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All at once she remembered that she, Shorty, had a job and needed to go to it. Her fuzzy mind suddenly snapped into focus and she fell out of bed. The tabby cat pulled on a puffy robe in sort of a purple colour and shuffled down the stairs of her solitary abode. Today, however, it didn’t quite seem so solitary. “Hullo,” a yellow cat greeted her. He was sitting at a kitchen table (her kitchen table) and drinking orange juice (her orange juice) straight out of the carton. Her mouth dropped open. She blinked once or twice, then spoke. “And who might you be?” “I’m Mistoff Gibbons,” he grinned, shoving three pieces of toast simultaneously down his throat. “I’ll be staying at your house from now on.” “Oh,” Shorty murmured wearily.
* * *
She completed her morning routine and set off for work, trying to ignore Mistoff, who was quickly consuming all the food she had in her house. As she walked, she composed a song to herself.
I’m feeling very bad today, Shorty wondered if she ought to get a car or a bicycle or something, as it was a teense of an inconvenience to walk the ten blocks commute to her workplace every day. But no, walking was good fun, and good for her too.... “Oooff!” A red balloon floated up seemingly from nowhere and smacked Shorty in the face. She almost burst into tears, but walked on, noting that the balloon was following her from about ten feet in the air. I’ll just wait till it floats down here, she thought vengefully. It’ll float down and I’ll pop it... But it never floated down, not once, and she despaired, adding a new verse to her song.
I’m feeling very bad today, Shorty ignored the balloon much the same way she’d ignored Mistoff and stamped into the vast building that was her workplace, wandering into a lift and then heading down a few long hallways before reaching her little corner of the Cornerian Army Headquarters. She worked in a small division of the computer design sector, and why the Cornerian Army cared about that sort of thing except to have a monopoly on all the new software had always been beyond Shorty--but it put food on her table, so what did she really care? Of course, now it looked like it’d be putting food in Mistoff’s mouth, and maybe not ever actually onto her table. She sat down tiredly at her computer and stifled a yawn, then booted it up and stared blankly at the empty screen. “There is no picture or words,” she said aloud. “Of course not,” said a cheerful raven who popped out of the doorway. “Your department has been wiped out! There’s nothing on the computer anymore!” “Wiped out...?” Shorty tried to hydrate her suddenly dry mouth. “Of course.” “As in I no longer have a job?” “You got it!” grinned the raven, maddeningly upbeat. Shorty took a deep breath and promptly fainted.
* * *
She walked home, feeling worse than ever. She would have added another verse to her song but was simply too miserable. She opened the door to her house and tried not to cry right there. “You’re home early,” Mistoff said pleasantly. She stared at him for a full minute in silence. Then she couldn’t stand it. “OUT!!” Shorty shrieked hysterically at him. “OUT OUT OUT OUT!!!! I just lost my job and I didn’t want you here in the first place! Get...out!!! Why are you here, anyway?!” His face twisted down into a frown. “I...just....I just though I could count on you to help me....” Shorty gulped. “I guess you’re not as caring as they saa-aai--id!!” Then Mistoff burst into tears. Shorty fainted again.
* * *
When she came to this time, she was lying in a grassy field. She sat up and stared bleakly around, noting the lack of any landscape that was not grass. She stood up and struck out in some direction; it could have been east or west or north or south; it could have been straight up for all she knew or cared. The tread of Shorty’s dark brown paws on the earth and grass was completely inaudible, and except for the sound of her breathing and the occasional buzzing of a fly all was silent. She walked on for a long time. It could have been an hour or two hours or three weeks or five years. Shorty couldn’t recall there having been any nightfall, but she couldn’t recall much of anything about that time except that it hadn’t been very pleasant by her standards. Finally she came to an almost sheer cliff that rose up in front of her face, and she almost ran into it before she noticed that it was there. She stared up at the almost endless wall of stone, then sat down on the ground and cried. “I do say that if you’re not going to stop that ‘orrible noise very soon you’ll be out of luck very fast,” a voice spoke. “AAAAAAAAHHH!!!” said Shorty calmly. “Good merciful heavens! That one’s even worse!” Now the owner of the voice became visible, slipping out of an almost invisible entrance to a cave. He was a black panther wearing a gaudy yellow suit and carrying a briefcase. “Now are you going to sit there and bawl all afternoon or are you going to come with me and get a recording contract?” Shorty did not know what to say. “Nevermind, come along anyway,” he said, annoyed, and grabbed her paw. “Up we go then.” Then he snatched the cliff face with one paw and used the other to drag her up along with him. “Eeeek!” offered Shorty helpfully. “Now that one I really like,” he muttered. A few minutes later, Shorty ended up at the top of the cliff, not having even the slightest idea how she had gotten there so quickly. “Now, kid, you wanna go get a contract, or what?” “Err....well yes, I suppose, but why?” This question had not occured to the panther. “Ehh....just seems like a fun thing to do?” “Okay,” blinked Shorty, hopelessly confused.
* * *
“First off you’ll need some groovy new threads,” said the chicken critically. She was ticking off items on a list she had on her clipboard. Shorty stood feeling very distraught in an empty recording studio with a chicken standing directly in front of her and the panther (his name, it turns out, was Clive) standing across the room. “Like what?” She asked. “Something with a flower on it,” suggested Clive. “Here, try this.” He opened a closet and weeded through thirteen different gaudy yellow suits before finding a long purple dress, adorned with a large daisy emblazoned across the front. He threw it more at her than to her, and it landed on her head. She pulled it off and stamped into the other room to change. When she emerged, the chicken eyed her some more. “The dress is good,” she said, “but you can’t wear those shoes.” “I’m not wearing shoes,” Shorty protested helplessly. “The braids are a nice touch,” said the chicken with a thumbs-up. “The braids are good. Okay, we’re done with you. Write yourself a few songs and come back when it’s time to record.” “When will it be time to record?” Shorty inquired. “About six months,” Clive estimated. “Give or take.” Shorty almost fainted again but stopped herself in time. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” “Technicalities,” the chicken dismissed. “Goodbye. See you in a little while.” * * * Confused, disoriented, and just as broke as before, Shorty found herself out on a sunny street outside the recording studio. She shuffled across the street, her new dress rustling in the wind, and sought the air-conditioned solace of a coffee shop. Now she knew she had no idea where she was, because there were no coffee shops called “Sandia’s House of Evil, Wickedness, and Cappuccino” in her area. It seemed almost bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. The decor was a dark magenta with a liberal smattering of purple here and there, and some golden trimmings. The air smelled heavily of coffee and incense, and although the air was clear it gave an impression of being misty. Shorty sat down at a glittering green table and ordered a chocolate bar, a slice of cheesecake, and a mug of espresso. Then she took in more of the surroundings while she waited, huddled in a corner. There was a group of long-haired musician weirdos standing in the corner and staring at various people, and now she noticed that every table had a black wire cat-shaped candle holder with a rainbow coloured candle melting peacefully away in it. On a stage in the corner were dancers dressed in elaborate costumes doing some sort of interpretive dance. In every other corner (there were quite a few as a result of the shop’s irregular shape) was a person sitting on a pillow and strumming a guitar or playing a flute or something. Shorty knew that under different circumstances she probably would have liked the place very much. Her order arrived shortly after, and if it weren’t for the fact that there was a cat living in her house and also the fact that she didn’t really know where her house was anymore she would have been in nirvana. “Write some songs,” she reminded herself. “I should finish the song I was writing earlier.” She closed her eyes and tried to think, but it was no use. She’d had a very confusing day, but it wasn’t going to give in and offer her some inspiration. Giving up, Shorty stayed in the quiet tranquility of the coffee shop for an hour. When she was going, she remembered with a shock that she didn’t have any money, and so couldn’t pay for her order. Fearing the worst, she shuffled up to the counter and started to explain the situation, fiddling nervously with a pocket on the dress. To her astonishment, a roll of cash was in the pocket. Shorty abruptly stopped explaining and forked over the dough. The cashier stared at her for a full minute, his mouth hanging open in a most unattractive way. Finally he spoke. “She paid!” he almost screamed with excitement. “Hey guys, this one paid!” Shorty felt another faint coming on and tried to ward it off. “What do you mean, I paid?” “Do you realise you’re the first person who’s paid for their order here since 1972?” he grinned. “Nineteen seventy-two?” Shorty repeated, bewildered. Corneria doesn’t measure years the way we do on Earth. “Guys,” the cashier said to some ill-groomed guitar-toting beatniks in one of the corners, “If this trend keeps up we can stop robbing the bank!” The beatnikes raised a loud cheer, and soon everyone in the cafe was shrieking with joy. Everyone seemed to know what was going on, so Shorty giggled nervously and pretended likewise. The entire population of Sandia’s had risen and were bearing her on their arms, carrying her out the door like some deranged crowd of sports fans-- it seemed that she was the athlete. Shorty tried to conceal her incredible feeling of terror. They carried her down the street for at least three miles and then almost flung her onto a stone pedestal. “Speech! Speech!” the storeowner yelled, and soon they were all chorusing. “Speech! ...Speech!” Shorty knew this would be a very bad time to faint. “Hello, citizens...” she began. “It’s...always been my dream to rule a small country...” It was a very bad time to faint, but she did it anyway. She was very skilled at fainting.
* * *
Black and shiny, now you’ve finally gotten everything you wanted and you’re taunted by the power that you really don’t want anymore... Shorty sang the verse inside her head, all on one note, with no appropriate place for a line to end. She had awoken in a blank peach room about ten minutes prior. There were no windows, doors, or adornations of any kind. Just peach, illuminated by an unknown light source. So she was sitting and working on her song. It was actually kind of nice in here, nothing to worry about...didn’t have to worry about evil people coming in through the door, since there wasn’t one...same thing for windows.... “YAARGH!” screamed an evil person who had just come straight through the wall. “AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!” screamed Shorty. She stood up abruptly. For the first time in three or four days, she had her wits about her and went back into a fighting stance. The evil person was wielding a rather long sword and didn’t look very friendly. He was grinning nastily. When he saw that she had gotten into position, he got into a rather clumsy stance of his own. “Aiiii!!!” Shorty caterwauled, kicking him very hard in the face. He fell like a tree, actually denting the floor with his head. She was half afraid she’d killed him, but then he started to snore. Shorty stepped over him and went to the spot in the wall he’d come through, feeling it very carefully for a hint as to how to get it open. She tried for twenty minutes, then finally smacked her head against it in frustration. The wall opened and she fell three stories, landing on a very large marshmallow. Shorty shrieked in a very small voice, then assumed the fetal position and tried to make herself go to sleep. It didn’t work very well. Something hot swooped by her head. It couldn’t have been more than three centimeters away. Shorty began screaming uncontrollably, not stopping even as she felt weight being added to the marshmallow. Something was landing. “AAAHH! AAAHH!! AHHH!!! AAAAAAHHH!!!!” “Are you....uhh....okay?” “AHHH!!” “Geez, Fox, we got a live one here....” “AAAAHHH!!!” “Excuse me, miss?” “AAAAHH!!!” “Miss? Can you be quiet?” “AAAHHHHH!!!!!” “CHICK! CLAM IT!” “*elp* Ahh ahhh okay....” Shorty breathed in little gasps, trying to calm her terrified mind. She found herself staring into the faces of two evil-looking people. “Nooo!!” she screeched. “Not again! I can’t!” “We’re not going to hurt you....there are people who can help...” Her vision slowly focused. Now they just looked kind of sinister. “Ehhhhh....” “Do you know who I am?” the first voice said gently. “Nooooo....” she sobbed. “Basket case,” the second voice sang discreetly. Shorty rubbed her eyes and tried again to figure out who these people were. One was blue. “Aaaeeeeelp!” she cried upon realising this fact. “You’re blue!” “Basket case,” the blue one repeated, more urgently. The other one, who was brown, shoved the blue one. “Doesn’t matter, we still have to get her somewhere other than here...” “Are you guys famous?” she asked, her voice cracking. They both turned away in mock humility. “Aww, shucks,” said one. The blue one, she thought. “Hey look, man, this is lots of fun and all, but we got places to go,” the brown one said at last. “So we can have ROB beam ya up or something.” “I don’t get it,” Shorty said in a miraculously calm tone, wiping her nose and climbing to her feet. “I don’t know where I am or really who you are or who Rob is or how I even got here. I don’t know what happened to Mistoff. Or the recording studio. Or the coffee shop. Or the peach room. I just know I’m here...and I want to go home...” “Where do you live?” “1334 Beechwood Avenue.” “Yeah, yeah, but, like, where’s that?” “It’s in Whisker Town....that’s a neighbourhood...” “Where is Whisker Town, dear?” “Uptown Corneria City...” “Hold up a second, kid.” The blue one turned to the brown one. “Heck, Fox, how’d she get here of all places?” “I dunno....I don’t think she knows...” “Of course she doesn’t know, you idiot. That’s what she’s been telling us.” “Well, you don’t hafta get angry! Okay, listen, kid, what’s your name?” “Shorty Blackwell,” she said in a whisper. Falco started to giggle. “Shorty...heeheeheehee...” “Please don’t....I get enough comments as it is...” she looked hurt. “Aww, sure, you’re not short, kid. Stand up and show us how tall you are,” snickered Fox. “I am standing up!” Shorty exclaimed. Falco and Fox had a good chuckle, then ran back to their Arwings and signaled ROB to beam her up. Shorty felt lost again. “What are you going to do?” “Teleportation,” Falco said. “It’s big these days.” “That’s where you, like, take apart my molecules, right?” she said nervously. “You got it,” he said. “It doesn’t sound...safe.” “Oh, sorry, Miss Peach Room wants to talk about safety? Miss jumping out of the building? We’re so sorry we caused you any inconvenience.” “I..uhh.....” she started to sniffle again. “I’m...sorry....” “Oh schiest Fox, she’s crying again.” “Hey Miss Blackwell, don’t mind Falco, he treats everyone like that,” Fox said apologetically. “Are ya ready?” “No!” she shrieked. “Okay!” Fox yelled back gleefully and told ROB to go ahead. A minute later Shorty found herself miraculously in one piece on the bridge of the Great Fox. “Aaaaaahhhh!” she shouted. About thirty seconds later, Falco and Fox came in from the docking bay. “Okay, it’s gonna take about three hours to get you back to Corneria.” “I’m not on Corneria?” Shorty asked pathetically. “No, Toto, this is Macbeth.” “But...I...that’s not true....you’re evil! No! Stop! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!! You’re not real! I’ll just open my eyes and I’ll be back in bed...and there won’t be any orange juice anymore! There won’t be a red balloon....it’s just me....it’ll just be me....or maybe I’m not real either....” She squeezed her eyes shut very tightly. She opened her eyes. They were still there. She collapsed on a chair and gave up. Fox set the coordinates for Corneria City. Two hours later she found herself standing in front of her house, wondering if there was still a chance she was imagining all this. Then Star Fox was gone and there was only Shorty. Everybody’s talking faster, hurry up get me a master, I don’t have much time to lose....and besides I’m polishing my shoes.... Shorty tried the front door. It was locked. She went to the window, expecting to see Mistoff laughing at her. She saw nothing. Cobwebs. There were hulking white shapes everywhere. That’s my furniture, she realised with a start. I’ve gone forward in time.... Then Mistoff pulled up in a mint green convertible. “Hey Shorty baby! Been redecorating!” Shorty thought of her life. She was a nobody computer programmer.. “was” being the operative word... If she lived in this house again, it would be with Mistoff...and she would lose it soon because of no money. Then she thought of a recording contract and a coffee shop and a small country of her very own. “Where did you take me before?” she asked. “On Macbeth? Where did you take me?” “I didn’t take you to Macbeth,” he said. “I’m too cheap. I mailed you to Baroge.” “Baroge? Where’s that?” “Few miles down,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Thousand miles or so.” “I understand,” she said, trying to sound like she understood. “Mail ya again if you don’t like the colour I picked for the curtains,” he said with a wide grin. “What colour?” “Chartreuse.” Shorty fainted.
* * *
When she awoke, she was lying in front of Sandia’s House of Evil, Wickedness, and Cappuccino. One look at the calendar told her it was six months later. Now that she thought about it, she remembered washing dishes for Sandia’s for quite a while. “There you are!” a voice rang out cheerfully. It was Clive. “Good, you haven’t gotten your dress dirty! Time to record!” Shorty smiled and pranced inside and upstairs. Then she gathered seventeen different musicians and taught them her song. Then she found a couple of losers out on the street and taught them her song. Then she recorded. And life was good. And at the moment, that was all that mattered.
I’m feeling very bad today,
I’m feeling very bad today,
He built a house up on a hill....
He bought another car today,
He’s going, he’s going,
he’s going mad...
I’m feeling very bad today, Black and shiny, now you’ve finally gotten everything you wanted and you’re taunted by the power that you really don’t want anymore..(ba-ba!) more....(ba-ba!) Everybody’s talking faster, “hurry up, get me a master...I don’t have much time to lose, and besides I’m polishing my shoes..”
Crossing the street,
I’m feeling very bad today
(I’m feeling bad), I’ve been away, I’ve been away, I’ve been away, I’ve been away. I am, I am, I am, I am, I am, I am my own, I am my, I am my own, I am, I am my own...
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