Zoli Finds His Anima
by Sara Genge
Zoli liked to hang around psychiatrists' waiting rooms to hit on the low self-esteem chicks. Neurosis was his game and he was good at it, but he hadn't counted on full-blown crazy.
"I'm telling you, I can't date you. I'm here to find my animus," the girl said. Her name was Padme? Pardoma? Ah, yes, Pandora.
Zoli wondered whether he should forsake Jungian practices altogether, but the paramythological interpretations were so convenient. Arguments could always be derailed away from his practical failings and into the terrain of the symbolic and abstract. Besides, sex with Freudians was kinkier than he cared for.
"I can be your animus, honey. For you, I can be anything you want," he said.
The girl chuckled, shaking her head. "The animus isn't a guy," she said. "It's the male aspect present in the collective subconscious of women"--she sounded like she was quoting something-- "You should get in contact with your anima, honey, you might become less of a jerk."
Zoli opened his mouth to proclaim himself innocent of jerkitude, but the woman scuttled closer on the bench and pressed his head against her chest. The proximity of the boob shocked him into silence.
"I'm opening your chakras," the girl announced, caressing Zoli's hair. "You have a beautiful anima, you simply need to let it out."
The door of the office opened and the girl stood up, stepped in and left Zoli alone in the waiting room.
As soon as Zoli stepped out of the office, he noticed something was different. He turned heads. The women who looked at him weren't prettier than the ones he usually attracted, but they seemed sharper, more together. Their eyes were everywhere. They held doors open for him.
The combination of gallantry and insult confused him.
He looked down at his body, fearing something drastic had happened to his sexual differentiation, but nothing had changed, as far as he could see. He was still a guy and he sighed with relief.
Suddenly, a knight appeared out of nowhere. Her hair flew in the wind, framing her face over her full-body armour. She shone like a diamond against the asphalt and skyscrapers. Without a word, she lifted Zoli up on her white horse and took him away.
End
Byzantine Pandora
by Trent Walters
In 1203, A.D., Pandora yawned and rolled aside the stone covering her box (well, coffin). A walk to Byzantine might do her good.
Her feet grew sore from walking, so she rubbed her tootsies by the gently lapping shores of Stone Lake--which, despite its name, was not a lake of stones but one of water. Dusk had fallen when she spotted knights in shining armor, rowing toward the palace docks. A hundred boats, at least.
She whistled shrilly. "Fishermen!" She waved.
"Shh! Keep it down!" one whispered, motioning his axe to emphasize.
Their chivalry did not impress her though the palace guard had waved at her atop his Byzantine wall. But, employed, he lacked the necessary gondola.
She wouldn't let those Sunday boaters get away with skimping on their manners. "Over here!"
A knight looked at the guard (who sighed at the female), shot an arrow through the guard's poor pounding heart, and told Pandora, "We will pick you up if you will shut your trap."
Pandora clapped her hands. She'd never played a game of catch the castle.
On the other side, she let herself be lifted out the boat and on the dock. She ran beside them as they clattered down the corridor. Somehow the residents were not surprised to see them. She gave pointers, helping knights to better slash and gouge. One knight paused to grab her by the shoulders. "This is not the time to play. When we go forward, you go back, lest one of us fortuitously lop your head off."
"Aw, shucks," she said and shuffled to the water gardens.
Someone yelled, "We've got the emperor!"
Pandora, skipping rocks into the pool, was roughly whipped around. "Who are you?" asked a handsome Byzantine. "You don't belong here. Tell me where you come from."
"From going to and fro across the earth."
His face was horrified. "Miss Fortune!" Maybe he'd have plunged her in the pool, but from a window, cheers arose, which made her glum--their having fun without her.
"The knights have seized the emperor," she said.
His face grew pensive. To his side, he drew Pandora. "Hastily, I judged you, oh, my good luck charm. I'll exit to Nicea. Meanwhile, next in line is witless Isaac Angelos. I, Constantine, will reign thereafter!"
#
He was right. He ruled the Byzantines--although without a crown--a reign that lasted months.
Chop Chop
by Trent Walters
It's the broken hum after a hovercraft crash. The chrome-plated policemachine, with black helicopter blades chopping out its back, prints out a traffic violation from its mouth. The craft steersman jabs a thumb toward Pandora, rocking on her feet at the street-corner in her green, knee-length pleated skirt--pretty as a picture--as though she were a guileless fold-out child in a forbidden men's magazine. "Jail-bait," says the wild-haired man, panting, "enticing the weak-willed with illegal proclivities, crossing at a green light just as I'm supposed to stop at the red! A green skirt means go--go for it now!" The cop processes this, inhales his ticket, and chops over to the girl.
The Bug-A-Boo Bear
by Trent Walters
The brokers of the pawnshop heard a burly growl before Pandora lugged the weighty chest inside and lifted out the fearsome heart of papier-mâché. Unlatching the catch in back, she emptied it upon the counter. Bats flew out, tarantulas crept, black widows scuttled, killer bees buzzed, and a praying mantis mantraed. A small, discolored, ugly pearl rolled off the counter and under the paw of the tallest pawnbroker who shook his furry head with sad regret. The other brokers laid upon the heart a heavy club to crush the papier-mâché. The brutish girl had got what she deserved.