Introduction
Yes, this was previously published. It won 3rd place in the Arcanist’s “Hunger Contest” for flash fiction (I’m searching for the actual details because the zine closed and the site finally came down. I love the scrappy zines and it sux that I and my compatriots could not reign immortalized on it’s cyberwalls forever. Maybe it’s out there somewhere, but, alas, I am too tired and forgetful in my approaching dotage to traipse the forgotten corridors of the of the Archives of the Ancient Web from Five Years Ago.) It is one of my few attempts at flash fiction since I tend to sprawl. I struggle to keep stories within traditional 5-7k for short stories.
But I don’t want to sprawl willy-nilly out to the beautiful countrysides of Epic Fantasy. My writing must be heidi-tighty if it sprawls. So, this was a huge achievement for me. And that team (searching) pinned that ribbon on me for the effort. I hope you find it worth it, as well.
“The Runner”
Hayden Taylor was a matriarch of the plains when her people had first put fire to meat. A savagery in her still wanted to vault from the treadmill, shatter through the panoramic window and tear into that little, sweatered Pomeranian yapping on the sidewalk. Poor thing—a useless creature that never should’ve survived.
Eight hundred and twenty-seven calories this session, dragging her world to the edge of dimness. One million years of life— too much really—and the past seventy, after her last husband left her, had been completely alone with no one there for her. So, this is what modernity had reduced her to: forced to consume this excess self that had once been her advantage.
Her session was over. The treadmill crawled to a stop, sent the data to her app, spit out a chart. She posted it to PicSelf, hashtag, hashtag, hashtag. She scrolled through on her way to the locker room—sixty steps. A quick shower and she headed to her appointment with a DeeperSelf geneticist on the third floor of the fitness center.
The Pom was in the atrium now, it’s yapping echoed up the cement and mirrored walls. It’s owner, a frumpy, middle-aged woman, was looking lost. The Pom’s painted nails clawed anxiously at her shoulders. Hayden wondered if the woman was childless.
The first few uncounted millennia, the woman that would become Hayden was desired. She had many names, bore countless babies, but that was a losing game. Her people dwindled. The last of her children died, too old to outrun the hyenas that no longer feared them. So, she evolved. She was desired by mankind, beautiful again, but she was barren.
Two flights of stairs—four calories. The glass doors of DeeperSelf slid open.
“What do you know of evolution, Ms. Taylor?” The young doctor situated himself behind his desk, in front of a window to the gym and atrium below. Even in his white coat she could see he was prime. His data-pad displayed her profile from her initial exam.
“That I’m adaptable.” Her gene sequence should come in before the end of the appointment. She wondered how much it would tell him. Would he care?
“True, but only to an extent.” Easy smile, simple bed-side manner. “Evolution is lagging behind our modern lifestyles. Our bodies still fear the lean times that aren’t coming.” This was true, Hayden had never had so much. “We need to give it a hand, you see, or else we’ll be stuck on those treadmills forever. Or worse, these mobile Lay-Z-Boys they have now.
“So, we permanently alter your metabolic responses through gene therapy to best suit your lifestyle. But it is an arduous process.” He glanced at her chart again. “You seem fit, young—a good candidate. But, how is your self-care regimen? You do have one, right?”
“Of course. I love running so I do that every day. Yoga and BodyPump four times a week. I have a great meditation app. It really helps me center myself. I love eating clean but when I get down, I’ll splurge on a candy bar. In the past few years, I’ve cut out so many toxic people. It’s made things so much easier.” She laughed with confidence.
Body language was everything. She could see the atrium behind the doctor. The hostess was telling the Pomeranian woman she couldn’t bring her dog in. But clearly, this facility should have pet care. No, ma’am, we don’t. I pay dues here… and round and round their egos would go. People were exhausting.
“And your support system?”
“Oh, my girlfriends are great. Always there for me.”
“And your goals?”
To be desired again. “I was thinking another couple percentage points off my body fat and then keeping it off. I’ll be done then, but this last bit is the hardest. It’ll be nice to eat up without worrying.”
“It always is.” The simple flick of his finger over her data sent a ripple through his muscular arm. “But you’re already at 13.7 percent. That’s below the ideal for any woman, and not somewhere you want to stay for long. It can interfere with your menstrual cycle and fertility.”
“That’s not something I’m worried about.”
“Even apart from that, your libido will drop. Does that concern you?”
“Not really.”
“Well…” Disappointment? “we can still work with that.” He nodded. Had she fucked up? “We’ll have to make adjustments but we’re here to help you live the lifestyle you want, not feed you an ideal.” A notification caught his attention. “Your sequencing is in. Let’s look at you.” He scrolled through, then his manicured eyebrows pinched closer. “There’s some irregularities here.”
“Is it your tests?”
“We have the best protocols, Ms. Taylor.”
“So, you can’t help me?” Please.
“No, not necessarily, but…” He pondered over her data, “give us a few days. We’ll see what these anomalies are and what we can do.”
She scheduled another appointment, but she knew it was time to disappear again. Her feet plodded down the stairs—two calories. Hayden’s head slogged into and out of darkness. Her own bovine clopping beat with the rhythmic yap of the Pom.
A manager had come out to deal with the Pomeranian woman—this useless sow didn’t know when to give up.
As Hayden crossed the atrium, the Pom turned its savagery on her. It clawed across the woman’s shoulder, leapt to the cement floor, and yipped at Hayden’s ankle.
Hayden shoved it with her foot. Her head dimmed again with the exertion.
The beast flailed across the cement to the woman who stood there aghast. “That’s assault!”
The Pom charged again.
Something in Hayden pushed through the burying dark. She snatched up the Pom by the neck and Hayden’s jaw gaped open.
The manager gasped, the hostess smirked, and the Pomeranian woman screamed. Weights slammed down and horrified cries echoed through the fitness center. Hayden stopped. The useless beast squirmed free.
She had been seen. Hayden Taylor ran.