NetNews Usenet Archive 1992 #30/NN_1992_30.iso/spool/talk/bizarre/42015

Text File | 1992-12-16 | 4.7 KB | 78 lines

Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Path: sparky!uunet!mcsun!fuug!penet!anon
From: [e-mail]
Subject: situation found
X-Anonymously-To: talk.bizarre
Organization: Anonymous contact service
Date: Wed, 16 Dec 1992 17:32:20 GMT
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
Sender: [e-mail] (Anonymous contact service)
Lines: 66

    Most of her beauty was in her expression, her posture, her poise.
She was a little woman with a silly-looking freckled face, incipient wrinkles,
dull brown hair, fecal-brown eyes, small breasts and narrow hips.  He smiled
at her and she put on an enchanting grin when she noticed him.  "There you
are, Jim!" she said, running up to him and tilting her head back to kiss
his jaw -- shw was that small.  "I thought you'd never show up."
    "I'm sorry, Miss," he said, "I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure
of meeting you."
    "Oh, Jim," she said, sad and sympathetic, "you're having one of your
spells of amnesia again.  You can't even recognize your own wife."
    He found himself believing her, although he had no memories of her
and could detect no lacunae in his memories of his recent past.  He stooped
and picked her up by the waist and put her face to his own, and they kissed.
He had no will of his own, he found.  He wanted to be guided.
    She led him to a two-seat sportscar of modern lines, decorated in
reflective holograms.  The one on the end of the trunk's lid said "Studebaker."
She got in and opened the passenger door for him.  She put the car into
reverse and backed it out of the parking spot, and then made it shoot forward
through the lot.  After some precise but frightening driving in high gear,
she got them onto the freeway.  The speedometer's range went to 200 mph,
and they were soon past 120, only slightly faster than the rest of the traffic.
The road was utterly smooth.
    In a few minutes they were off the freeway and she drove at great
speed through a grid of residential streets, presently pulling the car into
a driveway.  She pulled the hood-release before they got out, and walked
around to the front of the car and popped the hood open.  The engine looked
to Jim like a flat-12 with a supercharger.  The woman checked the oil, wiping
the dipstick on a piece of rag from a little storage pocket on the inside
of the hood.  "Fine," she said.
    Two little girls came out of the house's front door.  "Daddy, daddy!"
cried the older and taller, perhaps seven years old; the other, a year or
so younger, grinned her mother's grin.  They ran to him, and he picked up
first the older and then the younger, kissing each on her forehead before
putting her down.  The woman closed the car's hood and they all went into
the house.
    He helped fix dinner.  The woman and the girls treated him as husband
and father.  She read stories to the girls after dinner, acting out the
characters with some talent.  He felt entirely at home, even though he knew
none of their names, had no idea who he was supposed to be.
    Everyone went to bed early.  He cuddled the woman in her dark bedroom,
on her king-sized bed.  After many caresses and kisses they had sex -- he
had had none in years -- and fell asleep.
    The woman got out of bed with extreme care, removed the picture
that hung over the headboard, opened the hatch in the wall, and took out
the electrodes and a tube of electrolyte paste.  She pasted the electrodes
onto the sleeping man's head, and left the room.
    The concealed door in the basement was open, and her supposed
daughters were using the machinery to make their temporary little-girl
shapes and personalities into permanent ones.  She loaded the tape of
replacement memories into the playback deck, and started them on their
way into the man's head.  When the little girls had become entirely what
they seemed, she went over to have herself made real.  A residue of vanity
made her stop and smooth some wrinkles from the face, and lighten the eyes
to hazel, and then after a few minutes of mild discomfort she was entirely
the woman she had designed.  The tape finished its playback, and she shut off
the equipment and the lights, closed the hidden door, and shepherded what
were now her real daughters up to their beds.  She returned to her bedroom,
and with care and great tenderness peeled the electrodes from the man who
was now her husband.
    He woke to find his beloved wife gazing at him.  Her eyes seemed
lighter, more beautiful than ever.  "Good morning, Muriel my love," he
said.  She smiled and kissed him on the mouth.
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