May the Force be with Katie

I usually save my more personal posts for my livejournal, but this is so important to me I felt the need to discuss it on my more public forum.

This morning I logged on to Twitter (as usual) and discovered that a lot of the Geeks and Geek News sites I follow were pushing the hastag #maytheForcebewithKatie.  Since it's usually only big things that get passed around to everyone I follow, I clicked through to find out what the deal was.

I cannot fully explain the disappointment and sadness I felt when I read Katie's story:

She wailed, "The first grade boys are teasing me at lunch because I have a Star Wars water bottle.  They say it's only for boys.  Every day they make fun of me for drinking out of it.  I want them to stop, so I'll just bring a pink water bottle."

I hugged her hard and felt my heart sink.  Such a tender young age, and already she is embarrassed about the water bottle that brought her so much excitement and joy a few months ago.  

This. This still.  This is so not okay. I've been the victim of bullying "just because".  Luckily, it was never my love of Star Wars or Fantasy that caused people to pick on me, or if it was, I must have blocked it from memory.  One of my favorite memories is still when my mom picked me up early for an opening day showing of The Phantom Menace. I was so happy, I told everyone where I was going.  It was 1999; I was 11.

But somehow, in a world that professes to embrace diversity and love differences, we still have little girls being picked on for loving stuff that is awesome.

I dance ballet, wear skirts pretty much all the time, and enjoy talking about boys and reading romance novels.  This doesn't take away from the fact that I've read pretty much every fantasy book I've been able to get my hands on, know more about dinosaurs than my brother, can quote Star Wars, Monty Python, and The Lord of the Rings ad naueseum, and play D&D and WoW.

My heart hurts for Katie and other little girls (and boys!) like her who get picked on for not being "normal."  It's 2010. Shouldn't we be worried about other things?

The outpouring of support and love for Katie from geek girls the Internet over has been monumental.  I urge you, if you'd like, to post a comment for her here (or, if you're leery of creating an account, here).  Her mom and dad are reading them to her every night before she goes to bed.  And if you know a little geek-in-the-making or even a grown-up one, don't hesitate to show your love and appreciation for them.

May the Force be with you all,
Cell

Ghoul Hunting (Friday Flash)

The night is moonless.

Sean’s breath hangs frosty in front of him as he pants, breaking out in goosebumps as he presses his back to a cold gravestone.

There is a susurrus of sound, and then Mary is crouched next to him, her hair pulled back from her face, a sawed-off shotgun in her white-knuckled grip.

“Do you see anything?” Sean asks, his voice quiet.  Mary glares at him and shakes her head sharply.  With her free hand she points to the clip above her ear, her eyes narrowed in anger.  Sean grimaces in apology.

Sorry, he says through the telegrapher, I’m out of practice.

Of course they’re out there, Mary says, even her mental voice coming out clipped.  She turns her back to Sean and peers around the gravestone.  Four in shooting distance, who knows how many more over the next hill.

Is this it, then? Sean asks, putting his hands on Mary’s back to try to see around the grave with her. Did we find the nest?

Probably, she says. There’s only one way to be sure…

With a tight exhalation of breath, Mary moves the shotgun until it is against her chest and rolls from behind their grave to the shadow of the neighboring mausoleum.  Sean gasps, a short choked sound then scrambles for the pistol in his shoulder-holster. 

Around the edge of the grave, the ghouls are moving, their feet barely touching the ground as they dart around stones, slip over branches… The only time they make even a little bit of noise is when they go underground, the sound of their unnaturally long fingers pulling at the dirt the only thing that can alert you to their presence.

They’re not like the zombie’s he’s hunted before. Zombies are slow. Stupid. Easy to kill.  And the biggest difference about zombies? You can hear them coming.

If you hear a ghoul coming up through the dirt behind you, it’s already too late.

Sean! Mary hisses through the telegrapher, and he locks his knees to keep from jumping and alerting the ghouls to their position.

What?! He says, shifting the pistol to his other hand to unsnap the knife at his thigh.

They’ve stopped moving, Mary says, her mental voice tight and controlled.  When he looks over, her eyes are huge, the cat-slit irises open as wide as possible.

What do we do? He asks, tightening his grip on the pistol.

Try not to die, Mary says, deadly serious.

There is literally no sound in the cemetery now. The trees are not rustling, the grass is not moving. The night birds that usually dog their footsteps all through the night are silent.

Sean risks peeking his head around the edge of the gravestone he is crouched behind and is greeted with nothing – just the dark on dark shadows of the clouds that are passing over in a breeze that cannot be felt on the ground.

Sun up is three hours away, Mary says finally.  There is a sound like a shot and Sean tries not to jump as he watches Mary open the barrel, check her ammunition then close it again. Apparently she has decided that silence is no longer necessary.  With trembling fingers, he checks his own gun, loosens the strap around his knife, pushes his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead.  Mary nods at him and stands, her finger against the trigger.

In the distance, the low howl of a ghoul is joined by another. Another. Two more. Six. A dozen. Behind him, Sean can hear the unmistakable sound of rock and dirt being scrabbled at by long, demonic fingers.

Sean stands and backs up until he feels his heels press against Mary’s. She is barefoot in the graveyard, her neon toenail polish completely at odds with the rest of her utilitarian outfit.

“When the sun comes up, I’m buying you pancakes,” Sean says out loud.  Mary pulls the clip from her ear and puts it in the breast pocket of her vest.

“If the sun comes up,” she says.

The ghouls’ howling escalates until it is the only thing Sean can here.  They are all around them now and through the gloom he can see them, their long arms trailing against the ground, mouths gaping open, needle-sharp teeth as long as his forearm. 

Mary raises the shotgun to her shoulder.

The leading ghoul charges.

Performing surgery on my car. Except for the car it's like waking up on the surgery table and there's a guy in a suit holding your heart and he says "i'm actually a business man, not a surgeon. Don't worry though, I'll get this brain back in"

"We're gonna have a business! We're gonna train carrier parrots!" "We're gonna have a business. We're gonna lose carrier parrots." - Me & Darren