Post by Bee on Oct 22, 2010 21:54:10 GMT -5
Or, "How Mnem Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Wire Coathanger."
So, warning. If a lighthearted treatment of abortion offends you, I suggest reminding yourself that Mnem is kind of a psychopath, taking a deep calming breath, and wandering elsewhere in our fine fanworks forum. Everyone else may proceed.
Mnem was careless, and got knocked up with moar spawn. Who by, how many, and what expletives result?
Find the answer to many of these questions RIGHT HERE!
___
The results of the first test were clearly flawed and Mnem treated it with all the respect it deserved, tossing it indelicately into the trashcan. Three more tests joined it shortly. She smashed the fourth one with a hammer, deciding that it should pay the ultimate price for failing to give her the answer she wanted.
“You stupid piece of shit,” she snarled, and broke the fifth test in half in an act of rage-fueled strength. She stomped it under her boot and ground it to bits.
Science had failed her. She considered killing a small adorable animal and reading its entrails for the answer she wanted. Isn’t that how they used to do it? Or did that have more to do with blood?
Entrails certainly left a lot of blood.
She realized then that she shouldn’t have thought about blood. The desire to maim something was nearly overwhelming. Her heart was racing. Her foot was twitching in the preparatory motion for punting something tiny and helpless. She took a deep, soothing breath, and reminded herself that there were certain limited circumstances in which violence was not the most appropriate answer.
It wasn’t, after all, as though this particular problem had never presented itself before. It was merely a statistical anomaly. No attempt to control one’s uterus can be one-hundred percent effective, short of ripping the damn thing out. To believe that 99 percent was the same thing as 100 percent was mathematical arrogance of the highest order. And even if one subscribes to the simplest interpretation of statistics imaginable, she had certainly given it enough goes to hit her 1 percent.
Repeatedly. And with delightful abandon. She took it as a compliment to the vivacity of her sex life that she couldn’t narrow down the list of potential fathers to half a dozen.
This could not be allowed. She had carried one batch to term despite her best efforts and she was not going to go through the same thing twice. The thought of staring at another infant’s face made her physically ill. Disposing of them after birth was another crapshoot. She had of course thought about all the myriad ways to rid oneself of a cumbersome newborn, and she’d had seven subjects to test her ideas out on, but someone was always aware of them and asking questions.
Meddlesome assholes. Mnem didn’t go around telling people how to raise their children.
And if you sent them out into the world, there was always the chance that they would come back. Hadn’t Venka? And she was the child Mnem had hated least.
Well. There was only one thing to do for it.
Statistical improbability had allowed these little weeds to take root, but chemistry would be their reaper. She headed up to Minh’s lab.
“Minh!” she shouted, pounding on the door.
No answer.
She shook the handle.
“Minh!”
Nothing.
She eyed the door speculatively.
Then she raised her boot and kicked the fucker open in a flurry of splintering wood.
Minh was some rooms over, sticking needles into a tethered and sedated bandersnatch. She looked over at Mnem and blinked.
“You’re here,” she observed.
“Highly astute as usual, darling. I think one of your bandersnatches got loose and mauled the door. I could walk right in. You might want to get it replaced.” She glanced at the feebly twitching bander, then back to Minh. One of the many things that allowed them to live so well together was rarely to push at one another’s moral vagaries. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of my special cocktail on hand, would you? If I have to brew a new batch I will be most fucking displeased.”
Minh paused thoughtfully. It was a very long pause.
Mnem waited on her reply with all the patience borne of years and years of constant exposure to the quirks of one’s dearest and most treasured companion. She folded her arms, tapped her foot, and gave Minh her best Are you fucking kidding me with this bullshit? face.
“I think Timothy is guarding it,” she said, finally, and wandered over to a tall and precarious-looking stack of cabinetry. She opened one and pulled the skull of what had probably been a grotesquely large bandersnatch. A failed experiment, probably. The skull was nicely bleached. Minh plucked a vial from between Timothy’s jaws.
“Tell Timothy thanks,” Mnem said, as Minh passed her the vial. Minh patted the top of the skull.
“He’s a good boy,” she said, and stuffed him back in the drawer.
“I’ll likely be ill the next few days,” Mnem said. “Forgive my crankiness.”
“You’re cranky all the time,” Minh pointed out.
“Then forgive me for puking on your bed.”
“And for breaking my door?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mnem said, and downed the vial.
So, warning. If a lighthearted treatment of abortion offends you, I suggest reminding yourself that Mnem is kind of a psychopath, taking a deep calming breath, and wandering elsewhere in our fine fanworks forum. Everyone else may proceed.
Mnem was careless, and got knocked up with moar spawn. Who by, how many, and what expletives result?
Find the answer to many of these questions RIGHT HERE!
___
The results of the first test were clearly flawed and Mnem treated it with all the respect it deserved, tossing it indelicately into the trashcan. Three more tests joined it shortly. She smashed the fourth one with a hammer, deciding that it should pay the ultimate price for failing to give her the answer she wanted.
“You stupid piece of shit,” she snarled, and broke the fifth test in half in an act of rage-fueled strength. She stomped it under her boot and ground it to bits.
Science had failed her. She considered killing a small adorable animal and reading its entrails for the answer she wanted. Isn’t that how they used to do it? Or did that have more to do with blood?
Entrails certainly left a lot of blood.
She realized then that she shouldn’t have thought about blood. The desire to maim something was nearly overwhelming. Her heart was racing. Her foot was twitching in the preparatory motion for punting something tiny and helpless. She took a deep, soothing breath, and reminded herself that there were certain limited circumstances in which violence was not the most appropriate answer.
It wasn’t, after all, as though this particular problem had never presented itself before. It was merely a statistical anomaly. No attempt to control one’s uterus can be one-hundred percent effective, short of ripping the damn thing out. To believe that 99 percent was the same thing as 100 percent was mathematical arrogance of the highest order. And even if one subscribes to the simplest interpretation of statistics imaginable, she had certainly given it enough goes to hit her 1 percent.
Repeatedly. And with delightful abandon. She took it as a compliment to the vivacity of her sex life that she couldn’t narrow down the list of potential fathers to half a dozen.
This could not be allowed. She had carried one batch to term despite her best efforts and she was not going to go through the same thing twice. The thought of staring at another infant’s face made her physically ill. Disposing of them after birth was another crapshoot. She had of course thought about all the myriad ways to rid oneself of a cumbersome newborn, and she’d had seven subjects to test her ideas out on, but someone was always aware of them and asking questions.
Meddlesome assholes. Mnem didn’t go around telling people how to raise their children.
And if you sent them out into the world, there was always the chance that they would come back. Hadn’t Venka? And she was the child Mnem had hated least.
Well. There was only one thing to do for it.
Statistical improbability had allowed these little weeds to take root, but chemistry would be their reaper. She headed up to Minh’s lab.
“Minh!” she shouted, pounding on the door.
No answer.
She shook the handle.
“Minh!”
Nothing.
She eyed the door speculatively.
Then she raised her boot and kicked the fucker open in a flurry of splintering wood.
Minh was some rooms over, sticking needles into a tethered and sedated bandersnatch. She looked over at Mnem and blinked.
“You’re here,” she observed.
“Highly astute as usual, darling. I think one of your bandersnatches got loose and mauled the door. I could walk right in. You might want to get it replaced.” She glanced at the feebly twitching bander, then back to Minh. One of the many things that allowed them to live so well together was rarely to push at one another’s moral vagaries. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of my special cocktail on hand, would you? If I have to brew a new batch I will be most fucking displeased.”
Minh paused thoughtfully. It was a very long pause.
Mnem waited on her reply with all the patience borne of years and years of constant exposure to the quirks of one’s dearest and most treasured companion. She folded her arms, tapped her foot, and gave Minh her best Are you fucking kidding me with this bullshit? face.
“I think Timothy is guarding it,” she said, finally, and wandered over to a tall and precarious-looking stack of cabinetry. She opened one and pulled the skull of what had probably been a grotesquely large bandersnatch. A failed experiment, probably. The skull was nicely bleached. Minh plucked a vial from between Timothy’s jaws.
“Tell Timothy thanks,” Mnem said, as Minh passed her the vial. Minh patted the top of the skull.
“He’s a good boy,” she said, and stuffed him back in the drawer.
“I’ll likely be ill the next few days,” Mnem said. “Forgive my crankiness.”
“You’re cranky all the time,” Minh pointed out.
“Then forgive me for puking on your bed.”
“And for breaking my door?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mnem said, and downed the vial.
