Beyond the Dolls - One Last Shift

June 2068. Serìna talks with her coworker Languilla about her coming motherhood, after a morning shift at the supermarket where they both work. Due to the doll's limited lifetime, however, this might as well be the last time they see each other.

“Oh, oh! I see our little guest there can’t wait to get out, eh? Eh?”

It was a strange hand the one that moved on Serìna’s shirt, caressing her belly. Scaly, slimy. Still, it had five fingers, as it was to be expected from a human being. However, calling the owner of that limb ‘human’ felt like a stretch. For starters, the creature was almost two meters tall. One third of her size was occupied by her neck, also scaly and slightly slimy, shining in the lights of the supermarket. Topped by what looked like an eel head, with big, shining eyes and a mouth open in something that could have been mistaken for a smile. Except it was a smile. A big smile, even.

Serìna nodded, let that foreign presence comfort her with that infectious warmth. So, she smiled in turn, barely hiding her fang-like canines in the process.

“Yeah. She’s getting bigger by the day. Two months to go, but she doesn’t want to wait any longer.”

“That’s how you know she’ll be a fine lass, just like her mom!”

The eel lady croaked with a deep, guttural voice, in a mockery of a bout of laughter. Serìna chuckled softly, patted her hand on the creature’s shoulder. Languilla. Her store manager and direct superior. A titan of a fish mutant with the heart of a softie. The first person to congratulate her for her pregnancy and bringing chocolate cookies to the workplace to celebrate. Serìna couldn’t help but smile at her antics. Best boss she ever worked under.

Languilla’s retracted her hand, caressed Serìna’s hair instead.

“My my, our little Seri becoming a mother? That’s a shock if you ask me. More than the canine sharpening you got, duh. Didn’t take you as someone who’d yield to the fad.”

Serìna nodded, beamed at her. It was less a question of yielding to the fad and more a question of having to fight her body less. Kitsune. Masters of shapeshifting. The foxes of thousand illusions. Several names had been used to describe them, as the mystical, ethereal beings they were. Their reality was, however, not that simple. Just another brand of companion dolls, with some limited ability to remodel parts of their bodies. It cost energies, it cost focus. If she could just struggle a little less to keep them under wraps and spare her energy for what was really worth it, so be it. Hiding her tail and ears was already tiring, especially now that she was living for two. She beamed at Languilla, giggling a little too.

“Blyen liked it a lot.”

“…does he have a thing for vampire mommies, Seri? Izzat really the man you wanted a kid from?”

In any other circumstance, Serìna would have found that amusing. Now, though, that innocent remark made her heart skip a beat.

“Are you… asking me to give up on you? Seri, you can’t…”

His words. His reddened eyes. He was sobbing. On his knees. Cursing. Keeping her hands in his, while wrapped by her tail. Crying. Her Blyen. Her rugged fox hunter. Crying. Serìna almost bit her lip. Almost. That image of Blyen bawling his eyes out was etched in her retina. It was her decision. He accepted it. Even if it broke his heart. Even if it broke his spirit. Because Blyen loved her and respected her choices. Blyen never tried to overrule her. Blyen… he never considered her like the thing she was. Seeing him like that…

She breathed. Slowly. Caressed her own belly once more, in front of Languilla’s worried gaze.

“No, seriously, what did you see in him? Wasn’t he, what, a doll hunter? Really? Who in their sick mind would gun down those poor things, Seri? And you got a kid from him? Respect, but damn if it sounds cursed.”

“You talk as if I were a doll.”

“For how fine and delicate you look, you might as well be. You’re wasted on that moron, I tell ya.”

Serìna chuckled, smiled at her softly. Yeah, no. Languilla was definitely not approving of Blyen, even after his career change. Hunting dolls was a thing of the past for him—for them—but not everyone seemed to be able to forgive it. Languilla, with her crossed arms and her annoyed frown, was part of those who, in fact, did not took that well. Serìna rested her gaze on that strange companion, looked at her deep in the eyes. That mutant was an unusual sight, all things considered: a tall eel woman dressed in a Pangi Mart uniform, sporting colorful logos of Pangi the Penguin on her work apron and employee card, flexing her neck and wiggling her head around. An unusual sight, yes. Not for Serìna, though… even if, at first, she couldn’t help but ask herself how would Languilla taste with rice balls. Eel with rice balls and seaweed, yes, with a little wasabi and soy sauce. A delicacy, one that made her weak in the knees, before remembering that Languilla was a friend, not prey. Serìna almost bit her tongue, silenced her cravings, fought her nature. Kitsune genes. Predator genes. Seeing everything either as food or playthings, sometimes as both. Getting accustomed not to do that had been a challenge. A challenge she had already won, almost, definitely, surely. So, she…

A metallic noise. An umbrella falling on the floor. Bouncing on it. Clanking again.

Serìna gasped.

The lights faded.

Back there.

She was back there.

Black walls. Black tiles. An umbrella. Pain. Screams. Her back ached. Her tail ached. Burn marks on her hair. Burn marks on her shoulder blades. Cigarette marks, dragged down her skin.

“Stop yelping, you bitch! I paid a premium for you!”

The hand around her mouth, shutting it, stopping her from screaming, from yelling. So, focus. Focus on something, anything. Ignore the pain. Ignore the violence. Ignore your body. Focus. The umbrella. It stood. A precarious balance. Might fall at any time. Focus on it. Focus. Watch it stand, against all the odds. It shifts, even so slightly. Focus. A weak vibration. Focus. The umbrella slips. Focus. Then the fall. The fall. The fall. The…

“Seri?”

The Pangi Mart. Languilla. Her coworkers. Serìna shook her head, looked back at them, blinked, slowly. No fox tail. No fox ears. Her hand instinctively went for her back, touching her shoulders. The scars. The scars were still there. Not burning, no. Not anymore. The past. Coming back. And back. And back. Even so close to her end.

Breathe, Seri. Breathe.

She raised her head again, meeting Languilla’s worried eyes with a tired smile.

“Just a little dizzy spell, sorry. My baby’s draining me.”

“Seems like it, huh. Well, don’t fall on the way back, ‘kay? Say, wanna have me walk with you? I can…”

“No, no, that’s fine. All’s fine now. Really.”

“Okay, good, good. But, before you go…”

Languilla turned her neck around, in an inhuman twist. That allowed her to look at the cashier without really moving away from her place, something puny monkeys (or foxes) couldn’t even consider doing.

“Hey, idiots! Bring me that thing, now!”

Two guys in a Pangi Mart uniform scrambled from behind the frozen food aisle, with a large package covered in ribbons. Serìna gulped. Salmon. A whole pack of freshly cut salmon. Her mouth watered at that heavenly sight, her lips curled a little, her tongue felt funny. Her stomach suddenly made itself heard. No, no, she was wrong. That wasn’t just salmon. That was premium salmon of the absolute highest quality she had ever seen. So much of it. It must have cost a small fortune. She stared in utter disbelief at Languilla, met the closest thing an eel-headed-woman could produce to a smirk.

“That’s… all for me?!”

“Come on, we ain’t gotta let our best cashier go mommy mommy without a small present, yes?”

Languilla coiled her neck, patted Serìna’s shoulder, whispered in her ear.

“This ain’t the cheap shit we sell here! We got this from The Paradise of Pangasius, yes? Best fishmonger in the city. That darn piranha guy, Lazor Whatshisname, said he personally punched this fish while it was jumping outta the river, like in the ad. And, you know what? After seeing him at work, I sure believe he did.”

Pictures of a red piranha-man in a fishmonger’s attire waiting patiently at the side of the river, before delivering a terrifying blow to a salmon jumping upstream—all while screaming in a horrific war cry—filled Serìna’s mind with awe. If bears can do it, we can do it too! Freshly DIAMOND CRUSHED fish! Because you deserve the best! Like me!

That streaming commercial was funny and it made her crave even more for that premium salmon she couldn’t affod, but most animal rights associations didn’t think the same. The ad was removed from syndication after two days and caused The Paradise of Pangasius to top the local news for a while, with talks of lawyers and some additional property damage. Overall, though, their image came out on top. All in all, that was a genius publicity stunt, one that brought the store to the spotlight. Whether it was intended or not, Serìna couldn’t say (and probably neither could Lazor). Still, that premium salmon…

Languilla’s fingers closed around her wrist all of a sudden.

“I’ll miss you, Seri.”

Serìna gasped.

The blackness, again. Bloodshot eyes. A belt held like a whip. Her wrist strained, locked to the bed with a handcuff. More cigarette burns. More marks. The pain. The P A I N.

“Smile. I said smile! I bought you to smile!”

His pressure, his hands on her hips, crawling on her skin, moving down her…

Breathe. Breathe. Languilla. It was just Languilla. Her good friend. Her colleague. Not him. Not him. Not. Him.

Breathe. Breathe. Smile back. Hide it. Beam your best smile, yes. Because Languilla deserved it. Languilla trusted her. Despite her mistakes. Despite how hard it was for her to get it, at first. Languilla guided her, with otherworldly patience. So, she deserved it—one last smile, before leaving her behind. Before leaving everyone behind.

“Keep things running smooth, Langi! Pangi Mart needs you.”

“Well, it needs you too, Seri, but your baby needs you more! Say, cantcha come with her at work? I promise, I’ll keep care of your little cub! But, please…”

Languilla’s voice almost turned into a whisper.

“…don’t leave me alone with these morons. I swear, why do all of them suck so much? Ain’t nobody learning how to count money anymore?”

Serìna patted the eel’s head, hugged her long neck.

“I’m sure you’ll teach them well!”

Languilla reciprocated in a goofy embrace, wrapping her stubby arms around Serìna’s back, trying to avoid putting pressure on her belly, on the new life ready to see the light of the day.

“Say hi to Blyen, yes? Tell him that if he starves you by buying cheap crap, I’ll kill him dead.”

Serìna nodded once again, as Languilla’s hug slowly broke off. Her eel eyes couldn’t cry, they didn’t have tear ducts. They were always a little watery, a little shiny. Yet, for a moment, they looked more reflective than usual. That was not lost on Serìna. Her hand caressed Languilla’s cheek gently, one more time. Then, she grabbed the wrapped packet of premium salmon and slowly walked away from the check out of the Pangi Mart.

That had been her last shift there. The last before her maternity leave.

The last at all.

She would have loved to see all of them again.

She would have loved to work the check out one more time.

Yet, she knew she wouldn’t be able to.

She was painfully aware of it.

And that hurt her inside.

She inhaled. Exhaled. Hiding her tears wasn’t hard. She did it for so long that it became second nature to her. So, she exhaled, inhaled. Finally put her foot out of the exit.

The automatic doors closed behind her, with a deflated hiss.

Leaving her alone, outside of the place she called home when outside home.

A place she had just said goodbye to forever.

Serìna inhaled. Exhaled. Curled around her bags. Then, she started to walk, step by step, first slowly, then faster.

Faster.

Faster.

Until several hundred meters separated her from the entrance, from the Pangi logo, from the parking lot. Back into the crowded alleys. Back toward her her house.

Back toward her future. In that moment, she looked up, towards the sky. The sun was shining bright, in a warmth that accompanied the first rays of summer. August. Her baby would be born in August. A summer child. Her name would reflect that. Summer. A corny name for a child, yes, she was aware of it. Summer Chill sounded like a bad joke. And Summer Fumiko, her mother’s fictional surname, sounded even worse. Still, Summer it was. No take back. Summer Chill. Yes, that was going to be their child’s name. Her first name, at least.

Blyen, that idiot.

Her idiot.

That big-hearted softie.

Her big-hearted softie.

Of course he would go the extra mile. Of course. But it was fine. It was perfectly fine. They decided together. That was all that mattered. Anyway, Summer was a perfectly fine name, even if not her first choice. Serìna’s real name—Anser—was way, way, way worse. It meant ‘duck’ in Latin. Duck. No, really: duck. All because of a constellation, yeah—the little fox and the duck, vulpecula cum ansere. Anser was its brightest star and she was born a ‘fox’, so Anser became her name. A name she reviled.

Serìna, though…

I, Anser.

Serìna.

A perfect anagram. One that suited her. Serìna Fumiko, yes. Perfection. Fumiko didn’t mean anything, anything at all that she knew, but it sounded cool. So, she went for it. No more Anser, no. Serìna Fumiko. Blyen Chill’s girlfriend. The mother of his child.

A bag full of fresh fruit swung under her arm, close to the pack of premium salmon. The fish package, enshrined by colorful paper, was packed inside a smaller cooler. Serìna’s tongue felt funny again. Even with all the oranges, limes, apples and tangerines filling her other bag, her mind went back to the fish, caused her mouth to get watered again. Salmon. Her absolute favorite food bar none. She could barely resist the allure of it. She would have almost gulped it down half-frozen, if she had to. A terrifying temptation, one lying at her hand’s reach. What if she took a bite? After all…

”No.”

She sped up her pacing. Going back home would have helped, shoving the fish in the fridge too. Blyen would have helped her not to jump on it, like he always did. She looked up at the sky, trying to clear her mind.

Warmth. Heat. August.

The sun was shining bright over her, melting her fears, melting her doubts.

Plip. Plip.

She turned around almost immediately. A small drinking fountain, close to the corner of the road. Dripping water.

Plip. Plip.

As if it were.

Plip. Plip.

Rain.

Blackness around her. Her eyes wide open.

A storm.

That was what it looked like.

A terrifying storm, shrouding the city in a malevolent embrace of dark gray, turning every road into a river. Thunders. Lightning. Every noise startled her. Every noise made her scream. Gunshots. Howls. And rain. Soaking her hair. Her fur. Flowing down her naked skin, down her scars, her bruises. Her robe, her ripped bloodied robe, wasn’t covering her anymore—she had got rid of it. She had got rid of anything. She had nothing left. Absolutely nothing. Just her life. Just her skin. Her scars. Her terror. The knife, too, she had thrown it away after stabbing him. After suffocating him. After cutting his jugular. After his blood sprayed her. She saw him dying. She heard him yell her name in fear, while trying to rip her hair off as his last act of defiance.

Then, she stabbed him.

Again. Again.

A g a i n .

Plip. Plip. Plip. Plip.

Now the rain was washing her ashore, melting the blood that still sullied her, hitting her scars like fingers hammering the black keys of a piano.

Plip. Plip. Plip. Plip.

Barefoot in the rain, avoiding the puddles, the infected needles, the glass shards. Gritting her teeth more and more and every painful step.

Plip. Plip. Plip. Plip.

So deafening, the rain, that she couldn’t listen to her heart. She couldn’t even feel it. But the sirens? The dogs in the distance?

Louder. Louder.

She ran. Faster. In the rain.

A shining light.

A reflection in front of her.

She stopped. Gasped.

The barrel of a gun. Aimed at her.

In silence. In the rain.

“You killed your owner.”

A voice. Monotone. Calm. As water washed him too, flowing down his black hair, his tired eyes, his leather jacket.

Plip. Plip. Plip. Plip.

The rain was claiming him too, a divine deluge falling on the slimy streets of New Langdon, cleansing them of all the filth that accumulated on them. She looked at him, met his gaze.

Defiant.

Gritting her fangs.

More animal than human.

“Yes.”

A scathing response. The one she waited so long to give. If that meant dying, so be it. Better than an artificial life with an expiration date. The gun didn’t move, though. It stood there, aiming at her without a motion. Without pulling the trigger.

“Did he deserve it?”

The voice. The voice of that man. As tired as his gaze. Younger than he should have been. More grizzled than a boy his age had the right to be. Standing in the rain. In front of her.

“Yes.”

Anser gritted her fangs. Yes. He deserved it. Every scar on her back. Every cut on her thighs. Every bruise between her legs. All of them roared in a choir. A resounding yes. No ifs. No buts. No hesitation. Did he deserve to die? He did. He absolutely did.

The barrel lowered.

A jacket hit her. She almost made it fall, before grabbing it at the last instant.

“Take it, you can’t go around naked in this weather.”

His jacket. The hunter’s jacket. Covering her. Protecting her from the rain.

He nodded, pointed his finger at a nearby car. The flashing lights, the engine roar. It was waiting for someone.

“I’ll bring you to my place. As soon as it stops raining, I’ll get you out of the city.”

Calm words. Tired. Lifeless. Dull eyes. Anser couldn’t get it. Anser couldn’t trust it.

The howls behind her startled her. The yells. Coming. They were coming.

“Why?,” she shouted at the boy, “Why would you do this?”

“Because nobody’s going to pay me to bring you back to them.”

Plip. Plip. Plip.

Pli

The dripping stopped, under Serìna hypnotized gaze. All those memories, coming back all of a sudden. That had to be her lack of rest… or her kid sapping her strength. Or her newly awakened maternal instinct. Memories. Vivid memories of thing that were. A long breath. No rain in sight. Just another sunny day. With salmon to boot. Seaweed, she had enough of it at home. Rice? Rice too. So, fishballs was it, whether Blyen wanted it or not. Her decision. He’d say yes, right?

As he said ‘yes’ the first time she slid over him, laying naked in his bed, pinning him on the sheets. A reluctant, unconvinced ‘yes’. A ‘yes’ that felt more like pity than anything else. Pity for her condition. Pity for her lack of other ways to express her feelings. Because that was what dolls were made for—fucking. All those nice words, all those little flourishes to call them life companions, artificial friends, were just window dressing. Dolls were made to be fucked. That was it. That was their only real function.

The only way they knew how to say ‘thank you’.

So, Anser ‘thanked’ Blyen like that, in that cramped one-room flat peeking over the Nerifumo river, sharing her warmth with him while coldness gnashed at them. The only reason he didn’t stop her, the only reason he accepted it without fighting it, was to avoid her more pain, the pain of a refusal she couldn’t take without breaking. An awkward first time, one that neither of them remembered fondly. One she would have rather forgotten, after learning better ways to thank people. Cook for them. Smile at them. Go out on a walk with them. Tell them a funny story. Watch a movie together. Talk about comics. Go to museums. Travel the world. Laugh. Sit on the beach watching the sunset.

All better ways to say ‘thank you’.

All more intimate and meaningful than just sharing her body with them as a cold transaction.

But Anser didn’t know any of them. Sex was all she was bought to have. Sex was the universal currency to express her feelings.

Blyen changed it.

They changed that together.

In the span of eight long years.

Years that were going to end soon. With the birth of their little forever Summer.

And, of course, Serìna’s death. The inevitable end of her lifespan. One that, try as they did, could not be extended.

She caressed her belly once more. Blyen’s words stormed her mind again.

“I’m going to hunt foxes for a while longer. It’s the only thing I can do.”

“But why?”

“Because we need money to eat and I’m broke. I know it sounds bad, but…”

“I’ll help you.”

Selling her sisters for her gain. Helping Blyen track them down, so that they could afford paying rent. Paying his kindness back like that. A terrifying deal with the devil. One she chose over her sisters’ lives. One she felt ashamed of. Until she couldn’t take it. Not anymore. That’s when she found that job at Pangi Mart. That’s when Languilla helped her becoming who she was. That’s when Blyen changed.

Still hunting foxes, yes, but to help them escape. Until even that became too much for him, bringing him into early retirement. Finding a job somewhere else, a job paying him well enough to fill in for her maternity leave. A job to help Summer grow up without her.

Summer Chill.

A stupid name, yes.

The name of their beloved child.

Summer Kay-Yoko Chill.

The names of their beloved child.

A human kid, born from a fox and a man.

Carrying lives in her names.

Lives burning as candles.

Immortalized in her existence.

Not just for them, no.

For everyone else

Who should have never

Ever

Been forgotten.

Kay. Yoko. They would probably never have got to know it. They would probably never have learned of that last gift they prepared for them. But that was fine. Their kid, their Summer, would bring their memories with her too.

Serìna caressed her belly again, the cradle of an unborn infant that was waiting for her time to shine. Summer. A fine name, even if—again—not the one she wanted, at first. Erika Maria sounded better to her, but it would have been too selfish to decide that on her own. Still, Erika Maria rolled well on the tongue, it could even have been abbreviated to Kama, which she loved too. Yes, her little Kama, her legacy, the way she’d call her in her heart. Nevertheless, Blyen was right: Summer was a good omen for her future, a bright future full of light and warmth. The future they wanted for their daughter.

She sighed, shook her head.

If there were an afterlife, if she ever got to be reborn—somewhere, somewhen—and she were able to get pregnant again, she wouldn’t give up on her child’s name again. Erika Maria—her little Kama. That’s how she would call her first child. Nothing would have stopped her. Nothing at all. Not even her death.

Her stomach growled. The fish tempted her. Serìna rolled her eyes, browsed her fruit bag, took out a tangerine out of it.

Her fangs sunk into the orange skin, pierced the pulp, satisfying her cravings for a little longer. She picked up the pace, leaving the Pangi Mart parking lot behind, this time for good.

The longer she lingered, the less she was sure she could stop herself from wolfing that frozen salmon.

Not sharing that with her Blyen, though, would have been an utmost waste.