Biscuit Snakes, Transhumans, and Michael

A Short Story

The first time I seen him was when my garbage disposal was absolutely destroyed by a butter knife. So, there I was scraping my breakfast plate down the toilet. I love cooking but I hate eating. And I really like scraping full plates straight into the garbage disposal and turning that bad boy on for the grinding power of it all.

So anyways, this was the first time I seen him. I was scraping my plate down the toilet when he came slithering out of the hole and tried to swallow my Homestyle Biscuit with gravy whole!

In the end, this was a taste he should have never acquired.

I decided to cleanse my soul.

--

I grabbed my Myers mask and headed out to stalk through the neighborhood. Cool breeze. Slanting afternoon sun. 75% shadow coverage on sidewalks; 90% leaf coverage. Acorns were dropping heavily off of trees, thudding on dented cars. Hind legs and a bushy tail poked out from a decomposing jack-o-lantern. Power lines threaded through amber oranges and maple reds.

---

When I returned home, I removed my mask and I was with joy. But then my transhuman speakered at me to ask if I accepted x y and z updates to my Screens. I “accepted all” and that ruined everything.

I fell into that world for some time.

---

The second time I seen him the biscuit had no gravy, jelly, or even butter! It was real dry. And it was so dry it got stuck in him. He tried to eat a rat later and couldn’t even get it halfway down. It just got enveloped by the biscuit lump which was getting gluier and gluier causing the snake to look quite glum. His facial expression said all I needed to know even though he couldn’t speak at this time, I knew.

I tried flushing him but he clogged it up, didn’t go down. And my bathroom floor became dead-snake-toilet-water. So I fished him out with a wire coat hanger then grasped him around the jawline. Carried him to the door dripping a toilet water trail behind me. I used the back stairwell of the apartment building (so no one would see me) and out into the parking lot. I twirled the snake around my head a few times to build up some momentum then let him fly, off into the weeded overgrown section of land behind the apartment complex’s dumpsters. A nice rat-biscuit-stuffed snake-snack for the opossums. 

--

The transhumans were making my neighborhood really great. Who could complain about clean streets and manicured properties?

--

Through these holes I can see the world and no one can see me back. They have no idea the huge smile that exists on my face at this moment. I look manic if they only knew. Under my Myers mask.

--

A transhuman zipped around and did all the dirty work. A man pours his heart through his hands and it’s icky.

--

It was a cloudy day and a grey day. I walked and walked. South a block, east a block, north a block, east, south, east, north—and so on. My gps route would a been the crudely drawn top of a castle.

The children kept gawking at me and they were weirdly happy about my presence.  At one point, a group of five young black children ages approximately three to seven jumped off their scooters and all wanted to hug me. I tried to remain in character, but my heart. It melts! I was patting the backs of all the sweet youngsters.

Were my smiles and positive energy leaking out from under this mask like phantom tendril filaments? What a recognizable lovable figure of Americana I am representative of! The children love me. Mickey in Epcot, Michael in a tree-lined fall neighborhood.

Eventually they scattered from me and the storm clouds broke free. One of their father’s chuckled and waved at me.

The fleeing clouds panicked and lost the thread. Every hazy cloud became its own distinct shape. I stood still and looked up to the sky imagining me from the outside, the cover of a VHS tape, half covered by tree.

--

The third time I seen him I was smoking on a cold morning. I had just thrown my trash out and was doing doodles in the dew that had developed on the dumpster while puffing my Backwoods. Suddenly a transhuman came marching out of the fog, out of the weeds behind the dumpster. Dragging along the bloated, rigormortising, poor breakfast eating snake. Poor guy.

--

When I go for my stalks, I sometimes stop at a creaky wooden-floored bar on a corner. I remove my mask before entering so I am not shot at. This time when I sat at the bar there was a football game on. There was an injury timeout. I swilled my translucent draft lager fast when a political ad came on. It made me glance around left-to-right thinking: what are the others around me thinking and what are the “others” around me “thinking”.

--

A political ad:

We are bigots if we don’t vote the transhuman to be mayor. Transhumans need human rights too. Because they said they feel human on the inside. And we made them this way. Only a bad person would vote for the biological human, I mean, look how clean the streets are now, they speakered.

Broken down transhumans protested for tax dollars to cover their maintenance costs: repairs and updates.

I guess that could be ok…. Maintenance and repairs. Yeah, I see where that could be fair.

The game came back on and it was the Boston Patriots vs the Washington R-Words.

--

The fourth time I seen him he was in my dream. In my dream he was still alive because I decided to eat my breakfast that day. I was standing maskless on the sidewalk and he slithered from the grass right out in front of me. He seemed to acknowledge my presence and pause, then continued across to the road, disappearing into the sewer.

--

Everything was becoming pristine.

Squeaky clean. The city was immaculate with a whole new sheen. We had the transhumans to thank for that. I loved my privately owned model. Today it was kind enough to bring my attention to all of my so-called favorite things I had missed over the past few days. So I abandoned my ways.

--

I only came out of that daze when my transhuman blew some type of fuse. Who knows how many hours later this was, but it was sunny outside so probably many. Electronics are not something I am good working with so I called to make an appointment with a Specialist. We were in luck, he was free currently.

I struggled getting us into the elevator and down to ground level. Luckily, once outside, a homeless saw my struggle and offered me their shopping basket for a slight tip or fee. I dumped their crap out of it and lifted my transhuman up and in.

We were on our way. But it was the wrong way I should have known not to come this direction during the day. Protestors lined the sidewalks. Humans with signs and angry looking eyebrow and mouth shapes. Their ire was at me. Their signs read Robots have no souls. Our tax dollars have better usages such as acquiring gasoline through sheer force. Trans”human” bots are brainwashing us with their immersive nature. Become Human Again.

A mob of transhumans were on the opposite sidewalk also with their pickets and speakered chants near max volume.

I tsk tsked and tried to walk past. Someone grabbed the end of the cart and we tug-o-warred it back and forth. Throw this piece of junk out, he screamed at me, a glazed-over inhuman look on his face was plain to see. Look at you, he said to me, you are being brainwashed! Crush this, crush this, crush this hunk-o-junk they started chanting in sync. Then they began smashing car windows and yelling.

The transhumans looked neutral and they cleaned up the streets simultaneously with their protesting.

A large burly woman screamed in my face and knocked my cart sideways off the sidewalk. My transhuman was sent sprawling into traffic and was nearly runover by an 18-wheeler! I was in the middle of thinking that was a close one but before I could finish thinking a motorcyclist hit my transhuman straight on and went flipping head over heels across the pavement.

I ran to the street and grabbed my transhuman and carried him back to the sidewalk. That was quite a wallop. Nice sized dents and scrapes. Some exposed wiring. I tossed him back into the shopping cart and pushed, running back in the direction of home with the mob of picketers screaming and yelling behind me.

--

The transhuman protesters secured the spine of the man on the street, stopped all traffic, and routed the closest ambulance to the crash site.  

--

I made it to my building and slammed the door closed behind me, standing hunched over and catching my breath. The mob was banging on the glass door. We won’t be able to make it to the Specialist today… Once inside of our apartment I was alone and it was quiet. I think I can manage a night alone, I was thinking.

I was thinking but then my phone rang and my transhuman answered! His speaker could still speaker!

“Hello,” I said.

“Hey. Do you know how many eyes ants have?”

“No. How many?”

“Just guess.”

“Well, my initial thought was two, but before I could even get the words out, I realized it’s definitely not two. I don’t know, maybe like twelve or something”

“Five.”

I asked my transhuman to confirm this so-called fact that was told to me by a very close friend and it was confirmed that ants indeed did have five eyes so I believed it.

I hung up the phone and now I was not alone.

--

The fifth time I seen him it was the same dream. Well at first. But this time once he passed me on the sidewalk he slithered out into the street and was immediately ran over by a speeding Suburban on autopilot.

--

I drew my blinds open and looked down to the street in front of my building. The mob remained. I put on my mask and descended the back stairwell. I stalked around the corner to the front. A few of the people glanced my way, momentarily pausing their yelling and banging. Then they continued. I walked up close behind the mob and my smile could not be contained. I’m here, I’m here. I am right behind you all! I was laughing, laughing, the joy was growing.