you know you don’t have to wait for me to be sick and dying to give me stuff.”  

I coughed a bit and silently hoped that wasn’t a new symptom.  “That’s fair.”

“I should stop picking on you,” her voice was both taunting and enervating. She was both flirting with me and making fun of me at the same time.  If only I had the energy to do more than just whimper and imagine myself nuzzling against her in bed. “Okay. Back to work,” she groaned.  I kept sipping broth and listening to dishes clink and clank in the sink.  “Need anything?” She called out.

I swung my feet over the side of the couch and dropped the blankets to the floor.  I tromped after her, doing my best not to shake.  “How many clean towels do we have?”

The love of my life slowed and let me catch up with her.  “At least two.”

“Can I get one wet?”

She looked at me quizzically.  Her eyes glanced down to my shorts before zipping back up to my shoulders. “Sauna treatment?”

“Sauna treatment.”  

***************************************************************************************************

I rubbed my eyes, knowing sleep would not claim me now that I was awake; not when I wanted it.  Sleep never came when I wanted to when I was sick.  

Deep down, I knew exactly how I’d gotten to feeling so absolutely dreadful.  For weeks on end I’d pushed and deprived myself so that others could know my pain.  Even when I shouldn’t have. Especially when I shouldn’t have. On some level I’d been constantly on guard, constantly coiled, ready to strike.

That sweet taste of victory on the playground with Tommy had lulled my mind into enough security that my body finally let down its defenses and whatever gunk inside me had finally kicked into high gear. I’d stepped into the ring, swung against anything and everything within arms reach, and only heard the bell when Tommy hit the floor.

Back in my corner, I was out of breath and the adrenaline was taking me so far and I was now officially feeling every hit that life had dealt me.

I had this coming. I really had this coming; strategically if not karmically.

“I’m sorry,” Janet said. “I’m really really sorry.”

Laying in her arms, gazing past Janet and up at the bathroom ceiling, I croaked out. “Why?”

“I shouldn’t have taken you to the meeting last night,”  she said.  “I should have seen that you weren’t feeling like yourself with how sleepy you were and kept you home.”  She reached up to a medicine cabinet.  For the first time that morning, her voice lilted slightly into her cooing Mommy talk.  “Poor guy. You burned yourself out playing when you should have been sleeping.

I moaned in half-agreement. “I’m pretty sure I’d still be sick.”

“But maybe not as sick,” Janet replied.  “Let’s check your temperature.”

Every muscle that I could muster tensed up involuntarily.  “Please don’t stick it up my butt!”  I opened my mouth like a snake ready for a mouse.

The Amazon clearly wanted to laugh at me, but everything south of her eyes stayed calm and professional. “It’s a forehead scanner, Clark.”  She dragged the top over my forehead and stared at the readout. “Hundred and two.” Her lips retreated inward.  “Not the worst, but not great.”

The world tilted and the blankets drooped off me as Janet sat me on the bathroom counter by the sink. Blizzard air hit me right in the chest and I had to yank the blankets back across myself. Panting,I shifted and felt the wet squelch beneath me.  Had I peed that much already?

Janet was busy pouring a viscous liquid into a cup that was tiny even for me. Every joint in my body ached, and despite the chill, the cool bathroom tile was starting to feel very good beneath my naked thighs. She turned back around and held it out to me.  “Here you go,” she said just above a whisper. “It’s children’s strength.” She quickly corrected herself. “Amazon children…so…Little sized.”

“Will that put me to sleep?”

“Uh-uh.” she said. “It’s just acetaminophen. You can go to sleep if you want, but it’s just to help keep you comfortable.”   Her eyelids flickered and she glanced back down at the cup. “Not enough for a bottle. Do you want me to put it in a syringe so you can suck it up?” My mouth hung slightly agape. It sounded like a genuine question instead of a veiled ultimatum.

I held out my hands and took the plastic cup gingerly from her. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Both hands.”

I threw it back like it was a shot.  The stuff was overly sugared, even for me, and went down like a milkshake.  I set it down next to the sink and smacked my lips.  “Can I have more to drink?”

“Sure. Let’s go get your bottle.”  She stepped forward to envelop me again.  

“Wait.” I held my hands out. “Stop!”  Janet froze.  My eyes gazed out past her to the bathtub. I was cold.  I was trembling. I was wet. “Can I have…” I stopped and swallowed, tasting the last bits of the medicine again. “A shower?”

“A shower?” She looked over her shoulder to the tub’s showerhead as if it were a mysterious alien artifact.  “You want to take a shower?”

Over a month and it had been all baths with the only variables being with or without bubbles.  “Yeah…”

“Yeah, hon. Sure. You can have a shower.”

She transported me over to the tub and stood me up.  It felt like a ball ‘n chain was coming off of me when she undid the tapes and my diaper fell down between my legs.  I sat down with my knees pulled up to my chest as soon as she balled it up and cleared it away.  The coolness of the tub’s basin was exaggerated by my addled senses. I was alone for the first time that day and uncannily awake.  I dared not move.

Janet came back with a fluffy white towel and left it on the sink where I’d been sitting.  “Close the door?” I asked.

She closed the door and turned on the water.  “Let’s give this a try,” she said.  The water came out of the tub faucet and lapped up to my toes, chilly at first.  Janet ran her hand under the water until it was warm enough.  She stood up to her full height and took the shower head attachment off from his perch and snaked it all the way to the floor.  She aimed it down.  “Ready?”

“Ready.”

She pulled a knob on the faucet and it sputtered, stopping for a half a second as water was rerouted through different pipes and tubes.  The showerhead surged to light spraying water down by my toes.  I flinched when tiny droplets bounced off the floor and onto the tops of my feet.  Janet held it steady and I gingerly- very gingerly- slid my feet into the stream.

Relief. Sweet relief as my feet felt the warmest they had in forever.  I was in a hot spring in the middle of a blizzard tundra.  My body untensed and my legs slowly withdrew away from my chest, hungry for more warmth.

The water came out hot and fast, stinging like thousands of bees; pulsing like a tattoo gun.  My upper body still shook.  Janet wisely took that as a cue.  The wonderful torrential downpour maneuvered around me and started spraying on my back.  My arms fell slack against the side.

“Feel good?” Janet asked.

“Yeah,” I said. Looking up at Janet.  “How could you tell?”

My friend smiled lightly, not showing her teeth.  “I’ve never heard you make that sound before.”

“I made a sound?”

In reply, she gave me only pleasant silence, with nothing but the sound of running water hitting my back and the basein to do it. My shoulders wouldn’t quite release the tension, flinching and jerking every few seconds.  I heard a click above me and the water pressure changed.  Still as hot, but not nearly as intense.  That did the trick and my body must have telegraphed it.

“Better?” Janet asked.

“Yeah.”  I threw back my head into the stream and rubbed my hands through my hair, quietly exhilarating in the wet curls flopping down my head and becoming malleable again.  Steam quickly filled the bathroom, fogging the mirror and clouding my vision.  

I inhaled through my nose and relished in the ability to do so.  A stuffy nose wasn’t the worst symptom I’d had. I hadn’t consciously noticed it.  But damn did it feel good.  The medicine must have been kicking in.  

I spent the next five minutes asking Janet to adjust the positioning of the portable showerhead.  First my upper body was too cold, then my legs. Then back to my back.  Anything that wasn’t being doused with near scalding water felt unusually cold.  It wasn’t as bad as before, but it was closer to an itch that wouldn’t quite go away.   I kept my eyes pointed downward, stuck in my own world.

“Do you wanna hold it?” Janet said.  I looked up at her through the steam.  I’d almost forgotten she was there.  I sat up leaning back on my hands for balance and my legs spread open wide, not even attempting to conceal myself.  Janet had seen me naked so many times that I’d lost count.  She knelt over me, holding the wand-like apparatus. She was dressed in light blue sweatpants and a pink t-shirt;  and the steam was starting to do things to her hair.  My head was finally clear enough to look at her and notice her shifting her body weight and wiggling her shoulder.  No way could that position be comfortable for long.   “Do you want to hold the showerhead?” she repeated.

I reached up and out.  “Sure.”  

She passed it off to me and rolled her shoulder.  “Thanks,” she said.

Even with aching joints and limbs that wanted to fall off me; even though the portable nozzle was like a hairbrush in Janet’s hands and a club in mine, I wanted it.  A big dumb smile plastered itself on my mug right as I aimed the water right on my face.  Funny: It took me being sick for Janet to let me do things myself.  

Using both hands I moved the shower head to my spine.  Janet stood back up and was lightly stretching, but she hadn’t taken her eyes off me.  Through the artificial mist I couldn’t tell if her eyes contained that trademark Amazon Mommy madness or if she was showing shades of one friend worried and caring about another.  Maybe both?

“Can I have that towel?” I asked.

Janet looked confused. “You want to get out?”

“Nuh-uh”.  Whether because I was feeling a tad better or because the acoustics in the bathroom carried my voice more efficiently, but it came out loud and clear. “I want to get it wet.  Heat blanket. Opposite of a cold wash cloth?”

Understanding came to her. “Got it.”  She took the fluffy white towel and draped it over my head.  “Here. Let me help.” I didn’t put up any kind of fight when she took the shower wand back from me.  “I’ll give it back. Promise.”

I got hosed down with the towel cloaked over me.  My eyes started rolling because of how good it felt.  The weight of the sopping towel pressed down on my shoulders, absorbing and transferring the heat of the water all around me while making it last longer.  “Oh yeah,” I groaned.  “That’s the stuff.”

Janet’s laughter joined my voice. It was light, almost humming. Satisfied.  She placed the showerhead down by my feet and I just let it spray on me.  “Better?”

“Much. Thank you.” I looked at Janet and saw her turning away, rubbing her eyes.  I’d made a mistake and was too tired to care.  Hefting the showerhead one more time I gave the towel a fresh blast of heat.
************************************************************************************
“Clark?”  Cassie’s voice bounced off our master bathroom.  “You okay in there?”

I roused myself up from the tile.  My hot water towel had cooled around me and I’d nodded off, the steam and my own exhaustion compensating.  I let out a shiver and stood back up, feeling life return to me with more hot water. In truth, we were about out of hot water. It was more tepid than anything, just like with swimming my skin had gotten overly used to it, and my skin swore the air was made of sleet.  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“It’s been close to an hour,” Cassie said. There was a pause. “Did you fall asleep?” She didn’t need to say ‘again’. She technically didn’t need to ask.  She knew.

“I’m getting out,” I called back.  

“Okay,” she chirped.  “I laid out some fresh clothes for you when you get out.”

My sick heart melted a bit.  “Awww. Thanks, Cass!”

“Sure thing, babe!”
*************************************************************************************
The toilet roared and I jolted out of my half-memory half-daydream.  I almost gave myself whiplash. Janet was in the midst of pulling her pants back up over her hips.

“What?” Janet said. Her eyes widened. “Oh no! Did the water get too hot with the flush? I’m sorry!”

Without realizing it I’d let go of the shower head. The darn thing was snaking by the drain, spraying impotently by nothing.  

“No. It’s not that, it’s just…” I started to mumble.  Something close to a blush started to spread.

Janet allowed herself a smirk.  “Big people need to go pee too, you know.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s just…you’ve never…around me.”

Her eyebrows knitted, trying to recollect while she washed her hands.  “I haven’t? “ she said. “Huh.  That’s weird.  I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

She dried her hands on a bathroom towel.  “Nothing.  But if I made you uncomfortable I promise it wasn’t on purpose.”

I stopped myself from saying it was alright.  As refreshed as I was starting to feel I was still exhausted. Only the sound of the shower filled the brief silence.  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

The self-appointed nurse inched closer to the tub.  “You’re all coiled up again.  Feeling tense? Achey?”  I barely nodded, but that was enough.  Reaching over she picked up the showerhead and gently sprayed me down again, coating me with more warmth.  I hadn’t even realized how close my shoulders were to my ears until they’d already lowered back down.

“Let me try something,” she said.  She hoisted the showerhead back to its holster so far above me that I likely couldn’t reach it without being at full strength and being allowed to jump from the rim of the bath.  She took a few moments to angle it, playing it.  “Do you want it coming down on your head or by your feet?”

“Feet, please.”

She angled it so that the stream came just south of my lap, then removed the towel from off my back and then held it close to the head until it was dripping.  Gently, she placed the heated piece of cloth back over my shoulders and my upper body melted.

Janet didn’t stop there.  She started pressing and squeezing at my back, shoulders, and neck.  Kneading and massaging my aching muscles.  I’d never been to a professional masseuse and I highly doubted Janet was anywhere near that skill level, but the level of care she applied more than made up for it.  

I could feel her strength with every squeeze, but knew she was being careful. She probed and poked and prodded, but only until my body gave some sort of unconscious signal to move on or continue.  I’d been touched and carried and picked up and toted and wiped and scrubbed and manhandled so far, but not like this.  

“How’s this?”  she asked.

“Uh-huh.”  I let out a yawn. “Yeah.”  Clearly I wasn’t at my most coherent.

“Can I wash your hair? It might feel good.”

Another yawn.  “Yeah.  Okay.”

I shivered a bit as flower scented goop was poured onto my hair.  Even the shampoo felt cold to my short circuiting senses. The rest felt decadent, however.  Every movement of her fingers gently digging into my scalp, massaging my hair was pure paradise.  

And there was no singing. No cooing. No remarks on how cute she thought I looked. Just some tuneless humming as she took turns massaging my scalp and the rest of my body. For just a few minutes I let myself forget that there was a fresh diaper with my name on it after this.

As if she were reading my mind she took down the shower head and gently rinsed the suds from my hair and body.  “I think it’s time for you to get out.  You’re yawning an awful lot.”

“No I’m not,” I said right as the yawn bellowed out of me.

“Okay. No you’re not.”  She turned off the water.  “Stay right there and try not to fall asleep. I’m going to get a fresh towel.”

“Okay,” I said.

There in the quiet, with only light drips, I sighed to myself and ripped the massive wet towel off my back.  It was losing heat quickly now.  Good things never lasted it seemed.

Janet came in and scooped me up with the old towel’s dryer fluffier twin.  She wrapped me up and swaddled me, paying attention.  A few strides and we were across the hallway and I was back on my back with an especially thick Monkeez making its way under me.  

Two giant fingers dipped themselves in a tub of cream. “You’re peeing a lot today.” She hastily added, “Which is normal.  I’m going to put some of this on you just so you don’t get a rash.” I let out a tired breathy sigh which she must have taken for resignation if not consent.  She started smearing the stuff down below, carefully rubbing it into all the folds and crevices of my skin.

Her nose wrinkled. Mine too. The stuff had a funny chemical smell to it.  Memories of zit cream and off-brand sunscreen bubbled up into my brain.  It was the kind of stuff that you could feel on you for a moment after it was applied.  “How about some powder for the smell?”  

I didn’t complain.  She made it snow on my crotch before closing it off and taping the diaper up.

She sat me up. The padding of the Monkeez still stuck to me like I’d had a training chocolate level diarrhea.  Unconsciously, my eyes started to drift over to the crib.  For once it looked extremely comfortable.

“I know you’re sleepy,” Janet said in a soft quiet voice; even so it thundered slightly between my ears.  “But first, I want to get some more liquid in you.  Let’s go finish that bottle you started.  Maybe we can try and get something to eat.  Then you can go back for a nap like you normally do.”  It was true.  I was becoming accustomed to afternoon naps.  “Something simple.  Oatmeal, maybe.”

“Do we have any chicken soup?” I heard myself ask. “Broth?”

She tapped her chin, thinking. “Yeah. I think I’ve got some.  How about I put it in a coffee mug and you can sip it with a straw? All by yourself?”

The idea of being able to use a straw sounded heavenly. “Okay. Sure.”

She cradled me back up in her arms and carried me to the kitchen.

***************************************************************************

I was still wet when I toweled off, but wasn’t dripping. My skin was back to vibrating the moment my feet were out of the shower.  I threw on the loose shirt and shorts as fast as I could, praying that they’d somehow magically make me feel warm in a way that three layers of blankets and four stacks of pillows had so far failed.  My strength almost spent I hoisted myself into bed and re-wrapped myself in

Cassie was at the computer, click-clacking away.  The glow of the screen felt like an unreadable beacon to my tired eyes, and all I could see was the back of her head, and only if I sat up to watch her work.  “Feel better?”

“Yeah,” I said.  Then I corrected myself. “Better. But not good.”  She kept typing, but I caught the faint outline of her turning around and smiling at me.  “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s what we do.”  She turned back around.

I nestled back and closed my eyes yet again.  My yawn came out like a contented cat’s.  “I love you, Cassie,” I said. She didn’t react. I must have been whispering when I thought I was talking normally again.  “I love you,” I repeated myself.  Nothing.

My eyes popped back open.  She was ten feet away but it might as well have been a mile as far as sound went.

“I love you.”

****************************************************

Something was wrong. My eyes opened, for real this time and not in the fever induced half delirious dream.  I was no longer in the past and still being cradled in Janet’s arms. She beamed down at me, softly smiling like I’d somehow granted her deepest wish.

Oh no!

The giantess had the refilled bottle of juice in her hands and placed it between my lips, waiting for me to suckle down the sugary sweet stuff before telling me, “I love you, too, baby boy.”

[Tailie]

Oh no, he's gone soft.

[YourFNF]

Kinda hard not to trauma bond in this situation.... If I didn't take myself out by this point I probably would have given up and stopped fighting the amazon. Especially being sick like this... Yeah that would definitely be a potential coffin nail for me.

[Personalias]

Chapter 79: Sabotage
“I love you…” 

“I love you, too, baby boy.”

Wake. Wide awake.  Burning up with fever and shivering cold at the same time.  Dehydrated but almost too tired to drink.

And in the moment, none of that mattered.

No. 

No, no, no!

Fuck no!

I did not just say that!

 She did not just hear that! 

I was delirious. 

I was still feverish.  

This was a fever dream.

A fucking nightmare; the same that I always had when things were either too good to last or too awful to handle all at once. Any second now I’d sit up in my crib, covered in sweat, panting and blinking away the nightmare I’d just trapped myself into.  It felt real, but so did all dreams while you were in them.  I’d thought I was awake and about to nod off when I was talking to Cassie in our old bedroom but then I woke up back in 

FUUUUUUUUCK!

“I’m sorry,” I said to Janet, my breath feeling hot in my throat. Shit! Why did I say I was sorry?!  “I was having a dream! I wasn’t talking to you! I thought I was somewhere else!”

Still cradling me, Janet took a seat in the kitchen and repositioned me so that I was seated sideways in her lap, reclining in the crook of her left arm.  The bottle came up to my lips.   “Okay,” she said.  “Drink up.  I just want you to feel better.  That’s all.” To my horror and shame I’d taken the nipple and a few sips of red flavored juice as she was soothing me.

I let the bottle from my lips.. Water mixed with sugary red powder dribbled out over my neck and chest for my trouble. “No!” I said.  “No! That’s not what I-” 

“I understand what you’re saying, sweetie,” Janet interrupted. “But that’s not important right now. You’re sick. You need to stay hydrated. Drink up.”  She was being patient with me.  Too patient.  Infuriatingly patient.  

“No! I didn’t!  I didn’t say anything!” 

 “Just a few more sips for me.”  She managed to get the bottle back between my lips..

I took a few sips.  My bladder suddenly felt full, as it had been feeling all day, and I started to feel amazingly anxious.  “What’s in this stuff?!”

“Water and flavor powder.” Janet set the bottle down and felt my forehead again.  It was still cold but not icy.

“What’s in the powder?” I demanded.  I fidgeted and shivered.  Hard to focus. Cold. Hot.  Had to pee.  Again.  All day.

Janet shrugged noncommittally.  “Electrolytes. Sugar.  That kind of stuff.  I can read you the ingredients off the back of the can.”

“No!” I squealed, my voice cracking. “I want water!”  I wouldn’t have understood the ingredient list anyways.  Who could?

She sighed in annoyance. but there was a glint of worry in her eyes.  “Sure.  Let me get you a different bottle.”

“No!” I barked. My throat felt raw and scratchy. “Dump it out, rinse it and refill it!”  I didn’t want her slipping in anything else, maybe coating the new nipple in something tasteless and odorless that would have me pissing and shitting in my pants or chemically altering my brain so that I’d be in some kind of bizarre brain damaged haze.  

No! Not that! Never!

“Okay, honey,” the worry was spreading to Janet’s voice. “I can do that for you.”

“No! I want to do it! I’ll fill it up!”

“Clark, you’re-!

“I’m not a baby!”  

“I wasn’t going to say-”

“Baby boy! You called me baby boy just a second ago!”  I was angry. I was scared.  I was embarrassed and humiliated.  I was panicking.  My bladder  was full to bursting again and the only thing that distracted me from it was the adrenaline and guilty terror I was experiencing.  “Don’t call me that!”

“Okay,” Janet said.”That’s fine. I’m sorry.  I just meant it as a term of affection.”

Bullshit! “I h-!”  I stopped. She wasn’t looking at me.  I needed her to look me in the eyes when I said it.  She carried me over to the sink.  It wasn’t modified to accommodate Littles at all.  I could sit in it and the water would make it up to my belly button.  And as weak as I was feeling I probably couldn’t fill up the bottle myself unless I planned on glugging it down right on the kitchen counter.  “I hhhhhh!”  I just panted.  She still wasn’t looking at me.  I needed her to know in no uncertain terms how much I hated her.

“I HHhhhh!”

The bottle came back to my mouth.  My throat felt dry.  I was thirsty.  So thirsty.  I’d drink the water, make sure my throat was good and wet.  Then I’d tell her.  Look her in the eye and make her burst into tears with three simple words.

“You’re doing great,” she said kindly to me.  “You don’t have to drink so fast. Just take sips.  That’s it.  This isn’t a race.”

“Hhhhhayhhhh.”  No. Had to finish the bottle.  I’d finish the bottle of tap water.  Then I’d chew her out.  

We stayed in the kitchen the entire time. Outside of occasional hums and mumblings to herself that I couldn’t pick up and had absolutely no interest in knowing about, she didn’t talk.  I reached up and grasped the bottle, even though she was holding onto it.  Grabbing onto the vessel felt better than leaving my hands idle and my fists close up in potent rage. 

 When the bottle was about three-fourths of the way drained she took it away from me.  There was no chance at me being able to successfully resist.  “I hayyyyyy!”

“You can finish the rest with your broth,” she said and put me into the highchair.  No straps or harnesses this time, just the tray and the drop to keep me there.  Honestly it was closer to how I had lunch at school.

My mouth opened to tell her off. “I…”

Janet turned around. “Still want your broth in a mug and a straw?”

“I…”  She was looking right at me, waiting for an answer.  “Yes please…”

I slumped forward, my forehead casting a shadow on the feeding tray.  Why couldn’t I tell her how I felt?  The fuck was going on?  I relaxed my bladder yet again and closed my eyes pretending that the dampness was just a warm compress on my junk instead of…you know.

The microwave beeped and my soup came out of the oven.  A bright green bendy straw was inserted in.  “You don’t have to drink the whole thing,” she said.  “But it’ll be good for you if you drink as much as you can.”

I muttered out another thank you.  Janet grabbed a tremendous banana from the top of the refrigerator and peeled it.  Without saying a word she broke off a piece and offered it to me with a hopeful “Mmm?”  I shook my head and quietly sipped my broth.  I’d tell her how awful she was and how much I hated after I’d had enough to eat and drink. 

If I made her too mad she’d just put some mush in a bag and gag me with it or something until I had to swallow it or risk choking.  That’s what Amazons did.  Even her.   Even Janet.

Just thinking about that hurt what miniscule appetite I’d had.  If my body wasn’t doing everything it could to try and retain water and fight dehydration I might have cried into the broth.  Only babies who didn’t know how to use their tear ducts couldn’t cry.  That didn’t make me feel any better.

“I…” I stopped while she slowly chewed her banana.  I should wait for her to swallow.  Out of politeness…

Oh fuck. Who was I kidding?  I couldn’t even think of her as ‘Grange’.  She was Janet. Always had been.

The fuck was happening to me?  Maybe this wasn’t a virus or me working myself into exhaustion.  What if this was more programming? More mindfuckery?  Get me to let down my guard again and then WHAM…I’d be Ivy or Amy but without the pink and frills (and many more teeth).

“All done?”  Janet held her hand on the mug readying to carry it off to the sink and toss it down the drain.

“No.” I said. She took her hand off.  “Yes.” She put it back on. “NO!”  The mug that almost doubled for a soup bowl went away. “I said I wasn’t done!” I whined.

“I think you’re more than a little punchy,” Janet told me.

My eyes widened. “I’M NOT FUSSY!”

My old friend drew back like a caged lion had just taken a swipe at her.  “I didn’t say you were fussy.  I said you were punchy.  You need more sleep, Clark.”

“DON’T CALL ME-!” I stopped. My name? I didn’t want her to call me by name? I’d been so sure she’d bust out a ‘honey’ or a ‘baby’ or a ‘bubba’ or some other toddlerish pet name.

Janet removed the tray and started carrying me back to my room.  “You definitely need sleep.” She said, quickly adding. “And that’s okay.  Your body needs to rest and heal.  Do you want me to change you before I put you down or do you think you’re not that wet?”

Fuck.  Back to no-win questions.  “Change me, please.”  Cry.  I was going to cry.  I’d barely moved all day and I still felt dizzy.  I tried to start myself into raging, desperate tears, but the most I could get was not-even hyperventilating on the table.

Bars sprung up around my periphery.  “Do you want me to stay with you? I don’t mind sitting in the rocker and keeping you company while you go to sleep.”

 I was not going to sleep. “No.” 

She seemed to read my mind. “Okie dokie.  You can rest here. I’ll give you some privacy. You don’t have to go to sleep.” Fuck her. I was totally going to go to sleep.  She pointed to the baby monitor.  “You can call if you need me.” 

 Her actually listening to that heap of scrap; that’d be something.  Out of all the ‘presents’ I’d gotten out of that awful shower it was the thing I’d seen the most, day in and day out, and gotten the least utility out of it. Depending on outlook, that was supposed to let her spy on me or allow me easier access to her. Beyond suspicious paranoia, all data indicated that it did neither.

Skinner had said that it would be ‘educational’.  The only thing it was teaching me was that Amazons were the absolute worst, and I didn’t need any help or remediation on that lesson.

I tried one last time before Janet left. “I…hhhhhhhhhhhhh.”  She walked out before I could tell her and closed the door.  “I hate you.”  The curse came out a full thirty seconds later as a growled whisper.  The monitor certainly picked it up at least.

I rolled over, sneered at the baby monitor, and tried to come up with a plan.

***************************************************************************

One afternoon, a few days later, I sat in my stroller while Janet pushed me around in it.  I was leaned back, but sitting up, and drinking from my ba-ba.  Red! My favorite flavor!  I was just wearing a nice sky blue t-shirt and a diaper, but Janet had given me a knit blankie to keep my legs warm.

Maybe it wasn’t just a few days?  Maybe it was weeks or months? Years? Time meant less to me, recently. (There was an ironic statement).

I leaned back and looked at Lion.  “Lion?” I asked. “Do you want some juice?”

He didn’t respond. “More for me.”  I kept sucking on it, enjoying the sweet red flavor of it.  Delicious!

The Grown-ups walked by.  Some waved. Some didn’t.  That was okay though. Grown-ups are always super busy.  Always worried about all their responsibilities and bills and stuff that they had to do.  I used to be just like them.  

Then Janet found me and became my Mommy.

I knew she wasn’t really my mother.  ‘Mommy’ was a job title; like teacher or artist or ax murderer. And as Janet liked to remind me, being my Mommy was a full time job with no pay but benefits she wouldn’t trade in for the world.  I didn’t have a job title anymore. Didn’t need one.  Littles with Maturosis were special.  

Deep down I knew I didn’t have Maturosis.  I knew I was really an adult and not a baby that would never grow up?  But why fight it?  At least everybody was friendly towards me now.  I didn’t have to worry about somebody snatching me up  or putting me in diapers; because it had already happened.

Speaking of which, I took a moment go pee-pee, sighing even while I continued to nurse my ba-ba.  Drinking and going to the bathroom at the same time: There was something I wasn’t allowed to do before!  

Other strollers with Littles passed by.  We waved casually at each other; smiling; content that we were both in on the secret.  A few grumpy or sad Littles pouted. Screaming. Shouting about how they weren’t really babies. Just like I had. They’d come around eventually.  We all did.  The big people knew the true secret to happiness, and not able to have it for themselves, they shared it with us.

“Hi Janet!”

It was Amy’s Mommy.  Amy waved from me over in her stroller. “Hi Clark!” Finally! Finally I saw her coming before she said it.  “Did you know that platypusses are the only semi-aquatic egg laying mammals that start with the letter ‘p’?  

“Yeah!” I said.  “I did!  Did you know that the Muffets creator got his start by making coffee commercials?”  That used to bother me considering how often coffee was used to mask stronger stuff. Not anymore!

“No! I didn’t! Did you-?”

“Say bye bye to Clark, Amy.”

Bye Clark!  See you at daycare!”

Oh yeah. I never went back to Beouf’s room.  I’d been so good and been making such progress that it was decided I should just go straight into daycare.  How had I forgotten that?  Probably because I didn’t need to remember it.  Whether I remembered it or not, Janet was taking me there.  So why fight? Why worry?

“Hi Clark!” 

This time I had to look up.  Mrs. Beouf was leaning over and waving at me.  “Hi Mrs. B.” I suddenly felt very, very, shy.  I always did when I saw her outside of school. It was like she was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be, but I wasn’t brave enough to point that out to her.  She’d gone a whole long time without telling me where I belonged. It was only polite.  I raised Lion up over my face, using him as a feline shield. Sorry bud.

Mrs. Beouf took it in stride like she always did. “Awww, Hi Lion! Good to see you, too.  How’s he doing?” That last question was directed towards Janet.  

I kept drinking my ba-ba, while the Grown-Ups talked. I didn’t think it was weird that there was so much red juice in it.  It was a really big ba-ba. Big enough for me! 

Honestly, I kind of tuned them out, listening less to their words and more skimming the cadence that their voices made. Nothing was out of the ordinary.  Two old friends catching up.  Small talk. 

I looked around at my surroundings.  Where were we?  Were we inside or outside? It was hard to tell. Nothing was obstructing my view, but unless I really concentrated, I couldn’t tell.  On one side of my stroller, it was grass and sunny, like a park.  To the other side of me were tiled walkways and storefronts. 

Where in town had something like that? Had we moved and I’d forgotten?  Directly in front of me, it was just the Grown-Ups talking.  Janet had stepped in front somehow and was now talking with Mrs. Beouf, yet I still could only make out the cadence in their voices.  Did Grown-Ups have a secret language that I was only now just aware of? Was that how they did it?

“Thanks for catching up with us,” Janet said.  “But I gotta get this baby boy home.”  She poked my diaper through the blankie.  “Hmmm…maybe a change, first. I don’t want you leaking in your car seat.”

Oh wow! She was right! I really did need a change! What’s more, I had to pee again.

“Say bye bye to Mrs. B.”

I took my ba-ba out of my mouth.  “Bye bye Mrs. B!”

“Bye-bye Clark! I love you!”
“I love you too.”

Janet pulled a lever and my stroller reclined back.  She grabbed the diaper bag and started fishing out the appropriate supplies.  She didn’t have to go potty, so no need to go to the bathroom.  She could change me out here in the open.  In front of everybody.

Okie dokie.  

Janet reached down to the tapes of my Monkeez. “Let’s get you nice and dry again. Then we’ll go home and you can take a nap.”
******************************************************************
“Yes, Mommy.”

The sound of those two words rocketing out of my throat woke me up like a loud snore.  I sat up in the crib, dripping wet from head to toe hyperventilating. “No!”  The only thing that wasn’t wet was my diaper, ironically. 

The nursery was dark, but tiny motes of sunlight shone through the curtains. It was late afternoon more than likely.  The computer of my brain updated itself and made sense of what I’d just seen and experienced.

A dream.  Just a dream.  

Random garbled nonsense from my brain.  No wonder Amy had been the most coherent in it.  My bladder was still screaming too. That’s why I couldn’t stop peeing in my dream.  That’s why the bottle never got empty no matter how much I sucked stuff down.

The door to the nursery opened.  In walked Janet. “Clark? Are you okay? I heard you over the monitor.”

Was I okay? No. I wasn’t okay. Not even a tiny bit.  

“You’ve been asleep for almost four hours.  Let’s get you up so you’re not up all night. Get you a snack.”

My stomach growled at hearing the word ‘snack’. I finally felt hungry and invisible hands were reaching out of me, desperate to bring food down into my belly.

I responded by sitting up in a ball and huffing my way back to my normal breathing pattern. Janet walked up and pressed her hand against my forehead. “It looks like your fever has broken.”  She sighed with relief, even as she wiped her hand on her pants.  “Good.  Now we have the whole weekend to get you better.”

Better? Clearly, I was getting worse.  I looked away as Janet checked my diaper. “Uh oh. Dry. Let’s get some more fluids in you.”  A light on the baby monitor was blinking. Had it always been blinking?

 No. No fucking way.  

“I hhhh….”  Only hot air came out of me.  That and something else.  

“Ooops. Never mind!  I felt that!”  Janet chuckled.  “How about I change you after snacks? Just in case?”

“Hhhhh…Yeah.” I said. “Sure.”

I couldn’t tell Janet that I hated her.  I was having batshit dreams.  I couldn’t even think of her as anything other than Janet and…and… and now the ‘educational’ baby monitor was blinking.

I was being mindfucked. Totally and completely mindfucked.  There was some kind of sensor in that monitor that scanned and recorded my vitals and waited until I was in REM sleep to start pumping out subliminal messages to turn me into a drooling stupid doll.  Me staying up so late was protecting me.

“Mommy,” I squeaked.  Even my voice sounded better. “Can I please sleep with you tonight?  In your bed?”

“I don’t know how comfortable I am with co-sleeping, Clark. I don’t want to accidentally roll over and hurt you in the middle of the night.”

Stoked by resentment and desperation, I wasn’t at my best yet, but I could still feel my mojo coming back to me. “Pweeeeease!”

“I don’t have a cot in my room,” Janet said. Then she got a look in her eyes. That classic, typical Amazon baby crazy look.  “Yet.  I don’t have one yet.  I wonder if Babhub delivers this late.” She dug around her pants pocket for her phone.  “It’s just a cot.”  A cot wasn’t ideal, but better than the monitor.  “We’ll see.”

I nuzzled into her. “Thank you…Mommy.”

*******************************************************************************
I didn’t spend the night sleeping in a cot by Janet’s bed. Four o’clock on a Friday was just too late for whatever Amazon delivery company specialized in delivering baby furniture for spur of the moment Little abductions.

I did, however, sleep in Janet’s room.  She went to the trouble of moving a playpen into her room and then decking it out with every spare pillow she could find.  

I slept like the dead. Nice and dreamless, only waking up every one to three hours to make sure that some other bit of blasphemy hadn’t escaped from me or if I had to pee.  Janet slept in the bed, wearing silk pajamas that I was positive she didn’t normally wear. She snored, too, but the rhythmic sawing actually helped me sleep.  Since my poisoning and downfall this was the first night that I hadn’t slept alone.

It was…nice.

I wasn’t here to be nice, however.

Saturday was one big nothing.  Janet insisted that I take it easy and we just spend the day resting in doors.  In truth, I needed it.  Just because the source of the spasms had gone away didn’t mean my muscles weren’t still tired from all the shaking.  At least she dressed me up in something besides my crinkling plastic padding.  

Sunday though…

Sunday was my opportunity and I took it.

“Whelp,” Janet clicked her tongue. “We’re here.”  She didn’t have the same sing-song voice she did first thing in the morning.  Not that I could blame her.  No teacher wants to be at school on a Sunday morning.  Papers still needed to be graded.

“In and out,” she said.  “We’ll grab the papers and then go right back home.”

“Or,” I said. “I don’t mind if we do them here.”

Janet nibbled on her lip and looked at me from the rear view mirror.  “I didn’t bring your diaper bag.”  

“That’s okay. I’m dry.” I suppressed the blush that was coming.  I was a grown-ass man. I shouldn’t have to be talking about the state of my so-called underwear.  “It’ll be quicker if we do it here.  Less for you to carry back and forth.  Less chance you’ll forget something at home.”

“I’ll need to enter them into the gradebook too,” Janet said, sounding unsure.  

“If I get too w…” I stopped and corrected myself. “Worst case scenario, I start to feel bad and we go home?”

Honestly, it didn’t matter where we graded the papers.  This was more on the principle of getting Janet to do what I wanted. Get the giantess to listen more. To obey me.

“Come on, Janet.” I said.  “Let me play teacher. It’s not like anybody is around to see.”

The sparkle in her eyes died a little bit.  I probably should have called her ‘Mommy’ but that would have been laying it on too thick.  If I used the M-word it’d become the default and expectation.

No.  Janet wasn’t getting that unless she was good or I really wanted something.

I might not be able to say it out loud, but fuck that bitch.

I knew I’d won when Janet walked around, got me out of the car seat and took me by the hand instead of carrying me.  

No one was around and her classroom was empty.  The air conditioning didn’t run on the weekends, so it was more than stuffy inside.  Good. I’d use that discomfort to mask any of the residual guilt I was feeling.  

I stood in a chair, leaning over a student’s desk, two piles of papers presented in front of me.  “It looks like the substitute still did the spelling quiz and the math test.  Which do you want?”

“Both.”  

My former friend didn’t flinch.  “Okay,” she said. “You can start on one.  I’ll grade the Science and Social Studies work and come back to help when they’re in the gradebook.” She caught herself. “If you still need help.”

A weak smile managed to show itself on my face. “I don’t think so,” I said. “If it’s spelled wrong, I mark it wrong.  Same with math.  I don’t need to know history or states of matter or whatever.”  That seemed to make her feel better, an admission of ignorance.  

Then, unholiest of unholy, she made the mistake of trusting me with a red sharpie.  “Get to work,” she said. “Or play. Whichever.”

I took it, cordially, and did a tiny bow. “Thank you very much Ms. Grange.”

She reciprocated. “You’re very welcome Mr. Grange.”  Then went over to her teacher’s desk so that she could grade and enter things into the school computer while I marked things down.

Mr. Grange…

If I wasn’t already about to do something awful before…

My dirty deed took only slightly longer than an hour, all told.  I breezed through the spelling tests, first. No calculations to do. No work to show.  Used my best handwriting.

I was random too. Fair.  As far as I could be. Every third paper I marked, I left alone and graded fairly.  If they got all the spelling words right, they were given a hundred.  If they made a mistake, I took my bright red marker and scratched out their misspelled words and then in my neatest, smallest, most precise handwriting I’d write the correct spelling of the word.  Nothing more. Nothing less.  

Technically, scratching out the wrong answer and writing the correct answer wasn’t the best method from a pedagogical standpoint.  Yeah, the kids would see the correct spelling, but I was also robbing her massive third graders the opportunity to see what their mistakes were.

That was intentional.

By marking and correcting the real errors like that, it made it more plausible when I inked out a correctly written word and copied it next to its remains.  The same happened with the Math tests, though only one out of five got ‘Gibsoned’ since I was intent on showing all my work and many of her students did their math in such chaotic margins that finding the answer- correct or otherwise- turned into a scavenger hunt.

The grade point average on these tests and all tests in the foreseeable future were going to slowly but surely go straight down the toilet. The real errors helped me with the forgeries.  If not-so-little Kelly made a mistake like forgetting a silent e or thinking that the shorthand for pi was three point five instead of three point one four, then not-so-little Connor would make the same sloppy mistake.  It was easier for teachers to believe that groups of their students were all struggling with the same concepts than to believe in complete randomness.  

I shouldn’t be doing this, a tiny voice that almost sounded like me buzzed in my ear. These were just kids.  Some of them had been my students.  My babies all grown up.  Even the ones that hadn’t been in my class were names I’d learned and belonged to faces that I’d seen around campus.  They weren’t Janet. They weren’t Beouf or Brollish or Forrest or Madra or Skinner or Winters or Sosa or any of the other giant condescending authoritarian hypocrites in my life.

They were just kids.

Except they weren’t.  They were Amazons. Living in an Amazon world with Amazon parents.  Even the kids I’d helped and taught if they hadn’t directly turned on me had immediately accepted the ruination of my life as normal and natural.  Three-hundred and sixty nonconsecutive days spread out over the course of two years wasn’t going to undo a lifetime of further indoctrination.

I couldn’t change the world for the better.  I couldn’t even change my tiny corner of it.  I could only make the Amazons in closest proximity to me have a more difficult life before the programming and mindfucking and gaslighting finally broke me down.

Fuck these kids.  They’d get over it. Undeserved failure would only breed character in the long run.  

“Finished?”  Janet said, coming over from the computer. “Already?”

I grinned. “Yes, ma’am!”

“You really are such a fantastic helper!” I was dead inside so I didn’t flinch when she kissed me.  

I sat down, pretending not to stare as Janet went over and entered the grades.  “Russel?” she scoffed. “Really?”  She shook her head and entered the grade the kid had ‘earned’. She turned over to another paper and kept typing.  “Guess we gotta cover this again.”

 Everything was going to plan.  Janet was going to have a ‘rough batch’ this year of kids who just didn’t quite get what she was teaching.  Especially if I was allowed to grade.  More time in remediation meant less time covering new topics, and unneeded remediation and lowering grades would lead to frustration for the students.  Frustration led to angry parents and kids acting out. None of it would come back to me. I’d even stopped from putting my initials down at the bottom corner.  No proof would link this to me.

“Mommy,” I called out, distracting her.  “Can I sleep in your room again?”

Janet yawned and dabbed her forehead with her sleeve.  The stillness of the air was finally starting to get to her. “I don’t think so, honey.  We’ve both got school tomorrow and need our rest.”

“Pleeeease!” There was no way I was going to sleep with that baby monitor again. Not if I could help it.

“We’ve been up late the last two nights and I don’t want you super tired in the morning. 

I blinked. That’s right.  Both Friday and Saturday night, Janet and I had gone to bed at the same time. She’d laid me down, then gone to the bathroom, changed into her pajamas and crawled underneath her comforter. I’d never considered that.

“What if the cot is delivered by tonight?”

“I still don’t want to wake you up when I come to bed.” Then she tacked on “Website says that the model I ordered is on backorder.”

“Pweeeeease!”

“Maybe we can sleepover together next weekend.”

“Pweeeeeeeease!”

“No.” She wasn’t angry, but it was final.

‘Final’ was for quitters. “Pw-”

“Clark…”

My blood froze with the stare she sent my way. Looks like I was out of luck.

I opened my mouth to tell her what I really thought of her, and stopped.  No. I’d let her listen over the baby monitor like always.  Stay up as late as I could until I passed out. Disrupt my own sleep and dreams and keep towing the line towards exhaustion and sickness. 

 Why stop a good thing that up until now had obviously been shielding me? If I played my cards right, I could trick her into getting actual sleep on Friday and Saturdays at the very least.

I brooded on it, staring and glaring at her while she played into my trap.  Twenty minutes later the work was done and she was standing up and stretching.  “Grading done. Now all I gotta do is plan for this coming week. We can do that at home.”

“We can stay here and do it.”  I was just being obstinate. The warm stagnant air being heated by the sun wasn’t any more comfortable for me considering that I had a layer of plastic coating my nethers.

Janet was in no mood to deal with my nonsense.  She picked me up and carried me. Like a baby.  The game was now over for her.  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go home and eat some ice cream or something.”

“Okay.” I ceded.  “Do we have any more of that goat’s milk?”

She smiled weakly. “No. I threw that carton out. I was afraid it was expired or something. We can get some more at the store if you like.”

“No thanks,” I said. “Just curious.”

“Come on,” she said. “It’s time to go.”  As if I had any say in when or where we went.  

She was right about one thing: It was go time, alright. She just hadn’t figured it out yet.
 

[YourFNF]

31 minutes ago, Personalias said:

“Come on,” she said. “It’s time to go.”  As if I had any say in when or where we went.  

She was right about one thing: It was go time, alright. She just hadn’t figured it out yet.

It's interesting to see the ways in which Clark is spiraling. That was one hell of a fever and seems to have almost "knocked something loose" for lack of better term. Trend to aggression has increased and I'm thinking paranoia honestly.... You could write a paper on psychological breakdown in people under this kind of captivity if you could somehow get the data without being taken yourself. I'm not a strong undercurrent of grief as Clark struggles to adjust which makes a lot of sense.

[Kahlez]

That Story is something special for me in a kind of good and bad way. First its written so well that i want to read it but i hate Clark. The thing for me is i cant stand people who use others for their personal gains. He used his fellow Littles for his plans and now the 3rd graders who has nothing to do with it. As much i can understand how he must feel about his new life it does make he whole story a bit sour for me. Still curious what you have planed with him given that he seems to get even worse over time. 

[Personalias]

6 hours ago, Kahlez said:

That Story is something special for me in a kind of good and bad way. First its written so well that i want to read it but i hate Clark. The thing for me is i cant stand people who use others for their personal gains. He used his fellow Littles for his plans and now the 3rd graders who has nothing to do with it. As much i can understand how he must feel about his new life it does make he whole story a bit sour for me. Still curious what you have planed with him given that he seems to get even worse over time. 

Yup.  This section is called "Problem Child" for a reason, and it has nothing to do with "Mental Regression" in the niche sense.  Clark is not very likeable here.  This is a period of time where Clark is his worst self.  Thank you for noticing and vocalizing that.

As close as I feel to the character, I'm really glad to know that you like the story but don't like the character at this point in his life.

7 hours ago, YourFNF said:

It's interesting to see the ways in which Clark is spiraling. That was one hell of a fever and seems to have almost "knocked something loose" for lack of better term. Trend to aggression has increased and I'm thinking paranoia honestly.... You could write a paper on psychological breakdown in people under this kind of captivity if you could somehow get the data without being taken yourself. I'm not a strong undercurrent of grief as Clark struggles to adjust which makes a lot of sense.

This is important for me to read, too.  I am not going to try and justify Clark's actions in this story through any kind of objective moral lens. You'll get no "um...actually, Clark was justified in this because of this this and this" from me.  Maybe (MAYBE) an argument about why CLARK thinks he's right to do something, but never from me.

This whole scenario is meant to be descriptive, not prescriptive.  Telling the reader about what happened, not saying that it should have happened.  Beyond Clark's regrets and reflections there is no attempt "should have done this instead" from yours truly.  
 

[BabyJilly_S]

Thanks for these comments and replies, it's very interesting. I was unsure if I was going to post what I was thinking before seeing these posts for fear of sounding ungrateful or seeming like i dislike the story, which is very much untrue (much like Kahlez).

Over the last few chapters Clarke has become increasingly dislikeable to the point where after this latest chapter had me thinking he's pretty much gone dark side psycho. His actions are a hard read, especially with respect to Janet, who, despite being one of those bad Amazons undoubtedly saved him from a far worse fate.

Oh, and even his fellow littles are not likely to want to know him much after his treatment of Tommy knowing if it suits his purpose, they're next.

He's definitely an anti-hero at this point and not a very nice one.....

[Kahlez]

38 minutes ago, BabyJilly_S said:

I was unsure if I was going to post what I was thinking before seeing these posts for fear of sounding ungrateful or seeming like i dislike the story

So one general advice from a someone who used to write short sci-fi stories. The key is always in your wording so if you dont like something just explain it and why. It can help a lot because it can be difficult to know if people understand what you want to say or not. For example with Clarke now there are two options if i would have written the story. First of i did wanted him to be like this for a reason, maybe to give him a redemption arc later. Also possibly i wanted to write him rebellious but went a bit too far and have to fix it in the next chapters. So as long as your critic is something the author can work with usually people accept it as being in good faith (if not they should not make it public). Just be nice and dont just write you dont like a story because then an author dont know why and what maybe went wrong on his/her side. Maybe you just dont like the setting and that is the reason you dont like the whole story. At the end if you make your stories public you have to be able to handle critic as an author if its honest.  

[BabyJilly_S]

Thanks @Kahlez I am not the most gifted word wise and I have had a post miscontrued before so I do try to be as accurate as i can, knowing that inflection and all those things you put into speech to add meaning and definition don't carry over onto the written word.

As to Clark , I don't mind an anti-hero, one of my favourite book series is the Chronicles of Thomas Covenant. I found the first book a "harder read" as he commits an unspeakable act and spends his time being an utter asshole...I mentally screamed at him. 

[Personalias]

2 hours ago, BabyJilly_S said:

Thanks @Kahlez I am not the most gifted word wise and I have had a post miscontrued before so I do try to be as accurate as i can, knowing that inflection and all those things you put into speech to add meaning and definition don't carry over onto the written word.

As to Clark , I don't mind an anti-hero, one of my favourite book series is the Chronicles of Thomas Covenant. I found the first book a "harder read" as he commits an unspeakable act and spends his time being an utter asshole...I mentally screamed at him. 

One of my favorite characters in all of fiction is Roland Deschain from The Dark Tower.  He is a total shit heel in the first book who willingly sacrifices a child so that he can get one step closer to his goal.  Extremely unlikeable.  It's over the course of the next 6 books that we learn of the causes of Roland's fall and watch him build himself back up to something that could be arguably called a hero.

 

4 hours ago, Kahlez said:

So one general advice from a someone who used to write short sci-fi stories. The key is always in your wording so if you dont like something just explain it and why. It can help a lot because it can be difficult to know if people understand what you want to say or not. For example with Clarke now there are two options if i would have written the story. First of i did wanted him to be like this for a reason, maybe to give him a redemption arc later. Also possibly i wanted to write him rebellious but went a bit too far and have to fix it in the next chapters. So as long as your critic is something the author can work with usually people accept it as being in good faith (if not they should not make it public). Just be nice and dont just write you dont like a story because then an author dont know why and what maybe went wrong on his/her side. Maybe you just dont like the setting and that is the reason you dont like the whole story. At the end if you make your stories public you have to be able to handle critic as an author if its honest.  

Agreed.  As a writer, it's all about whether the criticism is something that is useable. 

"I think the story should have ended this other way instead of the way you wrote it!"  Isn't helpful.  I write either what I like or what someone pays me to write.  The above comment isn't helpful because either I wrote to my preferences and vision or I wrote to someone else's.

"I would have done X in this scenario instead of what the character did."  I am very happy that the reader is invested enough to imagine themselves in whatever setting and scenario that they're reacting to, but that's not gonna affect anything because I'm not writing about the person who made that comment.  As long as we have that understanding, feel free to tell me how you'd take down whatever monster has been cooked up.

"I am invested in this story but X character is being VERY unlikeable." This IS helpful.  It let's me know how I'm doing as far as getting an emotional reaction from the audience and whether I'm evoking the right emotions.

Spoilers: My intention is for Clark to be an asshole here.  He may or may not rise back up, but if you're getting the vibe that he's getting worse and worse as a person then I've succeeded in my endeavor.

On the other hand sometimes comments help me know when I'm way off track.  Over on patreon,  I'd unintentionally worded things so that my readers thought Clark was contemplating suicide and that was NOWHERE NEAR MY INTENT.  So I hastily replied to every comment and edited the chapter to make the language more precise and steer it away from that tone. 

Some people like Clark, some people hate him, some people relate, some people are disgusted; but I never wanted to convey the idea that he was having those kind of thoughts, and that feedback helped IMMENSELY. 

 

5 hours ago, BabyJilly_S said:

His actions are a hard read, especially with respect to Janet, who, despite being one of those bad Amazons undoubtedly saved him from a far worse fate.

 

Just want to take a second and say I appreciate this particular piece of a comment, too.  One of my goals was to make the Amazons...complicated.

[YourFNF]

21 hours ago, Personalias said:

This whole scenario is meant to be descriptive, not prescriptive.  Telling the reader about what happened, not saying that it should have happened.  Beyond Clark's regrets and reflections there is no attempt "should have done this instead" from yours truly.  
 

Clark's actions at this point definitely fall into the "understandable but not justifiable category." Since he can't externalize his anger in any meaningful way at his captors he's directing it at any one he can.

15 hours ago, Personalias said:

ome people like Clark, some people hate him, some people relate, some people are disgusted; but I never wanted to convey the idea that he was having those kind of thoughts, and that feedback helped IMMENSELY. 

Yeah in my case that was more CPTSD brain projecting what I would likely be very strongly considering in Clark's shoes ??‍♀️

15 hours ago, Personalias said:

Just want to take a second and say I appreciate this particular piece of a comment, too.  One of my goals was to make the Amazons...complicated.

I very much get "banality of evil" and "systemic violence and oppression" vibes from most of them. Admittedly that is very much my personal radical left politics selecting the lens through which I tend to view dystopian fiction ??‍♀️

[Personalias]

Chapter 80: War Paint
It was Tuesday.  I was sitting across from Skinner in the Speech Therapy Room, alone and without my posse as Skinner tried once again to get me to talk like a friggin’ toddler. Things were not going well for her. Though I had to give her credit:  Nearly twenty minutes of my nonsense and she still hadn’t lost her composure.  ‘A’ for effort.

“Okay.  What does the…” she paused and looked at the picture on her flash card. “What does a crow say?” No more ‘birdies’. 

I stood up and started to pump my fist, pretending to stab something.. “DIE! DIE! EEE! EEE! EEE! EEE!” I took my fingers and pointed them outward, cocking my thumbs. “I’m gonna give you to the count of ten. One…two…TEN!  Pew! Pew! Pew! Pew!”  I struck a pose worthy of the worst community theater in existence.  “Muahahaha! You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is never get involved in a land war in-” 

Skinner cut me off.  “Clark? No!  Crows don’t say that. They go caw-caw, you silly goose!”

I sat back down and smiled at her, unnervingly staring and not blinking.  “Then why is a group of them called a murder?”

The speech therapist looked at me like she was trying to decide whether I was a genius or an idiot.. Finally she laughed. “Oh Clark, you’re such a silly Little boy!”

Time to get really silly. “Oh Clarrr-k, You-er such a sillay Lil’ boy!”  I even did her laugh. Skinner looked confused again, which to be fair to her, was sometimes her default state. I was beginning to rank her only slightly higher than Forrest in terms of quick wittedness.  

“Can I ask you a question?” I said.  I didn’t wait for her to respond. “You’re a speech teacher, yeah? Teach Amazon kids how to talk and pronounce words? Get rid of lisps? Then why don’t any of the kids you work with have your accent?”

Skinner puckered her lips a moment. “I don’t have an accent.”

“Ah don’t have an ack-sent!” In truth, she didn’t.  At least no more of an accent than any of the other locals had.  But what was a bit of gaslighting between ex-coworkers? I had to pass the time somehow.  “Can you not hear it anymore?”

“Hear what?”

“Hear wuuuuut?”

“Clark, stop it.”  

“Clarrr-k, stahp it.”

“That’s very immature!”

“Thaaat’s very imma-shure!”  It was a shorter reply than saying, “No shit it’s immature, you think I have a made up disease that turns me into a toddler!”  What incentive did I have to act in good faith?

Skinner closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.  “You are gonna be the death of me.”

I let out a gasp.  “Ya’ll are gonna be the death of me? Did you say y’all?! You said y’all!”

“What? No!” She jolted in her seat. I saw her eyes looking off and her mouthing words to herself, afraid she’d slipped.  “I did not say ‘y’all’.”

“You just did.” I got only stony silence in reply.  “What? Lion wouldn’t shut up about it until I promised to tell you about your accent.”

“Lion’s not here, right now.”  

“I took a message.”

Wisely, Skinner ignored me and moved on.  “Okay. Okay. Here’s a new one.” She showed a poorly drawn picture of a woman holding a swaddled baby.  Or it could have been a Little, I supposed.  Proportions were hard to tell when swaddled and the Amazons in my life barely made the distinction themselves.  “This is a Mommy.  Mommy’s say ‘I love you’. What do Mommies say?”

I leaned back and started miming rubbing my nipples. “Ooooh.  Ooooh,” I moaned. “Oh yes! Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Oh yeah!” I feigned closing my eyes just enough so that I could see the look of shock and discomfort on her face. 

“Clark. That’s not what Mommies say.”

I bunched my fists up and put one right on top of the other like I was holding something long and then started shaking them like a jackhammer right over my crotch.  “BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!” 

“Clark. Stop.”

“Oh Mark! Oh Mark! Oh Mark! OOOOOOOOOH!””

“Clark!” In a surprising move Skinner rose to her feet and did something close to a legitimately intimidating glare at me.

I froze. “Sorry,” I said. “I couldn’t understand you at first because of your accent. You might want to work on that.”

Her glare intensified. Wow. I was actually kind of impressed and sat up straight instead of continuing to pantomime masturbation.  

“Mommies do not sound like that, Little boy!”

“Mine does…”  I was lying, of course.  As far as I had witnessed, Janet had zero libido or emotions that didn’t in some way relate into forcibly mothering me.  Skinner didn’t need to know that.

She walked around the table and took my hand. “I think we’ve done enough work today. Let’s get going.”

I had no choice but to follow alongside her. We were walking along back to Beouf’s room.  A pair of Tweeners, a teacher aide and a custodian stopped chatting while the Amazon and I passed.  

“I can still work,” I said. “Don’t you want to know what Daddies say?”

“I know what Daddies say,” Skinner said in clipped, stressed out tones.  

“You do? Who’s your Daddy, Skinner?”

Grunting, stilted laughter muffled behind hands reached my ears, even as the Tweeners turned away.  Skinner didn’t take the time to glare or dress them down, choosing to ignore them.  I had a feeling that Skinner was on the verge of a good old fashioned stress cry.  A guy could hope, anyhow.

“Having trouble walking, bubba?” Skinner asked, purposefully increasing her strides so that I’d struggle to keep up and be pulled along more.  “Looks like you might need a change when you get back. Your drawers are drooping.”  

Petty bitch.  “Will you change me?” I bluffed.  I don’t think I’d ever seen her change a diaper.  At least once she’d brought somebody back because of a ‘code brown’, citing her sensitive nose.

“If you want,” Skinner replied, “but I might not be as good at it as Mrs. B. or Mrs. Zoge.”  Was that supposed to be a threat or something?  It kind of felt like it.

“No thanks. I’m good.”

She muttered something under her breath. I suspect it was a disagreement about my status as ‘good’.

She flung open the door and dragged me back into Beouf’s room.  “Okay. Clark’s done for a little bit.  Can I please have Tommy, Annie, and Jesse?”

“Annie is in O.T. with Chaz and Shauna.”  Beouf said.

“Okay. Then how about Mandy?”

“Sure.”

 Mandy got up from her seat at Zoge’s table and stuck her hands out. They were rainbow colored and not quite dripping with paint.  Zoge practically engulfed them with baby wipes trying to quickly get all the paint off of her.  There were a few blotches of fresh paint on the homemade smock.  

Quietly, I considered making Mandy my next target. For her own good, of course…

“Great,” Skinner said. “Let’s go kids! Also, you might want to ease up on how much Clark drinks at snack time if you get my drift.”

“Sure thing,” Beouf said.  “And on it.”  I was picked up in Beouf’s arms by the end of that sentence.  She gave the back of my pants a gentle squeeze. I did not crinkle very much.  Admittedly, it was squishing near the bottom.  The front had already been saturated and it just worked its way back.

“Oh yeah,” she said to Skinner. “Good call.” She looked at me. “You’re close to leaking!” 

I bit my tongue.  No shit I was close to leaking, not that anyone taller than me would take my word for it. On our way to the bathroom, I caught a beautiful sight of Tommy flicking the air right by Sandra Lynn’s ear on his way out.   She flinched and looked around confused.  Tommy was already growing up.  

Too bad all three were bringing their stupid stuffed animals with them.  I’d yet to break anyone of that habit, and the loss tasted almost as bad as the overcooked vegetables from the cafeteria.  Jesse tucked his hobo clown under his arm like it was a football, and Mandy’s Teddy Bear was resting on her hip with a cloth napkin diaper pinned on. At least Tommy was dragging his alligator disdainfully by the tail.  He still corrected it when prompted.

Over on the changing table, Beouf pulled my shorts all the way off my legs and examined them.  “No leaking.”  She gave my backside a gentle poke and added. “But close. You wouldn’t have made it to lunch like this.”  My arms went rigid and my jaw clenched.  “Don’t worry, I’m giving them back. I promise. It’s just easier to change you with them off so they’re not sliding up and down your ankles.” She laid them on my chest over the safety strap. “Here, you can hold them.”

I grabbed them like they were a life raft in the middle of the ocean.  

“Can you ask my mommy to bring in some spare pants in case I leak?” I asked. The idea of being so exposed still made my brain burn and sizzle on constant high alert. I was willing to play the game to avoid that, pride be damned.

In reply, Beouf put a pacifier between my lips.  “Hold on, baby. I need to concentrate. I don’t want to miss a spot and have you get all rashy.  Your mommy wouldn’t like that.”  Reluctantly, I started sucking.  I wanted this over with.  I thought she was reaching for a fresh diaper, but a familiar plush face tumbled into my arms.  “You forgot this.”  

‘Forgot’ had nothing to do about it, and I think she knew it.

While Beouf changed me, I sucked on my pacifier and stared at my reflection on the ceiling.  I no longer saw a parody of a child. The initial shock of this treatment had long worn off.  I didn’t look like a baby at all; just someone who had been silenced and restrained.  Switch out the pacifier for a gag and Lion for a set of handcuffs and my expression or body position wouldn’t have been any different

“There we go,” Beouf said, taping me up.  “All done.” As an exclamation point she dropped the old diaper in the pale with an audible thunk.   Yeah. I knew she was done. We’d done this before.  A lot.

I held out the neon lime green shorts from underneath Lion.  “Not yet.”

She took the baggie shorts and slid them back over my legs. “Point taken.”  I was allowed to stand up before she snapped them back over my temporary underwear. 

“Let’s go finger paint,” she squeaked and chirped at me.  “I think you’ll like it.”

Very quickly I was over at Zoge’s table with Ivy, Billy, and Sandra Lynn, an old button up shirt fastened backwards as my smock.  The table was covered in old newspapers and weighed down by heavy bottles of paint, paper plates, glue and glitter.  It was big enough to accommodate all four of us, but I’d gotten used to working in pairs so it felt crowded by comparison. Things always got mixed up on days when the so-called therapists showed up to take people away in groups of two and three.  Beouf was taking one end of the kidney table, Zoge on my end. They were centralizing the art activity primarily because they didn’t have enough different colored paint to go around.

“What do you want to finger paint?” Zoge asked. “A butterfly? Or a bird?  Or..?”

“A violent and bloody massacre,” I said, letting the pacifier drop from my mouth and dangle. “With as many different shades of red as possible.”

I saw Zoge look over my head, towards Beouf.  She frowned lightly.  “I don’t think that’s appropriate for something at school.  What else?”

In front of me was a plain white sheet of paper.  “A white rabbit in a snowstorm.”

“No.” Zoge said simply.  “We don’t have enough white paint.”

 I looked down at the stuffie now nestled between my feet. “What about Lion? Can I paint Lion?”

“You may create a picture of Lion,” Beouf said. “But you may not get any paint on Lion.” They weren’t going to fall for the same semantic trick again.  Not surprising, but I felt it was worth trying.

I inhaled and exhaled, steadying my temper. “That’s fine.” Maybe I could get a few good shots in by destroying the fucking stuffed parasite in effigy. It was a thought, anyway.

I asked for yellow and got a glob of yellow squirted onto a paper plate next to me. I went to work, dipping my thumb in and dabbing it around the paper in a series of circles and ovals.  A nice round circle for his head, a big round oval for the body, and four longer, narrower ovals for the limbs.  The tail was closer to a skinny streak made by my pinky.   

“Wipe please,” I thrust my hand forward, my pinky and thumb jutting out. Zoge immediately engulfed my fingers, scrubbing off the yellow.

“Are you done?” Zoge asked.

I audibly scoffed. “Of course not.  I need to do his mane and tail and face.”

“Oh,” Zoge said in that musical tone of hers. “I’m very sorry, sir.  Please forgive me.”  Again her sightline went over my head and across the table. She was clearly very amused.

“Look!” Sandra Lynn called out. “I made a portal to another world!”   Not a trace of white remained on the twit’s paper.  Just red and blue and yellow smeared every which way on top of each other and blending together in puddles of purple and green and orange.

Billy looked over.  “That’s just a mess.”  Thank you Billy for not letting me have to be the one to say it.

“It’s a portal,” Sandra Lynn repeated herself. “They’re all sorts of colors! Like red and…orange…and yellow…” she was literally staring at her own technicolor mess and pointing out the different colors like she hadn’t put them there. Sandra Lynn was like Amy but without the wit.  Or Ivy without the practiced care and faux daintiness.  Speaking of which, Beouf was trusting her with glue and glitter. Bold choice, but Ivy wasn’t going to do anything on purpose.

“Your picture is a rectangle. Portals are round,” Billy said.  “Everybody knows that.”

“How many portals have you seen?” Sandra Lynn asked in that way that people used when they didn’t expect a real answer.

“All the portals in cartoons are round.”

“Well the real ones are rectangles.”  The matter seemed to be settled.

Briefly, I wondered what kind of woman Sandra Lynn was three years ago before Beouf had gotten her tendrils into the girl’s brain.   “Can I get some brown, please?”  

I took my left pinky and dabbed it gingerly in the goop.  Sandra Lynn wasn’t done smearing  yet. The moment Beouf or Zoge picked her paper up, there’d be a rectangular outline on the newsprint.  If Beouff chose to hang it up for decoration, she’d have to make sure there was something beneath it to catch the dripping excess. 

 Heh. 

Sandra Lynn was such a mindfucked babydoll that even her art needed a diaper. 

My pinky started dabbing and stroking around Lion’s head, creating the mane. I did a few at the end of his tail.  I gently blew on the paper to make sure the yellow paint was dry enough to not mix with the brown around the chin.  This was going to be such an awesome effigy to destroy!  If only Beouf had a lighter or something to snatch.

“Wipe, please.” 

Zoge obliged and I took a moment to rub my right shoulder. It was aching. I hadn’t consciously noticed but I’d been tensing it, controting it and moving it away from Sandra Lynn, like I was afraid I’d catch something. I sniffed. I knew that smell wasn’t coming from me.  Her smock concealed more than a babified Little dress ever did, but it was a safe bet that the only thing keeping her onesie shut was the Amazonian strength poppers.  

Billy took a moment from his messterpiece to look over and admire my picture. “Hey, that’s pretty good, Gibson.”

“Billy, Clark’s name isn’t ‘Gibson’.”  It used to be. Just thinking that made the phantom hair on the back of my neck stand up. 

“But he likes being called it!” I did. “Don’t you, Gibson?”

“Billy…”  Beouf warned. “Make good choices.”

My personal bully boy sighed and threw me an apologetic look.  “That’s a really good picture…Graaaaa…” No no no no!  “Clark. That’s a really good picture, Clark.”

I allowed myself a non-humiliated, non-flustered blush.”Thanks, dude. I like yours too.”  I was lying, but it was a lie based on returned courtesy.

“Welcome.”

I sat back and took a moment to admire my budding masterpiece.  It was just some dumb finger painting that I was going to destroy for shock value, but the compliment felt good.  It was nice to feel like I was half-way competent at something, even if it was just a stupid baby activity.  Since adult activities were denied to me, the narrow field of options available had gained increased value to me.  Maybe that’s why that pair at Little Voices were always complaining about blocks and gossiping about their daycare like it was office banter. They no longer had a job and something had come to fill the void…

Pushing those thoughts out of my head, I plotted my next steps. “Black, please.”  The problem with using my pinky fingers so soon was that I had nothing smaller for the finer details like the beady eyes or the stitched on smile and claws. Maybe if I used the barest tip of my pinky I could pull it off; even if it wouldn’t be quite to scale.  Shit, how was I going to do his nose and whiskers?  

Maybe I could draw away from the weaknesses by adding in backgrounds. A blue sky and green grass beneath Lion.  Use negative space to make the clouds. Did Lions live in grassy areas, or was it more like flat desert?  I’d have to file that away and ask Amy about it later in the week.  

The sun could be snuck in the upper right hand corner, I supposed, but how to make that distinct from Lion’s fur?  Lion, the real Lion, was only yellow-ish. Closer to tan, but I didn’t have the paint mixing skills to get the correct hue so I had settled on yellow.  Maybe I should have gone with orange fur inste…

Droplets of goopy gloppy paint rained down over my paper, splashing on Lion’s portrait in sickly greys and browns and blacks.  “Wipe peeeeeease!” Sandra Lynn held both hands out towards Zoge.  Her paper was a smeared palette of psychedelic colors, but her hands were murky and disgusting looking from all the mixing and sloshing.  

Zoge rattled off something panicked in Yamatoan and pushed the Little girl’s hands out and away from my paper. I’d never heard Zoge talk that fast. “Baby girl!” she said. “You have to be careful! You don’t want to drip on…” But it was too late. Her whipping Sandra Lynn’s disgusting dirty palms had just made things worse, in fact.  There was now a grayish bluish blotch right over Lion’s not yet illustrated face and reddish graying blackish flecks dotting his body and where the ground would have gone if I’d been afforded the time..   “Oh no. Clark. I’m so sorry, baby!”  However bad she might have felt, it didn’t stop her from wiping Sandra Lynn’s hands.  

My lips retreated inward over my teeth. I was mad that I kind of wanted to  pop my pacifier back in and take a shot at biting the rubber nipple off.  

No.

That wouldn’t do.  That wouldn’t do at all.  

Beouf was already getting up and walking over to a cabinet to get a fresh sheet of paper. “It’s okay, Clark.  I can get you a fresh piece of paper. You can have till lunch to finish.

Lion was suddenly in my lap. I didn’t even remember picking him up.  “No. That’s fine Mrs. B.” I said.  “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind…”  I couldn’t see Beouf but I could hear the worry and hesitation in her voice.  Just like she could hear the brewing storm in mine.

“Yeah. I don’t mind,” I said. Robotically, I turned my head and looked at Sandra Lynn. “Thank you Sandra Lynn.”

“You’re…welcome…?”  She backed up, slightly intimidated.

“Lion just gave me an idea,” I said. “A way to make it so the picture looks more like him.”  I didn’t wait for anyone to ask me ‘what?’.  I lashed my arm out and grabbed Sandra Lynn’s stupid fucking modern art portal bullshit smearing and wiped it all over Lion’s front. “Now he looks just like his picture!”

Lion’s fur and head became instantly smeared in wet paint, his head matted and dripping down over his eyeballs in shades of green and blue and yellow. Red and yellow and orange covered his lower face and chest. His lower half was blue and purplish. A few quick extra rubs added in the muddled gray of where two many paints mixed together.   My stuffie was crying, barfing, and bleeding a rainbow!

Wonderful! 

Neither Grown-Up moved or said anything for a moment, too stunned by what had happened.  Funnily enough, it was Zoge who said something first.  “Clark! Look what you’ve done!”  My initial reply was drowned out by Sandra Lynn’s screaming and bawling.  Frankly, I thought I’d improved her work.  I was even kind enough to put it back after I was done with it.  Not that she saw it. She was too busy staining Beouf’s light sweater with her tears and snot.

“Clark Grange!” Beouf barked at me. “Say you’re sorry! Immediately!”

“What?” I shrugged. “The stuffed animal told me to do it. Lion thought it was a good idea.”

“You should apologize,” Zoge said softly to me. “I am very disappointed.”

“Mommy,” Ivy said.

“No,” I said. “I’m not going to apologize.  Lion’s mine and I should get to paint on him if I want!” Sandra Lynn kept on crying and Beouf started walking her toward the nap room, rubbing her back and whispering gentle nothings in her ear.  

Zoge stared directly into me.  Neither of us blinked.  “That was Sandra Lynn’s picture. You had no right to ruin it.”

“She ruined my picture first! Fair is fair!”

Ivy appeared in my peripheral vision tugging at Zoge’s sleeve. “Mommy!”

“It was an accident.”

“Yeah and when you’re a Little, all it takes is one ‘accident’!”

“Mommy!  

The aide’s lips formed a thin line.  “I am disappointed,” she repeated. “But not surprised.”

Ivy was literally jumping and stomping her feet with every landing. “Mama! Mama! Mama!”

Zoge finally broke eye contact. “What?”  I won.

“Look!” 

During all the yelling and crying and arguing, all the eyes that mattered had been off of Billy.  Now Zoge was treated to the sight of a stuffed tyrannosaurus rex on top of the table, drenched in paint, glue, and glitter. “What?” Billy said. “Rex told me to do it. He’s my dinosaur.”  He’d managed to get a good portion of it in his hair, too.  It was already starting to crust over from the looks of it.

Zoge asked Ivy something in Yamatoan.  The sound of it was shocked and confused.

Ivy accidentally forgot to answer back in their secret shared language. “You told me to keep my hands, feet, and mouth to myself. Personal space…?”

Billy went to the corner. I went to the naughty stool. Lunch time we both got the green beans put in a blender and spoonfed.  Mittens were shoved over our hands. Neither of us were being trusted to handle anything ourselves that day.

My timeout extended through naptime.  At Beouf’s request, Tracy ran over a nap mat from the preschool room and I laid on the middle of the floor. Afterwards, I had to sit on the bench between Beouf and Zoge.

That had been a fatal mistake.  Everyone had seen enough of what had happened and Tommy had planted the idea in enough ears that burying the stuffies alive, covering them in moss and dirt and leaves and roly poly bugs and mulch and bits of grass, would be a fun game.  

The stuffies would have gotten even dirtier than they did if some people had minded their own business.  Of course, the stuffies involved all ‘wanted’ to be buried alive.  They’d told the members of the A.L.L. such. I just couldn’t stop beaming. The smile that blossomed on my lips stayed put the entire afternoon. All while Billy told a very disapproving and exasperated Beouf and Zoge this, I kept showing him my bright eyes and pearly whites. Well done, my good and faithful servant.

After the bus left, Beouf handed Janet a Lion wrapped up in a plastic grocery bag.  “Here. Hopefully a couple runs through the wash on gentle will fix him.” Beouf sounded tired. “Hopefully it’ll work on mine, too. I don’t want to throw them out.”

“What did he do?”  Janet was suspicious and irritated. My smile would not leave.

Beouf told her the thirty second version, which was mostly true except for the part where she called what I’d done a temper tantrum.  Then she finished with. “Honestly, this whole stuffie at school thing isn’t working out the way I hoped.  They’re just blaming every naughty thing they do on the stuffies. We’re gonna have to start phasing out I think.  I don’t think we’re going to be able to trust them with paints and glue anymore, either.”

Janet added her tired sigh to the chorus.  “Oh Clark…”

“Yes Mommy?” My smile hadn’t faded.

“Nothing. Just…just…nothing.”

Damn straight.

[Kahlez]

He really gets annoying and even its written well i will just skip through the next chapters since its getting to much for me too read. Nothing personal just getting too much in a direction i dont really want to read anymore. Maybe in the future it will be readable again xD

[Samriis]

When given an impossible situation, you have to remind those who put you there exactly what they expected.  You can walk out on ice the first time and not expect to fall... but after the 10th time falling, you kinda get the idea that stepping on ice is slippery.

Clark will keep surprising them... and in the end, he either breaks, or "they" come to terms that he may be smarter than they can accept.