queer queen//weird bean
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fellas to my left…honeys on my right…folks who don’t fit into the gender binary levitate above me in cool poses…
(via xrayspectacles)@1 day ago with 76285 notes
@2 days ago with 2 notes
* * C Shk
Brightness cracks over the brittle horizon, taking up again its inexorable journey across this cruel, endless sandbox. Two sets of footprints, one human and one animal, weave indecisive through the sand, up and down dunes, circle around cacti, which shrug with indifference. Following this trail of footprints, we find a woman and a dog, curled up together under the bosom of a red mountain. The dog’s head lies by his crotch, which he licks every so often in his sleep.
The morning light takes its slow, inconsiderate march across the woman’s face, and she is the first to wake. She sits up and looks down at her breasts, sees the gentle red bite marks around her nipples, blushes. Her panties lie by the charred remains of last night’s campfire, sandstained and frayed at the waistline. Also the work of Reggie’s canine (no, canid) teeth. She holds them up to the low sun.
“So we really did…” She begins. But instead she lets the convections of the air, which flex and ripple into what will soon be a heavy undulation, the overwhelming heartbeat of the desert, pummel this thought into dust.
“We should be there by tomorrow night, Claire,” Reggie’s voice comes from behind. Comes from behind, Claire thinks. I hope Reg can’t see me blushing through my sunburn.
He can’t: eight days running from the turkey death squad through the desert has baked Claire’s pale skin from soft white to nuclear fallout red. Also, as a dog, Reggie can’t see color. “Good morning, Reg,” Claire says, and tries to smile. Instead she grimaces; her lips crack and bleed, and the chapped skin around her lips splits and runs a little. Soon we’ll be at the ALF outpost, she reminds herself. They have all the contraband sunblock and skinscreen I’ll need.
The two pack what little things they have. Water bottles, freeze-dried oats, a 9mm pistol. They are practically defenseless. A turkey scout hidden in the distance keeps his binoculars trained on their every move. He quietly clucks into a headset once Claire and Reggie leave the site.
No one remembers how the turkeys seized power, or what life was like before then, but there are plenty of stories. One oft repeated tale passed down through generations of nonturkeys claims that the agile, intelligent turkeys of today are the result of human scientific experimentation gone wrong. Yes—some claim that humans were once the dominant species of this planet—some even go as far as to say that it was humans who built the sprawling cities and invented the automobile. The Counsel of Turkeys summarily dismissed these claims as subversive propaganda a number of years ago; these were silly folktales cooked up by lowly humans who, though stupid, were quite imaginative.
True or not, it is said that humans were consumed with their technologies and their wars, obsessed with making new ways to kill other humans. Their experiments knew no limits; inextinguishable fire, death rays, nuclear bombs, and: genetically modified turkeys. Humans used to eat turkeys, if you can imagine that: the all-powerful turkey, sliced into sandwiches, or slow cooked whole—on a special day called Thanksgiving, humans would hollow and stuff billions of turkeys with bread and gravy (could this be what the austere Turkey Remembrance Day, held every year on the twenty-fifth of November, is about?). Because there was such a demand for dead turkeys, human scientists decided to see if genetic modification could produce a larger, more succulent turkey.
This genetic modification program was successful; humans learned how to engineer a larger, more succulent turkey. But the scope of their experiments was not limited to size and taste. They discovered a number of simple alterations that could increase growth of the prefrontal cortex, raise levels of aggression, sharpen the talons, enable flight, and toughen the skin, among other things. In short: they engineered the formidable super-turkey, a hopeful replacement for live human troops.
Then the turkeys revolted, killed off two thirds of the human population, and, well—according to some nonturkeys—things get how they are now: militaristic turkey world domination.
All urban areas are turkey-only. There are exceptions made for lower species commissioned to do certain kinds of labor that turkeys are not suited for. For example, humans have a much better feeling for jazz than turkeys.