December 7th, 2014
“Hello?”
“Is this the 'future' phone of a Dr. Parsh?”
“No, it’s Mr. Parsh. Dr. Parsh is dead.”
“Am I speaking with Guppy?”
“Who’s asking?”
“That’s confidential.”
“That’s too bad. Who are you?”
They’ve called me everything.
“My name is Zoe, and I have PTSD. I need your help.”
“I gave that up.”
“Guppy, my condition is killing me. Are you going to let a poor woman you’ve never met die?”
“How did you get this number?”
I wanted it.
“I know why Stevil died.”
~CLICK~
~RING~
The chemicals bubbled on the waters. The acid burned the tables.
~RING~
The finger held the jewel. The arm wore the band.
~RING~
“Hello?”
“Did you just fucking hang up on me?
“No, I went through a tunnel.”
“Whatever.”
“I’m sorry Zoe; I’m not a doctor anymore.”
That’s what they all say.
“Point to a dick and I’ll suck it.”
“Um, wh-,”
“If you tell anyone I said that, you’re a misogynist.”
~CLICK~
~RING~
The Sun burned through the tables. The moon shined the night sky.
~RING~
The eyes rested on everything. Nothing remained unlooked at. Deep.
~RING~
“Hello?”
“I bet there’s a fuck-ton of tunnels, cunt.”
“Zoe, I think you need to work on your persuasion or your people skills.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“I don’t pick up the phone expecting someone I don’t know to contact me and say strange things. I'm sure you're really ni-,”
“It happens to me all the time; that’s why I called you, I need help.”
"Fine, I'm not a doctor anymore, but if you explain the problem I might be able to help."
"I fucking figured as much. It's the reason I fucking called. Anyway, some cunt put my phone number on the Internet and now people I don't know call me all the time. They say they're going to kill me and shit. It's so lame. They've been saying it for months and I'm still here. Like, get a life, you know?"
“Have you tried changing your phone number? How is this a medical emergency? Didn’t you say you had PTSD?”
“It triggers my PTSD when people call me a rapist over the phone. Anything can trigger PTSD; it’s not just a war thing. You are a doctor, right? Do I have the wrong number?”
“Oh, yes, I see. You’re faking PTSD for attention?”
“What the fuck? When did I say that? Holy fuck.”
“PTSD is a very serious condition, Zoe.”
I’ve been cursed with it.
“Out of all the fucking doctors I pick the ableist fuck."
"Wha-,"
"I have an ace up my sleeve, Dr. Parsh. You're going to wish you never said that."
"Oka-,"
"I’ve been recording this conversation, Guppy. I know a man named Nathan Grayson very intimately. If you refuse to help me, we’ll destroy your career and make sure you never get work as a doctor again.”
“I don't think I need work as a doc-,”
"You're one lucky, privileged, cunt. You better not think you earned anything in your life, cis scum. Guppy, I can take it all away from you just as easily. Say goodbye to everything you ever loved. Your livelihood is putty in the hands of Girl Gamer God."
"Zoe, I haven't done any doctor stu-,"
~CLICK~
“Crap.”
~RING~
“Zoe?! Are you alright!? I heard someone said they wanted to rape you!”
“Yes, I’m fine and a bit richer now. Anyway, Nate, I got something for your next hit piece. I need you to rape Guppy Parsh in an article. Call him a misogynist; call his mom a misogynist. I don’t fucking care. Guppy Parsh has played a video game, so no one will question it.”
“Zoe, they’ll tear that up and the XWF would probably pull their advertising.”
“I have proof that he hates people in wheelchairs. He’d probably roll an Asian woman right off a fucking cliff.”
“Mr. Totillo would have my fucking head.”
“Then I’d have his.”
“Not again.”
“Are you implying that I, a woman, shouldn’t do what I what with my body? I know Leigh Alexander, Nate.”
“So do I.”
“Yes, but I got my fingers so far up her snatch. If slip in some tongue I could have whatever I wanted.”
~CLICK~
~RING~
“SORRY! IT WAS A TUNNEL. I FUCKING SWEAR!”
“Calm the fuck down, red pants.”
"Al-,"
"I can still hear you breathing."
“Sorry, what did my favorite professional wrestler do to you, Zoe?”
“Your favorite professional wrestler is a misogynist cis straight white muggle male scum? He lost to the 
from Hatred.”
“Hey now, there’s no shame in losing to Hysteria in a match where his entire team was at ringside. I haven’t seen him in awhile and I mis-,”
“Sorry, I stopped caring. Anyway, I called him because I needed a free checkup and money is tight right now; he had the audacity to ask if I was faking PTSD for attention. The attention that is literally getting me killed and raped in an alley. Destroy him, Nate.”
“Wait, someone is killing you and raping you in an alley?”
“That’s what my fortune teller said.”
“So you’ve been staying out of alleys, right?”
“Are you going to start victim blaming me? Holy fuck, Nate. That’s low. I have to dumpster dive to get food. I’m fucking poor. I need to be in alleys.”
"That sucks, I wish I could help."
"It's too bad your employer hates women and doesn't let you guys help starving people in need who just want a hot meal, like me."
“How many xbux do you need? I can change my name. Mr. Totilo and those Internet sleuths wouldn't have a clue."
“You’d do that for me?”
“I could.”
"I'll fuck you again if you do it. Please Nate, I'm almost out of hair dye."
“What about the ethics? Am I still a journalist if I do this?”
“Fuck ethics. MUHAHAHAHAHA,”
Quinn fin.
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