Bird

This morning a sparrow flew threw my open window and into my room.

I leave my window open just a little so I get fresh air at night. I have no idea what the odds are that a sparrow would accidentally slip through such a small letterbox-shaped space. If it did it on purpose, I can’t imagine why. My bedroom door was closed. The window slit was the only way into my bedroom and it was a very small opening.

The bird panicked like a moth, screaming and flapping against the walls, trying to find its way out again. It was a young bird. I tried to make shushing noises to calm it down but the terrified thing had no idea that I was friendly. It was scared for its life.

After five minutes, it stopped panicking and perched on the top of my dresser, breathing shallowly and rapidly but no longer screeching. It fixed me with a stare. I couldn’t tell if it was exhausted or if it had given up struggling. I couldn’t tell if it had just forgotten to be scared. I had no idea if birds had the ten-second memory of goldfish.

Slowly, I got to my feet and walked over to the window. I opened it wide and stood beside it.

The bird hopped off of my dresser and walked over to where I was standing.

It looked out the window and back up at me. Then out the window. Then back up at me. The only sound was the cars going by outside and the wind blowing through the leaves of the trees.

I was just about to motion for it to go when it exploded into flight and arrowed out of the window so quickly I had trouble following it with my eyes.

When I ducked down to look out the window and see it fly away, it was already long gone.

Thinking about it later over my morning cup of tea, the whole experience reminded me of us.



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Exotic Dancer

It wasn’t until the lights went out that I noticed his eyes glowed green in the darkness. I think that out of all his augmentations, this was the one that creeped me out the most.

I met him in a Slo-bar down in Czechtown. I was dressed as a 1960’s London prozzie with the shimmy cloth working my curves as I lit up the stage. Not that I was kidding myself about any of the customers caring about the costume details. I swear I was a page right out of Vogue from back when they printed magazines.

All the glassy-eyed droolers in the front row wanted to see was the dress coming off. I obliged them. It was my job. I kept the little stewardess cap on, though. Halfway through the second song, the fringed undies came off with an unappreciated flourish. I stomped out the over-rehearsed routine like a robot. There's a reason why they call it a routine. My smile was a toothpaste commercial.

I stared at the ceiling as I scissored my legs to the music. I tugged my blanket out for the third song and made a half-hearted attempt to get the crowd to make some noise. They didn’t applaud and I didn’t care.

Paying The Bills came on as I jigged into the pussy track. I think the irony was lost on them. A few lucky guys would pressing sweaty nose to shaved kitty and creds would hit the stage. I look great and while this is demeaning, it’s easy money and it leaves my days free to play with my boy.

I saw him at the back of the club in the shadows. I figured he must have been wired because there’s no way he could see much from back there if he wasn’t zoomed in. An LED blinked on his pinky fingernail. He twitched a smirk when he noticed me noticing him.

You know when you see someone, even from a distance, and something in you just knows that you’re going to sleep together? Not that you want to, not that you desire it or want to figure out a way to make it happen. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that you just know you’re going to.

The music ended. Three people with good manners clapped half-heartedly before turning away to watch the hockey game on the big screens.

This guy in the back row kept staring. I gathered my underwear and packed my bag. As I was stuffing my blanket in, I could feel his eyes on my back. For the first time in about six months, I felt naked.

I straightened my back. I assumed all the dancerly poise I could muster even though I could feel a blush on my face. My cheeks burned.

I left the stage and made a show of asking some of the men if they’d like a private dance as I wended my way towards the shadows at the back. I felt like I was falling into a swimming pool. I felt like I had no choice.

I got the feeling that he felt just as out of control as I did. That was two weeks ago.

Turns out he has a few patents that made him rich. That’s good. Turns out he tests most of his independent bio-augs on himself. That’s bad.

I get the feeling that his life is a fuse sparking away towards a lump of explosives. I’m trying to blow it out and having a ball trying to be the brakes.

My boy thinks he’s Superman. All I know is that I don’t have to dance while he’s paying the bills. We’ll see how things turn out.

I sure do hate the way his eyes glow when I turn out the lights.




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