Kaleb's Critters

"May-Ma... why are you telling me this?" Jade Sparkle fidgeted before his elder, confused and a bit frightened. His grandmother had clearly gone mad. "This place you speak of... can't possibly be real... are... are you okay, Matriarch?"

Good things come to those who wait, my little pony. A strong, feminine voice, bleeding authority like mana from a foal, reverberated in the confines of young Sparkle's skull, and he winced briefly. Small magic overflow, there: grandma was getting impatient.

"I... yes, I know, but - "

All in good time, young foal. All will be clear soon.

"I've cantered twenty summers, May-Ma... Just, please just tell me why. Tell me why I need to know this... fairytale."

You must know... because one day they will return.

"Th-They?" Jade stuttered, squinting carefully at his semi-conscious grandmother. She rocked gently in her chair, muzzle a yawning, drooling cave. The ancient mare looked asleep--she would seem dead if not for the sound of dry, rattling breath in the morning stillness of House Sparkle--but she spoke clearly: a voice in his head, projected from the yellow glow of her wizened horn as her real voice had been lost long ago.

The humans, foal. Scrawny minotaurs from the heavens.

"And, this Robin? He was a human? What does he have to do with you? With anything?"

Everything, child. He has everything to do with me; and you. Now be silent: I must continue.

The white unicorn sighed, shifting on his hooves to get comfortable on the wooden floor. There was no other furniture in the room. It was a place to die: just for his grandmother.

It was made for her, but apparently Jade was allowed to visit.

Robin was a simple creature. Born on the day of his species’ lord to a drunkard and his homely wife, he was raised to be exactly what his society needed: a dirty, splintered rung in the ladder of progress. Unfortunately, his path allowed for him to accomplish something more, and for that he was punished.

His first mistake was finding ambition; his second, acting on it. In a culture where men of his skill set were unneeded, Robin was expected to flow with the great skewed and rusted chain of the masses: destined to be one with the great, hobbled swarm of the socially impoverished. His morality—as we understand the concept—was distorted by an insatiable lust for entertainment, and, when the time came, he was to become a part of that great, deadly diversion for the populace that still held some semblance of self-respect.

That was the path he avoided—the path of thousands before him—and his mistakes were my salvation.

Chapter Three

A peal of tinkling, feminine laughter smote the evening air.

“Stop it! *giggle* H-Hey! This is Jenna!—”

“—And this is Robin!—”

“—We can’t come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number—*giggle* Stop, Robin!—w-we’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

The voices stopped, and there was a long, toneless beep.

“Jen? Hey, it’s me…” The cold, metal phone headpiece felt wrong in his hands: like a piece of shrapnel embedded within soft, virgin flesh. A light breeze rolled down the alleyway behind the CAS building and Robin hunched further inside his jacket. “Listen, I, uh… I got a job. It’s with Station Three…”

Robin glanced down the length of the service-way toward the mouth of the alley and began fishing in his pockets. A rubbish car rumbled by, the compactor on board screeching with oxidation. Robin’s search became frantic. He checked both pants pockets, moving jerkily—grasping. His hand brushed against his breast and felt a familiar, smooth stiffness. A long, relieved breath escaped him.

Moving purposefully, Robin lifted the small flap on his jacket pocket and removed a small photo. He held it close, face up, running a finger over the glossy image of a pale, russet-haired girl.

“The pay’s decent, but I’ll be gone for awhile…” Fairweather winced. “A long while.”

She was smiling in that picture, eyes bright over rounded, cold-tinged cheeks. Something about that smile made Robin sick to his stomach—flashes of greasy black hair and glinting gold eyes flitted through his mind’s eye—but that wasn’t her fault. Many things were, but his unease wasn’t.

“Jenna, if you’re there please pick up. It would make this a lot easier.”

Robin remembered when he’d taken that picture: their second date. It was autumn. He had still been in school then and being in a relationship had felt natural, easy even. They’d gone to eat at Reyno’s on the edge of District Fourteen. Best Greek food in the city. He’d taken the photo with an old click-and-printer—on loan from his Epistemology class on assignment to document an instance provoking “thought”—outside the restaurant.

He’d told her he loved her that day. Now… well, now “love” wasn’t the issue he needed to address.

“My new boss gave me three days to get my 'tucker in order' and put my 'skivvies through the washtub' before then. He actually said that, can you believe it?” Robin chuckled giddily but then cut off, suddenly disgusted with himself. He forced himself to continue: “I’ll be leaving after that, but until then the Channel rep’ offered me a room here… unless I can find somewhere else to stay.”

She wasn’t this pale anymore. Robin ran a finger down the edge of the photograph, wincing at how it pressed into his skin. A man on the corner sold her some tanning pills a year ago. The damn things made her queasy and she’d thrown up once or twice—maybe more while Robin was out job searching—and he’d gotten scared. He asked her to quit taking them, but she refused.

It stopped a week later. Jenna said it was worth the color: that it made her feel good about herself. She regained the weight lost to sickness after a month, and lost most of the tan even sooner.

The man on the corner never came back to sell more. Robin had made sure of that.

“I’m planning on accepting their offer for tonight,” he murmured. “Please, if you want to talk, I’ll be here at five o’ clock tomorrow evening. I don’t want to end what we had on such a sour note…” Robin held his breath.

The line remained silent.

“Goodbye, Jen. Sweet dreams.” He hung the phone in its socket with a sigh. With one last look at the photo before pocketing it, Robin allowed himself a small, uncomfortable laugh.

She hadn’t changed the answering machine. That was something, at least.