been discovered during the time jump. “This city’s partner is Joshuaville but communication has been temporarily halted between the cities.” “Why?” asked TF. “Because they’re having problems.” replied Narcy. “What problems?” interjected Sard. “Nevermind,” Narcy huffed, “you should know what’s wrong.” Chastened by Narcy’s frustration, TF and Sard walked in silence like two nuns who had just renounced their vows and made the mistake of stopping at a strip club. Soon, TF noticed a large dome across the street and inquired about its function. “That’s the Connection Center,” their guide explained, “where children are brought to find their soulmate. If at the end of the week, a couple of children have completed all of the Disney Channel Original Movie romance steps, they will be married on the spot.” Shocked, TF replied, “Okay, so what if they don’t find a soul mate? What happens then?” Narcy looked forward and calmly repeated the slogan they saw earlier, “Let Gravity Do The Work For You.” *collection of scenery descriptions and fun anecdotes intended to build attachment to otherwise uninteresting characters* Later in the tour, Sard spoke up, “I’ve been meaning to ask, where’s your significant other?” Narcy then stopped in her tracks and twitched, like a cocaine-fueled Bieber fan who just got a tip that the Canadian was supposedly spotted within 300 miles. She turned around and gave Sard a death glare, more deathy than even the deathiest death glare imaginable. Her voice dropped two octaves as she said, “I’m right here, punk,” before walking away. TF and Sard followed in silence, like two nuns leaving a strip club mere hours after renouncing their vows. Through a few hurried looks Sard communicated to TF his theory that the inhabitants of the love dimension had been so brainwashed on the idea of storybook romance that, should they somehow lose their soul mate or fail to easily find a deep romantic connection with another person, they either use the cliff to escape the shame or fall into insanity from trying to fulfill their social obligation to love single-handedly.’ Before Sard’s musings could conclude, the group stopped to investigate a commotion on the side of the road. A couple stood near a tree, the man playfully spinning round with the woman in his arms, recording the whole thing on his phone. They were both smiling. Until the phone stopped recording, then they walked away stoically, wearing Kanye West pouts on their faces. Suddenly, Narcy grabbed TF and Sard and hurriedly whispered like a racist grandmother warning her grandchildren of incoming melanin, “Just stand up straight and be silent.”
TF and Sard obeyed her instructions as they were swiftly surrounded. Not the good waitstaff-singing-you-happybirthday-at-a-mediocre-chain-restaurant surrounded either. More like, that’s-a-very-nice-watch-in-a-not-very-nice-partof-town surrounded. This crowd contained men and women in gray shirts, gray pants, and a blank, featureless mask. Soon they began to speak angrily and overtop one another, much in the same way a lecture hall reacts to news of a cumulative final. Practically assaulting TF, Sard, and Narcy with their words, they said things like: “You’re too skinny,” You’re too fat,” You’re too short,” You’re standing up too straight,” You’re not standing up straight enough. I hate your hair. I love your hair. Be perfect.” After a few minutes of the simultaneous yet uncoordinated barrage, the whole crowd scurried off to find a new target. “They’re known as… well, ‘Them’.” Narcy informed, “They don’t really have any identity, nor do they have a purpose other than to judge. You can’t get rid of them, so the only thing you can hope for is that they leave you alone quickly. On the whole, they’re basically difficult teenagers. However, sometimes, they’ve been known to converge upon lonely people and either turn them into Them, or harass the lonely folks about every facet of their appearance and demeanor until they jump off a cliff.” Concluding that this was where the love dimension crossed the line (think, invasion of South Korea, not Obama’s Syrian red line in the sand), TF and Sard dashed out of the city to find a suitable location to activate a new portal. On the outskirts of town, TF and Sard shared a passionate kiss underneath an oak tree, in the sunlit rain of a gorgeous sunset as black church choirs, a country singer on one beer and several divorces, and a generic, blonde, female soprano sang in the background. At least, that’s what happens in my fanfic. In the actual story, TF and Sard fired up their machine in silence. All of a sudden, as the portal field, composed of the energy of pure science, closed around Sard and TF, a hand grabbed both of them before they left the love dimension. Upon tumbling out of a portal into their new destination, the pair looked down to see it was Narcy who had followed them. “Being in love is quite boring. And I figured you guys could use a woman’s touch,” she said. “Ha,” TF replied, “that’s what she said.”
SLOAN freshman | biochemistry Baby Sloan was kicked by his WWE-loving father into a shelf of poetry, manga, political memoirs, and nudie mags. His brain damage influenced his writing.
february 2017
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