Intermediary

The translator stood beside the breakfast table, all spindly gray limbs. Chuck sat heavily in his chair.

"Morning," said Betsy. "I made pancakes."

"She greets you fondly," said the translator. "Though she knows it is irrational, she feels abandoned as you spend increasing amounts of time at work."

Chuck grunted.

"He remains groggy," said the translator, "and feels incapable of abstract emotional exchanges. He nonetheless greets you fondly. He would like three pancakes."

"This is so much easier," said Betsy, settling at the table. "Soon we won't need to speak at all!"

The translator smiled silently down at them both.

The Most Dangerous Grain

He twisted the cap off the milk carton and hesitated. This was the most hazardous part. No way to tell where was safe. Today he poured from the left. The cereal crackled as the milk hit it. He cringed. Nothing.

He relaxed and picked up his spoon. It was only after the first bite sent tingling numbness shooting down his neck and shoulder that he realized his error.

He scrabbled for the med-kit, but he was already losing motor function. The box wavered before him, his vision narrowing. The brightly-colored letters taunted him: “You never know when you’ll find it!”