...but my ass still looks fabulous.
On one fine Scottish morning (no rain just an endless sea of grey instead of a sky) I stopped by the library on my way to work.
This is a usual ritual of mine [going to the library I mean not working (although working is a ritual I suppose just an unpleasant one... ah well)]
as I do most of my reading while walking to work (and sometimes back but it being night raises reading and walking to a new, more challenging level but anything is worth doing for that last chapter...
Now, I following the ritual with the exact steps, turned right to the FICTION section then closed my eyes (just peeking a bit to avoid teenage romances and vampire stuff) and select a few books on random.
I usually ruin this by putting books I don't like straight back but ah heck, we need a bit of mustary (that's right auto-correct, it's mustary) in life.
This time I was lucky. I had a book about Norse Gods in 2000AD, a comic about a journalist figthing corruption and a small anthology of Science Fiction from the 50's.
Not bad at all.
Several hours later, having exhausted the first two (and subsequently booking the rest in the comic series) I got to the anthology.
Science fiction as we know it really started going at the late 50's and the 60's after it. Before that it simply wasn't popular condemning SF books in obscure corners or in small articles in the (very) few magazines that published that sort of stories.
So these stories weren't much to write home about, the hero's we're perfect, the dames were beautiful and the Science Fiction was magic. No explaining just here is this SCIENCE vial which will make you fly *Wacky story ensues*.
So while not my favorite kind they still had this way and style which appealed to me (and I guess to anyone who likes retro.)
It being a month ago I do not remember most of the stories (something about horse tranquilizer?) but one did stick with me.
It was a story about a poor unlucky sod who had the woman of his dreams but unbelievably she rejected him. Luckily the news quickly passed thought the circle of men, in particular a famous SCIENTIST heard about it and wished to help this truly unlucky fellow.
So he went into his lab and conducted science ending up with a small vial, purple green in color (that color that 9 month cabbage gets I assume). Tracking the stubborn woman he waited until she was distracted and poured the vial into her food which, when she returned she finished.
A few days pass and the guy who told the scientist about the unlucky sob meets the now lucky sod looking extremely happy. Apparently the girl recanted, told him she loved him and would marry him as soon as possible.
Puzzled as to the how the guy visits the SCIENTIST to find out what exactly he did.
Our man of science quickly explained that his vial PERMANENTLY changed her bodies ability to sense heat. The world turned extremely cold for her and the only source of heat she could feel was from the embrace of the sod with his amazing maleothermic energies.
(I dread to think how that happened.. Panicked by the now freezing world she runs into the sod who tries to declare his love and when that fails tackle-hugs her perhaps?).
The guy expresses admiration and they share a chuckle about the situation.
The story ends in a happy note explaining that the Groom and the Bride looked radiantly happy.
But is it? O.O
Fifty years ago that would be that but not I cannot help but think.
What happens next?
Maybe the marriage stays in one piece for a few years.
She might detest or like him but she needs him nonetheless.
He, sensing that he holds some sort of power over her, abuses this
(nothing major, just a classic 50's husband)
But then he get's bored.
Our unlucky sod falls out of "love" as fast as he fell in and he abandons her.
The world has turned into a freezing hellhole for her.
Maybe she tries to go with another man, then another and another.
None of them being able to warm her completely (as the vial was attuned to the heat of the sod) she despairs and sinks to dejection, desperation and eventually suicide....perhaps by immolation which would be suitable for our now ironic outlooks.
Now it could be my sick brain just making up stories (partly, my friends, partly)
but what was supposed to be a light hearted Sci-FY romp in the fifties turns to an outright horror in our present mindset. This would probably work with many old stories but that's not what gets me.
What I wonder is, perhaps in fifty or a hundred years, our stories will be interpreted differently.
Everything we see in a way will be seen in a (slightly) different way.
Misunderstandings and amusing antics will ensure most assuredly.
SO WHAT I'M TRYING TO SAY IS:
I could be writing the next generations cooking recipes!
Just think about it.
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