(Tales of an Ice Queen)
In the opalescent slivers of cracked ice lay the Goddess, blue lipped
and anemic, waiting to enfold her pursuer in her frigid embrace. She didn't
mean any harm. She had only followed the rules.
Access to the Kingdom of Beauty, Purity, and Perfection did not occur
over-night. Bloated affect, brooding beast-like, needed to be tamed, strained
and bottled. She began shaving herself of all extra flesh and blotting the
furrows from her brow. She applied refining face masques. The resulting
beige regularity required constant maintenance, but there were many establishments
ready to help. Such service centers offered the finest techniques in cyborg
care and meachanization. Here the interfering mind was swiftly siphoned
off and neutralized. The more innovative centers injected replacement material
at regular intervals. All the better to erase you with.
She was lucky. Equipped with a casing similar to the standard model
and penchant for somnambulism, she barely noticed her newfound stature.
Until people started to look at her as she mouthed through the glass. Fear
firmers and force feeding are fine for a while, she liked to say. But in
the end, selves must be dismantled quickly and painlessly. The others eyed
her shell enviously, watching her carcass petrify. *I'll never grow up*
was her mantra as the pack ice reached it's shiny tentacles inside her.
*Snow white, sewn tight, please grant the wish I wish tonight.*
New York, New York