Discounts & Specials

Title: Slipping Through the Cracks
Author: Harper Kingsley
Character: Franz Caulder/Ryan Wilder, Dr. Pamela Werth, Nicole Carson
Genre: mm
Rating: mature
Summary: Kid Nitro went to sleep in his own bed, and woke up on another Earth in the body of an alternate Franz Caulder. It’s a world without metabilities, which is jarring enough, but it’s also a world where Other-Franz is a mental patient grappling with some serious problems.

Check out: Part 1, Part 2.

* * *

He was running. His legs were churning fast and the world was spinning past him in slow motion. The faster he went, the more the world slowed down, until he thought that if he just went a little faster then time would stop all together.

Lightspeed was a bright yellow blur ahead of him and he couldn’t help being jealous. There was a reason Lightspeed was known as the world’s fastest man. Franz always felt a bit left in the dust.

Clenching his jaw, Franz pushed himself until his legs began to burn. Faster and faster until something seemed to happen, a strange switch over that turned the world around into a swirl of color and he was RUNNING with no impulse to ever stop. He felt as though he could keep going forever.

Lightspeed was always just a few steps ahead of him, always that little bit faster, but Franz didn’t feel like giving up. He knew that if he kept going, one day he would catch Lightspeed. One day *he* would be the fastest man alive.

“I’m going to catch you!” he shouted, the wind trying to whip his words away.

Lightspeed glanced back over his shoulder with a teasing smile on the visible portion of his lips. “You’ll have to try harder than that, boy.”

Franz yelled when Lightspeed put on another burst of speed and zipped ahead. Franz tried to catch up, but it seemed impossible. The man was just too fast. There was no catching that speed.

Franz woke with a jerk and the momentary sensation that he was falling.

He sat up and looked around the room, hating it and wanting to go home. He wondered if Nigel was taking care of himself without him there to nag him.

He got out of bed and went out to deal with his second day in Rotham Lite. He figured it wasn’t going to be too bad; he wasn’t locked behind a security door with padding on the walls like they had at Rotham. Housing both the criminally insane and the non-violent but permanently disturbed, Rotham had been rated as the world’s “Fiercest Asylum” by FasHonesta Magazine and that had only been a little bit of a joke. Rotham killed people.

This, though, was a completely different situation. These people actually cared for the mentally ill instead of just locking them up. He’d heard people discuss letting them out as an option, but he’d never believed it would work.

He’d heard all the stories about what the mentally ill would do if they were let out in public. There would be murders and rapes and horrible things all over the place. Everyone knew that’s what would happen. They had to be locked up for their own good, only allowed out to work and then only with a chaperone. It made sense; they were completely unbalanced and should be locked up for the good of everyone.

It was an idea Franz had always believed in. Except here in this world, the mentally ill were treated like normal people for the most part. They were only locked away when they were an imminent threat to themselves and other people. Otherwise they received what what was called “out patient” care, something Franz had never imagined possible. He was used to the idea of mental patients receiving permanent medication dispensing pumps to keep them safely controlled and happy in their Mental Health housing. Here, someone that just needed a few pills could live a normal life *outside*.

Which meant that Other-Franz had had some serious issues he’d been dealing with. Franz suspected violence and antisocial behavior, though it was hard to tell without asking what his prognosis was. He figured it would be better to wait for the information to present itself than ask dumb questions.

He’d been considering proving his sanity and getting out, but discovering how this world worked made him have to think. If these people that seemed so understanding about mental problems had thought it was a good idea to keep Other-Franz locked up for nearly a year, would it be such a good idea for him to get the guy out? If there was a body switch, Other-Franz would be out on the street with a clean bill of health. Could he do that to these people?

Sometimes he hated having a conscience. Because he definitely wanted out of this place, but not before he found out if it was safe for Other-Franz to be out in the world.

Franz wished that he knew anything about mental health disorders, but it had never been one of his concerns. *Those people* lived in special care facilities where regular people never had to see them or worry about them. When he’d occasionally had to deal with someone crazy, it was usually a supervillain he could hand over to the CMPF; it wasn’t his problem.

Yet here he was in this place, surrounded by people that made his skin crawl uncomfortably, and it wasn’t something he could happily ignore. They were right in his face and the doctors and nurses thought he was one of them.

The only relief he had was to keep reminding himself, “I’m not crazy.”

He held to it through another group session where he slouched in his chair with his arms crossed and his mouth shut. He held to it for the twenty minutes when he was forced to write down his *feelings*. And he was only a little violent with the paintbrush when it came to arts and crafts time.

He was feeling as though the walls were closing in by the time they were taken out after lunch for their daily walk. He pulled on his hoodie and promised himself that everything was going to be all right. Nigel would get him home and everything would be all right.

The air was crisp outside, a switch from the summer he’d left behind. The sky was a grayed out blue with some darker clouds in the distance. The leaves on the skinny trees framing the lawn were changing from green to yellow and he couldn’t help reaching up to touch them. Everything felt so real.

Franz looked around at the other patients with him–two men and three women–but they were seemingly off in their own worlds, wrapped up in their own problems. The nurse with them let them all do their own thing, knowing that the tall chain link fence surrounding the large yard would keep them in.

He turned to look back at the hospital, his eyes tracking over the windows and what he could see of the roof. It was a solid red brick square looming four stories high with bars on every window and only the wide double doors for entry or exit. He didn’t see a whole lot that he could work with.

For about the ten millionth time in his life, he wished that he had taken the extra courses the CMPF offered on escape and survival. He’d always had his superspeed and his superstrength; being normal had never been one of his worries, so he didn’t know how to do it.

His body felt strange to him, heavy in a way it had never been before. The hum that he’d heard thrumming in his blood since he was a little kid was gone. He felt drained, a shell of himself.

But he was still alive, and powers or no powers, he was still Kid Nitro.

Franz looked around at the fenced in yard and the other patients. He’d never been in a situation like this, had swung things so he would never be in a position like this.

He’d never seen much purpose in facing hardship when he didn’t need to. If the world went to hell, he was sure he could survive whatever got thrown at him. He didn’t need special training because he would be fine. Plus he’d have Nigel, and Nigel knew practically everything.

Except here he was in another world all alone. And he was worried that he was going to screw everything up. Because without guidance that’s what he always did; he ruined things. He was a ruiner.

Franz must have been too deeply in his own world, because the overly friendly arm slung across his shoulder almost made him fall. He caught his balance and looked at the brown haired man that held him.

Cheerfully round body and a clean-shaven face that was nearly cherubic in its sweetness. But there was something in the green eyes that put him on edge. “Shame about the scar on your face, but you’ve always caught my eye, Franzy. You’ve got something appealing about you. You’re a very handsome boy.”

Franz felt a throb of creeping dread go through his whole body. He couldn’t help it. He *cringed* away from the man. “Leave me alone, Bertie,” he blurted out, and it didn’t even sound like his voice. It was so timid and small; weak.

It felt as though all the strength was draining out of him and the fight went with it. He felt small and fearful and there was this rising sense of helpless misery.

He experienced the phantom slide of hands across his bare skin and the ghostly whisper of voices in his ears. And there was fear and pain and somewhere in the dark someone was screaming.

The sound that escaped his lips made his whole body twist. His throat felt squeezed tight and his testicles were trying to draw up. Every bit of him felt strung with wire and the world was narrowing down to a pinprick of light and he was fading away.

“Bertie, you have been told before that you are not allowed to speak to Franz. It was part of our agreement to treat you.” The nurse sounded exasperated. “Are you all right Franz?”

He couldn’t speak. He was being pulled out of his skin, colors smearing around as his breath came in fast pants that left him still desperate for oxygen.

He wondered if he were dying.

The world was getting too bright and everything looked too sharp and frightening. He was scared, he couldn’t help it, and he wasn’t even embarrassed when he felt the warm gush of hot liquid down his leg.

His head was whirling and spinning and he couldn’t breathe. Everything was too bright, too harsh, it was killing him, wiping him out, destroying him bit by bit as the world spun fast and faster. He keened, the sound rising from him like a bird and…

There was a nearly gentle prick against his hip. He hadn’t even seen her get close. The needle looked gigantic in her hand.

Then everything slid sideways and he went too. Just for a little while.

TBC…

[table “24” not found /]

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Check out the rest of the hop and all the excellent people that have offered up some great posts and prizes.

Spread the word: No more homophobia or transphobia. Equality for everyone.

Title: Slipping Through the Cracks
Author: Harper Kingsley
Character: Franz Caulder/Ryan Wilder, Dr. Pamela Werth, Nicole Carson
Genre: mm
Rating: mature
Summary: Franz goes to sleep in his bed and wakes up locked in a mental health hospital with no idea how he got there or why.

Check out: Part 1.

* * *
By the time he was back in his room and was sure he would have a bit of time alone, he was about an inch away from throwing a screaming fit.

Making sure the door was tightly closed, he pulled the napkin wrapped bundle of pills he’d hidden in his underwear out and took them directly to the bathroom. He was glad they trusted him enough to allow him his own toilet and sink; he knew there were some facilities where the patient was only allowed a bare mattress and could expect invasive body searches on a regular basis.

He flushed the pills down the toilet and felt a little better.

Most of what he knew about mental hospitals was stuff he’d learned from TV and movies. He’d been worried all day that he was going to get caught with the pills and evil doctors would end up giving him shock therapy or a lobotomy. It was terrifying.

Franz stood in front of the sink and examined himself in the mirror. It wasn’t made out of glass, just polished metal, which left his reflection slightly wavery and out of focus. He was able to see himself, but for a long moment he didn’t recognize the man standing there.

This was the first time he’d seen himself since he’d woken up. He hadn’t realized he would look different from what he was used to. It sent a jolt of fear through him.

This all might be real.

The man in the mirror was in his early-twenties with the light brown skin he was used to. His black eyes were almond-shaped and there was something Asian about the cast of his features, but he mostly looked black. His mother had been half-white and half-Japanese while his father had been black. They’d died when he was too young to have many memories of them, though he remembered how British they sounded.

The fact that he knew they spoke with Estuary English accents had been something he’d learned from Nigel. Before that he’d watched old home movies of them and thought they sounded like something off the BBC. It had also been Nigel that had told him all the stories he’d missed about who his parents were.

His mother had been Sophia, his father was Terence. They had been Butterfly Woman and Mothman, and Dr. Scourge had torn his family apart.

Dr. Scourge had killed Terence, and Sophia had killed the supervillain. Then she’d taken her grief, bottled it up tight, and burnt herself out fighting crime for another year as a solo act. One day she’d gotten careless and she’d died, leaving him an orphan with more questions than answers. Some part of him had never forgiven her.

He’d lived in foster care until he was ten, never understanding what had happened to his parents. Until Nigel had come and taken him away, an old friend of his parents that only wanted the best for him. And Nigel had turned out to be Lightspeed. He lived with a superhero and he’d grown up to be a superhero himself.

He was Franz Caulder. He was Kid Nitro. He had battled supervillains and helped to protect the world from destruction.

But the guy in the mirror… He didn’t know what to think of that guy.

There were strange shadows and a jagged series of scars across the left side of his face. When he turned his head sideways, it looked like the letters FA or FR had been carved from his jaw up toward his ear; the writer had been interrupted given the ragged upsweep that almost bisected the corner of his eye. The skin was puckered and burned looking, though the blade must have been as sharp as it was hot.

He stared at himself and it looked bad. That scar looked old, several years at least, something that had to have happened when he was a teenager. It was ugly, no doubt about that, and hadn’t received any kind of aftercare. One look told him the wound had healed naturally with no doctors.

Franz would have immediately gone to a plastic surgeon. If one of his bad guys had carved up his face like that, Franz would have used his League of Superheroes medical card at the nearest hospital. He would never have a scar like that, not with the miracles of modern medicine.

There was something very bad wrong here and he was beginning to suspect that it was him. He hadn’t been in his bed last night, or at least this body hadn’t. This body had been here, locked up nice and cozy with Other-Franz in his cell where he belonged.

Just like in the old Chrestomanci books. He’d been body snatched. It was the only explanation.

Like the gears in some great machine his Essence, or soul, had been shifted one universe over. And somewhere out there someone was walking around in his body living his life. While he was here in this alien/familiar/terrifying body with this giant, horrible scar across his face.

Franz reached up to touch the scar, but stopped. His finger hovered, then he dropped his arm.

He stared at his reflection for a long moment and forced his shoulders square. He could handle this. He was Kid Nitro. He could handle *anything*. Even a crazy case of body switching.

He would just have to remember to be careful not to damage the body. It wasn’t his, and he already missed that vibrant hum that had always filled him before. He felt wrapped up in the fleshy prison and it was strange feeling so powerless, but he would do his best to take care of the body. Because until he managed to switch back, he was only borrowing someone else’s skin.

There went his chances of ever being a beauty queen.

The laugh garbled out of his throat and he stumbled out of the bathroom to flop down on the bed. It was uncomfortable, but he didn’t care.

He was in an alternate universe. It was the only explanation.

“Fuck, why me?” He covered his face with his hands and allowed himself the luxury of a hysterical moment. The barely muffled sounds that escaped his mouth made his own ears hurt, like listening to some wounded animal he couldn’t help.

It was cleansing though. Letting it all out.

And when he’d gotten himself back under control, he forced himself to his feet and began examining the room. It wasn’t that bad. The doors opened and he had his own bathroom and he wasn’t sharing with anyone. Definitely not too much like real prison.

He’d been to prison before, or at least the juvenile version of it. They’d been pulling a sting and he’d been undercover at Barosoma, otherwise known as Kiddy Max. The CMPF were tracking Hesse Mijandro, the leader of the Purity Movement’s Junior Believers, and Franz had been asked to befriend Mijandro’s cousin Ursa.

He’d done a good job of it and they’d become prison friends, close enough for Ursa to see him as a real friend. And after they’d gotten out–timed close enough to keep the relationship meaningful but not close enough to be suspicious–it had seemed completely natural for Ursa to invite him around.

They’d gone to movies, they’d shopped, they’d gone to baseball games, it had been great. Franz hadn’t had that much fun with another person in a long time and it had felt real. Ursa had become a friend.

And through Ursa he’d gotten close to Tiedre Mijandro. Close enough to be invited to the Mijandro compound overnight. He’d done his job. He’d gotten the information and he hadn’t been discovered. Six months of being Alex, friend and sometimes lover of Ursa and Tiedre, had left him feeling changed inside, but he’d done it. Because he was Kid Nitro, sidekick of Lightspeed.

The Mijandro case had won him a lot of respect. They’d seen him as a kid and some had tried to talk him out of taking the job, but he’d told them he was ready to do his part. He was ready to go in and use Ursa to get what he needed and it was going to be no big deal.

The Purity Movement had taken a big hit when their junior division was brought up on criminal charges for selling drugs and guns and robbing houses. And the world was made a little better.

Except he’d felt like crap for a long time. Ursa and Tiedre had really become his friends, and he’d brought down their family. It had killed him to see them hurt, but Hesse Mijandro had been out of control. Franz had done what he needed to do.

He was Franz Caulder. He was Kid Nitro. He made the hard choices. He did his job.

He firmed his jaw and the last of his quiet sniveling faded away. He’d been in hard spots before. He’d get through this.

 

There wasn’t anything of much interest in the room. The dresser held more of his same scrub pants and tee shirt ensembles, along with a bundle of white socks and plain briefs. There was a plastic tub in the corner that held some paperback novels — mostly sci-fi and fantasy — and a handful of spiral notebooks. That was about it, other than a red hoodie flung over the back of the room’s single chair.

He thought about taking the bed or the chair apart to fashion some kind of weapon, but he wasn’t ready to do that yet. He needed to find out more about why he was here.

All he needed was to bust out of the hospital, then have Nigel manage to flip him back. If the Other-Franz had a mental illness that made him violent, the last thing Franz wanted to do was break the guy out. That was like an invitation to feeling guilty if Other-Franz went on a murder spree or something.

He grabbed the hoodie and pulled it on. The inside was soft fleece and he lifted the hood up around his head. That was a lot better.

So he was in another world in an alternate version of his body. He could deal with this.

“I’m Kid Nitro,” he whispered, climbing back onto the bed. It took him a long moment to find a comfortable position lying on his side and he wrapped his arms around his legs.

He would find out everything he could about this world and he would make sure no one knew that he didn’t belong. Because if he told the doctors here that they needed to let him out because he was a different Earth’s Franz Caulder, they would think he was crazy and he would only make things more difficult for himself.

He needed to play this cool and smart.

“I’m Kid Nitro.”

TBC…

[table “24” not found /]

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Check out the rest of the hop and all the excellent people that have offered up some great posts and prizes. Spread the word: No more homophobia or transphobia. Equality for everyone.

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May 17th is the International Day Against Homophobia and Transphobia. The link is: http://dayagainsthomophobia.org/.

Welcome to my stop on the Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia blog hop. My name is Harper and I write a mix of mm and slashy sci-fi and fantasy stories with an emphasis on plot over porn.

It feels weird to realize that even just a few short years ago people didn’t believe that gay marriage would ever be possible. It was one of those things that had people shaking their heads and saying, “That will never happen.”

Look at us now.

There’s hope that someday people will wake up to the idea that everyone deserves to be treated equally and that the world can become a better place than we’ve let it be. There’s been several frustrating steps backward on women’s issues, religion, and gun control, but I refuse to give up on the idea that as long as we keep pressing forward things can get better.

And that’s what this hop is about for me. It’s about spreading the word that even though there’s been some positive changes, it’s not enough. Homophobia and transphobia exist, it’s true, and we need to stand up and say “Enough. No more.”

If we stop being complacent and band together, we can change the laws and the world. It won’t be easy and it will take time, but future generations will be able to look back on the past and shake their heads and say, “There’s no way that really happened.” Because to those kids yet unborn, the idea of people being beaten and murdered for the color of their skin, their sex, their religion, or their sexuality will be an archaic idea of barbaric people that no longer exist.

I can’t wait for that day to arrive. I’m hoping it will be during my lifetime.

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Okay, so I was kind of waffling about what I was going to offer up as a prize. A backlist title, something that’s not released yet like A&E, I had no idea.

Then I counted up the days of the hop and a crazy idea entered my brain. What if I wrote a story and posted an entry every day of the hop, and at the end I would give a PDF copy to every person that comments. That way everyone gets to be a winner.

So comment to receive an ARC of the tentatively titled “Slipping Through the Cracks,” by Harper Kingsley after May 27th.

Suggest a more fitting title and receive a dedication in the book when it becomes publicly available.

One lucky commenter will also receive a copy of the Allies & Enemies short, “Psychotic.”

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Title: Slipping Through the Cracks
Author: Harper Kingsley
Character: Franz Caulder/Ryan Wilder, Dr. Pamela Werth, Nicole Carson
Genre: mm
Rating: mature
Summary: Franz goes to sleep in his bed and wakes up locked in a mental health hospital with no idea how he got there or why.

* * *

Franz went to sleep in his bed.

He woke up to a changed world.

The first thing he noticed, even before he opened his eyes, was that his sheets were strangely scratchy and his mattress was mysteriously hard with more jabby parts than he had ever experienced before. He imagined it was what lying on a bed of nails was like.

Franz sat up with a groan and his eyes widened in shock as he looked around.

The room he was in was painted a glaring white and was sparsely furnished. There was a plain brown dresser against the wall and a cheap framework desk under the barred and uncurtained window.

The bed he was on was a metal frame with a thin futon mattress thrown on it. Uncomfortable and unappealing, it — along with the bars on the windows and and the complete lack of any kind of personality in the room’s decor — gave him his first inkling of where he might be.

The slate blue drawstring pants and the thin white tee shirt he was wearing gave him his next clue. They definitely weren’t the pajamas he’d gone to sleep in.

Donning the robe and cheap cloth slippers he found, he tried the door and was pleased when it opened easily. At least he was in a minimum security facility. He’d been half-afraid he’d been locked in the depths of Rotham, but obviously he was somewhere much fluffier and lighter.

He stepped out of the bedroom to find himself in a large common room.

Long couches had been used to section off a square of space in the center of the room. The U-shape the couches created was opened to face the nurses’ station.

Around the walls were dozens of closed doors, all private rooms. On the far end of the room, left-hand kitty corner to the nurses’ station, was an open door that seemed to lead into a large, airy arts and crafts room. That was probably where most of the real mental health work took place.

For a mental ward, the place was actually pretty nice looking. All brown and goldenrod color, comfortable couches, and the illusion of freedom to move around.

There were other patients. He glanced at them out of the corner of his eyes, not wanting to be caught creep-staring. A brown haired lady quietly sat on one of the couches gazing blankly into space. A dark haired man jerkily strode around the room with manic energy, his hands fisting and punching at his sides. A gray haired man with baggy eyes slumped on the floor in a corner, every line of him proclaiming his physical misery.

Franz had to be the youngest person in the room, but no one seemed too terribly surprised to see him. So either they were all in on his abduction, or something more was going on here.

“Ah, Franzy, I’m glad to see you’re finally awake.”

Franz turned to face the woman in the pink blouse with the name tag that read ‘DR. WERTH.’ “Hello doctor,” he said, trying to make his voice sound close to normal. He really didn’t want to give away the fact that he had no clue who she was.

“Are you feeling better today?” she asked gently. “Do you feel up to making the meeting?”

Rightfully guessing she meant a group session, he really wanted to say no. But he needed information, and interaction with the people here was the only way he could get a clue about what was going on.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

She smiled brightly, then moving slowly as though he were a wild animal, she gently touched his shoulder. Just a single pat, but the expression on her face made it into some gravity defining breakthrough. “You’ve come so far,” she said. “I’m very proud of you and I’ll be happy seeing you at the meeting.” So obviously she thought she knew him, though that may have been part of an act.

He didn’t understand why he was in this place with these people, but he was going to figure it out. And then he was going to kick the ass of whoever had ripped him out of his bed to bring him here.

 

So group therapy was a bust. Not just because he didn’t know what he was supposed to say to this bunch of strangers, but because there was no big dramatic reveal about how he’d ended up in this place.

He got to sit on a hard plastic chair in a circle with a bunch of people he didn’t know while trying to figure out what had happened. And it was only a little eerie that they were all acting like he’d been to their meetings before, every single day for nearly a year. It was creeping him out.

What the hell is going on? he thought, shuffling out of the room after the other scrubs wearing patients.

This seemed like a real mental hospital with real mental patients and he was here. This was not some nightmare or drug induced delusion. He was Franz Caulder, and he was really here.

Not for long, he promised himself.

He made his way into the dining area with the others and took the chair next to the man that had seemed so angry earlier. The guy had calmed down, but the corner of his mouth still twitched and there was something dangerous in his eyes that Franz recognized and refused to relax around.

A recovering alcoholic suffering withdrawal symptoms could be unpredictable.

As he ate his chocolate pudding and nibbled on the breaded fish fillet he’d been given, Franz kept himself ready in case the guy blew up or something. He figured one hard jab to the throat and an arm bar and he’d have the guy controlled if he started to rampage.

“You’re being very weird today. What’s wrong with you?”

Franz looked at the woman sitting across from him in surprise. “Excuse me?”

She cocked her head, her stringy blond hair falling over her face. She looked as though she hadn’t showered in several days and her eyes were dark circled and tired. She was probably in her mid-twenties and spoke to him familiarly, but he’d never seen her before in his life.

“‘Excuse me,'” she mocked, her mouth forming a pout around the words. “Seriously, dude, you’re freaking me out. What’s wrong with you? Did you suddenly realize that you’re in the nuthouse or something?”

“Well, I took one look at the outfit and I didn’t have to look much further,” Franz said. He’d always had a gift for rolling with whatever situation. It was one of the things that had always made him a great crime fighter.

“There’s something weird about you today and I don’t like it. You’re acting like a completely different person.” It was subtle, but as she spoke her mouth kept trying to tremble. She was actively having to work to keep herself under control. He knew the signs; whatever mix of meds she was on wasn’t quite right.

“I had some bad dreams. I’m still processing.”

She looked skeptical. “Bad dreams have given you a complete personality change? I don’t think…”

“Nicole, you forgot to pick up your pills again.” There was the soft squeak of orthopedic shoes on the laminate floor.

The woman–Nicole–grimaced at Franz, but managed to hide the expression as she turned to the nurse. “It messes up my head all day. Do I really have to take them?”

The nurse was firm. “Yes.”

Franz watched curiously as Nicole accepted the little paper cup and downed the pills in one swallow. She chased them down with a few gulps of her apple juice.

“There, are you happy? Are you going to Nazi it up some more?” Nicole demanded.

“There’s no reason to be rude.” The nurse shook her head and walked away.

Nicole turned back to her tray with a growled out, “Bitch” that the nurse had to have heard.

Franz blinked. “You know, calling someone a Nazi because you don’t like them is really disrespectful to all the people that lived through the Holocaust.”

She turned to him with fire lighting up her eyes. The twitching of her lips became something mildly grotesque, a flash of teeth and gums as she sneered. “We’re in a Holocaust right now. They’re trying to wipe us out just because we’re mentally defunct. They look at us, and because we don’t fit with their great machine they want to relegate us to hospitals and prisons where they can strap us to a bed and rewire our brains. They want to insist that it’s for our own good, but it’s for themselves. Everything people do as a society is for themselves and we’re left to ooze our way through the cracks like the Blob.

“We’re just a joke in the gears of their giant machine. They’re going to grind us into paste and scoop us up onto their crackers. People eat people. We’re nothing more than the food of the great society. We live and die and no one cares as long as we’re quiet like little mice. The world is completely fucked.”

“Okay.”

Franz didn’t even try to argue. Not when spittle was flying out of her mouth and her eyes were rolling around wildly. She’d seemed like someone he could talk to, but it was obvious that she had some serious issues she wasn’t dealing with.

He ate his pudding and kept quiet.

[table “24” not found /]

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Check out the rest of the hop and all the excellent people that have offered up some great posts and prizes. Spread the word: No more homophobia or transphobia. Equality for everyone.

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May 17th is the International Day Against Homophobia and Transphobia. The link is: http://dayagainsthomophobia.org/.