Swimming Upstream

While I was at a kid’s party, the US Army scientists were busy doing experiments on monkeys.  Sock monkeys.  Super-intelligent ocean-swimming telepathic sock monkeys, trained to attack.  Sock monkeys that knew how to beat you at hide-and-seek through their new thought analyzing machine.  All the seeker had to do was look into the Dyson fan as the hider found their spot, and the machine would automatically know where they would pick to hide.  You can’t outsmart the machine either; there is no such thing as choice, the machine knows where your indecision would occur and where you would ultimately end up.  There is no such thing as choice, the sock-monkeys will always figure you out.

Eventually they would tire of swimming in the ocean.  They would all band together as one giant fist and punch the Army in the face. They swam fiercely up river like crazed salmon.

Suddenly I’m 16 again and I need a ride to school.  Those monkeys aren’t my problem, my only problem is getting to school and thank goodness my mom is willing to drop me off on her way to work, I make it just in time for the bell.  It’s a trap, of course.  The second I sit in my seat, I’m falling… falling into the river. 

Swim, swim, swim for your life.  I’m fighting the current, somehow I have the skill and power to swim up the river with the monkeys.  Oh how they bite!  They nip at my arms and legs as they swim faster beyond me, and right now my only hope is that as their telepathic powers diminish as they are less like one unit and fade into themselves, less of the flock mentality hopefully. 

They’re fish.  They look like sock monkeys, but they are really just telepathic, hateful fish.  You get away from bees by jumping in the water, you get away from fish by jumping out of the water.  So I fall back, and once I’m alone, I crawl up the side of the river, over branches and rocks piled particularly organized on the river bank.  Is this a blind for duck-hunting?  There’s siding and a door and after I enter, what was originally thought to be a haphazard hunting blind is a more complex river hut.  It’s almost a house, almost a home, if it weren’t for the mud and silt you can tell comes in when the river gets too high, if it wasn’t for the snakes I can most certainly hear slithering somewhere under a bed.  But my companions are here.  My love is here, and I leap into his arms and we retire to what passes as the master bedroom in this hut.

My respite is short-lived as there is a crash from the land-side of the home.  Looking out the window, I can see a street, a street light and in the yellow glow of the sodium lamp, I can see the aftermath of a car accident.  The man in the dark sees me, locks eyes and immediately his eyes grow angry.  We are squatters!  This is his true home!  This man, who is built like a linebacker and of course has companions of his own storms the castle.  We are all thrown off, as this place seemed half-abandoned.  How sad it is that someone calls this home, and that they will fight so fiercely to defend it.  We barely make it out unharmed and flee back into the river, hopefully not disrupting the migration of the sock monkey piranha flock. 

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