Trips and Traffick Lights

Simon had felt alone long before he and Val had gotten married and in fairness the first few years he had felt a noticeable reduction in his reclusive aspects. But, Simon being Simon, it lost its novelty the day they had both decided not to start a family.


In an unspoken agreement, possibly even subconscious, they had both concluded that the world was just too evil of a place to burden a perfectly serene soul with. However, they both knew the real reason: Just 3 years into their marriage and it was caroming toward destruction. And not just your standard money magick chaos and ownership arguments. It was set for a Yellow Stone Eruption. 


However another,  much more poignant and consequential revelation would not come to pass until the fateful night where both their lives were unequivocally changed for ever.


It had been Easter week when disclosure finally occurred.


They were watching Coumbo, Simon’s all-time favourite TV show (before he learned of Falk and the Eye) when Val’s phone rang.


Without answering she excused herself from the room and by her eagerness Simon assumed it was some update on the restoration of his wife’s art gallery. 
And then, as if a tribe of planets had aligned for this sole reason, a colossal dread sprung into being out of nowhere disabling him instantaneously. He caught himself whispering aloud, ‘don’t even start, don’t you dare fucking start. I am not fucking this one up as well.’


‘if I-‘


The shower came to life behind the closed bathroom door in which Val had gone to receive the call.
Simon’s blood took on a snowy quality, melting into his nerves, cold blood bubbling. 


‘Not again, ‘he said, ‘I won’t do this again. I have to start trusting again or I’ll die an old man.’


A clear giggle could be heard above the thunderous waterfall of the shower and then a purposely lowered whisper that sounded much different than her usual tone.


A few minutes later she came out and made her way down the hall to the master bedroom. It was then that Simon noticed her phone still in the shower room sitting on the countertop by the mirror.


There was no sustained moral battle or internal ethical struggle; without thinking Simon scurried into the bathroom and frantically scoured through the phone. When he saw who the last call involved it was not at all what he had expected. Hurt turned to worry. 


Keeping his ear to the hallway – thank God Val had a habit of humming while getting dressed – he sent a message back to the doctors online service.
‘sorry hun could you sent me that in writing for record, thank you’
He felt like an absolute piece of shit. Began to think: first I panic thinking she’s cheating and then when I find out she was talking to a doctor. 
But why keep it secret? 


That could only mean one thing.


Tears began to form as he thought of the myriad ways people just simply vanish. The transience of it all overwhelmed even his need to cry and he stood, transfixed on the misery of this temporal realm. 


His heart like a bowling bowl in motion, he read the doctors response. 
‘Np, like I said, after these final two treatments you will officially be a fully-fledged biological woman. And even though the surgeries have not given your husband even the slightest hint of your former gender, these final chemical insertions will make it impossible to tell your history as a male.'


Simon stared at the screen for at least 2 minutes. He didn’t know whether to vomit or scream. He has no problem letting every individual make their own choices. After, of course, an unbias psychological assessment because some things are irreversible and anyone who can disagree are sentencing possible vulnerable people who should be protected into a decision they may regret for the rest of their lives.

 
But what worried Simon the most: If this was the case then surely Val could also find out about him!


He placed the phone back down carefully on the counter top and retreated from the bathroom with as much stealth as his shocked body would allow. 
Once he had sat down and got his breathing under control a clearer, more positive notion surfaced in his mind. Val will never connect the dots. This species has been subjected to a steady stream of conditioning for far too long. 
Sadly, on this planet, little Green men are reserved for trips and traffic lights.

End. 

◄ glassalg

Raped by an Angel ►

Comments

Profile image

poemagraphic

Thu 20th Feb 2020 21:02

Great bit of writing... A twist in the tail. Nice work.

Po

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message