Diminished Capacity

Issue 3 Fall 2009

http://quiver.knox.edu/diminishedcapacity E-mail: quiver@knox.edu

Table of Contents
Life in 140 Characters or Less..Erik Hane, 2012 With the rise of social networking sites such as Twitter, the general public's ability to share way too much information about their personal lives has reached new heights. The fact that people feel important enough to share every banal detail of their average lives with the world both confounds and irritates me. With my piece, "Life in 140 Characters or Less," I aim to show what could happen if this nasty little wave of narcissism is allowed to grow unrestrained. Enjoy. Go Green with Green...Dyson M. Shannon, Jr., 2009 Go Green with Green is a parody of a marketing proposal that my group is preparing for Marketing and Society. It is satirical in its perspective, and the voice is reminiscent of a stoner from a bygone eralast week. In reality, the idea of hemp production in the U.S. is feasible and economically viable, and the stigmatic nature of the plant is ripe for parody. RetroAutumn McGarr, 2013 Edison Jacobs is immortal. His mullet is also immortal. Table Talk....................................................................................................................Larissa Roy, 2009 Is it technically an autopsy if the body in question is undead? It does make the situation slightly more awkward for Quincy as her subject talks through the procedure, occasionally poking at his intestines.

Hane 1
Life in 140 Characters or Less Erik Hane

Casanovahotman38: Just woke up. Computer was slow turning on, almost jumped out window. Big date toniiiiight! Gotta get ready, but Im always ready lol. Casanovehotman38: Microwaving bagel for 37 seconds, lol. Casanovahotman38: 16 more seconds, lol. Casanovahotman38: Bigger babe magnet: white shirt with orange stain, or orange shirt with white stain???? Lookin real hotttt right now. Casanovahotman38: Where are my goddamn socks!?!?!?!?!?! Lol. Casanovahotman38: Awful smell! Gonna avoid asparagus from now on, feel me? Casanovahotman38: I feel me. Every morning. Casanovahotman38: Hot out heeeere!!! This is why I never go outside. Casanovahotman38: Back inside, forgot pants, lol. Casanovahotman38: Birds tweeting Almost like they do it because they like the sound of their own voice. Haha stupid animals. Casanovahotman38: ..oh wow! Typing without even realizing it, lol. Casanovahotman38: Waiting for the bus, gonna hit the mall and find some arousing cologne. Casanovahotman38: Aroused just thinking about it, lol. Casanovahotman38: Tripped getting on bus. Almost like you need to look up from your computer once in a while to live in this world, lol. Casanovahotman38: Thats funny Mr. Bus Driver, I think you are a jackass too, lol. Casanovahotman38: Riding on bus must find entertainment Casanovahotman38: Startled for a second, forgot what the human voice sounded like. Casanovahotman38: Walked into a woman getting off bus, spilled her coffee on my neck kinda buuuuUUURRRRNNNNSSSS!!!!! Casanovahotman38: Babes love scars. Casanovahotman38: Teenagers outside malls need to get lives, or a hobby, or something. They are so self-absorbed, you know???? Casanovahotman38: At a department store. Finding cologne. Not just any cologne. It has to be real arousing. Casanovahotman38: Still aroused, Lol. Casanovahotman38: Spraying this bottle This might be the one

Hane 2
Casanovahotman38: Should have figured sensual tangerine mist was for women. Weird looks from a lady from Eastern Europe, Lol. Casanovahotman38: She wont stop glaring at me, getting nervous, lol. Casanovahotman38: This keyboard smells like tangerine. In sensual mist form. Casanovahotman38: Found the manly section. Trying this one. And this one. And this one. Casanovahotman38: Cologne bottle in one hand, laptop in the other. Cant wipe the chemicals out of my eyes, lol. Casanovahotman38: Picked one. Emotional Vampire scent. This way Im sensitive but still mysterious. And a vampire. All at once. Casanovahotman38: Of course emotional vampires smell like a wet mitten. Not concerned, lol. Casanovahotman38: Lunchtime. People in line keep bumping my computer. This is why I only eat bagels and spaghetti os in my basement. Lol. Casanovahotman38: What to order Turkey? Ham? Someone tell the employee to hold on, Im typing. Casanovahotman38: Maybe pastrami Hard to type when people are YELLING IN MY EAR!!!!! Casanovahotman38: Next person that calls me a jackass is a jackass, lol. Casanovahotman38: Settled on ham. Now, Coke or Sprite Casanovahotman38: Waiting for the bus home. 10% battery left on computer I dont want to jump in front of the bus, but I will lol. Casanovahotman38: 9%... Would be great if the bus got here now, lol lol lol. Casanovahotman38: DAMN IT ALL TO FIERY HELL WHERE IS THAT BUS!!!! LOLOLOLOLLLLLLL!!!!!! Casanovahotman38: On the bus. 7%. Sweating through my shirt, looks like its the white one with the orange stain for tonight. Casanovahotman38: Liked the white shirt better anyway. Casanovahotman38: Kind of. Casanovahotman38: 4% battery left. I hope heaven has wi-fi. Casanovahotman38: Running inside Almost there Casanovahotman38: Right foot left foot right foot left foot right foot left foot ouch damn it stairs!!!! Casanovahotman38: Made it to the charger. Lets all just take a moment. Whew. Excitement!!!!!!!! Casanovahotman38: Still kind of excited, lol. Casanovahotman38: Time to get ready for tonight Shower time!!!!!! Casanovahotman38: Soap or shampoo first???? decisions decisions Casanovahotman38: No more soap, lol.

Hane 3
Casanovahotman38: No more shampoo, lol. Casanovahotman38: Should have bought some when I ran out a month ago But it doesnt matter because Im a sex machine!!!!!!! Casanovahotman38: Keyboard probably shouldnt be this wet What will the world do without my status updates though? Casanovahotman38: Cease to exist, thats what. Casanovahotman38: Whoops, dropped my towel Man Im good looking! Casanovahotman38: Really good looking, lol. Casanovahotman38: Extremely good looking Casanovahotman38: Because Im a sex machine!!!!! Casanovahotman38: Out of clean underwear Heading to the laundry hamper Again. Casanovahotman38: Nope, too far away. Underwear is overrated anyway Casanovahotman38: Babes love it when I dont wear underwear. Casanovahotman38: I love it when I dont wear underwear. Casanovahotman38: I love twitter. Before now, the world wouldnt know that I love not wearing underwear! Thank goodness for technology. Casanovahotman38: Quick snack before I head out Putting the hot dog in the microwave Casanovahotman38: Thats what she said, lol. Casanovahotman38: Delicious Delicious Delicious Oh no! Casanovahotman38: Ketchup matches the other stain on this shirt. Not worried at all. Casanovahotman38: Heading out the door to go pick up my hot date Id say Im going to get lucky, but Im a sex machine!!!! Casanovahotman38: Wish the bus driver would show up. Casanovahotman38: Getting on the bus Im taking two seats in the back. Man Im smooth. Romance might as well be my middle name. Casanovahotman38: Just call me Casanovaromancehotman38. Casanovahotman38: Mr. Bus Driver, we have been over this before. You are the jackass, not I. Casanovahotman38: I think thats my lady on the corner It is! Hair check I look good!!! Casanovahotman38: Really good, lol. Casanovahotman38: Picked her up at the bus stop, just like we planned. Told the bus driver to take the scenic route Babes love scenic routes. Casanovahotman38: Awkward silence Awkward silence Why is she staring at me while I type?? Casanovahotman38: Women always looked perturbed. They would be more attractive if they smiled. Casanovahotman38: As soon as Im done typing, Im going to tell her she looks good

Hane 4
Casanovahotman38: Almost done typing Casanovahotman38: Almost Casanovahotman38: Ill just tell her later. She already knows. She got a date with me after all. Casanovahotman38: She just asked me how Im doing Cant she see Im typing???? Women, lol. Casanovahotman38: Well, Miss, if you really thought I was awkward you wouldnt be on a date with me, would you? Ha. Way too smart for your shenanigans, lol. Casanovahotman38: Heading back to my place Going to be lots of excitement tonight! Casanovahotman38: Pretty excited right now, actually. Casanovahotman38: Really, really excited Casanovahotman38: Shouldnt be this excited yet. Settling down Casanovahotman38: Kind of. Casanovahotman38: Bus ride is taking forever Id put my arm around her, but how am I supposed to type? Casanovahotman38: Finally Getting off here. The other passengers and the driver all gave me the same face They must know she wants me, lol. Casanovahotman38: Aaaawwwww Yeeeeeah. Casanovahotman38: Alright, walking in the front door, heading for the couch. Or should I say the love seat? Lol. Casanovahotman38: My socks are off You know I mean business. Casanovahotman38: Hard to type and take a shirt off at the same time Casanovahotman38: Thats quite the maneuver she is attempting, lolllllllLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL LL Casanovahotman38: LLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Casanovahotman38: Casanovahotman38: Sleepy. Casanovahotman38: If I could just find my wallet, I could pay her and she could put her clothes on and leave, lol.

Shannon 1
Go Green with Green Dyson M. Shannon, Jr.

An E-marketing proposal for

Shannon 2
Executive Summary Look behind you. Make sure no ones looking. Now, do a Google search for hemp seed oil. You dont have to look far to find some kind of social networking site about the plant, the oil, or the wide variety of uses and products that can be marketed for profit. Green Oil is a company intent on promoting the positive effects that hemp seed oil can have on people and the environment. While some may consider the euphoria benefit enough, there are a wide variety of medical uses included in the hemp plant. One of the greatest benefits is the production of the drug Dissomberdull. Hemp seed oil, the major ingredient in Dissomberdull, boasts a host of benefits for those suffering from Humorlessfascioliasis and has been shown to alleviate nausea, headaches, and erectile dysfunction.

Competitive Review Depending on where our research takes us, our competitors will include other biofuel producers; companies like Clairol , Revlon, Dupont , and Texaco; paper mills; Those Guys That Cut Down Trees; the Columbian Cartel; the U.S. Congress; and maybe OPEC. Possible Target Markets Target Markets include, but are not limited to, other businesses; U.S. and international governments; baby boomers, Gen-Xers, and millennials; the U.S. Olympic team; the current writing staff of SNL; people that play Guitar Hero; The Wives of Those Guys That Cut Down Trees ; and maybe OPEC. History of Bi-Product Green Oil enters the market like a steamroller. Each member of our marketing team has been dealing with hemp since the companys inception in 1998. Quite simply, we live and breathe hemp. The versatility of the plant is unparalleled. Recently, weve joined with Wausau Paper in their efforts to make the highest quality papers in the industry. Hemp paper is not a new product. A few of the important documents that are written on hemp paper include: the Declaration of Independence, the original Constitution of the United States, the Magna Carta, the Louisiana Purchase, the first King James Version Bible, and letters of an historical nature between Pocahontas and Captain John Smith are written on hemp paper (these letters have not yet been released by the U.S. Government).

S.W.O.T. Analysis Strengths In a period of approximately twenty years, one acre of hemp produces the same amount of paper pulp as a

Shannon 3
thousand acres of Those Guys That Cut Trees Down. If we add to the fact that houses, yes I said houses, can be built entirely from hemp seed oil and its bi-products, how can anyone pass up the chance to get high upon the waiting list of would-be stockholders? (Click buyabaleahemp.org to get on the list now!). Our R&D lab has recently discovered that hemp fiber, when fine ground and wetted, can be injected into a mold. Our new product, Fireweed , will soon be replacing firewood as the standard fuel supply for campfires in campgrounds across the United States, and it will be the best choice for the ambient fireplace on all in-home occasions. We are positive, too, that the family cookout will revolve around hemp when we release our ready for market charcoal made from hemp fiber. One needs to merely douse Greencoal with hemp seed oil for a quick start to a fun family outing, indoors or out. Though in the developmental stages, an alternate form of Greencoal may be used to drive the giant generators required to power major cities across the world. Our test market in Jamaica shows a reduction of carbon emissions and an increase in food sales across the board. Weaknesses Although growing hemp in most of the United States is currently illegal, our initial investments are paying off. One of The Former Governors of Illinois, Rod Blagojevich, met with our staff and has agreed to lobby the Illinois Corn Growers and the legislative departments in Springfield to get our projects underway. The Marketing Director of Green Oil, Joe Weissman, says, The twenty dollars and the Elvis statue will go a long way. To ensure a quick overturning of the law, weve made an additional concession with The Former Governor that includes an incentive package containing lowrange monthly contributions and a lifetime-discount of five percent on all Green Oil products. Although the discount and the contributions will slightly affect overall profit in the short run, the special consideration allowed The Former Governor will not affect profit in the long run.

Opportunities If we wait for hemp to be legalized, we will have missed the boat. Our opportunity to become an industry leader is now. In a joint effort, we can break into the stash of untapped markets that most other oil companies have overlooked. Our main advantage in the hemp seed oil market hinges on the current markets paranoia, and that paranoia tends to haunt many of our competitors. Just one bold step forward moves us into position to corner the market, and soon well be selling hemp on every street corner in America (click sellabaleahemp.org to get on our list of potential franchisees now!). Threats We have three main threats at Green Oil:

Shannon 4
1). Exxon Mobil has increased its R&D budget for its oil refinery that makes eco-friendly oils from algae, lawn refuse, and left-over oatmeal (a.k.a. ALLpondScum). 2). After a successful lobbying campaign for the legalization of hemp growth in the U.S., the amount of imported hemp from international markets including the longstanding supply chains of South America and Mexico might be amplified. 3). Overcoming the hemp distribution systems currently in place might involve violence.

Advertising Campaign We will green-wash every product to the point that consumers will be feeling good about feeling good again. Demand, in turn, will set the hemp market on fire. Suicide rates will drop because the exhaust from the biofuel will make people forget what theyre doing, shut-off the vehicle, and get a snack. If the great pitchman Billy Mays wouldve thought about hemp, hed still be alive today to sell it, but we dont need Billy Mays. This is some good shit. Possible pitchmen include: Woody Harrelson, Dave Chappell, Kevin Smith, Seth Rogen, Michael Phelps, and Willie Nelson. What about Superbowl ads? You might ask. We could get some of the Geico Caveman Guys to stand-in as old hippies, and they could say something like, This used to be easy, but now, more than ever, we must put ecology first.

Marketing Research Using our research, weve discovered the following: 95% of all Americans we know currently use hemp in their everyday lives. Partnership marketing stands to be the future of the industry. Do not miss your chance at an investment that will pay a lifetime of dividends. Now, do a Google search for Chongs Bongs. Wait, look behind you.
Copyright 2009 Hempstead Marketing , a Green Oil subsidiary. All rights reserved.

Unless otherwise indicated by the powers that be, all materials on these pages are copyrighted by Hempstead Marketing . All rights reserved. This inform ation is not intended for any purpose other than personal use. Therefore, reproduction, modification, passing remark about, storage in a retrieval system in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, ironical, satirical, or otherwise, for reasons other than personal use, is strictly prohibited without prior written permission from the highest court in the land. Hempstead Marketing refers collectively to our marketing department at Green Oil . General inquiries should be directed to our Web feedback box, if you can find it on our site. Messages posted to some areas of our Web site are not private. If you post a message, anyone can read it, and your e-mail address is now available to anyone who browses in shoe stores or uses hemp. Please keep in mind that neither Green Oil nor Hempstead Marketing can control who sends you e-mail as a result of this service; furthermore, Green Oil and Hempstead Marketing will bombard your inbox relentlessly. Neither Green Oil nor Hempstead Marketing is responsible for the misuse of our product. If you accidently inhale vapors from our product immediately seek a couch. Side effects of accidental ingestion include severe hunger pangs, reduction in saliva, a reddening of the eyes, and the inability to drive at speeds over 25 mph. If you wish to be removed fro m our mailing list, click on unsubscribe below.

For online trading information, click here. To become a Preferred ShareBuilder , click here. For more information, click here. To allow data mining system access to your computer, click here. To find your local dealer and buy hemp products right now, click here.

McGarr 1
Retro Autumn McGarr

At the beginning of this story, it is June of 1985. Ronald Reagan has been sworn in for his second term in office. David Lee Roth has officially left Van Halen. It is the era of big shoulder-pads and bigger hair. A mullet is not yet a fashion faux pas. Edison Jacobs is twenty-five years old. He has one hell of a mullet. He is immortal. His mullet is also immortal. But he doesnt know that yet. One uncomfortably warm Saturday morningthe sort of morning when you have to take a minute or two to get acclimated to the diminished levels of oxygen when you walk out your doorin the backyard of his brothers new house, Edison smashes his thumb with the hammer he is using to pound a nail into a bookshelf. The thumbnail shatters, showing the bloody bed beneath. Edison thinks he feels something break. A considerably obscene string of dialogue follows. Edison clutches his thumb and grinds the heels of his Dr. Martens into the mud. Smatter? Edison would have preferred to have his moment of agony in peace, but his younger brother Will is already rounding the side of the house. Will is almost five inches taller than Edison, built like a football player with a chiseled, Greek god sort of face. His black wife beater shows off his considerable biceps. Got my goddamn thumb with the hammer. I think I broke something. Already in his mind Edison is laying any and all blame on his sibling and new sister-in-law for insisting that he help move them into their neat little brick bungalow. They have probably willed this misfortune upon Edison for failing to iron his suit for the wedding photos. Will leans in to take a look. Edison swats him away. Dont touch it! he says, childishly. But Will, being the athlete of the family, easily dodges his flailing to grab his wrist. Everything seems extremely unfair. Edison looks away as his brother examines the thumb in question. Hours spent laboring under the hot summer sun for the sake of his brother and his little blonde stick of a sister-in-law have done a number on his nerves. Dunno, Ed, says Will. You must not have hit it very hard. I dont see a thing. Whaddyou mean? Edison snatches his hand away and stares at it. The thumb is perfectly pink and healthy, the nail whole and clean. Not even a bruise marks the injury. Edison gapes at it. He looks at his other thumb, just to make sure. Both are whole and well. ButIt hurt, he says lamely. Bad. Wuss, says Will. He shakes his head and goes back inside through the screen door.

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Edison stares at his hands for a moment longer. His thought process runs thusly: Im probably hallucinating. He isnt. All their fault, keeping me out here this long. Oughtta give Dawn a piece of my mind. He wont. Skinny, frigid little bitch. She is. Whos she to order me around, anyway? Hes terrified of her. Dawn is Wills wife. Edison doesnt like her. Edisons mother doesnt like her. Dawn doesnt approve of anyone in the world except for Will, but Will doesnt know that. He thinks she is a saint. In truth, she is a bitter old woman in a slender, well-proportioned blonde body. Edison finishes assembling the shelving unit. All the while, his eyes are trained on his thumb. When he is finished, he hefts the shelf in his arms and carries it into the house. He puts it where hes told. Dawn shoots a terse offer for dinner in his direction afterward, but what shes really saying is, Get the hell out of my house, you pathetic slug of a man. Edison always listens to what shes thinking rather than what shes saying. It keeps him out of the line of fire. He says no, thank you and books it out the door and down the driveway to where his battered Jeep waits. His thumb doesnt even twinge as he drives home. I was overheated or something, he thinks again. He wasnt, but he doesnt know that yet. When he gets back to his apartment, he microwaves some beef and vegetable soup. He watches tennis on TV while he eats the whole can of soup out of a big plastic Tupperware container. He doesnt particularly like tennis, but his TV is broken. He cant change the channel. Then he goes to sleep. * The next day, Edison treats himself by making a decent breakfast. Pancakes. He even cuts up a cantaloupe. As it turns out, its actually the cantaloupe that causes problems. While he is busy sawing it in half, he nicks his finger with the kitchen knife. It stings and bleeds. Dammit, he mutters, sticking his finger in his mouth. After a moment, it stops stinging and he takes it out of his mouth to put a Band-aid on it. But he doesnt need a Band-aid. The cut isnt bleeding anymore. In fact, its not even there. Edison stares at it in disbelief. He knows he cut his finger. It even dripped on the counter. But the flesh is neat and whole. Ive gone crazy. He hasnt, but he doesnt know it yet. As if hypnotized, he picks up the knife. He pushes the tip hard into the soft pad of his finger until he draws blood. Again, it stings something terrible. Freed from his daze, he picks up a towel and wraps his finger in it. He wonders if his hallucinations have something to do with heatstroke. When he removes his finger from the towel, it is no longer bleeding. There is no cut. It might never have even happened if it werent for the stain on the towel.

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He repeats his experiment a few more times with the same result. Eventually he comes to the (correct) conclusion that he is invincible. Hes also immortal, but he doesnt know that yet. He doesnt know why. There probably isnt any real reason. One day, he just woke up and he was invincible and immortal. Go figure. * It is now the rising action of this story. It is October of the year 2000. George W. Bush is the President of the United States. It is the era of *NSYNC and Britney Spears. Mullets are now a crime against humanity. Will has gone bald. He shaved his head four years ago to hide it. Dawn has yet to grow one grey hair. Edison thinks that this is because she terrifies her hair into submission. Or maybe she dyes it. The former is more likely. Meanwhile, Edison looks exactly the same as he did in 1985. The mullet is even still present. It is immortal, just like Edison. He has tried everything to be rid of it, from standing too close to the stove to buying one of those fancy quadruple-bladed electric shavers that look like they could be used in military hospitals for amputations. Hats have therefore become a staple of his wardrobe. He tucks his mullet up under baseball caps and flat caps and fedoras. He has no new creases in his face. He cant gain or lose weight. He is always and forever twenty-five years old. * Family functions are always very uncomfortable for Edison, but he usually feels obligated to attend. Today, he is at Wills house for a dinner party. His Aunt Therese is in the States for the first time in ten years. She corners Edison in the kitchen. Look at you! You havent changed a bit, have you? Edison hasnt seen Aunt Therese since she moved to London with her husband. Shes picked up a bit of a lilting accent since he last saw her. Her hair has been cut short and dyed an awful burgundy color and she has gotten very fat. She hugs him and fingers his hair with critical hands. You still havent cut it, hmm? Nah, I just cant think of anything that would suit me better. This is a lie. Edison wishes with every fiber of his being that he could kill the invincible mullet. He has adopted the twenty-first century opinion that mullets should never have existed in the first place, but hes pretty sure that the leaders of the fashion world have never had problems like his, so thats easy for them to say. Obviously torn between her desire to socialize and her disapproval of Edisons heinous hairstyle, Aunt Therese pats him cheerily on the shoulder and moves on to talk to Will.

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Edison sits in a chair at the kitchen table and munches on a handful of pretzels. Dawn shoots him the hairy eyeball from across the room. She hates everyone, but Edison is convinced that she reserves a special scowl just for him. Hes almost flattered. * Edisons mother died in 1991 of lung cancer. She was a chain-smoker. Edison is a chain-smoker now, too. He smokes three packs a day. He also smokes marijuana, snorts cocaine, binge drinks, shoots heroin, and pops pills even if hes not sure what they are. It doesnt matter. It doesnt affect him. He cant get high. He cant crash. He cant get drunk. He is always and forever a mullet-ed, sober twenty-five years old. He hasnt been to the hospital in almost sixteen years. He hasnt missed a day of work since 1985. One Tuesday afternoon, Edison sits in his car (the same Jeep) in the garage. He turns on the ignition and waits. Carbon monoxide presumably fills up the entire garage. Edison turns on the CD player and listens to The Smiths. He solemnly nods his head as Morrissey croons, The lanes were silent, there was nothing, no one, nothing around for miles. Edison has listened to this album a lot since he bought it in 1987. He also bought it on tape. When it came out on CD, he bought that, too. Edison lets the CD run its course. It plays for thirty-six minutes and thirty-seven seconds. When it is over, he sighs and kills the engine. The garage is full of carbon monoxide. Edison opens the door to air it out. Then he goes back inside and lights another cigarette. In a fit of irrational angst sometime in August of 1990 (after his first unsuccessful attempt to hack off his mullet), Edison tried to slit his wrists. Then he tried cutting his throat. This just made a mess on the carpet. Then he jumped from a building. All he did was ruin a perfectly good shirt. Hes gotten more creative over the years. For example, last week he took a bath with a toaster and a hairdryer. Yesterday he tried to dismember himself in the bathtub with a chainsaw. (He gave up quickly enough, though. Chainsaws are large and unwieldy and dismemberment takes an awfully long time if you get squeamish at the sight of viscera.)In the wintertime he sometimes goes out and lays naked in the snow in his backyard for hours on end. He usually brings a book with him to keep himself occupied. When he goes inside, the phone rings. Its Will. Howve you been? he asks. Just fine, says Edison. His clothes smell of exhaust. Keeping busy with work. You? Will goes on to update Edison on his life. He and Dawn have two children: one boy, one girl. Both very skinny and very blonde. They make very good grades. The boys name is Alexander. The girls name is Trisha. The boy plays soccer. The girl is a gymnast. Thats nice, says Edison. He hopes the kids dont grow up with rigid poles shoved up their backsides like their mother. Hes met them a few times and they seem nice enough.

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Well, Im gonna let you go, Ed, says Will. Alright. Good to talk to you. Oh, yeah. Have a good one. You, too. Will hangs up the phone, undoubtedly feeling very pleased with himself having had such a nice conversation with his somewhat perplexing younger brother. Edison hangs up, too. He likes talking to Will. Wills a nice guy. He makes some soup in the microwave and watches a sitcom on TV. He got the cable fixed in 1993. * One December night in 2020, Edison packs up his new Jeepthe old one died a tragic death two months agowith all of the possessions he can carry, picks a direction, and drives away. Morrissey laments the supreme unfairness of life from the CD player (Edisons car is practically an antiqueit is not equipped with the Blue Ray player and refrigerators that now come standard). He is Edisons spiritual guru. Edison hasnt told anyone where hes going. He doesnt know, either. Everyones getting too old too fast. In Edisons world, Reagan is still president, hair is still worn twice as large as ones head, and you still go to the record-store to buy albums. After the CD loops about three times, Edison pulls into a rest stop. The sign says WELCOME TO INDIANA. Edison reclines his seat and drapes a newspaper over his eyes. * At the denouement of this story, its June 2055. Its not the end of Edisons story, but eternity is impossible to write about in its entirety. Albert OCannanain is President of the United States. Actually, he is the last President of the United States, but he doesnt know this yet. Mullets and leather pants are back in vogue. Edison is incredibly stylishhes the real deal. It has been exactly seventy years since Edison became invincible. Will died twenty-five years ago. Edison only learned of it ten years ago. He hasnt spoken with Will in thirty-five years. He had no choice. The sad fact was that while Will was busy getting balder and pot-bellied, Edison was still eternally twenty-five and still wearing a mullet. Dawn is dead, too. She was a skinny platinum blonde until the moment she slipped off of the icy front stoop and hit her head at age seventy-five.

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Everyone thinks Edison is either a homeless addict somewhere or dead. Maybe both. They tried to find him for a while but eventually gave up. Now, there is nobody left who remembers him except for his blonde niece and nephew, and they dont talk about him or think about him much because an addict uncle just isnt very nice table conversation. The truth is Edison is doing very well. Hes gone to college six times under six different names. Hes even gone to graduate school a few times. He has lived in eighteen different states and three different countries. He even marries occasionally, but always divorces within five years and moves away. Today, he is at a brain cancer rally in Los Angeles. They still havent cured cancer, yet. Later on, he will take the bus to the lake and go swimming and then finish out the day at some new Thai restaurant. Tomorrow, he will attend a seminar on alien abduction in Berkeley then learn to bungee-jump, and then he will ride a few roller coasters in an amusement park. Everyone is chanting, Save our lives! Save our lives! Edison chants, too, just as loud as everyone else. He holds a sign. Edison would like very much for them to cure cancer. He wants people to stick around for a while longer to keep him company. When he blinks, these people will be gone. By now, Edison has stopped trying to dismember himself and cut his own throat. He doesnt sit in the garage with the gas running anymore. Now he dies at the end of every day without even trying. He just finished college for the seventh time. Now he has an MFA in piano performance after starting to play in 2023. He gives concerts once or twice a week in lovely classical venues. Next hes considering learning to play the saxophone or maybe the cello. Last year he began work on getting his pilots license. He attends protests, rallies, and speeches every day. He has experimented with all sorts of relationships. He watches a new movie every night. He plays on a softball team on Fridays. He has learned to imitate a passable Irish brogue. It is 2055 and Edison Jacobs lives enough each day for a hundred years. He is the only man in the history of the world ever to die by living. Today, Edison meets a girl at the rally. She and Edison are both wearing leather pants. She has cancer and she is dying very slowly. She dies a little more each day. Her hair is gone from the chemotherapy, but she wears a red sun hat and big hoop earrings. She has a beautiful dark face with thin lips and huge eyes. Her name is Bethany. She says to Edison, I like your hair. He says to her, Thanks. I like yours, too. What follows is an amazing blank space that you could almost drive a truck through. She and Edison will be married in five months, and she will die two years afterward. For the entire duration of their marriage, Edison will wonder vaguely if he can be considered a pedophile. She

McGarr 7
will be the only woman that Edison has never divorced. They will live each day enough for a hundred years and love each other enough for a million people. They will have their eternity in just two years. Those who know them during their short marriage will not want to be in the same room with them, as the air will be so peppered with endearing little nicknames that it becomes hard to breathe. Guests at their home will excuse themselves for cigarette breaks four or five times in an hour. She is the only one in the whole wide world who is just like him. He doesnt know that yet, but he will. He has time.

Roy 1
Table Talk Larissa Roy

Quincy sighed. Few things had actually changed since her promotion. The interns were less hostile and more helpless, but other than that, her job at the research sector was still glorified grunt work, exactly why her afternoon schedule included this particular autopsy. But was it actually an autopsy if the subject was undead? It technically couldnt be vivisection either. That question had never been fully answered, though it was still tossed around the employee lounge since the last undead subjectthe zombies lawyer put up a fantastic fight, declaring that his clients state of mind (absent to decomposing) left him in no right state to agree to the procedure. This case was different, however. He had signed the waivers, would have none of his comrades claim the procedure as unethical, and volunteered, doing everything shy of suggesting the whole ordeal himself. From all reckoning, he was likely one masochistic vampire and wanted some kink short of staking, chopping off his head, and stuffing his mouth with garlic. Dave (who could perform such a procedure in under a minute as part of special squad training) had come across this vampire once or twice before. Quincy recalled idly commenting then that he must make for fascinating conversation. Dave had only laughed, assuring her that this vampire was certainly more of the loquacious sort rather than dark, quiet, and mysterious. Her subjects name was Lyndon. He sat in Quincys miniscule office, tapping elegant fingers on his brown trousers, and he was a third generation vampire, whatever that actually meant. Quincy chose to avoid her office. Initiating conversation with Hi, Im going to cut you open, tended to start the entire relationship on an awkward footing, hence why Quincy preferred to perform autopsies on fully dead peoplethough the occasional magic amulet, spell, or bizarrely manifested healing abilities did not make the alternative as uncommon as it should have. Thankfully, Quincy had enough authority to ask an intern to meet with the subject and explain the procedure (officially called exploratory surgery). Ellyn, the bubbliest creature Quincy had ever known despite her experience with the HappyTown Elves, assured her that she would welcome the subject and make sure he was as comfortable as possible. Relieved, Quincy opted instead to check the set-up of the lab. Mike was holding the blades of the scalpels in the holy water, assuring that they would be able to cut through the outer layers of her subjects body. Whether such preparation would be necessary inside the body cavity was yet to be seen. Mike must have heard Quincy enter, but he made no indication, placing the blades on the table one by one with a small metal clack. Hi, Mike.

Roy 2
He ignored her, but Quincy wasnt surprised. It was no secret that Mike had lusted after her promotion. He was passed over after a disastrous field exercise where he made eye contact with an Argus, regardless of how he pleaded the unfairness of the situation. His bitterness made mundane tasks, such as the complaints of senile demons and their concerns over horn erosion, impossibly degrading. Thanks for setting up, Mike. Give me a footnote or something. Sure, you got it, Quincy replied, ignoring the sarcasm. After assuring that her crucifix was in place, tucked but within quick grabbing distance, Quincy began washing her hands, lost in the methodical scrubbings and details of her task. Quincy, Ellyn beamed, poking her head in, Hes getting ready in the office. He said hes super excited. Doubting that the vampire had used the word super, Quincy nodded and sent Ellyn to help Mike. Lyndon waved at her as he entered the room. Quincy inclined her head. Her subject was stark naked. Part of her training had consisted of volunteering with the special squads coroners so male genitalia wasnt a new thing in this environment, but Quincy couldnt help but wonder if this was some kind of omen. In her experience, days starting with naked strangers tended to turn sour. He stretched then alighted to the table, the rest of his lithe body in smooth arcs. Lyndon had closed his eyes and set his arms akimbo. Taking her time to prepare, Quincy ran through her mental checklist hoping her subject would fall asleep. Vampires were no trouble at all if the were really sleeping, a massive slowing of an already slow metabolic rate, near as Deke could presume, and that was good enough for anyone. Lyndon didnt so much as twitch when Quincy allowed the door to swing shut behind her. She turned on the small recorder and set it in the pocket of her blue scrub top underneath the gown. Liz Quincy, twenty third of October. Subject Lyndon. No last name given. Male vampire, age not listed. Six foot four, 236 pounds. Preliminary assessment beginning at 9:12. Scrutinizing his skin with a latex encased hand, she lifted his arm and let it fall harmlessly back to his chest. Subject is unconscious, she reported confidently. No immediate markings visible though skin has a sheen to it. Small sample to be sent to the lab. Sample A. Taking a small dish, she scraped in a few flakes, marked it with a wax pencil and set it aside, certain that this would be the first of many she would puzzle through with the lab techs. She scrutinized her subject from head to foot, musing aloud in a way that made her unexpectedly comfortable. Eventually, she turned the body into the recovery position and inspected his back, tracing and pressing in her search for any abnormal protrusions in the spine.

Roy 3
So, do you come here often? Quincy nearly yelped at the drawling voice, backing away all the same. Lyndon twisted around to consider her, looking far too sly given that he was reclining on the slab. You startled me, she admonished. The way youve been eyeing me, I thought it was best that I break the ice and introduce myself. He shifted positions, staring at the ceiling with his hands clasped behind his head. Yes, well, I had to see that everything was set up. Oh, I understand. You wanted to let your hands do the introduction. Tell me, how did you comment on my ass in your notes? Theyre my notes. But theyre about me. Lyndon smirked, his fangs clearly visible, if the smirk wasnt malicious enough. Quincy crossed her arms. Fine have it your way. I was listening regardless. It was hard to stay quiet, actually. I mean, who cares if vampires can have tattoos or not? Scarring is much more fun. Quincy sighed. Look, were wasting time. The notes are for my benefit But then I cant see if youve circled my name in little hearts. and this isnt a typical situation. Just lie back and relax, please. Lets get this over with. She handed him a blue drape sheet. Here. Whats that for? You can cover yourself up. Lyndon smirked again, sitting up. Why would I want to do that? Certain she was would be quite tired of that smirk by the end of the experience, Quincy sighed again. Fine, I dont care. Just lie down again. Lyndon merely laughed. She spoke again, for the benefit of the continually-running recorder. Subject is awake and alert, somewhat uncooperative. Perhaps that was a poor beginning. Lets start over. So, do you come here often? Just lie down. Getting ahead of ourselves? Please lie down. Perhaps when you answer the question. Yes and no, Quincy grumbled. Lyndon, his back again to cold metal, had the most devilish innocent look Quincy had ever seen.

Roy 4

External assessment finished. Preparing for first incision. Finally, were getting to the good stuff. Subject excited about it. Go figure. Psychological scan scheduled later. Stop talking about me like Im not here. Look, you My name is Lyndon. Fine, Lyndon. I just need you to cooperate. Whats your rush? Frankly, youre annoying. To her surprise, Lyndon laughed. Stake through the heart, ouch. At least youre direct. Quincy shrugged. I say what I mean. He pouted. She smothered a tiny grin. She was pretty sure he noticed anyway. Here, give me your wrist. He flung his arm out with an exaggerated sigh. She wrapped the white cuff around it, securing it to the table. Lyndon raised an eyebrow, glancing at the cuff then back at Quincy. Kinky. Im about to take a scalpel to your chest, and Deke hasnt run across any anesthesia that works with a vampire metabolism. How is Deke these days? I met him once when he was swapping riddles with a drunken sphinx. Didnt expect to meet him in that bar of all places, but considering that night I didnt expect to be there either Ah, thats too tight, Lyndon complained as Quincy pulled the strap one more rivet. You actually met Deke? Quincy asked, failing to keep the incredulity out of her voice. What do you mean that kind of bar? The Drawn and Quartered. Its been there for a few centuries if you know where to look. Fantastically seedy. Apparently Deke has a round of hangouts, according to the harpy bartender, whatever her name was. It might still be in my coat pocket, Jemma or something. Hang on, what did Deke say? I mean, rumor is he never leaves this building except for special cases. The man has a house, Doc. He lives in it, sometimes. How would you know? I told you, I talked to him. He just needed you to ask, and hed tell you everything. Amazing what you learn if you can just listen.

Roy 5
Quincy thought it over, taking his other hand and securing it to the table as well. And I suppose you give him the opportunity? Well, as much as I like to talk, I do, on occasion know how to listen. To answer your initial question, last I saw him around he was doing fine. I just have one more question. Only one? I doubt that. One for the moment. Undoubtedly in the rest of my existence there will be another, he drawled. Whats that? Quincy asked, her attention focused on checking the straps across his sternal notch, another a few inches below the navel, and a final strip just under the knees. Whats the safety word? Lyndon goaded. Quincy huffed. How do you survive as a vampire? Youre supposed to be able to charm and suave your way through anything. Lyndon laughed. You dont find me charming? Ill have you know that seduction is one of my talents. Ive got a reputation for it. Right, Quincy muttered, recovering from her frustrations and grateful again that her notes were her own to edit. I need to know when you ate last. He rolled his eyes. You keep starting to be a lot of fun, then that pole goes right back up your ass. When did you eat last? Yesterday morning, three am. Teenager out by the Wal-Mart on 5th street. Was apparently just that bored. So there shouldnt be a huge amount in your system. Alright. The tools I have here were dipped in holy water. She held up her scalpel. From what Ive seen, this is going to hurt, but it was the best way we could come up with for making a clean incision. No magic laser? None that anything can recover from. Fine. Are you going to set a stick between my teeth? Perhaps if it will make you quiet. But then Id go for unnerving you by staring at you the whole time. All the same, even if you bite through your lip wouldnt it just allow you to go a little longer without feeding? Recycle the blood or something?

Roy 6
Not really. The energy gets used up. Its kind of like eating the wrapper your cheeseburger came in; you might get a little taste of the meat, but it doesnt do much for you. Sure these little buckles and straps will keep me here? I push this button, Quincy indicated the button on the top of the system, next to her instrument tray, And holy water flows through the clear part of each band. It wont touch you but itll burn enough to restrain you. Let me get this straight. If Im flailing because Im in a lot of pain, youll hold me down with more pain? Fantastic solution. No wonder you guys die off. Quincy set a hand on his chest, holding the scalpel in the other. Are you ready? Sure, slice away. The first cut will be on the ventral side, along the medial axis, beginning at the mid-body of the sternum. Secondary cuts to follow Y-incision pattern. Youre talking like Im not here again. Come on, you have me exactly where you want me. Here it goes, Quincy announced, setting her blade against his skin. He breathed in sharply and Quincy stayed her hand. What? Nothing. Quincy furrowed her brows when Lyndon had nothing else to say. A small stream of smoke rose from the point of connection, where the skin was already decaying away. Are you sure? Lyndon gritted his teeth. Do it. His skin hissed as the blade connected with more force, slicing into the muscle as though she had tried to send her scalpel through the top film of pudding set in the refrigerator. Lyndon hissed and twisted against his bonds, pulling to the right side of the table and jerking back to the left. Quincy flung one arm on top of his chest, attempting to stabilize her subject as much as possible. She continued to pull the blade across his abdomen, trying to finish the slice steadily, though Lyndons seizing made for uneven depth and jagged lines. The restraints began to creak. Quincy stole a look at the red button then back at Lyndons expression. His eyes were open now and changing shape and color, his gritted teeth formatted to display his canines. Quincy threw her weight on Lyndons torso and finished the cut. She backed away from the table, one hand poised near the button and the other still gripping her scalpel. Quincy watched as Lyndons breathing regulate, his chest cavity expanded, and she could glimpse as the intercostals pulled his rib cage in and his liver (the connective tissue and muscles cut through) shifted slightly in the wake of the diaphragm muscle. Quincy saw shed even made a few shallow slices into the underlying organs.

Roy 7
Woo, that wassomething, Lyndon muttered after a moment, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth all the same despite the new stains of old blood dribbling down his neck. I need to make two more cuts, Quincy apologized. Thats it? he purred. No chains even? If you really want to get me hot, Ill give you a hint. Relieved, though annoyance soon took its place, Quincy rolled her eyes. Youre not going to make me feel guilty about these next two cuts at this rate. Whats with the heavy breathing there? Lyndon smirked. Youre asking if I faked? I can still hit this button, she threatened. Tell me how much you actually have to breathe. Hey, old habits die hard. Quincy frowned, still staring. Fine, its more or less optional, depending. And thats the best youre going to get out of me. My interests in anatomy and physiology have not focused much on lungs. Im not terribly surprised somehow. You have beautiful lungs is not exactly a pick-up lineaside from a couple zombies I know and theyre using some kind of preservative. What, like zombie plastic surgery and Botox? Formaldehyde, more like though not exactly. Theres quite a market for it. I can recommend a few folks to invest in. Thats alright. Why are you gritting your teeth? No reason. Liar. Drop it, Lyndon. Nope. Best you tell me. Had her hands not been smudged with small scraps of skin, blood, and some unidentified liquid (labeled sample D), Quincy would have pulled at her hair. Lyndon started chanting. Quincy felt the urge to insist that she would tell on him. Stop it. Firstly, Im still talking to the guy I just sliced open, and its a little stranger than this job usually is. Next, tons of pressure from the boss and peers. Other than that, I dont know why you annoy me so much, but this is making it worse so shut it! Now brace yourself. Quincy held the scalpel close to his chest, at the top of the existing incision. Fiesty. She likes it rough. Good thing I do too, he purred. You just going to hold that knife, poised over my chest muscles, he glanced down at the gap dividing his torso, rippling more than usual I see?

Roy 8

Quincy scowled. I dare you. For a rare moment, Lyndon wore a serious expression. Go on. Before she could convince herself out of it, Quincy set along her line, determined to make a clear, efficient stroke. Lyndon was comparatively still, hissing through clenched teeth. After Quincy had pulled back a few feet away from the table, Lyndon slumped. Oh, that takes me back. I dont even want to know. Hit me with the other one before the rush dies out completely. Youre getting off on this? He glanced down his chest and smirked. Maybe. Quincy refused to look, throwing the surgical drape over his hips. You, Lyndon stated pointedly, Are no fun. Quincy shook her head as he shifted on the table. I figured out by this point that I probably just shouldnt acknowledge you whatsoever or itll just make matters worse. Now if youll stop squirming, I need to make the last cut. Deciding that Lyndons smirk was entirely too eager, Quincy turned her attention back toward the incision, wishing that R&D could have come up with an X-ray that worked on vampires; it would have made for much less of a headache. There was one machine that offered some results but a different kind of shadow hung on those prints and apparently Deke had insisted that watching the tissues in action would make for a much cleaner understanding. Next time, Quincy would recommend that the volunteer be knocked out, especially if she had to do anything pertaining to the reproductive system. It wasnt fair to stick all vampires in that category perhaps, Quincy mused as she drew her scalpel closer to Lyndons chest, but this was one experience she didnt want to repeat. Making third incision, she recited for her forgotten recorder, wondering how much time it would take to edit out their conversation should Deke and the board request her notes. The cut was over quickly and again, Lyndon sank back to the table. Before you say anything, just tell me if I need to change that drape cloth. Lyndon exhaled. Not now, no. Reflecting muscle and integument, Quincy announced to the recorder. Pardon? Im going to flip the chunks of skin, muscle, and stringy connecting bits back so I can see. See, thats so much easier. I dont imagine this is going to feel too well either, but Im putting down the scalpel at least. Quincy picked up another tool from her tray.

Roy 9
Whats that? Just a blunt probe. Youre probing me? Quincy sighed. She began to peel back the skin, exposing his chest cavity and lots of small intestine. Taking a deep breath, Quincy began to describe what she saw: No photographs will be available for this session, seeing as how the subject is impossible to photograph. Outer chest cavity resembles normal human. Pleural cavity to be explored later. More muscle stored in the core, preliminary guess is that this is a part of some of their heightened strength, limbs with more tendons and further from the limbs so as not to betray any bulk. Take up space usually taken by some small intestine and potentially some other organs. Are you going to untie me now? Quincy continued, feeling for the stomach. Stomach is greatly reduced. Unsurprising as little chemical digestion is necessary. That feels really odd. I shouldnt be ticklish in there and Im not. Subject states odd sensation. Makes sense to have a reduced stomach, though it is likely retained to eat on some occasions, getting away from that whole I dont drink wine, thing. Look, Ill even hold my chest open for you, if you loose the straps. Additional small intestine for more direct absorption. Liver is shaped differently, color looking somewhat, well, decomposed. Hey! Still here. Doc, would you mind letting the straps go? Liver shape perhaps alludes to altered function, certainly reduced. Stop ignoring me, Doc. Quincy was too excited to pay attention to her patient, let alone any specific protocol. Looking underneath for kidneys and spleen, to see if subjects diet has altered them. Doc, Lyndon growled, eyes flashing violent colors and the room suddenly growing dark, Release me now. Startled, Quincy stopped dictating and jumped back from the table. Sorry, I was getting caught up. Taking Lyndons wrist, she began to navigate the strap out of its buckle. Once his hand was free, he wrapped it around her wrist. Dont do it again, he admonished, releasing her. A scarred ring around his wrist caught Quincys attention, she glanced at the pump, wondering at what point it might have malfunctioned. The straps quickly removed, Lyndon breathed a little easier, for as much as he needed to breathe, anyway. He leaned forward. I look pretty cool down there. Before Quincy could stop him, he poked some of his small intestine.

Roy 10

Thats weird. You could give yourself an infection, she chastised, pulling his wrist away. Can I really get an infection? I dont know. This is not the way you want to find out. Heres the real question, though. Im going to regret this, but whats the real question? When do I get inside you? Quincy peeled off her gloves and shut off her recorder. Im going to get some lunch. Stay here and sleep or something. Ill get someone to ward the room if I have to. I really dont want to explain to my supervisor why there are random innards in the hallway outside of the zombie holding area. Can you really break for lunch? Im only here today. You agreed to come back for three follow-ups, and I can take a break for lunch if I damn-well please. Youre going to let me sit and dry out? More importantly, youre going to leave me to my own devices? Im going to come up with who knows what in the meanwhile. Grimacing, Quincy took another glove from the box and folded his skin back over his torso, throwing a drape cloth over his body. Ill take a short lunch. You wont be able to stay away for long, Lyndon sing-songed, resting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. Dont tempt me. Flumping into her seat, Quincy cracked open her lunch box; the special tastes part of the line that catered toward all their less-human humanoids did nothing to inspire her appetite. Greg and Ellyn plopped down and began to gossip about the latest R&D debaclethe force field kept everything out, including air unfortunately for the intern assisting. Four bites in, however, Quincy received a page. Glancing at the message on her pager, she let out a long huff and packed up her lunch. Whats wrong? Its just security calling, Ellyn. I bet my project has done something ridiculous. Like what? Well, I did leave him unsupervised for a whole twelve minutes. Possibly the entire sector impoloded. Ellyn smiled. Im sure hes harmless, I mean for a vampire. He was very sweet when I talked to him.

Roy 11

Rolling her eyes, Quincy took another three quick bites of her sandwich, waved, and took off. The room was still there, a good start, though one of the doors was hanging by one hinge. Inside, the room itself was in sufficient disorder for what she had expected. Her subject had his arms crossed and sat on his table, glaring down the security guard. Warren had seen far scarier things than Lyndon and stood unfazed, despite the way Lyndons eyes shifted or what facial expressions he took. Wanting to snigger as Lyndon stuck his tongue out between his fangs and immediately quashing the urge, Quincy coughed. What happened? He tried to come after you. Said you left your keys in his abdominal cavity. Lyndon grinned, one fang protruding over his lower lip. Shell need them. He was still connected to the bed, however, Warren continued. Nearly broke the door before I spotted him. Hence why the room is half torn apart. Thanks for watching him, Warren. I wont leave him unsupervised again. I was going to suggest the same. Call me if you need anything. Thanks. I will. Warren nodded and left the room. Quincy raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. Oh, not another staring contest, Lyndon lamented. My keys? Thats the best you came up with? Understandably I wanted to see that they were returned to you. He held up a key ring with three brass keys and one silver clinking together. Quincys left hand immediately went for her hip. When did you steal those? Now you were the one to leave things so carelessly about. Your keys, me, your instruments Quincys eyes snapped to her instrument tray. All but the saws were missing. Where are they? He nodded his head toward the ceiling. The probes worked best. Sure enough, patterned around the light was a cluster of her instruments. Were in the basement bunker level with a cement ceiling and you threw them up there? Quincy asked, though it wasnt exactly a question. Lyndon shrugged. No pencils. I was gone for a total, a grand fucking total, of sixteen minutes and I told you you couldnt stay away from me for long. Lyndon smirked again. Quincy stuck her head out in the hallway and gave a shout for Warren. Youre bringing no-neck back? Lyndon pouted.

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Someone has to watch you while I get some new tools and wash up, since leaving you alone for two minutes equates to disaster, Quincy growled. Lyndons face shifted to a look of confused concern. Not leaving him the opportunity to respond, Quincy met Warren outside the door, pointed at Lyndon, and stalked to the store room. She eyed the stakes and garlic with particular interest as she lowered a sealed instrument pack from the shelf as well as a flask of holy water. Just before leaving the room, she took three garlic bulbs, setting them in front of the exits, for a small measure of insurance. Setting the instrument pack back on the tray, she looked at neither Warren nor Lyndon before going to scrub. Washing her hands was an automatic action, allowing her mind to wander, finding that she calmed down steadily as she soaped up to her elbows and washed away the foam again. She had lost her head upon first opening before, getting ahead of herself. This time, she would explore much more systematically, be thorough with each piece before moving on. Ignore Lyndon completely if necessary. Ire suppressed by focus, Quincy took a breath, put on her layers, and thanked Warren as she clicked on her recorder once more. Resuming examination, 11:12. She pulled the blue drape cloth off of Lyndons body. To Quincys surprise, Lyndon was fairly quiet throughout the next half hour, making only the occasional comment, though she kept having to swat his hands out of the way as he would ask Whats that? and proceed to stab at some soft tissue. Then he started ticking. A small clicking with his tongue, annoyingly consistent, as he looked around the room, as though searching for the source of the noise. He lifted his shoulder blades off of the table and stared down into his chest again. Dont cut that one! Cut the red wire, not the blue wire! Hurry. Theres only ten seconds left. Quincy stepped back from the table, raising one eyebrow. Until what? Four, three, two, one. Well? Quincy prompted. She jumped slightly as the phone rang. So I was a little off. You going to answer that? Rolling her eyes, Quincy stripped off a glove and snatched the phone off the cradle on the wall, pressing the button for speakerphone. Warded morgue. Quincy. I told you Id be checking in on you. Her awe quickly overshadowed her irritation. Yes, you did, sir. What can I do for you, Deke? Id settle for an update. Things are going well enough. Im taking an inventory of all the organs, a few interesting differences already. I was planning to crack the chest cavity soon. That was a little gruesome, Lyndon complained lazily.

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Quincy rolled her eyes. But how is Lyndon doing? Oh, hes fine, Quincy decided. Yeah, my organs are flopped about, groped and shifted out of place, but Im just peachy. Just peachy, he drawled. Youve asked all of once after taking the first slice. Maybe Im feeling a little violated. Quincy held up a finger to her lips, aware that it was useless. Yes, Quincy, I heard that, Deke replied. Lyndon may be a bit of a trouble maker, but you can learn a lot from him. Yes, sir. Lyndon arched his neck forward, projecting his voice to the machine. Sure I have anything to teach you could test her on? Quincys brows raised as she heard Deke laugh. I suppose she could have started by taking your brain out first, but we agreed to return you as you were originally, not better. And, Lyndon said pointedly, I did not sign off for Doc to saw open my skull. Thats where I hide my stash. You were asked to leave all your belongings in the locker, I believe. Lyndon crossed his arms over his gaping chest. Never know what kind of emergency we might run into. If the HappyTown Elves seal the building again, I dont want to resort to throwing the instruments into the ceiling. You are not ruining another set, Quincy interjected. Deke chuckled again. Yes, I did happen to glance at the security report. Warren has always been prompt. Old no-neck? I dont think he remembers me from the first time I saw him. He was some level of trainee and there was all the time fluxing going onI guess he wouldnt remember me then. That reality was voided out. Unfortunate really. Had some fun in that one. Quincy could hear Deke smiling through the phone. Id love to ask you about that, but the golems are in mounds of trouble. Its been a long day, hasnt it? Yes, it has. Yeah, when you make a bad pun like that and dont even snort, well I just sound tired, dont I? Lyndon shook his head. Well, that might have something to do with it. Stop talking and sleep for an extra eighteen seconds instead.

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Ill check in later, he promised, though Quincy wasnt sure to whom he was directing his promise. Yes, sir. Goodbye, sir. Quincy turned the phone off. She wheeled on Lyndon. I thought youd only met him at the bar. So Im not allowed to talk to him? Im a rebel. Ill defy you. I dont doubt it, Quincy muttered, though her heart wasnt in it. So how well do you know him, then? Well, you know that house I mentioned he has? Been there a few times. He started to get a little tipsy and waved cow in my face going Stake steak. Bad puns are a symptom of a lapse in proper pun management as a result of fatigue, alcohol, or the occasional magic spell. This all resulting in much groaning. Call it Dekes Law or something. It sounds more impressive that way. So when you said you met him once, you really meant friends. More or less, I suppose. I may or may not have been the first person to call him Deke. Whod believe he had a real name? More importantly, whod take him seriously? Quincy felt her stomach sink. It was a little late to get a glowing recommendation from Lyndon now. The other side wasnt pretty either; if these were the sorts of people Deke entertained, shed be seeing a lot more of Lyndon if nothing else through her work. Great. Just great, she muttered, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. The mans allowed to have friends, too, you know. So selfish, always expecting him to be here and isolated for you. The whole mentor thing isnt even official yet. Quincys eyes widened. Howd you hear about that? Its just department gossip. Its true though, Lyndon shrugged. Does it matter how I heard? Well, if you heard it through your friend, yes. Lyndon grinned. So now youll talk to me, since I have connections. Quincy gritted her teeth. I didnt know it was going to be this critical to my job, okay? All I knew was that I had to get as much information as possible. And you didnt even take my health history. Lyndon waggled a finger. Youre lucky I dont actually have that much sway. Honestly, who leaves a body in the middle of the room to entertain itself? Quincy gave him a hard stare. Okay, kind of twisted example, but you know what I mean. She held up her hands. Look, Im just going to get back to my job. Theres enough pressure riding on all this as it is. Checking to make sure the sternal saw was plugged in she gave it a test rev.

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It might smell a little odd and youll see a few things flying, but its normal. Normal that my rib cage is being, what did you call it? Cracked open. Ill even give you a face mask so it doesnt get in your eyes. She tossed a drape cloth over his head. Lyndon lifted a corner. Gee, thanks, Doc. Youre all heart. Quincy felt her lips quirk up into something she didnt want to call a smile. How fast do your bones heal anyway? Quincy asked, pulling the plastic visor over her face. If its relatively set, minutes. Which means when I put you back together I wont have to worry about using the amulet too much on that section. Can I ask for a weird favor? Lyndon lifted the corner of the drape sheet again. Oh, ask away, he purred. Can you hold your chest cavity open for me? Lyndon deflated, frowning. Thats it? Well, gee. Sure. That sounds like fun. He flipped the cover back over his face. There are so many better ways you could have followed that question. Whats that? I cant hear you over the machinery, Quincy half-shouted, turning on the quietly humming saw. Real mature, Lyndon retorted, the cloth muffling his voice. Here it goes. That, Lyndon began, pulling the drape up again, feels weird. It hurts and tickles and I think its quite accurate to say that its sending shivers down my spine. Stop breathing for a moment, okay? Ouch. Did I knick something? Your pointed remark did. No, I just dont want to hit anything. Not breathing means no talking, too. Or Ill take out the Lebsche knife instead. But No talking. Lyndon nearly crossed his arms in front of his chest, except that Quincy and a sternal saw hovered in the way. Instead, he folded up the cloth so she could see his pout. Quincy conveniently forgot to tell him when he was allowed to speak again. She wasnt surprised, however when, two minutes after the saw was put aside, he spoke again. I dont even know what a Lebsche knife is. Quincy pointed to the ceiling. Its that one.

Roy 16
A large, angry Y stood against Lyndons pale, closed chest. I wont even have to paint myself for sporting events now. I just have to pick who I root for with a little more consideration. Quincy finished drying her hands on a towel, switching off the tape recorder. Who do you usually vote for? The opposite of the majority around me. I guess Im not surprised. I dont know why. I would never be contrary purely for the sake of being contrary. Quincy rolled her eyes. I think you owe me a drink at least. What? As intimate as weve been, I think you owe me a drink, Lyndon repeated. Quincy sighed. You wont ever let this go if I say no, will you? With a vicious smile, Lyndon replied, Absolutely not. Throwing up her arms, Quincy sighed. Go put your pants on. Im going to change and well get it over with, okay? She didnt wait for an answer, allowing the door to swing closed behind her. Warren appeared a moment later, standing next to the newly fixed door (maintenance was as prompt as security, out of necessity). Boss wants a word, he informed. Lyndon grinned again, leaping off of the table. Bout time. A short man, his thinning grey hair pulled back into a ponytail, stepped into the room. He matched the vampires smile. Enjoyed terrorizing Dr. Quincy? Really, I think we should be on first name basis by now, Lyndon insisted. Suddenly serious, Deke asked Lyndon, What do you think of her? Lyndon leaned against the steel table. Shell do just fine. Needs to loosen up a lot, but shell be just fine.

Quiver Staff 09-10

Diminished CapacityHumor Magazine http://quiver.knox.edu/diminishedcapacity/ Emma Gingold Emma is not a dog person. Her favorite smell is rain, but only for the first half-hour of the storm. When Emma was in second grade, she wrote a parody of Cinderella in which Prince Charming, instead of using the glass slipper to find his true love, accidentally crushed it under his foot. She is a sophomore double majoring in English Literature and Quidditch, and she hopes to publish books, pamphlets, and the nutritional facts on cereal boxes when she grows up. Erik Hane My name is Erik Hane, and I'm a sophomore Creative Writing-English double major from Denver, Colorado. And now that I'm an editor for Diminished Capacity, I decide what's funny and what isn't. I enjoy three things and three things only: Charles Barkley, my second floor cubicle by the stairs in the library, and Golden Grahams. Approaching me with any topics other than these will fail faster than you can say "poorly adjusted." Thank you. Ben Lee Even though Ben Lee is an editor of Diminished Capacity, he is incredibly unfunny. People have occasionally laughed at his poorly conceived jokes, but only because they feel sorry for him. This laughter has deluded him to pursue stand-up comedy, improv, majors in creative writing and theatre, and, most recently, humor magazine editorship. Along the way, he has been influenced by other similarly unfunny writers and comedians such as David Sedaris, Woody Allen, and Greg Daniels. There was one moment in which Ben was actually funny, but only because he accidentally broke wind during the high holidays service at his synagogue. Wynken, Blynken, and NodChildrens and Young Adults Magazine http://quiver.knox.edu/wynkenblynken/ Sasha Jawed Sasha is a senior Creative Writing major and Comparative Politics minor. She grew up in Islamabad, Pakistan where, as a child, she would often jump on her trampoline and tell stories to herself, which caused many wanderers on the street in front of her house to stop and stare, curiously. She enjoys drawing and painting, tea, reading, traveling, peanut butter, and theater among others things. She aspires to write

and illustrate children's books. Some of her favorite authors include Neil Gaiman, Michael Chabon, Lemony Snicket, Roald Dahl, and J.M. Barrie. Kathleen Kellett Kathleen Kellett is a junior Creative Writing major and Art History minor. Her first brush with storytelling occurred as a toddler, when she would make up ballads about the 101 Dalmatians on the piano. She was also fairly sure that she was actually Cinderella for a while there. Now, her love for children's and young adults' literature is boundless. Her favorite authors include J.K. Rowling, Lloyd Alexander, Lemony Snicket, S.E. Hinton, Mary Doria Russell, and Neil Gaiman. Megan Molinaro Megan is a senior majoring in English Literature with a minor in Business. As a young girl she was vastly disappointed to have to choose between Berenstein Bears or the adult fiction section. Three years ago, working at the library, she was overjoyed that young adult literature was so abundant it warranted its very own section. Despite the fact that she was "too old" to be reading such books, she dug in anyway, and she wasn't disappointed. She is also a huge fan of science fiction/fantasy and graphic novels, though really, she'll read anything. Some of her favorite authors include: Neil Gaiman, Brian Michael Bendis, Scott Westerfield, Libba Bray, Meg Cabot, Tamora Pierce, and Jaqueline Carey. Katy Sutcliffe Katy is a sophomore planning to major in philosophy and an as-of-yet undecided science. Her fondness for books has led to a depressing lack of space in her dorm room. Some of her favorite authors include Orson Scott Card, Tamora Pierce, Jane Austen, Ayn Rand, and Michael Ondaatje.

The Third LevelSpeculative Fiction Magazine http://quiver.knox.edu/thethirdlevel/ Makenzi Crouch Makenzi is a senior Creative Writing and Music major. She has been reading like mad since she was quite small, then started writing seriously at the age of eleven and never stopped. Though she would like to pretend she lives in a world populated by elves and magic-wielding peoples, she grudgingly admits to the existence of reality on the rare occasion that she must make an appearance. She can usually be found traipsing the worlds created by Robin McKinley, Patricia C. Wrede, Terry Pratchett, Mercedes Lackey, and Sherwood Smith. Sheena Leano Sheena is a sophomore Economics major. She lets her imagination run wild until it smacks into the pages of her numerous notebooks. She enjoys reading the works of Garth Nix, Madeline L'engle, Jules Verne, and Cornelia Funke.