(image: June Jordan, Poetry for the People. A Revolutionary Blueprint, Edited by Lauren Muller and the Poetry for the People Collective, Routledge, New York, NY, 1995; w/ Shanti Bright, Gary Chandler, Ananda Esteva, Sean Lewis, Stephanie Rose, Shelly Smith, Shelly Teves, Rubén Antonio Villalobos, Pamela Wilson (image via Reparations.club))
Knitted wool herringbone, above a green and white shirt on the left, short quick pleats and a purple polka dot shirt as a jacket.
Missoni's slim skirt suit, and knit shirt above the darkest green wool knit on the right, with a beautiful white silk doing what the best makeup does. Wool and acrylic jacket and skirt: Lip Duo by Dorothy Gray in Riviera Sand. Pumps, David Evins.
Chevrons en laine tricotés, au-dessus d'une chemise verte et blanche à gauche, de courts plis rapides et une chemise à pois violets en guise de veste.
Tailleur à jupe slim de Missoni, et chemise en tricot au-dessus du tricot de laine vert le plus foncé à droite, avec un beau soyeux blanc faisant ce que fait le meilleur maquillage. Veste et jupe en laine et acrylique : Duo pour les lèvres de Dorothy Gray dans Riviera Sand. Escarpins, David Evins.
Shelly Smith wears a set consisting of a white Trevira shirt, sleeveless V-neck cashmere jumper, cashmere cardigan and slim gray button-up skirt, by Stella Sloat for Dalton. (Anglo Fabrics, woven in America).
Details: Earrings, Trifari, narrow bracelets, Pierre Cardin for Castelcliff, longine watch, Serge Manzon Silver Collection, belt, French Belt Corporation. Maury Hopson hairstyle.
Shelly Smith porte un ensemble composé d'une chemise Trevira blanche, d'un pull sans manches en cachemire à col en V, d'un cardigan également en cachemire et d'une jupe slim boutonnée grise, par Stella Sloat pour Dalton. (Anglo Fabrics, tissé en Amérique).
Détails: Boucles d'oreilles, Trifari, bracelets étroits, Pierre Cardin pour Castelcliff, montre longine, Serge Manzon Silver Collection, ceinture, French Belt Corporation. Coiffure Maury Hopson.
I recently realised I hadn't finished reading the second Machine of Death anthology, so I remedied that... and got inspired to FINALLY finish one of the two stories (worth finishing) I had started writing for a (non-existent) third anthology and, lacking anything else to do with it, figured I'd post it here. I doubt I'll work up the interest in finishing the second given the amount of work it required (title hint that I've prolly misspelled bc now that I look, I can't even FIND the other story: KLUBDEJLIT), but here's the one!
Notes:
1. I borrowed some names from various sources to give a vague mental suggestion for each named entity, but they are used fictionally. You could honestly do a "Find > Replace" for each one, and the story wouldn't change (well, except Jim Smith, the JSS actually exists but I've never participated, for a reason, though even that, I could argue a good case for an "[any name here] Society" existing, for any such name).
2. The guy with the card seems like a non-sequitur, but one of the original requirements for MoD included the title MUST refer to a RELEVANT death, whether or not it's shown during the story. Otherwise, that section could be cut from mine with no consequence.
3. There USED to be a Tumblr w/ two of my other FINISHED (rejected) stories, but they seem to have been completely taken down... I did find that I'm the first item on this list, tho, which is flattering! (and I should fix the formatting on those, plus hunt down the other two)
---
"This still feels weird," Fox admitted, running a hand through his hair. He preferred keeping it as short as possible for work, but Shelly always protested whenever he mentioned setting up an appointment, so he tended to put it off until regulations required it.
"Well, we WERE invited," Shelly reminded him, ruffling his hair just as he'd straightened it out. "Rich eccentric offers to pay our way to National Harbor, why WOULDN'T we take them up on the offer? You and I both need a vacation, anyway!"
Hiding his annoyance, Fox brushed his hair back again. "Yeah, but... a whole convention of people with our name?" He glanced around, wondering if he was the only James Fox Smith, and his wife the only James Sheldon Smith, all the while still feeling like they didn't belong there.
"Embrace the weirdness!" Shelly punched him in the arm. "I mean, you married ME, didn't you?"
"A couple with the same name is one thing. Almost 2,000 people?"
Shelly shrugged. "So we have a common name."
"NOW we do. Not sure why you didn't want to keep your unmarried name."
She gave him a mischievous grin. "Because it's more fun that way!"
Fox choked back a groan. "Not fun when it comes to sorting the post."
"As if it isn't all junk anyway. Who even uses post anymore?"
As they approached the front desk, Fox nudged Shelly, pointing at someone with worn clothes and a dazed look. He seemed even more out of place than Fox felt. "What's he doing?"
Shelly glanced at him. "He seems lost. Let's go help him."
Fox worried about that but followed his wife anyway. As she approached and waved, Shelly asked if he wanted help finding something. Here, the man stared at her with a blank expression. Sounds tumbled out of his mouth but Fox couldn't understand them.
Then he noticed the man had a card in his hand with words on it, typed in block letters: JIM SMITH SOCIETY.
"Oh, you're in luck!" Shelly noted. "The convention is this way!" She took his hand and led him toward the registration kiosk. Again, the man babbled something incoherent, but Shelly seemed convinced that she had helped him and turned back toward the front desk. "Let's get checked in, then."
Fox had a strange feeling just then, but he didn't know how to act on it. Indecision won out, and he joined Shelly to get their hotel keys.
...
After they dropped off their bags, Fox and Shelly returned to the meeting registration kiosk to sign in. Neither could see the man from before. Fox wondered if they would find him again at one of the events, but he quickly forgot the matter once they reached the front of the line.
"Next," said one of the two clerks at the kiosk.
Shelly pushed Fox forward. "Age before beauty."
"Haha," Fox snapped. "Who was the one who proposed, again?"
"I didn't hear you complain about accepting."
Fox just shook his head and stepped forward. "Welcome, James," the clerk greeted.
"Uh, I actually go by Fox," he noted.
The clerk shrugged. "Doesn't matter, we aren't really issuing name badges. The organiser just wants everyone to get a prediction."
Fox raised an eyebrow. "A what?"
She twirled a finger in the air. "You know, the thing going around, about the cause-of-death prediction machines?" Here, the clerk slapped a machine next to her. "The organiser has a theory to test, involving everyone with the name 'James Smith' and their predictions. They think every James Smith has a unique prediction and wants evidence to support that theory. Therefore, your prediction is your name badge."
Fox frowned. He had heard of the machines, certainly, but he hesitated to try it out. "...is it mandatory?" he asked.
Shelly prodded him. "What's the holdup?"
Fox turned around. "I don't want a machine to predict how I'll die!"
"Why not?"
This side to his wife startled him. Shelly had always expressed her anxiety whenever he went on flights. Having it possibly confirmed that a flight could do him in might mean--
"Aren't you the one always freaking out at my stunts? What if it says IMMELMANN TURN or SPLIT S?"
"Then we'll KNOW, and you can get a career change, if you're gonna be such a coward."
"And you? What if RABID DOG is in your future?"
Shelly shrugged. "I got all MY shots!"
The clerk coughed. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need to keep the line moving, please. Also, if you don't get the card, the organiser won't pay your travel fees as promised."
Fox considered this. "It didn't cost THAT much to drive here, and the hotel is affordable--"
"FOX."
Shelly gave him one of Those Looks, the one that said he would sleep in the hotel lobby tonight. The Look he got when he said the suit she made him wear today felt stuffy. The Look when he wanted manageable hair. All of it accumulated into a crushing feeling that didn't go away until the Li'l Miss had her way.
"FINE," Fox grunted, holding out his hand.
The clerk pulled off the cover of the machine and inserted a fresh, sterile-sealed needle, wiping down the front with IPA. "Put your finger in the hole," she directed.
Fox considered, wary as he put his pinky inside. A sharp prick, and a buzzing sound as a card ejected from the slot on the device. He snatched it up and immediately felt a jolt as he read the words.
"EROTIC ASPHYXIATION...?" he murmured. "Wha--"
"SERIOUSLY?" Shelly snatched the card from his hand. "Oh wow, I guess the hardcore stuff is out now."
Fox sputtered. "You're happy about this??"
"It means your flights will all be fine!"
A shocking thought occurred to him. "No, it only means I won't DIE in one."
Shelly rolled her eyes. "Here, let me register, then, and I'll show you nothing's wrong."
The clerk raised a hand. "Uh, this is the Jim Smith Society?" she stated, albeit with hesitation.
"Sure is," Shelly agreed. "And?"
"Well... you're a woman."
Shelly glowered at her. "AND??"
"Don't be a bigot, Maude," the other clerk chided. "There are plenty of people with uteruses with variants of 'Jim' or 'James' registered. Remember that lady author you like, her birth name was Howard."
"No way, De'sha, you're trolling me."
"Check the wiki if you doubt me. Anyway, just do the job."
"I didn't--"
"It's fine," Shelly assured them, waving her hands as she calmed down. "I'm used to it after twenty-some years, believe me. Here, I can show you my license to prove it." She did so with such ridiculous speed that it proved just how much she got questioned on it. Fox still didn't get how his in-laws could foist the name on their daughter.
"Yes, I'm sorry." The clerk switched out the needle with a sterile one and gave the device a quick wipe down with IPA before replacing the cover. Fox thought it reminded him of his mother's diabetes monitor. "Anyway, please place your finger in the slot, ma'am."
Shelly did so, and the device spat out another card, HAPPENSTANCE, which she held up for Fox. "See? Nothing to get worked up about!"
Fox frowned. "Yeah, because yours doesn't mean anything. There's no real information given, so you have just as little reason to worry as before."
"OR, you're making a big deal out of nothing!"
"Erotic ASPHYXIATION?"
"It's not a plane crash or anything! You'll see it coming!"
Will I, though? Fox worried, suddenly having visions of spontaneously feeling randy while losing cabin pressure at high altitudes.
...
The main events wouldn't begin for an hour or two, so the couple returned to their room to relax. Fox admitted he could use a nap, but as he lay on the bed, Shelly cozied up to him in that way she did, all but shouting her current state of arousal. She had done so on a frequency that Fox had found difficult to meet, and while he hated leaving her frustrated, he couldn't deny it heaped an added stress on top of the usual amount.
"Mmm," she purred, pressing her face into his side, moving downward. "Bed's okay, but I like the pillows better."
Unconsciously, Fox found himself nudging Shelly away. She immediately stiffened up, and he could FEEL her disapproval without even opening his eyes.
"What was THAT?" she huffed.
"It's been a long drive," Fox countered. "I just want to relax."
Shelly hurled a psychic burst of anger at him, or he got that impression from her tone. "You fly for longer than we drove!"
"Yeah, and after those flights, I get tired."
"MISTER SMITH."
Fox opened his eyes, certain to be destroyed in an outburst. He wouldn't die from it, of course, but pain still hurt. "Shelly..." he whimpered.
"We finally get a nice hotel room for the first time in a long time, and you want to ACTUALLY sleep??"
He raised a hand. "Hello, Old Man Smith here."
"YOU'RE TWENTY-FIVE."
Fox dreaded a fight, but physical and mental exhaustion called to him with more force than usual. "Did you know George is already completely grey? What little of his hair is left? HE'S twenty-five. And the convention is three days! We have plenty of time to ruin the sheets."
"But I've waited all day for this!"
"Can't you wait a little longer?"
Shelly didn't respond so much as glare at him with That Look.
That Terrible Look.
That oppressive,
suffocating...
LOOK.
No more.
Fox felt something snap inside him, unable to stand another second in the same room as his wife. He literally felt like gasping for air, unable to breathe, like the room had been filling with carbon monoxide. He had to escape and find life-giving oxygen. With a start, he leaped to his feet and just barely thought to grab his room key before bursting out the door.
"HEY!"
Sheer adrenaline carried him down the hallway like a marathon runner in the final stretch, neck and neck with his competitors. He heard Shelly struggling to catch up as he rounded a few bends and pushed open the doors to the stairwell as a feint before quietly ducking behind an ice machine.
"YOU SAID YOU WERE TIRED!!" echoed through the hallway.
...
Fox slumped against the ice machine, the exhaustion becoming less as his wife's screams died out and he allowed himself to breathe. It hurt to push his wife away like that, but he had for the first time felt... afraid? Of HER?
He shook his head in disbelief. It didn't make any sense. Shelly just wanted attention, regardless of how tired it made him. Yet it felt like an insurmountable hurdle, the attention he could give a mere trickle to the woman who could consume the oceans.
After all sounds from the immediate area fell away, Fox stood, stretching. A walk would clear his head. He wanted to check out some of the events, anyway, if they went to the trouble of coming all the way out to National Harbor. If nothing else, the waterfront would be relaxing (he hoped).
Fox located an alternate stairwell after noticing a crowd gathering at the lifts. Strange, he thought, wondering if they had a particularly popular event for the Jim Smith Society. The stairs remained happily vacant, though, so he made his way down. At the bottom loomed a huge crowd, the likes of which he had never seen before, much less indoors.
As he stepped into the hallway, a loud voice cried out, "FOX!" He started as someone in a large bird costume raced toward him. "FOX!"
"Huh??" Fox stared at the costume bird, waving its wings at him in excitement.
"Can I get a picture with you?"
Fox flushed in embarrassment as a photographer walked up, camera in hand. He looked around and noticed, seemingly out of nowhere, more than half the people there had on some kind of costume or other outrageous outfit. Fox flushed again, remembering how Shelly had made him dress like THAT Fox. Did the bird really think...
"O...kay?" Fox agreed with some hesitation, turning toward the camera.
"FIGHT ME!" the bird cried, taking up a battle pose.
Instinct made Fox back into a defensive pose, when the cameraperson snapped the photo.
"Yeah, thanks so much!" the bird cried, running off.
No sooner had the bird stepped away than another costumed character walked up, this time a person with wild orange hair and some kind of Japanese outfit complete with enormous (hopefully fake?) sword. "Can I get a picture as well?"
Fox felt embarrassed at the attention but agreed again. "Sure!" This time he posed with the swordsman more like a meeting of pals, though he would've laughed to see any of his actual friends wear such clothing.
He slowly made his way through the crowd as every so often someone would give him a high five or ask for a photo, and after so many encounters, it even started to give him a bit of a swelled head. None of them could possibly have mistaken him for the "real" Fox Carradine, or they would ask for autographs instead. Yet he realised, most of them would never have gotten to meet THAT Fox. Maybe, he thought as he finally recognised one costume as a popular movie character with a cape and hammer, he was THEIR Fox.
Sure, he could spread a bit of joy, and it felt good, even if he piggybacked off someone else's thunder. It filled a void with a little cheer that otherwise wouldn't exist. What harm did it do? He even thought about asking for a photo with a girl dressed in a slinky red dress and purple opera gloves like the heartthrob in his favourite movie, but he loathed the idea of Shelly happening to come across it.
Shelly... he reflected on the turbulence in their marriage and how freeing this felt by comparison, the absence of expectations and shallowest of connections he shared with these convention goers. Not that he wanted to forge deep friendships with any of them purely on the basis of existing (although he wouldn't refuse new friendships), but somehow... just *existing* seemed to give new meaning to him, in this new context. It felt strange and magical all at once, like escaping from a cage he hadn't known existed.
Finally he grew tired of the excitement and wandered back to the staircase, heading all the way up to the top floor and finding an overlook above the main atrium. It amazed him just how many people had gotten together for... this couldn't be the Jim Smith Society?
"'sup, James," said a curious voice, like a lady masquerading as a gentleman.
Fox turned to see someone dressed as the angel... from that show about omens, he thought. "How did you know my real name?" he asked, forgetting the meet-up at the moment.
She shrugged. "Lucky guess. Saw all these regular folks running around with prediction cards instead of name badges and asked a few what was up with that. Couple mentioned the Jim Smith Society was having a meet the same time as the game fest, and it seemed likely you were with them."
"Ah. Makes sense." Two conventions in the same place? No wonder... Fox felt the blood rush to his face as he tapped his card. "Everyone's been assuming I'm in costume, but mine's a coincidence."
"I was wondering about that. Didn't imagine anyone wearing the prediction as part of a cosplay, even if that IS how he went out."
"Yeah." Fox sighed. "You know, I can't say it's a walk in the park having everyone think of you only in THAT way, as though all the other things that define me don't matter, just the embarrassing way I finally leave."
Angel chuckled. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll have ULCERATIVE COLITIS. I have to use humour to get through the day, that it's BUTTS DISEASE that will be my downfall."
"Heh," Fox snorted at the absurdity of it. "That's a good idea! How could I pretty mine up? BREATHTAKING SEX or something... well, that's kind of the same, I guess."
"Could be a choke hold!"
Fox grimaced. "My wife isn't THAT strong. She gonna buff up?"
"Whatever floats your boat! It IS supposed to be erotic."
"Well, I haven't had feelings for anyone but her, ever. I doubt it will be at anyone else's hand."
"Really?" Angel cocked their head. "True monogamy in this day and age is practically unheard of."
Fox found himself flushing at the realisation. "...it's almost oppressive how monogamous we are."
"How do you mean? You ace and she's nonstop?"
"Ace?"
"Asexual. No drive."
He squirmed at the idea of opening up to a complete stranger like this, but at the same time, it felt... liberating. He could finally put words to the thoughts clouding up his addled mind. "Maybe? I mean, it feels good, usually, but lately it feels like she's pressuring me to go farther than I want. Like, pushing for a kid, and I'm not completely onboard with that yet. Not that I wouldn't some day, just... we're still young, I feel like."
"Damn, Jim." Angel exhaled in astonishment. "I really think you need to tell her this, not me."
"I know, it's just... she can be PERSISTENT, and frightening."
"...do I need to give you the hotline?"
"Eh?"
"Domestic abuse hotline?" Angel reached in a pocket. "Not like wives can't also be abusive to their spouses."
Fox started to dismiss them, but a spot of panic told him that maybe he should listen when someone reaches out. "...maybe I'll hang onto it, in case."
Angel scratched out the number on the back of a card. The reverse side was Angel's name and website, specialising in cosplay. Fox accepted it gladly. "Thanks... Kamui."
"Haha, that's my business's name. Mine's Svetlana."
Oh. "Thank you, Svetlana."
"I hope it's just enthusiasm, but even with your spouse, you shouldn't be pressured into anything you don't want."
Fox nodded. "You've opened my eyes, certainly. Thank you."
With a wave, Fox left the angel behind and decided to return to the room, his shyness kicking in again after all the hoopla.
...
He hesitated at the door, the card key a hair's breadth from the lock. They would definitely have an awkward conversation as soon as he entered; he didn't imagine Shelly would spend that much time wandering around to look for him when he would eventually have to return to the room. With a sigh, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.
"So where were you," Shelly droned, staring at her phone while feigning disinterest. Even from the door, Fox could tell she only just held back her emotions, from her lack of interaction with the phone.
"Walked around," he responded with the plainest truth possible, "gathered my thoughts."
"What were you thinking about?"
He sighed again. "Us."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Her flatness of tone startled Fox, but for the time being he preferred it to the angry outburst he had feared she might throw. "I'm just saying a few things occurred to me today."
"Like what."
He touched Angel's card for support and took a deep breath. It felt like he would have to give a separate dissertation for each retort Shelly was likely to throw at him, investing an order of magnitude more energy consoling her than she spent inventing slights.
"I can't do it."
Shelly glared at him, The Look piercing his soul. "Do WHAT."
"You want intimacy literally every second we're together. I can't keep up. I am physically incapable of what you want from me."
Shelly stared at him like he was an idiot. It gave him a stabbing feeling in his chest that she didn't even protest, just give... The Look.
"Look, work is tiring. Play is ALSO tiring. We made love late into last night AND I had to drive us here. I'm tired, period. If you want more out of me this exact instant, you will get it literally out of my dead body, because it will literally kill me, and I'm using 'literally' as intended and not hyperbolically, need I remind you." He tapped the card on his lapel for emphasis.
Fox felt unnerved as Shelly's Look deteriorated ever so imperceptibly into a sorrowful one. "I thought you wanted to start a family with me," she whispered after several tense minutes of silence, curling up in the chair.
He raised his hands in a pleading gesture, taking Shelly's hand in his as he approaches her. "I do want kids with you someday. Well... one, anyway. It's just that it still *feels* like we're both barely out of school and hardly established in our respective jobs, and have you even seen how expensive kid stuff is? Not to mention healthcare here is terrible."
Shelly frowned at him, shaking her head in disbelief. "I feel like you're just giving me excuses."
"Maybe they are excuses! Maybe I'm just nervous about the reality of having children now. These days they do active shooter drills in kindergarten. KINDERGARTEN! Could you bear it if our child ended up in a shooting?"
"Stop trying to scare me," Shelly scolded, nevertheless looking away. "You make it sound like there will never be a good time to have kids."
"I'm not saying never, Shell. Just..." Fox rubbed the back of his head, knowing no "good" timeline existed. "I wanted to at least know I have some job security before making a kid depend partly on my livelihood. Stunt flying isn't exactly a regular job like yours. And before this prediction business, it was as likely I would end up buying the farm before the kid was even old enough to know I was ever alive. Regardless of my feelings about kids, I couldn't live with myself if I saddled you with one, alone."
Shelly couldn't look him in the eye for several minutes. "Does this mean you'll change jobs, or--"
"The odds are extremely low that flying will kill me." Fox chuckled. "I don't love flying THAT much! But as I said, it's not a secure line of work, either. I don't know if I want to go back to school and look into a different field where I'd stay on the ground, but I'd rather have a few steady options if we're going to go ahead with children."
"But that doesn't mean we can't fool around in the meantime!"
Fox cringed. Everything hinged on this point, for better or worse. "I gotta be honest with you, Shell," he continued, a hot flush crossing in his face as he brought forth the words he couldn't bring himself to so much as THINK before. "...even before this diagnosis, I'll call it, I'd been having second thoughts."
"You want a divorce?" Shelly cried, jumping straight to the worst case scenario.
"No, no... really, no." He took a deep breath, inhaling calm and exhaling anxiety. "I do love you, I'm sure. I just... don't know if I love you ALL the time."
"What does that even m--"
Fox steeled his nerves. "Please let me finish. Just once, no interruptions." He glared at her until she remained still. "You're... no, let me rephrase. When you want to make love every day, twice a day, three times a day... I can't keep up. I love you, and I don't want to be with anyone else, but every time, I feel like I have to rally the troops lest I face your disappointment."
Shelly started to interrupt, but Fox raised a hand. "I'm not done yet." She glowered but didn't speak.
"It's not that I don't love you, Shell. It's that, like I said, I'm TIRED. Everybody needs rest. I like having a good time, but I still need sleep! I need to recharge! I don't have unlimited ammunition to keep firing nonstop!"
He kept a finger raised when she looked like she would interrupt.
"I don't want you to feel like my rejection of you is an indictment of who you are. If I had the same drive as you do, we wouldn't even be having this discussion. Yet I can't feel comfortable letting you down. It's all I can do to hide my struggle from you, even though it hurts me to make these great efforts to please you. It just feels neverending, a chore rather than a pleasure. I'm SUFFOCATING."
He paused both to collect himself and to assess Shelly's reaction. She had stared into his eyes this entire time, but now her eyes drifted to the floor, her feet scuffing the carpet.
"I'm not saying never again. I'm saying it's currently too much. I'm also not sure what the solution is. If you genuinely need more than I can give..." Here he trailed off. He couldn't bring himself to suggest either a sidepiece or a separation. Instead, he gestured at Shelly to let her have a turn. "...let's talk about it."
She stayed quiet, the silence so eerie that Fox started to shiver. Finally, Shelly looked up at him again, tears forming in her eyes. "I've never wanted anyone but you," she insisted. "I don't want anyone else to fill in, either sometimes or permanently. I guess..." Her voice cracked a bit. "When we were growing up together, I always worried that someone else would steal you away from me, and I don't want that to happen."
Fox choked back a laugh. "Who would steal me?"
Shelly glared at him in frustration. "Are you daft? You look like a young version of the OTHER Fox, and you don't think anyone would steal you from me?"
With a tinge of guilt, he thought of the game convention goers and their unexpected fascination with his accidental cosplay. "Love is more than a mutual physical interest. No one else has the same history we have, the same personalities, the shared trust. Anyone who could 'steal' me just from their looks or voice would have to be a literal siren."
Shelly furrowed her brow in bemusement.
"The mythical women who lure sailors to their deaths with their songs?"
"Oh, THAT!" She laughed. "I was wondering what you saw in klaxons!"
Fox snorted. "NOBODY likes klaxons, sorry."
"Haha... well, while making love to you nonstop would be AMAZING, I do also admit it's messy, and sometimes I wonder if it's worth the prep time and clean-up. Not to mention that I'm not yet ready to poop out a kid or three if we're not careful." She looked deeply into his eyes, this time with a look of sympathy. "We can still snuggle, though?"
Fox smirked. "Yeah, snuggling's fantastic."
Shelly smiled at him with a touch of chagrin on her face as she rubbed his shoulder, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, Fox felt an intense... comfort. Where before he has been gasping for air, now he could breathe freely.
Then he doubled over with laughter.
"What is it?" Shelly asked, confused.
Fox wiped a tear from his eye. "Ironic. My death prediction just may have saved my life."
Okay... I think it's pretty obvious that Shelly Smyth is a fake account. In between her racist and insulting tweets, are ones like 'my vagine is oozing a thick sludge' and 'my daddy used to finger me and I turned out normal lol'
I don't think we need to take her TOO seriously. That said whoever is behind her is pretty unwell and needs to be dealt with...
