Daily Archives: February 7, 2019

Wrong Celebration by Brandon Scott

For Desi, who I bet was not expecting me to take the story in this direction.

 “What kind of bat mitzvah is this?”

“What do you mean, what kind? You said you wanted a bat mitzvah, right?” Heidi said, standing next to Georgia in a dark room. “I made it for you.”

Georgia tilted back her head and spied what appeared to be a small black creature stuck to the underside of a ceiling light.

“You made me what…? What did you bring in here?”

Heidi frowned at her, and then took out a small whistle. “What do you think? It’s a “bat” mitzvah. I got you bats.”

Georgia’s stomach bottomed out, her eyes going wider and wider. “Wait, did you say—”

That was as far as she got before the whistle let out a sound she couldn’t hear, and the bats all swarmed in a dark cloud, making small clicking sounds and brushing against Georgia’s skin with their leathery wings.

Georgia let out a small, sustained whine of displeasure. She was not a fan of rodents, or bugs, or even a good chunk of the bird population, so this was hell in a flying handbasket.

But, she also could not back up easily, as the bats formed a funnel around them—actively bunching up in whatever direction they were trying to escape toward.

“Why did you think—why would you…?”

Lost in the sound went her voice, and Heidi leaned forward to say something, likely another odd interpretation of the whole matter, when a bat hit her hand and knocked to the ground the whistle. At once, she had a panicked look on her face. She dove to the ground reaching for it.

“Shit—” Heidi cried out, suddenly pulling back her hand.

Georgia’s stress level rose to a nearly lethal level when she saw that the hand that had been hit was now bleeding.

“Where the shit did you get these bats!?” Georgia cried out before she flinched from a slash across her face; little fangs like razors scraping across her cheek. “Normal bats don’t fucking do—”

One landed on her then and plunged fangs into the small of her shoulder, and her head went a little light from the loss of blood. She even wobbled.

Heidi cried out louder than Georgia had ever heard—so much so the bats darted backward slightly, expanding their tornado of death. The one on Georgia’s shoulder flew off, leaving a bloody mark on her skin.

And Heidi then ran forward and crashed Georgia backward, pushing them both out of the doorway. The bats remained in the darkness, some of their eyes red and watching.

Heidi breathed hard, and Georgia stared at, into her, feeling pissed off, and losing blood fast.

“Well…” Heidi said, her face pale, “I guess you did bleed, right? Doesn’t that make you a biological woman?”

Heidi already had a bloody hand, but, in short order, she had a bloody nose (and a black eye) as well—as the heel of a pissed-off friend’s palm can strike rather hard, especially with enough adrenaline behind it.

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