Fool people

It's so easy to fool people. These days, anyway.

All you need are the right credentials - a few documents, a few files and codes in the right databanks, and you're in. People accept you as a person. I mean, a handful of centuries ago, it was so much work, winning their trust. It took decades to craft a disguise, years of careful persuasion and research and diligence. And even then, the humans were still suspicious. You could look right, talk right, even smell right and they'd still carry a little piece of iron with them, keep some rowan in their homes, avoid looking you in the eye. They still worried you might not be what you seemed. There was so much fear.

But now, ha, it's easy. They're hardly aware of being human themselves, let alone worrying if the neighbor is, too. They rely on numbers. Little bits of data and they just relax, content with whatever lies you tell them about yourself.

I talked with a waitress about this recently, just before I ate her. She said she thought that people didn't examine themselves too closely because they're afraid they'll find a monster looking back. That maybe everyone's a little less human these days.

Maybe she was right. It's so easy to blend in.

Brief Encounters

It's always awkward when I run into him, even though I've technically known him for longer than anyone else. The first time was at Valley Forge; I wasn't born too long before that. I was bringing what few supplies I could find to the Continental troops--you know how teenagers love rebellion. Anyway, a camp full of cold, hungry, sick, miserable men probably isn't the safest place for a young girl alone, but I was too stupid to realize that. One soldier pulled me onto his lap, shoved his hand up my skirts (two fingers black with frostbite, I remember), and asked me to keep him warm that night.

Then he appeared. At the time he was a soldier, too. Tugged me up and sent me on my way.

I never properly thanked him, even though, like I said, I've encountered him several times since. Trouble is I don't know know him. I just see him places. We ended up working in the same dirty factory town in Massachusetts for a few years. I don't think he recognized me, though, despite a few meaningful glances I shot his way. Then there was that women's suffrage rally in New York, and that time he was across the street from me at a ticker-tape parade post-WWII. A sweaty little punk show in the 70's. Last time was at the bank. We might have seen a lot, but we still have bank accounts like everyone else.

It's not that I haven't ever talked to him. We shouted at each other for a bit at that concert. Turns out he's even older than I am. Came over from Europe. Saw the Holy Roman Empire, all that stuff. I don't know. I'm not very good at pre-me history.

He said there were a few others, but I haven't met them, at least not to my knowledge. There's no annual convention for people like me. I have no idea why it happens. My body got stuck one way and then stayed and stayed, and still stays. Same thing with him, I guess.

I'd ask you to remind me to thank him next time I see him, but I doubt you'll make it. No offense.

Bobbing

There's shrilling

about about

odd number of razor blades

I'm tired

Tired of

Tired of

cardiac arrest symptoms

brain aneurysm warning signs

vitamin c overdose symptoms

when I left

all old and sticky, and itchy

I didn't want grime and dust

in my skin

I had to stop myself.

I, an ancient rust bucket

a piece of crap

so proud

I wanted insomnia

the moment of falling asleep

like dying

Existing for much longer

awkward and familiar

What's the worst that could happen?