Chapter 18: Didn’t Die This Time
“OH THANK GOD, YOU’RE NOT DEAD! OHHH BUT YOU’RE ALL BRUISED UP! I’M SO SO SORRY! I SHOULD NEVER HAVE LET YOU DO THAT, OH MY GOD”.
I groggily come to in Naomi’s hand.
“Water,” I say.
“OH GOD, HERE,” she says and puts me under a tap.
As she lets the drops fall into her hand I suck them up weakly.
“GOD YOU’RE ALL SWEATY. HERE, I’LL WASH YOU OFF.”
After, she takes me back to her locker, along with a small bowl of water.
“I CAN’T DO THIS RIGHT NOW. I HAVE TO GO. TELL ME YOU’RE OKAY.”
I nod, and then she goes. I start to feel a massive headache, and sit down. I rub my head. My whole face feels like one big bruise. Maybe my nose is broken. My skin burns from the friction of the stockings.
I guess at leat I didn’t die this time, because my body hasn’t regenerated. I lay back gingerly and sigh.
Chapter 19: They Build People
I find the pet store deeply disturbing.
I’m peeking over the breast pocket of Naomi’s checkered-blue flannel shirt as she takes me around the store. It’s part of the same building that the restaurant is in. Above us is a hotel with 18 floors.
It’s strange being in public at this height. To not be in fear of being seen. It’s not as strange as seeing the rows of glass and wire cages filled with tiny men like me. Some of them stare at me forlornly as we pass. Some merely glance. Others don’t seem to care at all. Some scratch at the walls of their cages, or huddle in the corners.
Naomi chats with the girl showing us around. I recognize her from Naomi’s facebook. It’s Miranda, the girl she masturbates to all the time. She has straight, shoulder length brunette hair, hazel eyes, and freckles. She’s average height and build, though her breasts are impressive. Her voice is low and calm.
I hear them explain the differences in men here being sold as pets. The ones that don’t notice me are “born in captivity”. She says that’s why they are calmer, fitter. Happier. Because they don’t know any better, I think to myself.
These ones, she says, the forlorn ones as I see them, are newer “shrinkees,” men that caught the disease and either brought themselves in before it caught up with them, or were brought here, dropped off, by family members or friends who didn’t want them anymore. Seeing these guys breaks my heart. They were abandoned. This is their life now. Hoping someone nice will pick them up. Hoping to get some semblance of a life again.
The next ones are men picked up off the street, or found infesting homes or businesses or anywhere and brought here. The ones lucky enough not to just be exterminated like we were in the restaurant. They must be better off here than out there. They must be.
What really shocks me is the next group. These guys get up and run towards us like puppies, hand pressed against the glass. They smile and wave at us. Miranda tells us how these guys are genetically manufactured to serve any purpose. They fucking... build people? She tells us how these guys over here are meant to act like puppies, all excitable and energetic. Over there are cat people, if that’s more your type. There some you barely have to feed or clean up after. Some are actually made to clean up after you. I start to feel sick. There are some trained in hair and nail care. Some for office cleanup and organization.
I suddenly remember the guy back at the lab where I first woke up, the guy that had something like honey for blood. The guy who tried to eat himself, but was eaten by Keyla first. That couldn’t have been the same thing. No. This is Kali Corp. Who knows what kind of twisted underground setup gave birth to me?
I feel lightheaded by the time Miranda shows us the guys that are made to fight each other. I see a bunch of tiny muscle-bound men tussling in one cage. Some of them come to the glass and flex their muscles and pose.
Naomi giggles. My knees feel weak and I sink down in her pocket. I don’t want to see this anymore. I’m fucking done.
Later she slips a finger into her pocket and peers down at me.
“OH, ARE YOU TIRED? WE HAVEN’T EVEN PICKED OUT A NEW BIKE FOR YOU YET.”