It's always a treat when the first digit flips over :) FFF #40!

I was struggling a bit with the tone for this one. I couldn't decide if I should go for happy or sad. I hope the way I wrote it works.

Three stories left! I've received a challenge to do a mystery, a genre pretty far outside my areas of expertise. But we'll see. I'll read some Agatha Christie books for inspiration and see what I come up with. It'll be the last or maybe the penultimate story.

Happy reading :)

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Kimberley's Unicorn

1.

Kimberley's father sits at the foot of her bed, perched at the very end of it. Kimberley is sitting up, her back against the headrest and her Dora the Explorer comforter pulled over up over her waist. Her mother sits beside her, an arm around her shoulders.

"Are you starting to feel any better?" her mother asks and leans down to plant a kiss on the top of Kimberley's head.

"Yes," she says, "Can I go back to school tomorrow?"

"Well see, dear, it depends what the doctor says," she looks at her husband and says in a less-soft tone, "It's ridiculous that she has to stay home. My mom made me go to school no matter how sick I was."

"I know. They're just worried about superbugs. A drug resistant infection could get the entire school sick. I'm sure her screens will be clean tomorrow."

"You hear that?" she squeezes her daughter. "Daddy promises you can go to school tomorrow."

"Well, I didn't promise. Can we finish this story?"

He waves the book he's been reading from.

"We'd better let your father finish; he's anxious to find out what happens to the Ursula the Unicorn."

Kimberly rolls her eyes, "She's going to find her parents. That's how stories work."

Her father pushes his glasses up his nose and says, "Are you sure? We're only half through. Not all stories have happy endings."

He opens the book to the page he'd been saving.

Kimberly crosses her arms.

"She finds her parents."

"Well, let's find out for sure," her mother says.

"Let's see, where were we? Oh yes, Ursula was going to see the King of the Owls for help."

He reads the rest of the story, and at the end is forced to admit that Kimberley's prediction was correct.

"Daddy," she says as he finds a place on the white bookshelf beside her dresser, "can I have a unicorn?"

"'May I', honey, you're supposed to say, 'May I'," her mother says. "And besides, your birthday isn't for two months."

"To say nothing of the fact that unicorns aren't real, kiddo."

"They are too. She can live in the backyard. I'll feed her oats."

"How do you know they eat oats?"

"Horses eat oats and unicorns are like horses."

"Zebras don't eat oats," he says, "and they look like horses."

"But zebras are from Africa, daddy."

"She's got you there, Paul."

He glances upwards at the spinning ceiling fan and throws his hands up in defeat.

"The first unicorn that turns up in Petland in yours, Kimberly."

Outside the room, Kimberley's mother says, "She's really got her heart set on a unicorn."

"And you're not helping. Why couldn't your daughter want something that actually exists, like a puppy?"

She punches him lightly on the arm, "If she gets it from one of us, it's you."

In the kitchen, Paul pours them both a glass of wine.

"We spoil that girl far too much, Tanya."

"Well, could you? I mean -"

"That's not really my field. Well. No, I'm too busy at work as it is."

Tanya takes a sip of wine while smirking.

"What?"

"Nothing. You've just got that look on your face."

"And just what look is that?"

"Your forehead is all wrinkled up. You look as though you've just been presented with a puzzle."

"I don't have time to make our daughter a unicorn. It's simply impossible."

2.

Paul sits in his office, shoes off, feet up on his desk, fingers interlocked behind his head. He thinks that if Rodin were alive today, this is the pose he would have carved the Thinker in. He wiggles his toes. The sock on his left foot is beginning to wear through. There is a patch of sheer fabric where Paul can almost see his toe. He wonders idly how much time the sock has left. He can only hazard as guess as he has no data on the average daily wear and tear his socks suffer through. And he'd need some materials science data on the durability of the fabric. He could probably call some up though and although it was outside of his area of expertise, he could probably code up a decent friction model in no time flat. And —

He shakes his head and takes a couple of slow breaths while staring at the poster he has hung on the wall across from his desk. It is a drawing of a sinking ship; it's sinking because the bow of the ship isn't fully drawn. A figure is evident on the deck, holding a pencil and frantically trying to draw the rest of the ship before it sinks beneath the waves. It was a political cartoon, but it so nicely summarized how Paul feels on the job some days that he had in blown up and framed.

He works as a researcher studying ways to use genetics in the treatments of diseases. His team has created a breed of rats whose pancreas produces insulin that humans can use and is far better than artificial insulin. And they are currently working on cloned pigs that grow organs genetically tailored to be rejection-free for people needing transplants.

Paul sighs, takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. He hasn't been able to concentrate on work all morning.

A unicorn is ridiculous. What would be the point of them? Still, he thinks, genetically speaking they aren't that much of a stretch.

He puts his glasses back on, picks up the phone and dials the Archives department.

"Say, this is Dr. Marquedson up in R&D. Do you know if the narwhale genome has been sequenced? Do we have it on file?"

3.

Paul sits in front of his computer in the basement of their house, spinning a pen around his index finger.

"Daddy!" Kimberley says from behind him. "It's story time."

"Daddy will be upstairs in a minute, sweetie," he responds, somewhat absently, "Why don't you go brush your teeth."

"I already brushed my teeth."

"I'll be right there."

Kimberley stomps off and Tanya appears a moment later.

"If you're not up there in a few minutes, Paul, you'll be dealing with the mother of all tantrums."

Paul yawns.

"This simulation is almost over. I just wanted to check the results and start it running again. It takes a couple of hours to run through."

"Suit yourself. I'll be in the bedroom with noise canceling headphones on. I thought you weren't going to have to work at home anymore, anyway?"

"I've been working on our daughter's damn unicorn," he gestures at the screen. "This is goat DNA."

"Goats? I don't want a goat in our house. Goats eat everything."

"I'm just sequencing for size. They're about right for an animal that'll live in the backyard. Maybe I won't have to mow the lawn anymore."

Tanya leans over him, putting a hand on his shoulder and squints at the numbers scrolling by on the computer screen.

"Can you really make one?"

"There's no theoretical reason why I can't."

4.

Paul leans against the the fence surrounding one of his company's research pastures. The grass is a brilliant green, dotted here and there with splashes of dandelions. He's watching the awkward creature staggering around the field. It looks lost, confused.

"Drunk," says Margaret one of his research colleagues, "She looks drunk. Like she just knocked back a mickey of rye."

Paul sighs, shoulders sinking. The fence creaks as he uses it for support.

"I could use some rye. This is attempt number six. I was so close."

The small animal in the field lifts up her head and her pearl-coloured horn gleams in the sunlight. She trots a couple of steps towards a patch of thistle, then stumbles. Her head drops, embedding her horn in the turf.

"I don't think you can spend any more time on this, Paul. They're going to notice the resources you've been tapping into sooner or later. What do you think the problem is?"

"The single horn," he says, "It's a structural deficiency. Every single one of them has been hopelessly cross-eyed. I even tried splicing DNA from other horned mammals in."

"What will you do with her?"

He shrugs.

"Saw her horn off and send her to a no-kill shelter. She at least has no other problems. She'll have a long life."

5.

Paul walks in the front door and sees Tanya has spent the afternoon hanging party decorations.

Kimberley runs up to him wearing a pink, pointed hat with an purple pompom fixed to her head by an elastic band.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

"Happy birthday, sweetie."

He holds out the plush unicorn he's carrying.

"You couldn't find a real one?"

"No sweetie. I'm afraid unicorns aren't real."

4 responses to "Week #40 - Kimberley's Unicorn "

Erinn the bold wrote: Monday, 13 Oct 2008 20:44 I really liked this one, Dana. I can't explain why, really. Perhaps the short mention of narwhals, or the fun fun DNA splicing. Who can tell? Either way, good job.

Connie wrote: Tuesday, 14 Oct 2008 17:16 Yay! Finally a unicorn story! There aren't enough of these in the world.

Victoria wrote: Monday, 29 Dec 2008 21:03 Ahahah! Nice ending. My favourite part, though, is the image of the sinking ship with the man on board trying to pencil in the bow. That entire passage is just timeless. His mind wandering off onto the wear and tear of socks... I think this may be the strongest passage I've seen in your writing. I enjoyed the rest of the story, too! :D

Astrid Terras wrote: Wednesday, 29 Apr 2009 22:54 This is my favourite of your stories... at least thus far! I really really liked the ending. Very cool.

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