by KJ Hannah Greenberg
Except for the coccyx, which Jessica, tenaciously, was attempting to root out from under an ottoman, using only her front claws, nothing was left of Maurice Hichkins’ son, Wilson. Astoundingly, Maurice Hichkins was more concerned with his notes than with his pet.
Dr. Hichkins was extremely preoccupied with his study of Impulse Control Disorder, specifically as made manifest by pyromania, especially as those symptoms are found in chimerae. Despite the fact that decades earlier, Hichkins’ own doctors had traced Hichkins’ manifestation of that obsession to an unfortunate childhood incident involving and a glass of hot tea, Hichkins attributed his ardent quest to his devotion to science. His life’s duty, in his mind, was to illuminate alternative states of euphoria and to enhance known responses to maladaptive behaviors.
He scribbled a bit. Jessica flexed a wing.
Hichkins had not always fixated upon deviant behavior. When first accepted to The Australian National University, he meant to study dermatology, figuring that such a specialty would afford him leisure time as well as the salary to fund such play. However, when that university’s medical school rejected Hichkins, he settled for working toward an advanced degree granted jointly by the university’s School of Psychology and Centre for Mental Health Research.
Jessica belched. A sour meat smell filled the room after her flame subsided.
Hichkins was more interested in developmental neurology than in psychiatric disorders; he yet dreamed of making enough money to fish, to boat, and to otherwise remain surrounded by water. Peggy O’Reilly, a pretty miss whose mane of red hair had outshone even the brightest of the department chair’s witticisms, had altered Maurice’s course.
Hichkins had joined Peggy in assisting Dr. Kingly with research on hallucinations. Hitchkins also impregnated her. Wilson, their scion, arrived a bit ahead of schedule, i.e. six months before their wedding. At that point, it became incumbent upon Maurice to take compensate Peggy by taking on her burden, within the domain of Kingly’s research; Hitchkins spent four years studying serotonin reuptake inhibitors.
Jessica stuck her foot under the furniture again and closed the eyes on one of her heads. As long as the sun streamed in through the window, she was content with her game.
Hichkins met troubles. A new Commonwealth Deputy Prime Minister cut funding to institutes failing to provide for people identified as disadvantaged, i.e. under-represented, in higher education. To wit, after receiving his degree, Maurice was forced out of research. To Peggy’s dismay, he opened up a clinic.
From his office in the family cottage, Hichkins tended to small mental imbalances such as general anxiety, hysteria, and acrophobia. Hichkins succeeded in growing a clientele. Peggy succeeded in running away with a circus performer specializing in swallowing flaming swords.
Jessica reached the wanted tail bone and began to chirp and to whistle from more than one mouth. Dr. Hichkins scolded her to cease and desist. His work demanded quiet.
Although the literature claimed a poor prognosis for the treatment of individuals like Jessica, Hichkins had experienced masterful success in modifying her behaviors. She happily devoured his most problematic clients and increasingly refrained from blazing him. Hitchkins couldn’t wait to speak at the next international conference of affective disorders.
Down the block, Doris, too, was modifying her behaviors. A chimera whelp, which Doris still doubted she had observed, had devoured her ex-boyfriend, rendering him unable to apologize or otherwise acknowledge his poor choices.
Further, Doris was recovering from her unwanted abortion. Along with the potential for life, she had lost her sharpened mental prowess and her improved verbal recall improved. Minus her undulating progesterone and estrogen, Doris had also lost her popularity with publications concerned with nappies or with lip color.
A fire truck passed. A few minutes later, another such vehicle sped by.
In addition, there were the academic rejections with which Doris had to contend. It crushed her less to think that she would have to suffer a twelve month pause in Mom’s clutches than it hurt her to know that she had been delayed in pandering to professors. The chipmunk-like, albeit polite, admissions officials had been adamant about forbidding swelling bellies into their school’s halls.
Much shouting was going on beyond Doris’ window. The dog-catcher’s van blurred past.
It was not so much that Doris had cared about Wilson, who had cheated on her, or that she had cared about placing her writing with popular venues, though it tickled her to think that parenting and glamour rags touted her essays, as it was the case that she had liked how her undersized figure had been made suddenly feminine by dint of the effects of Wilson’s seed. The womanizer had woman-sized her. Now there was neither pregnancy nor any chance of its recurrence.
Doris sighed and prepared to log off. Outside, a monstrosity took flight. It clutched a labcoat-draped figure in one paw and a very small bone in the other.
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
Thank you. I needed a good laugh. A Jessica to devour my more troublesome clients would be most handy.
Dretta:
Thoughout the history of humanity, we have been offering up ideas, through our spoken, sung, and painted images, that we might not dare to espouse “in polite company.” Jessica is one of my answers to the stupid behaviors of other folk. However, mind you, she is but a wee one. A monster, full blown, is another matter altogther. At the end of the day, I’m glad to restrict such beasts to the area defined by the fences of my imagination.
Hannah