Kris Ivy

“I squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn’t have to look at my arm trailing away like the streamer on a bike handle.

“I can’t be stuck like this!” I wailed. Visions of having to gnaw it off like a jackal in a trap flooded my brain.

Quentin knelt before me and put his hands on my trembling shoulders.

“You’re not going to be stuck,” he said, his voice low and reassuring in my ears. “You are the most powerful thing on Earth short of a god. You can do absolutely anything. So believe me when I say you can certainly change your arm back to normal.”

He held me firmly, the way you’d brace someone trying to pop a dislocated joint back into place. “Just relax and breathe,” he said. “It’ll happen as you will it.”

I took his advice and focused on calming down. Focused on nothing. Focused on him.

I couldn’t really feel my arm retracting. And I certainly didn’t want to look at it happening. I just . . . remembered how I was supposed to be. I kept quiet, kept at it for what must have been a good ten minutes, until I could feel both of my hands firmly on Quentin’s broad back.

“There you go,” he said.

I opened my eyes. My arm was normal again. I was aware that we were sort of hugging.

I buried my face in his chest and blew my nose on his shirt. “I’m a human being,” I muttered.

“I never said you weren’t.”

I raised my head. Quentin looked at me with a smile that was free of any smugness. He didn’t even mind my snot on his lapel.

“Reincarnation as a human is practically the highest goal any spirit can achieve,” he said. “It’s considered the next best thing to enlightenment. If anything, I’m proud of you for what you’ve accomplished.”

I’m not sure why, but the rage that had been so palpable before seemed to float away at his words. Like I could have been angry with him forever had he said anything different.

I was mildly relieved. It was a hell of a one-eighty on my part, but right now I didn’t think I wanted to hate Quentin until the end of time.

“Genie Lo, you are unquestionably, undeniably human,” he said. “You just . . . have a whole bunch of other stuff going on as well.”

“Tell me about it.”
― F.C. Yee, The Epic Crush of Genie Lo

“Quentin and I crawled outside the building and flopped onto the grass. I was bleeding from a gash across my forehead that he promised would seal itself and disappear within minutes, as long as I didn’t die first. With the way I felt, we’d have to wait and see.

Quentin grabbed his own fingers and pulled, relocating his joints. The popping noise made me want to vomit.

“Dear god,” I croaked. “How did . . . why was that . . . so hard?”

“He was an identical copy of me,” Quentin said. He spat a bloody tooth out to the side. “What were you expecting, a pushover?”

I watched his blood sink into the ground and sprout a little daisy with perfect white petals. Whatever. I was beyond surprise when it came to Quentin at this point.”
― F.C. Yee, The Epic Crush of Genie Lo

“The sheer amount of effort I was putting into these essays had to add up to something. It would be a violation of thermodynamics if it didn’t.”
― F.C. Yee, The Epic Crush of Genie Lo

“When the last days were upon me, and the ugly trifles of existence began to drive me to madness like the small drops of water that torturers let fall ceaselessly upon one spot of their victim’s body, I loved the irradiate refuge of sleep. In my dreams I found a little of the beauty I had vainly sought in life, and wandered through old gardens and enchanted woods. After a while, as the days of waking became less and less bearable from their greyness and sameness, I would often drift in opiate peace through the valley and the shadowy groves, and wonder how I might seize them for my eternal dwelling-place, so that I need no more crawl back to a dull world stript of interest and new colours... for doubt and secrecy are the lure of lures, and no new horror can be more terrible than the daily torture of the commonplace.”
― H. P. Lovecraft, The H.P. Lovecraft Collection: Classic Tales of Cosmic Horror