Un-Ruggifying Myself

I’m working on learning how to act like a person instead of a human form of rug.

The problem when you’re a rug is that everyone in the whole world who is used to walking on convenient people-rugs recognizes you and stomps on you, so getting away from greedy assholes long enough to brush off all the footmarks and stand up is complicated.

Plus then you’re, like, flattened and stuff, so reanimating the crushed nature of your spiritual anatomy is painful and fraught with difficulty.

All of which to say, being not-a-rug is an adventure. Acting like a person instead of a domicile for walking feels unnatural, what with the life-long nature of my rughood.

There is bacon in my fridge, by the way. (And that is probably going to be fried in a pan shortly.) I’m tired of being a rug, though. Not that bacon frying has anything to do with rugs.


More Diana

“So you think you understand what they want. Tell me,” Stuart said in a gruff and irritable manner.

“Well it’s really obvious. We’re basically a reality show, and if we’re entertaining enough, we’ll earn more humans. Let’s go on an adventure,” Diana said, buttoning up the backpack and hoisting it onto her back.

“What? No!” Stuart cried. Diana, feeling thoroughly devious, pressed close against him and kissed his cheek. She hated it, hated being near to him at all, with his stupid skin and his irritating, sports-themed cloud of whatever spray he usually wore, but Diana got a great effect out of the kiss.

Stuart went red, and then white, and then made a low squawk. Diana cackled like a fiend and spun away, walking towards the doors that led back into the school.

“You . . . we . . . You just hang on for two seconds here, Diana Vassel!” Stuart shouted, his voice choking as he fought between violence and forced calm. Diana could hear how he was trying to keep in command of his temper because of the aliens. She pictured him beating her up again, the really bloody way he’d done when they were a lot younger, and she laughed and threw her head back as she imagined the aliens killing him for it.

She heaved open the door into the school and went inside, hearing the crunch of his angry footsteps behind her.

You’re reading Victor Poole, and in my current novel, Vince is tweaking his new head of security’s energy management in service of the coming hunt.