Adventures in Post-Lobotomy Paradise
Adventures in Post-Lobotomy Paradise
Michael Dal Hornsby
(10/24 - 1700 words)
In both the best and worst of times the way you’re feeling is important, I don’t care what anybody says. But despite this, feelings can be hard to label. There are things you need to know, like what it is you’re reacting to, where you are, who you are, and where your heart is. You need to know where your feet went. There are things I don’t know. But I know it’s only dark when my eyes are closed, and I’m learning that I have the inner strength to open them to lights that blind me. When I do I’m reminded why I’m here, to be a Noble Citizen, all the way down to the paperwork. I’m incredible.
I just went under the knife twice in four hours and it didn’t even hurt, in fact, I feel great and can't wait to tell everyone about it. I’m sure you’ve heard the Man call this procedure the Noble Theft. He says it in a sassy way because that’s just how he is, and it is kind of a fun way to put it. What it means is that if you intentionally lose something for a noble cause you become noble in spirit, and if you're noble in spirit you understand the natural order of things, and it doesn't get any better than that. This is what I used to argue about with my family all the time.
I would point out that the Felt Coats are formalizing a rule everyone always wanted, whether they have the guts to admit it or not. Look, babies are precious, okay? I think we can all agree on that, and I’m sure we’re also in agreement that babies are more important than any average adult person. But we need to be realistic.
Babies become the grown-ups that make up society, so having the proper credentials in order to have said babies in the first place only makes sense. Some people, like myself and my brother, are born without such credentials. This also makes perfect sense if you understand the natural order of things. And obviously, “if we have to license drivers and forklift operators it’s only like, totally duh.” I know the Man says that all the time but it doesn’t get old anymore. Todd laughed when I said that, and it really hurt. Not because of my feelings, but because I realized I was losing my brother to a sinister social virus. He sounds so stupid.
The FCs wouldn’t keep saying things like this if they weren’t true Todd, because people aren’t really sheep, they don’t just repeat things over and over unless those things are totally awesome. I mean duh. And besides that, some concepts are hard to understand at first, there have been things the Coats have said that didn’t make a bit of sense to me until I’d heard it a hundred times.
“Are you awake, son?”
The voice I’m unable to answer is coming from an intercom and the operating lights float somewhere near the ceiling before shrinking into themselves as they shut off with a clunk. As my eyes adjust I turn my head to the side and see a poster of a regimented line of Felt Coat citizen soldiers in full colors, straight in their perfect ranks, showing off their Power of the Incredible, just like in their theme song (the catchy rendition that what’s-her-name sang the hit version of, not the one the school kids sang this morning as they saluted the flag). I genuinely love Power of the Incredible and feel inspired to move by the thought of it, but when I hop out of bed I almost have to take a knee.
The pain is unlike any I’ve felt. It’s like being kicked in the taint, stomach and testicles all at once. But it’s okay—somehow. What I mean is I’m only hobbled in a physical sense, I know that once I come out of this post-op daze my spirit will be on fire. When I look up and see my court-appointed surgeon, the lighting behind him is halo like, as if he materialized only to appear in my personal vision.
“Your employer has been notified of your basic civil service. Stop touching your head.”
I do as he says and by the time a wheelchair zips up my itchy left temple hardly matters anymore. I have places to be, and in this state-of-the-art government hospital the wheelchairs have their own lanes, and mine gets me to a car waiting just for me. It’s another generous “thank you for your service,” courtesy of the Felts, much like these incision-covering headphones and free, high-tech plastic crutches. The auto-lift of a brand-new minivan meets me right where I am before gently pulling me inside, and when we zoom away I’m glowing.
When we arrive I’m distracted by two things in front of my home. One is my brother's stupid tiny car, which is hilariously parked right next to my Mastodon XE. And two, there’s some weirdo across the street staring at me, just standing there in front of the Smith’s old house.
I hope that guy isn’t a squatter but good riddance to the Smiths, as much as I hate to say it. I’m pretty sure they were with that one militia, “Their Old Car and Tear Your Knee-ah.” Whatever that’s supposed to mean. They are totally crazy. Way worse than any noFelts, way more dangerous. Thank God the Coats are herding them into those new high-security pokeys. The last thing anyone wants is their babies to be shot by domestic terrorists.
When I unlock the front door I give it a little kick with my crutch, making more noise than I needed to because I want Todd to know I’m here, and as I enter the living room he comes out from our old bedroom, looking like a sloppy version of me. At this point we’re so different I forget we shared a womb.
“Mom wanted me to come by.”
“Gurg.”
“What?”
“Blorb.”
“Uh huh.”
Even though I know this is all a temporary side effect I don’t want my answer to come out like that again, so I shake my head and start crutching toward my bedroom.
“Are you going to sleep it off?”
Todd sounds like an evil version of me—wait, that's not how to put it, yes, it is.
“Okay Mark. I’ll be out here for a couple of hours if you need anything.”
The last time I saw Todd he said something I had a hard time forgiving, but I did it anyway. But that was before this morning, and at this point in my life it might be wrong for me to let what Todd said go, at least if I am who I say I am, which is down with the Coats to the bone.
Todd called us a new organized religion, he said that the Man is a cult leader and that the Felt Coats are just his enforcers. I know, my brother’s crazy. He said he could tell because I kept talking about babies, can you believe that? Babies represent the best of humanity and everyone knows it Todd. I mean totally duh.
He pokes his stupid head in my room and I try to hide that I kind of hate him.
“Hey Mark, sorry to bother you, but did you see that freak with the shades across the street?”
“Him. Bar. Me.”
“Are you okay, bro?”
A look of real concern is all over Todd’s face as he rushes over, it’s hard to describe how it makes me feel, but I think the word is dizzy.
“Are you being for real? I can’t tell anymore.”
By this time tomorrow I'm going to be checking my feeds and buying non-fungible tokens from the comfort and privacy of my own brain, but for the time being I need Todd to understand that I know how jealous he is.
“Glurb! Berb.”
“You're freaking me out! Do you have that button thing?”
Right, that button thing. I press it and my head hurts like hell—maybe it already did but I didn’t notice—so I try to squinch my eyes from the migraine pain but can’t and I’m dreaming with my eyes open wide. Todd’s face gets blurry and something like a lifetime of love oozes blob-like across my field of vision, where memories of the two of us disappear like a series of little soldiers somehow falling off.
“Todd.”
“I’m right here Mark.”
I feel good, this must be the dopamine or serotonin being activated in response to the question I’ll ask.
“Have you reconsidered joining us? You seriously need to stay away from those crank-cases Todd, you’ll thank me later.”
The blood drains from Todd’s face for some reason.
“Crank-cases?”
“Are you a member of Their Old Car and Tear Your Knee-ah?”
“Derrocar La Tirania? Do you even know what that means?”
“It means they’re terrorists Todd.”
“It’s like you’re asking to see my papers bro.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Why don’t you care about babies Todd?”
“Mark?”
My heart leaps with joy.
“You’re saying Felt Coats are bad.”
“Mark?”
“I worry for Mom.”
“What does Mom have to do with anything?”
I realize what I’m about to do so I’ve never felt happier.
“Let’s go ask that weirdo in front of the Smith’s old house what his problem is.”
“Are you okay to get up?”
“I’m good.”
When we get outside he walks toward the Felt across the street and I know to point at the back of Todd’s head so I do. The Coat makes quick stirring motions, and when a brand new minivan screeches up Todd freezes and stares dead at me. It’s so easy for them to drag him away. Before the door slid to slam shut, I heard him pleading and crying my name, which reminded me to always feel lucky, happy, and secure in my rightful place. Being incredible is all we have.
© Michael Dal Hornsby 2024. No permission for use by LLM or other AI learning systems.