Interesting Education
Who: Scraps, Glitch (hopefully)
When: January 23rd, 2 PM
Where: Library again
What: scientific research
The other day she had finally slunk back to the lab after talking with Sarah, Glitch was gone. The compass was still there in pieces. She knew they could make it work now, so she carefully set the whole project out on velvet the way it had to be assembled and locked it in a drawer.
She’s not seen Glitch in two days. That was unusual. She wasn’t entirely certain if she was avoiding him, he was avoiding her, both, or if life just moved that way.
She couldn’t see Glitch’s colors. It hadn’t registered before now. There were times when she couldn’t see the colors outlining people, and times when she could. That’s the only way she could remember it being. Not that her memory was too good. There were flashes of something terrible and running away, but either all parts of her were blocking it, or it was just lost when the others were shoved in.
Anyways, she had never once seen Glitch’s colors. She tried to think of anyone else who she had not seen colors from at least once. That was very difficult. There were many people here, and she hadn’t seen everybody. She tried not to. She could never remember all the names and faces. So trying to focus on lack of color was making her head itch and buzz. The only one that she seemed to remember was the man of tin’s right hand. But she’d only ever seen him briefly. She couldn’t remember his name. Dan, Darin…. something with a D.
Right now she was sitting Indian style in the middle of the library’s main table. Out of consideration she left her cowboy boots on the floor next to the table. She wanted to find out why she hadn’t hated kissing Glitch. Not only hadn’t hated it, but liked it. Experience, when she allowed herself to recall, told her that for her kissing was mean, and tasted like blood and made her want to regurgitate.
Kissing Glitch felt tingly and nice and made butterflies dance in her belly. And she had kissed HIM. She’d never been the one to do that. It was not like her.
Other people kissed. She witnessed it often. They all seemed to like it. But the kissing wasn’t ugly or mean or … something else that wasn’t coming in her head right now. Maybe it was lack of force. Most likely mutual consent.
But still, she had to be certain.
She had books around her on mating rituals, sexual positions, the human reproductive system and process. A few mentioned kissing as a way to induce pleasure and the beginnings of either the mating ritual or intercourse.
Of course, she couldn’t remember everything the books said. Too much was being consumed at once and she was sure in about two more books her many brains would vomit from overeating, right out her ears. Maybe that would make less people in there? But it was a highly unlikely metaphor.
She’d been sitting still too long. Her body wanted to move. To stretch and stop using the scrambled eggs and just move and swing and move till it dropped all tired and twitchy.
Just this one last volume. It was thin, like a periodical. But it seemed to have hand drawn pictured and a few photos of naked women. None of them were clinical. In some they were mating with men.
The middle seemed to unfold unto a three panel picture of a naked woman trying to lick her own mammaries. She looked at the photo sideways, then down at her barely one of her own handfuls and knew even she wasn’t that flexible.
When: January 23rd, 2 PM
Where: Library again
What: scientific research
The other day she had finally slunk back to the lab after talking with Sarah, Glitch was gone. The compass was still there in pieces. She knew they could make it work now, so she carefully set the whole project out on velvet the way it had to be assembled and locked it in a drawer.
She’s not seen Glitch in two days. That was unusual. She wasn’t entirely certain if she was avoiding him, he was avoiding her, both, or if life just moved that way.
She couldn’t see Glitch’s colors. It hadn’t registered before now. There were times when she couldn’t see the colors outlining people, and times when she could. That’s the only way she could remember it being. Not that her memory was too good. There were flashes of something terrible and running away, but either all parts of her were blocking it, or it was just lost when the others were shoved in.
Anyways, she had never once seen Glitch’s colors. She tried to think of anyone else who she had not seen colors from at least once. That was very difficult. There were many people here, and she hadn’t seen everybody. She tried not to. She could never remember all the names and faces. So trying to focus on lack of color was making her head itch and buzz. The only one that she seemed to remember was the man of tin’s right hand. But she’d only ever seen him briefly. She couldn’t remember his name. Dan, Darin…. something with a D.
Right now she was sitting Indian style in the middle of the library’s main table. Out of consideration she left her cowboy boots on the floor next to the table. She wanted to find out why she hadn’t hated kissing Glitch. Not only hadn’t hated it, but liked it. Experience, when she allowed herself to recall, told her that for her kissing was mean, and tasted like blood and made her want to regurgitate.
Kissing Glitch felt tingly and nice and made butterflies dance in her belly. And she had kissed HIM. She’d never been the one to do that. It was not like her.
Other people kissed. She witnessed it often. They all seemed to like it. But the kissing wasn’t ugly or mean or … something else that wasn’t coming in her head right now. Maybe it was lack of force. Most likely mutual consent.
But still, she had to be certain.
She had books around her on mating rituals, sexual positions, the human reproductive system and process. A few mentioned kissing as a way to induce pleasure and the beginnings of either the mating ritual or intercourse.
Of course, she couldn’t remember everything the books said. Too much was being consumed at once and she was sure in about two more books her many brains would vomit from overeating, right out her ears. Maybe that would make less people in there? But it was a highly unlikely metaphor.
She’d been sitting still too long. Her body wanted to move. To stretch and stop using the scrambled eggs and just move and swing and move till it dropped all tired and twitchy.
Just this one last volume. It was thin, like a periodical. But it seemed to have hand drawn pictured and a few photos of naked women. None of them were clinical. In some they were mating with men.
The middle seemed to unfold unto a three panel picture of a naked woman trying to lick her own mammaries. She looked at the photo sideways, then down at her barely one of her own handfuls and knew even she wasn’t that flexible.