Irradiated by Stingray
Warning: Jargon heavy modernized psychological “fiction” follows below the break.
“*TWEEEEEEEET* ORANGE! 123! ELBOWS, MAJOR!” She skated on, despite the fact that while all ten girls had been in a writhing mass, I witnessed her hook an elbow into Green 456 like a bad back-alley abortion doctor. The pack spread out a bit, and she dropped a few feet back, smirked, and gave a playful “Come at me, bro” type gesture as had previously occurred in practices as friendly giving of shit. “*TWEEEET* Orange 123! Insubordination, major!”
Her look darkened, but she exited the track. I blinked, somewhat confused, and tried to continue watching the rest of the rapidly spreading pack, trying to determine what constituted a bridge instead of a split or no pack situation. What was the problem? She had even made the hand signal for insubordination, how was that not a hint for “Here, have something else to practice calling”? The jam ended, and she left the “penalty box” and grabbed Green 456 and skated over to me.
“Ok, we should go over this one ’cause I’m confused. Now be honest did I get a good elbow whack on you?”
“Goodness no,” replied Ms. 456. “I was busy committing a major track cut,”
“And I just swung my hips gracefully around you.”
“Exactly. And then while the pack was spreading we exchanged handmade cards expressing our feelings; I thought your thanking me for the track cut very gracious and sweet.”
“You’re too kind. I’m devilishly impressed with your dexterity in making the cutouts while still skating. So no there were no elbows, that was bullshit, and the insubordination was because I didn’t understand WTF was going on when nothing had happened.”
“But…” I began to protest, “You reached forward and then swung back on her like she was trying to steal your beer!”
“Well yes, my elbows were moving for balance while I maneuvered my hips, but as she confirms it certainly wasn’t a shot. And if the skater doesn’t leave the track you’re supposed to repeat the call before the insubordination call.”
“But you… I … I thought… Fuck, look over there! That girl is murdering another one with an axe because of a… I don’t know, sounds like forearm major that wasn’t called? There’s bits of brain and shit everywhere. I mean points for getting through the helmet, but should someone call the cops?”
The strangely blood-free victim appeared next to me.
“Hey. What’s this pow-wow about?”
“Now you just wait a goddamn– ”
“Hey, Ref! You gonna join us in the middle or what?” called a fellow zebra.
“I… but you… and… but… yeah, I’m coming.”
What the sweet blistering bumblefuck have I gotten myself into?