Mutant Children

LAST night, we were all mutants on some great migration. All of us young, hungry, high-schoolers, high and on a mission. We were going to diners, buying movie tickets, shooting lasers from our eyes and hands, riding bikes faster than light, tracking our speed on global placement systems. We had ice cream and smiles on our faces. We were young mutants! And everything was as it should be. But, from who were we running from? No one would stop us if they caught us, we are not a force to be reckoned with. We're children! We are your children! We rode motorcycles and drove cars over dirt roads. Our hair long and untamed danced as we danced. It was all too real.

And before that, we were human. We were sitting around a television drinking tequila. "MAN SHOT" I would call out and the short and small, half-ounce shot glass would be replaced with a tall colorful shot-and-a-half glass. "I hate you, step bruh.." muttered from his lips, the birthday girls brother. And she was a lesbian, as was her man-dressed girlfriend. Butch and proud. Short and loud. The drinks were poured. The men and the women-men drank stoutly. "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY I GET HIGH IF I WANT TO!!" she shouts!  Smoke was not present this night, nor mirrors to tell us illusions and stories of vanity. We were of celebration. We were beautiful. The night grew tired and us tired of the night and we, the brothers, took our leave. And we were talking about girls. About girlfriends present and past. About appearances and realities. It became an honest talk, one too honest for my inebriated state and my body decided for me that now is the time to sleep. And I was home, walking up my stairs, keying the door knob, locking the gate, shutting the door, quietly removing all of my clothes, and rested with the tequila warm in me. My little girl cub crawled her furry paws up to the bed and lay with me. And we became mutants.