Author: Susan Anthony

“Have you ever noticed how bratwurst looks like the dismembered parts of an amorous man?”

Jimmy replied, “I feel like we may have got away from recipes again.”

“You’re right. I was just reminiscing.”

Jimmy echoed the sentiment, “I understand. But those thoughts are unhelpful. Just re-center like we have discussed.”

Alice stuck her chin between her legs and took deep breaths. There was a tap on her back and she lifted her head, her guardian had arrived and was gently poking at her through her virtual reality suit, from a screen a thousand kilometers away, his voice echoing about her room.

“I don’t see it. Is it green?”

“Why would you think he is green?” asked Alice.

“Aren’t crickets green?”

“Real ones, maybe.”

“Oh yeah, forgot. How long do you have it for?”

“Until I think correctly. I’m being re-trained.”

Inside her head, Jimmy interrupted, “Re-aligned.”

“Sigh-o. Yeah, re-aligned. You are right as always, Jimmy,” Alice chanted through gritted teeth. “Always so very right.”

“Are you talking to someone? Is it Jimininy?” asked her guardian.

“I believe you will find that you, as my contracted guardian, should know that the word Jiminy, or anything similar, is not to be used. Clause 9071.2, Disney Galactic copyright 2076, sub-section Pinocchio / Cricket”

Tipping her head towards her shoulder, Alice sighed, “Can you give us a minute, please?”

“Are you talking to me, or Jimigo?” whispered the guardian.

“You,” she said to the screen, and she muted the call, as she had the bad habit of talking out loud when conversing with Jimmy Cricket, her embedded conscience.

Jimmy spoke stiffly, no doubt expecting the usual reprimand, “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I am feeling those feelings again for my guardian. He is a nosey prick. I don’t want him. You’re plenty.”

Jimmy, feigning confusion, but secretly flattered, “But?”

“But, exactly. I find I want to boot him in the butt. Any tips?”

“As part of the correctional program that you agreed to, in lieu of approximately twenty-six point five years without possibility of parole, I can tell you,” said Jimmy, “that I am very pleased, no thrilled, by your progress. There was a time that you would have wanted to do a lot worse. Certainly, that’s what your profile suggests.”

‘Is it weird that Jimmy sounds like Ryan Gosling?’ thought Alice. ‘Oh shit,’ she thought again, ‘Can he hear this too?’

Jimmy piped up, “Would you prefer to call me Ryan? I can search for his voice in the archives. Early or mid 21st century?”

“No. No, thank you. So, can I get rid of this guardian?”

“Well,” said Jimmy, “strictly speaking, you entered into this arrangement quite recently, less than six months, so we can invoke the GLL that you may remember from the contract.”

“GLL?”

“Guardian Lemon Law.”

“Let’s do it,” shouted Alice.

After Jimmy’s coaching, a few sentences, and it was done. A screen popped up and she was offered a menu of other options suitable for her range of offences, their compatibility shown as a bar graph. Across the bottom of the screen, a warning flashed green then red, ‘LAST selection possible. GLL not applicable.’

She chose.

On the screen, a hooded head appeared, no features visible. The scythe it was holding a little worrisome, but more concerning for Jimmy, the can of insecticide hovering over the keyboard, was unsettling.

The head spoke, “Shall we begin.”

Annie, feeling a sharp jab on her forehead, a sensation of mist in the air, and a hollow scream from Jimmy, nodded her compliance.

“Tell me about bratwurst.”