There’s only one Domo. But it wasn’t always that way. His species died in horrible mutative circumstances; it's what the World Vaccination Authority (WVA) henchmen wanted. Their torture methods were unparalleled – force feeding hotdogs, Twinkies, and food that seem to hail from Scotland. There were other methods too. I can't think about them without retching and crying uncontrollably.
This grusome torture scene was captured on CCTV. His torturer is still at large.It seemed like an ordinary moment, after Domo’s family had passed out from chemical sweetener exposure and a flu shot. His mother, however, only pretended to drink the diet soda and was conscious enough to spy an opportunity. The guards had become lazy, with the group’s life force as low as it was. They forgot to lock the cage. Domo’s mother crawled out and climbed to the cage’s roof. She stood on her toes and lifted Domo as high as she could. There was only one chance. Throwing Domo through the vent that led up to street level would alarm the guards, and initial her demise.
Domo careened into a street under siege by torrential rain. He was going to survive the flood, as well as the fast cars that drove blindly through the midnight storm. But the chances of surviving his genetic mutation was zero - without a miracle.
Domo felt the first mutative cells divide in his cheek earlier, when he had that DTaP vaccination. By evening, drenched and cold but free, his poor mouth had become fixed into a scary, wide smile.
Professor Pintim traversed the maze of homogenous Tokyo streets without loosing her way for the first time since she began her secret assignment. I can not tell you why I ordered her to Japan in this story. It was late and monsoonal flooding caused chaos in the city. Between zooming cars, Pintim spotted a fury brown animal skim across the flash-mob-style rain that queued for passage to the underworld. She didn’t know what it was or if it was dead, but she scooped Domo up and hid him in her coat before thousands of digital eyes spotted her unpredicted move. Pintim headed back to the lab.
Professor Pintim. Domo lives in the animae dimension. Rules dictate that all professors must look like this.Casually, she moved the foyer statue one centimeter to the left, aligned her thumb over the scanner built into the door handle, and wiped Morse code into the doormat. If completed in under seven seconds a concealed door would appear. Pintim had managed less than six invisibly. The professor's lab; warm and dry, it made Domo feel safe. She thought she knew every species of mammal and marsupial on the planet, but she never saw this, um, 'Domo' she would call him. A polite Japanese name, because he looked ‘respecting’. Slowly, with pats and purrs, she began her analysis. Blood work, genetics, histology. By sunrise Pintim had started Bodytalk, to get that broad perspective which only Bodytalk can give.
The sun rose timidly under the distant thunderclouds above the horizon. Pintim felt exhausted while Domo continued his concealed fight to the death. The BRCA 1 mutation raged. New cancer cells consumed his body with every shallow breath. Domo’s digestive system still looked like a torture convention: a rainbow of artificial colours, alphabet of preservatives, a mine of heavy metals, strung together and coated in chocolate or white bread rolls.
Pintim's personal addiction: Instagram. File# 679F: Essene bread and humous. Results showed that Domo’s vitamin D levels were zero, and his flaccid heart had never known the challenge of exercise. Pintim, in a moment of uncouth weakness, vented her rage at those henchmen, the same outlaws that killed off dozens of rare, cute species of woodland creatures. Still wheezing, and rather surprised at her catalogue of filthy words, Pintim dipped Essene bread into hummus and chewed, and breathed absently.
- Will Domo win the battle against his BRCA 1 genetic mutation that ravages his body?
- Will he have to cut his breasts off; you know, pre-emptively, just in case?