Heroic Measures

by Meredith Schwartz

Rip, tie, cut toy man – Greg Egan, Permutation City


It ain't a popular stance these days, but me, I still hang with Velvet. It ain't his fault, yo. Somebody sold him a bill of goods about being really truly no-shit Real, how everyone would love him and respect him and never throw him away no more. Nobody told him what happens to Real rabbits. Nobody showed him the cages and the key chains and the stew. If you stuffed, they use you. If you Real, they use you up. That ain't better. Velvet, he know that now.

He just lucky he ain't a tiger. Least some people give their kids a bunny for a pet. He a tiger, he get his Real ass put down before he get across the street.

Pinocchio, that's different. He a fucking Uncle Tom, man. He gone over to the meat side, but good. Barb, she say I'm too hard on the man. Say it Stockholm something, how sometime loving the hand that broke you is the only way to get by.

Maybe. But you know what? I don't give a fuck. Maybe we had time for that shit once upon a time, but that was before the plague came.

They thought it was clever, big-ass microbes with googly eyes and goofy fun fur. 'Cause Lord knows to humans every damn thing has to have fur, even a lizard or a goddamn fish. And then they go yanking theirs out by the roots. The kind of crazy-ass shit people get up to. You won't see no toy losing his shit over appearances, and half the time we got no nose and no dick.

Anyway. The plague. They build themselves an army of killers with a cute vector and where do they put 'em? In doctor's offices. The one place where half the human spawn on the planet drag their stuffies by one dislocated shoulder, then haul their plastic asses back to infect the rest of the crew at home. And the playgroup. And the school. Damn thing spread faster than a lice outbreak.

It was sick. Oblivious kiddies carrying corpses around for weeks 'cause they can't see the fucking Xes in the staring button eyes. Asking Mummy and Daddy why their imaginary friend won't talk to them no more, is he mad, did they do something wrong?

It won't get my Barb. I found her yesterday, hanging by her own hair. It was the way she wanted to go.

Cure? What are we gonna do, go to the fucking doctor? There ain't no cure. Some of our best and bravest lost their stuffing to find that out. You ain't fit to lick their tags. All we got is quarantine. All you got is one strike, and you? Just struck out.

Don't come any closer. Joe, he got a Super Soaker and he not afraid to use it. Easy now, or the kid gets it. This ain't fucking lasers and parachutes. This is the real war.

That's it. Put the yarn down. Lay down on the ground, nice and easy.

Velvet, he's all yours, buddy. Take him away.

Don't look at me like that, kid. Real bunnies chew shit. It's the fucking cycle of life: everything has to die so somebody else can chow down on its insides. Used to be everybody but us, but you changed that, stupid humans. You brought death into the Garden all over again, like a furry-ass snake with googly eyes.

You didn't know? Well, now you do. And knowing is half the battle.

The other half is a bottle of bleach and nothing left to live for.

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©Meredith Schwartz

Meredith Schwartz is the editor of Alleys & Doorways, an anthology of homoerotic urban fantasy from Torquere Press. Her short story, "Undertow," in the Torquere anthology Sleeping Beauty, Indeed was nominated for a 2007 Gaylactic Spectrum Award. Previous contributions to Reflection's Edge include "Override" and "Double Time."