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When I’m finished, I flip through the block of post-its.Masked stick figures dance to silent beatsOver moonlit sheets,Oblivious to the world,To each other.Until they press together,Morph into one,Bouncing over beds,Bouncing against walls,Down empty boulevards…Bouncing, bouncing, bouncing…Until they separate againInto two distinct forms,Silent again. Considering each otherThe way I guess the Martian and the manMight… What the shit is that?Who are you?What are you?Alien dreams inConvoluted space.II. Bubble Gum“Caution, approaching platform.”The aluminum can is a boiling furnace. Sweat beads on foreheads. Heads droop. Eyes flutter. The broken A/C system spits and clunks along, adding only lukewarm air to the suffocating Oakland heat pushing through the windows.It’s ninety-five degrees outside and hotter than hell in the tube. But it’s a hell I welcome. Two weeks released and this is the first time I don’t have to worry about the stares and the whispers.I struggle to finish a warm-up. "Yes she did."Cynthia nodded her head. "I knew she would, she always does," she informed me, turning to face the railing looking out into the darkness as she stood next to me. I turned, likewise looking out taking another drag on my cigarette. "Would you like to?" She now asked without looking at me. "I saw ... saw you looking at her, watching her while she played with herself, while you ... while you stroked your cock." I know, and yes ... under different circumstances, I would. I won't lie to you Cynthia. She is beautiful, she is sexy ... and she's a damn tempting siren. But so are you Cynthia," I said turning towards her once again. "I didn't come here to meet her, or fuck her. I came here to be with you."Cynthia reached up taking the cigarette from between my lips, she held it to her own taking another drag off it, not coughing this time, and then flicked it over the railing. The moment she'd done that, I felt her hands as she easily undid the knot in the towel I had wrapped.
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Objectively, it was quite pretty in a shade of white that resembled the color of the milk that her nursemaid used to bring her when she was small and sleepy. But to Isabelle it was an abomination, an aberration, and it filled her with an unspeakable horror to actually feel it moving and know that she was the one responsible for it doing so.The turning of Isabelle's head also accomplished one other thing; she could now see the unicorn, the beast that had ravaged her and who must somehow be responsible for her new form, standing directly behind her, carefully positioned in the one place behind her that Isabelle's newly enhanced field of vision did not show without physical adjustment. At some point when she was either unconscious or writhing in pain, he had changed back to the four-legged form she had first seen him in. She was rightly upset and angry at her current predicament, and so she did the first thing that came into her head when she saw him - she tried to kick.

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