The Multi-genre Mashup SmackDown

Fishbowl of Diet Coke

A stark green beam, blazed through panels of sheer knit curtains, like an all seeing glare from a war torn lighthouse. The mothy fabrics nailed to the window blew in the late dense air. The window frame was crafted from birch, but was stolen from a discarded photography frame in the dumps of an art gallery.

Morning after morning she–Calliope stirred from her dreamless sleep as the light from the tallest building in the sullen city shined. It was impossible to escape the cyclop–skyscraper, the locals called it the building that never blinks.

I watched as Calliope lifted her head, yawned like a persian cat and leaned over the edge of the mattress. Clumsily she grasped my etched shell, rotated me, and twisted my wind up key. My eyes clattered, as my pupils focused and unfocused on her empty room. I stretched out my legs, all 10. They scratched against her desk surface, like claws sharpening. I ran my cutting claw vertically along the window's frame and then drug my crushing claw atop her mouse pad. Wood chips fell to the carpet, like discarded army men.

My lilac weathered mechanical autonomy sets me apart from oceanic and subterranean crabs but it scratches easily, a flaw in my existence. If only I were orange like my subordinates.

"Did you have a dream, dear Calliope?" My voice was a bit high as I patted a claw against my chest, and encircled my neck. I tried to loosen springs. I spoke again, "Morning," but it still seemed too high. I tapped my chest again with more force, "Morning, much better" my Yorkshire accent returned to me. I clambered across the desk, each manufactured leg tapped against the table, until I leapt onto the window's ledge and yanked the curtain closed. The green glare was extinguished.

She sighed, as I rotated my eye orbs in her direction. "No, no dreams, what time is it Capers?"

I stretched my claw from the window sill, spinning the alarm clock to face me "22:18." Calliope left the clock on military time since she found it. She never clarified if she preferred military time or if she was unaware of how to change the clock to traditional 12 hour timetables.

Her gaze lifted to the window, only a sliver of it was uncovered. I snapped my claws as she tore her vision from the glass. A gentle smile lifted to her rosy cheeks as she cradled me and then plopped me down onto a pillow beside her.

I watched her eyes glaze over, "What were you looking at?"

She pointed to the neon orange goldfish sign–nearly a half mile down the road. The orange fins of the fish cast rings of light onto the pavement like bubbles as they fanned back and forth.

I shook my head from side to side. "We can't go into the city at dusk."

She stood, fetching a sneaker, "We can."

"Calliope no, I must disagree."

She picked up her dark charcoal sweatshirt, hoisting it over her head, "I'm ready."

I brought a claw to my brow, but as she smiled I couldn't help myself. "Very well, but I don't like it."

She leaned over patting my head with the flat of her palm "Noted." She grinned, opening her sweatshirt pocket. "You coming?" I lowered my head–defeated, and crawled into her dark pocket.

Admittedly I enjoyed traveling with Calliope, but not in the wake of night. She often had an appetite in the late hours of the day as most children do...at least from what I've heard.

"Breakfast is a requirement for a kid. Your mother would haunt me if she knew you skipped the first meal of the day." I shivered at the thought. 

I glanced up, as she grabbed a miner's cap from the coat rack in the stairwell and then ducked out the back door. "I'll consider it." She giggled, flipping the headlamp on. The city goers wore miner's caps to avoid the spotlight from the cyclops building. The plastic rim protected from harsh synthetic light, and the red hue from the headlamp, refracted the green spot light.

I stretched the pocket material, so I could see through it. "Careful of the street sweeper–" she leaped and my cutting claw went straight through the material like a shear.

I shook my head abruptly from right to left, I'd seen adults make the head motion when something undesirable occurred.

She moved quickly, as the stop lights leaned toward us. The traffic poles are hazards, and their flexibility can prove problematic. When the street is void of automobiles, street lights play the role of a nuisance. They like to lean over pedestrians frightening them, some even knock down humans from the sidewalks. Calliope admitted once she thought she heard a traffic light snickering at her when she fell into an oil spill. I don't doubt it's true.

"We can still turn back!" As the words left my voice box she picked up into a jogging pace. I poked an entire eye out of the pocket, I could tell the orange sign was a few blocks off.

I should make myself more useful.

I began crawling out of her pocket as she jolted to a stand still. I lifted my eyes and could see a huge stop sign was towering over us. Nervously my claws clicked together "Oh dear."

Calliope dove out of the way, and I couldn't catch myself as I flung onto the street. The red metal sign slammed down against the sidewalk nearly missing her knees.

She sat upright as I strained to catch sight of her.

My chest dented inwards towards my voice box, "Calliope!" my voice was scratchy, "Are you injured?"

She gave a slow thumbs up and yelled, "Race you to the Fishbowl Capers!"

I clicked my claws together.

She lifted her hand with 3 fingers raised, 2, 1 and then zero. As her hand dropped against her thigh she took off running. I could still see her over my shell, as she turned the corner. My eyes flicked to the red sign, it was bent at the waist, and rapidly lifting its shoulders picking itself up.

"It must've spotted my lilac coloring on the road." I could almost hear it panting, craving a new piece of metallic ware to wrap and tack around its pole exterior.

I nudged my crushing claw under my body and pushed with all my strength. The street was wet, from rainfall as my claw slipped and I fell further lopsided. I was losing control, seconds from being smashed like a cricket under a utility boot. The stop sign began its freefall again. In a last ditch effort, I twisted my crushing claw and cutting claw into a corkscrew motion, lifted up my rear, and sprung myself forward. The stop sign slammed down with a howl. As I flew, I disjointed a running leg from my core, the appendage clung to the ground while I rocketed into open air.

I closed my eyes. The only thing left to do was hope I land the correct way. I let out a nervous chuckle, as I came to a stand still? I opened one eye.

"Crabs aren't meant to fly."

I screeched, nearly letting out a cry "Darryl!"

A seagull from street nine, and good friend of mind beat his wings overhead. He spoke with enthusiasm. "Late night crawl?" He held my wind up screw by the beak.

I shook my entire body, "Calliope wants a diet coke."

He lifted his wings higher "The nerve."

It's too dangerous to travel by claw. "Could I trouble you, I'd fancy a lift."

"Headed to the Fishbowl?"

I nodded, as we soared. And as quickly as we'd left the ground we arrived at the glowing orange sign. I dropped in through a missing ceiling panel, and crawled through the air ducts into the refrigerated section. With luck I might've beat Calliope here.

I danced along the soda lanes and finally perched my shell at the diet coke section. I clung to the lid of the front most bottle, droplets of sweat chilled my parts from above.

I could hear a faint humming as familiar sneakers trot against the floor. Without glancing at the bottles they withdrew a beverage. It wasn't until they lifted the bottle to eye level, I knew she'd made it. She smiled, with an innocence, and yet clever nature I'd never seen before.

"I win."

She nodded, giving me a high–claw and then placed me in her sweatshirt hood.