Sparrow in Saturn R̶e̶t̶u̶r̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ Reborn

Part One: Frodo Lives!

It’s called Fandom.

It’s basically an addiction at this point.

You are obsessively enthusiastic about certain characters and stories.

You can’t stop even when it affects your well-being.

Even when you know you should.

Even when you are thinking, this isn’t even really making me happy anymore.

Other people doing it too tell you this is how it works, so it’s okay…

But unlike an addiction to hard drugs or hard drinking you can’t really explain it in a way that makes any sort of sense.

You decorate your room with posters and references only you understand and get weepy when a song on the radio makes you think of a certain character.

You spend an entire summer reading almost nothing but male/male slash (that means sex) based on fictional characters rewritten in all sorts of the most amazing and interesting scenarios and realize that it’s truly the Rule #34 of the internet that if you can think of it there is porn of it.

Whenever someone asks what you are reading you say, The Hunger Games and almost get caught in the lie when you have still only read the first chapter over a month later. It’s like candy that will rot your brain but for you it’s a quick and easy fix.

You go for long stretches where you stay away. Sometimes for even months at a time until the night you’re up until two in the morning reading that one “Space Pirates AU fanfic” and are strung out at work the next day and then spend hours reading comments on forum boards when you get home.

You search the internet looking for just the right fan inspired t-shirt to wear in public hoping you might someday run into someone who says, “You do the thing too!”

Maybe you can form a support group. It’s like a book club. A really twisted book club.

You have a dream that you are standing in a giant round room that is like a library of your absolute favourite fan written works in small paperback editions and categorized on shelves. You’re excited and also confused because this is the wing of the gorram akashic records you get to visit?

When you are awake you applaud yourself for resisting digital hoarding and have a pretty good memory anyway and then think, shit if this is what your mind palace looks like you’re screwed.

You resign to read something different and reach for Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep.

You wonder why you immediately start writing your own rule 34 reinterpretation of it in your head. It’s called a plot bunny you’re told. They hide under the bed. Aren’t they cute?

Part Two: Kill Your Television!

I recently started accidently stalking this cute boy who lives in my neighbored; he’s a clerk at the bakery and the deli. I’m sort of doomed. I write a million different scenarios in my head. I long to be Rory Gilmore but I’m much too old now and I was once told by the director of my college drama program that while I was indeed a talented actress I was not pretty enough to play the ingénue.

I am Rajesh Koothrappali with a vagina.

I’m in a relationship with my kindle and my pillow. I don’t have time for cute people.

Did I use the word cute already? That’s bad writing.

It is though. It’s all so damn cute. It’s a meet cute.

It’s chic lit.

It’s wanting to interrupt my best friend when she says she loved the “Shades of Grey trilogy” to tell her that Anastasia Steele was raped and is in an unhealthy and abusive relationship but hey I could email her plenty of links to much better written BDSM erotica if that’s something she’d be like, interested in…or whatever.

I get stoned and invoke the spirit of the beat poets and consider buying a vintage typewriter and taping every damn word I write all over walls of my little room in the boarding house in some sort of fight for authenticity.

Remind me to tell you about the time I was dosed at a party and hallucinated for hours and then ended up in the hospital. At one point I thought I was Jesus, I’m not frelling kidding.

It’s maybe, kind of, sort of, believing in The Matrix forever after that.

It’s reading Vigilant Citizen and listening to Creepy Pasta podcasts.

It’s: how do you feel about gay male love stories being written by women?

It’s all the things you’d never admit to in polite society.

Does that even exist anymore?

It’s writing down everything because there’s a story in there somewhere.

It’s keeping calm and carrying on no matter what happens.

Thinking about Thinking about Writing

I was a dog walker and pet sitter for five years. I'm realizing that maybe I like dogs more than people. Dogs are honest and people, well we tend to be constantly blind to the dichotomy between our own words and actions.

I’m hanging out with a coworker who is telling me about a problem between two of our other coworkers. “Yeah, but I'm going to stay out of it,” he says.

I don't point out the flawed logic that his talking to me about it isn't “staying out of it.”

He moves on to talking about his new girlfriend. “I want to be here for you but I should be writing,” I think to myself. But really, I guess I want the distraction or I wouldn’t have invited him in. I had all weekend to work on a submission for the online writing competition I signed up for last month and here it was hours before the deadline and I had nothing written.

We listen to epic guitar solos and watch retro horror movie trailers. We make a list of our favorite fictional characters with mullets.

I mention out loud feeling like I’m self-sabotaging myself by waiting until last minute to write something. He tells me about ripping up his own art work and taking canvases out to dumpsters. I tell him I have nothing to rip up.

He says to write about that, about thinking about something to write about.

“No,” I say. “That would be called a “meta post” and you’re not supposed to do that.”

Annabelle, Owen, Mouse

He hears the sound a split second before he hears her gasp awake. The unmistakable metallic snap of the trap he set a few days earlier without telling her.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into the darkness. “I had to.”

“It’s not me you have to apologize to Peter.” Annabelle says softly.

He knows. He kisses her bare shoulder and hopes she will be asleep again before he has to get up for work.

Later he wraps the trap and the body in three plastic bags and brings it out to the trash bin on the sidewalk on his way to the bus.

When Peter gets home from work she’s wearing a blue waistcoat and grey trousers. She has her back to him and is reaching up to return a book to the top shelf of their consolidated library which takes up an entire living room wall. Mellon Collie and The Infinite Sadness is on the record player. Peter stands in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen and takes a moment to watch her.

Him, Peter corrects himself. It’s not what he was expecting but he’s not disappointed.

Peter clears his throat and his lover turns.

“Peter you’re home.” He says.

“Owen, it’s been a long time.” Peter steps into the room as Owen leans back against the bookshelf folding his arms over his chest; the sleeves of his collared shirt are rolled up to his elbows.

“Too long. It’s really great to see you. I hope you don’t mind. Annabelle had to smooth things over with Mouse.”

“Do you think she’ll want to talk to me?”

“Mouse?” Owen shrugs before turning back to arranging books. “Who knows? That girl can be so fickle.”

“Well, I’m happy you’re here.” Peter says honestly.

Owen turns his head toward Peter and smirks. He pushes his eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose. “You’re just hoping I did the shopping.” He teases.

Peter tilts his head questioningly.

Owen laughs and gestures toward the kitchen. “There’s beer in the fridge and stuff for sandwiches, help yourself.”

Peter turns quickly back toward the kitchen. He can still see Owen as he sets the food and plates out on the island.

Peter watches the way Owen moves with his back slightly straighter than Annabelle and the casual set of his hips; the way he takes wider steps and holds his beer bottle by the neck instead of around the base.

Their long blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail. Peter has been told that Owen threatened to cut it once and Annabelle threatened buy cat eye glasses instead of the plain silver frames they all share.

Peter takes a long swig of his beer and begins slicing the fresh bread. He feels bad for Owen sometimes but Annabelle sets the rules on body modification.

Peter was confused in the beginning but he decided pretty quickly that he didn’t care how odd it seemed or ridiculous it sounded. Annabelle, Owen and Mouse share a body it was as simple as that and Peter loved them all. He met Annabelle first. Owen and Mouse came later.

He stopped trying to put a name to it anymore. He’s happy and it’s all that matters.

After a while, Owen joins Peter in the kitchen. While they eat they talk about books and flirt like they just met until Owen backs Peter up against the wall and bites gently at his neck. They kiss all the way to the bedroom, laughing as they stumble over each other.

When he wakes up alone in the bed later that night he calls out for Owen and instead he finds Mouse. She’s sitting on the window ledge illuminated by the light from the streetlamp outside. Her hair is almost covering her face and her knees are tucked under her chin.

“I’m sorry,” He says immediately. “I won’t ever do it again. I’ll buy those humane traps I swear and we can set them free together.”

“I know Peter. I just—,” Mouse breaks off and Peter rises from the bed to put an arm around her shoulders.

“I know it’s silly, it’s like my – my spirit animal or whatever.”

“I get it. I don’t know what I was thinking. Forgive me?”

She takes a deep breath before nodding. “Yeah.”

“It’s cold. Come back—Come to bed.” He helps her off the ledge and they settle under the covers.

When he wakes up again the sun is up and Annabelle is smiling at him.

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--Eh, this started out as magical realism and became something else. Feedback appreciated since it’s pretty experimental (and came to me after two days of fever dreams.) I almost took a BYE instead of posting it but I decided to take a chance.

So I made it to Week 4 of LJ Idol. Thank you for everyone who read and commented on my Week 2 entry!

I decided to take a BYE in Week 3. It’s like the Immunity Idol on Survivor. Each Idol participant gets three to use and you are saved from being eliminated that week even if you do not post a submission.

I used my BYE for the Week 3 Topic of In Another Castle because I actually came up with an fun idea for a short film that I never actually plan to shoot. I knew it would likely be too long for a such an early entry and I haven’t finished writing out the short screenplay just for the funsies but when I do I plan to post it here.

The Topic for Week 4 has been posted and you can read entries as they are submitted here.

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