Good Boy

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Oh God, this prompt. THIS FUCKING PROMPT. It’s so much easier to parody a writer you hate than mimic an author you love (and the one time I tried the latter, I got accused of swallowing a thesaurus).

So, as many authors as I like out there with their awesome work, and them getting down with their bad selves, I’m taking the path of least resistance instead.

Translation: Suck it, EL James. All your base are belong to hatedom.

Day 12—2/5/16: “Perhaps the best way to learn about writing is by studying the work of other writers. Today, you will choose a book by a writer you admire. Read a paragraph of this book to get the author’s ‘voice’ in your head. Now, try to write your own story (or rewrite a story you have written) the way this author would have written it. Imitate the author’s style and the techniques he or she uses…”

“You’re Christian Grey, correct?”

What the hell is this shit about? I wonder, staring at the tiny woman who just walked in. My cock stands at attention as I think about spanking her with a cat-o-nine for interrupting me.

Fuck this shit. I don’t have time for this. I’ve got my CFO to bitch out, employees to fire, my wife to fuck into submission for burning the bacon this morning, and my dark and tortured past to blame for it. I’m swamped.

“Yes,” I say, glaring at her. “I’m Christian Grey, CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Incorporated International LLC.”

“Hmmm, yes,” she drawls, glaring down the rim of her librarian-style wire-rimmed glasses at me. Like I’m some fucking teenager who ripped a page out of an old, rare book. “I see. Yes, you’re exactly as heinous as I was told.”

Bitch, I could buy and sell a thousand people like you. Mess with me, and you will regret it.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “This will only take a moment. In fact, I just need you to answer one question: Do you enjoy making people feel like garbage?”

My eyes widen. Who the fuck IS this woman?!

Apparently, she sees something in my expression, because she then adds, “I see. You are most definitely everything they said you were: a cruel callous monster who gets off on pain and thinks he’s far more important than he really is.” The bitch then smirks at me. “This’ll be fun.”

“Get the fuck out of my office, you crazy bitch!” I yell, my fists twitching. This woman pushes me too far, and I’ll turn her into dog meat.

“I’m a bitch?” she says with a laugh that really fucking grates on my nerves. “That I may be, but I’m not your bitch. Of course, every bitch needs a male to mount her. I’m sure your little wife can agree with that. In fact, that just got me thinking…”

Then she’s muttering something in a language I’ve never heard, and everything warps around me. The smells become more acute, the distance between myself and the wall wider, the ceilings higher, and the woman grows taller.

No, she’s not getting TALLER, I’m getting SMALLER.

I see myself in the reflected image on the window. I’m no longer ME. Instead, I’m a goddamn chihuahua!

“That’s more like it,” she says smugly. “You’re nothing more than a small, annoying little creature who constantly barks for attention and bites the very hand that feeds him. Now if you’re a good boy, I might change you back one day. Until then, you’re coming with me.”

I try to cuss her out, but the only thing that comes out of me is a series of pathetic yipping noises.

“Hmmm. Okay then. First thing’s first—it’s obedience school for you.” She stares down at me. “Maybe, after a long enough time in this body, you’ll be more appreciative of the things you once had.”

She takes a leash and collar from her pocket and, though I try to run, she catches me easily and places it around my neck.

“Come along, Tiny. We’ve got work to do.”


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Mostly, I write stuff. And, like the Egyptians and the Internet, I put cat pictures on my walls. Also, I can read your Tarot.