Friday, July 25, 2014
Finding the Right Size
When the Octonicks take over, I think their
insane restrictions will filter down slowly.
So I have to call in Bidge. In a former life, he
could have been a jockey. That tiny.
“The word we just got on you, unfortunately,
is that you take up too much space.”
“Me? I live in a studio apartment with
three other guys, bunks to the ceiling.
Fart and they'd murder me. We have a
minuscule, old-fashioned TV. None of this
Feel-a-Vision or whatever it's called.
I'm small, my life is small, I'm using almost
no resources! Just the threads I wear."
“Nice ones. But, I'm sorry. You can't go home
tonight. Rather to...Compression. I hear it's not
so bad there.”
“Have you seen the homeless at the railroad
station? They look like dirty breadboxes!”
“Can't do a thing,” I inform him.
About a month later, I hear a squeak and get
up to look at my chair.
But it comes from Bidge in the opposite one.
He looks like a cigar box someone has left.
"You've got to use me now or they crush
"But what can you do? You're too small to work
here anymore. Maybe a transfer? To play with
children or something?"
"I'll blow you!" he pipes.
"Too small even for that."
A great tragedy.
At any rate, he eventually wills me his clothes
and I sell them. Is that heartless?