Abduction

Welcome, young jetsetter!

You are about to embark on the journey of a lifetime. Today marks your acceptance into the Academy of Alien Sciences, Interdimensional Navigation, and Galactic Biology. By the time you finish reading this letter, a vehicle will have arrived at your home, ready to take you to the stars. Though your goodbyes may be quick, don’t forget to make them meaningful, as your travels far and wide will allow you to regale your family with tales of adventure for eons to come. 

As a novice member of the Academy, you will be assigned to a small crew to complete your first round of apprenticeship. Details of this assignment will follow during your delivery to the medical station, where you will receive final clearance to depart. As you learned during your application process, the diversity of experience and hands-on training provided by the Academy is unmatched across the universe, providing you with the essential skills you will need to serve the Coalition throughout your long and illustrious career. With a 100% placement rate at top-tier guilds, the Academy welcomes you to the ranks of legends.

———

Legends. Yeah, right, I say to myself, scraping space barnacles off the side of our hunk-of-crap ship. Okay. I know. Someone really decided to call them space barnacles. But that’s not my problem.

It’s been six months since the Academy blasted their acceptance scroll through my door, scaring the actual shit out of my parents. The blinding chariot arrived almost immediately afterward, nearly flattening our already-flat house, and with a 1-2-3-do-you-agree-to-never-see-your-family-again-and-hold-the-Academy-not-liable-for-any-damages-sustained-during-your-assignment, I was whisked away. I never even expected to get in, but when you live in the Muck, what else do you do? 

So here I am. Breathing disgusting canned air and doing “educational” chores on a rendezvous that will supposedly teach me how to negotiate treaties, collect cloud samples, and whatever else alien researchers do. Maybe the crew will forget I’m out here and try to do a jump while I’m still scrubbing shit off the hull. Wouldn’t that be nice.
But Tarren beeps in my ear and gives me a countdown to get back inside. I flick one last space barnacle into the abyss and head to the pressurization chamber. Once I’m inside the ship and out of my protective gear, I find my seat by the window. I do like to watch the jumps. It’s not a real window - that would be too dangerous - but a circular screen with a live feed to the outside simulates the effect. It’s the only good thing about this old, clanky mess. Whoever built it seemed to care.

The blinking stars begin to scream by in long strands as the leap starts. The only evidence of this inside, though, is a soft pressure holding me against my seat. Just as quickly, it ends, and we’re surrounded by glowing - and stationary - celestial points and marbles again.

I hear Jiji and Sopp whispering in front of me. They’re the youngest official crew members - recent Academy graduates. Sopp turns around and says, “Hey.”

I pull away from the window. “Yes?”

“Captain said you get dibs on the next planetary extraction.”

I double-take. They don’t give those to first-years. “What? I’m not trained for that.”

Jiji chimes in, “Not yet. First time for everything!”
They chuckle to themselves and turn back around. I catch, “...the first time I dropped an extraction,” from one of them. Why are they laughing? This is a highly complicated and dangerous maneuver. I imagine a body suspended in light below our ship, my sweaty hands on the controls. One mistake, and the sleeping subject plummets to the ground. The specimen could die. We could die. My vision gets fuzzy. I can’t hear them anymore. My whole body is turning to jelly. Dammit. Finally, a real assignment, and I think I’m gonna puke.

Grocery Shopping

Tape the walls, tape the street.

Tape the floor around your feet.

Tape can wrap its way around

Ankles, springing from the ground,

Climb your hips, your elbows, neck,

Fingers as you write a check,

Up your nose and in your teeth -

Make you forget how to breathe,

Infiltrate your crannied brain,

Fry the nerves and tangle veins.

Tape is all that you can see.

Tape is all that’s left of me.

Why the tape around your heart?

Please maintain six feet apart.

Rescue

It’s a Thursday night. I’m chilling on the couch watching reruns of Shark Tank, and the commercial break just hit, which is great because I haven’t gone to the bathroom since I sat down after work. A sad puppy appears on the screen.

Oh no. Not now. 

I try to wrench myself from the couch, but it’s too late. The opening notes of Sarah McLachlan’s “Arms of an Angel” glue me to my seat. I can’t take my eyes off the limping dog, the weeping kitten, all these beautiful creatures trapped in tiny cages or sitting in the rain. 

And then there she is. Sarah McLachlan herself. Holding a bichon frise and asking ME to help. It’s only $18 a month. I’ll do it. I’ll do it for you, Sarah. I’ll do it for Mr. Sprinkle. Suddenly, my phone is in my hand. I’m fumbling with my credit card, tears streaming down my cheeks. The operator picks up and I manage to choke out “I’d like to make a donation to the ASPCA.” 

She must be new; she seems confused as I read out my card number. 

“Is there something wrong?” I ask, “Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll adopt them myself.”

“Mr. Pacheco, it seems that you’re already a sustaining member.”

“Yes, yes, oh god, how can this still be happening? Give me a number. I’ll max out my card.” 

“Actually, you’ve already opened 17 accounts with the ASPCA. I’m sorry, sir, but if you’d like to make a larger donation, you’ll have to follow up with our corporate offices during business hours. Have a good night.” The call disconnects.

No. No. The animals are dying. They NEED me. Sarah McLachlan still gazes at me from the screen, saying, If you call in the next half hour…

This is a time for action. I search for the nearest SPCA online. I don’t need to pee anymore, or maybe it just doesn’t matter, because tonight, I’m saving those babies. I run to my car and race out onto the highway, still a sobbing mess. It’s raining hard. Of course it is. When I pull into the strip mall, the lights are on at the ASPCA. I leap out of my car and run to the door. 

It’s locked. God, they’ve TRAPPED them in there. I can just imagine their squeals, cold noses pressing against iron bars. I’ve got to get them out. I slam the window with my hands, then search for a rock to break the glass. But they must have that tempered stuff, because to my surprise, the rock bounces back directly at my face. Everything goes black.

The next thing I remember is waking up in jail. The sheriff is talking to me, but I can’t hear what she says. All I can think of through my splitting headache is how the bars of my cell look so much like the cages of abused cats and dogs. And I can almost hear Sarah McLachlan singing in my ear.

In the arms of an angel...

Align

Chelsea clenched her teeth as the chiropractor pressed on her hips. CRACK.

“It’s okay, just relax,” said Dr. Warner, making her way to Chelsea’s upper back, “You have a lot of tension up here. Breathe in... and out.” Chelsea exhaled. SNAP.

She chuckled nervously through her face pillow.

“How am I doing?”

Dr. Warner examined Chelsea’s shoulders.

“Well, that snowboarder really did a number on you. Could you turn over please? I’m going to make some adjustments to your neck now.” She helped Chelsea sit up and turn onto her back.

As Chelsea lay down, Dr. Warner’s steady hands formed a supportive nest around her neck. It felt strange. Chelsea struggled to let the full weight of her head go.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I still-- I’m still new to this. It’s a little scary.”

The chiropractor nodded. “That’s okay. It’s important for you to fully relax, though. It’s actually much safer if I have total control here. Breathe in.”

Chelsea took a deep breath, trying to relax. She stared at Dr. Warner’s face above hers. The chiropractor did not make eye contact, but examined her body like a specimen. Chelsea’s heart pounded. She imagined the joints of her neck cracking.

The warm, strong fingers cradling her head tightened. “Okay, now breathe out.” Chelsea panicked. She couldn’t do it.

She sat up.

POP .

Chelsea’s head detached from her body.

Dr. Warner screamed. Chelsea felt stunned. She couldn’t tell what was happening. There was Dr. Warner’s face, still floating above her... and there was her own body, sitting up on the table. With no head.

Chelsea gasped. Her body jumped and stood up. Somehow she could still control it. She turned her eyes back to Dr. Warner, who was frozen in shock.

“Whatever you did, take it back!” she yelled. The chiropractor screamed again and dropped Chelsea’s head onto the table’s looped face cushion. She backed up against the wall.

“I don’t underst-- I never thought-- it’s impossible.”

Chelsea struggled to turn her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched her body stumble around the room. It tripped over a chair and fell down. Ouch. She couldn’t see the chiropractor or her body anymore, but she could still feel the hard linoleum floor beneath her knees. She crawled...somewhere. And bumped into the metal and plastic of the table.

Clumsily, Chelsea willed her body to stand up. Her hands slapped the table cautiously until they found her face. It was a strange sensation to lift her own head.

Stoic, she tried to align her neck and shoulders. Although it seemed like a clean split, this magical connection preventing blood or tissue from leaking out, Chelsea’s head would not fuse back to her body. She looked back at Dr. Warner.

The chiropractor huddled in a corner. Chelsea stepped closer, trying not to trip.

“You need to help me put my head back on.”

Dr. Warner gulped. She shrunk back and tried to inch her way to the door. Chelsea blocked her. “Please.”

The woman shakily drew a card out of her pocket.

“That’s all the time we have today. Please call my office and you can use this card to get 10% off your next appointment.”