You wrote in and the Creature Hour team has responded! Read on for a transcript of the live advice show, Cereal Numbers.
Dear Cereal Numbers Creature Hour,
My name is Ian, and I used to be a man.
I used to be a father, not a good one but a father nonetheless. I had an ex I shared kids with and I saw them sometimes. I was getting better. Clean, even.
I went to sleep one night in a bed I was far too big for—it used to be my grandma’s—and I woke up dwarfed. Small and revolting. I was so comfortable, and then suddenly, the weight of the down comforter felt like it would snap my skeleton in half. I tried to get up, but my joints were too weak. My wings—I had wings—started to buzz, and I got out of bed. I had wings! I flew to the mirror and held out my sad little sticks-for-arms and saw what I had become. Big beady lensed eyes. I was still kind of a human, but the fine hairs jutting from my limbs would say otherwise. My skeleton—God, was it on the outside? What was I? Hideous. I screamed, but only buzzing came out.
I was something revolting. I just sunk down to the ground, in a panic over what I had become. That’s when I heard the doorbell go off. I forgot that this was the day my kids were supposed to come over. The doorbell went off a few more times, and then my ex jostled open with the door with the emergency keys I had given her. She looked around for a bit, calling out for something. I don’t know what she said. It all sounded jumbled, but I think she might’ve been looking for me. After she searched the entire house, her shoulders loosened a bit. I know she keeps medical stuff on hand in case she ever finds me in trouble again. She’s a good person. I’ve never deserved her.
She went back out and got the kids, Eddie and Zac. 8 and 5 years old. Zac just started kindergarten last month. They’re good kids, though a little rowdy. The oldest one’s been having some trouble working with his classmates, apparently. Last year he had to be taken out of school early after spitting gum into a girl’s hair. Their mother drives herself crazy worrying about them. Eddie ran into the house, tracking mud all over the place, and his brother stumbled in behind him, carrying a bucket of toys. Snot was running down their noses. Zac dumped the contents of the bucket onto the carpet, and the two of them got to work. My ex sat down on the couch, rubbed her forehead, and took a call.
I still couldn’t make out what anyone was saying, so I flew closer to her head. I made it to her upper arm and began the climb when I looked behind me to see something huge swinging my way. A hand, her hand, the size of a tractor-trailer, slamming down to my body. I barely made it out of the way in time. I dodged another swipe and flew away. But I wasn’t looking where I was going, and bumped into my youngest. He started to chase me around, towering and stomping, arms outstretched. I could only run so far before I was caught between his meaty hands and a wall. Everything went dark.
When I was back awake, I found myself inside something, glass maybe. Two faces stretched by the walls of the jar I was in, staring me down. My boys. My little rascals. They rolled me around a bit as if deciding what to do, before Eddie grabbed hold of the jar and shook. My tiny body was banging back and forth between the walls. I’m pretty sure I heard them giggling. Zac was clapping his hands. But I could barely tell what was going on, other than the whistling of the air around me and the pain as my body cracked against the glass, over and over again. When they stopped and set the jar down, I just flopped onto the ground. But they weren’t done with me yet! Oh no, my boys weren’t done with me!
One of them unscrewed the top lid, and flipped the jar over so I landed on the table. Eddie was leaning over greedily, while Zac was starting to look concerned. Little Zac-attack. He always was sensitive about animals. Animals—like what I had become. Eddie’s hangnail-covered fingers pinched the wing on my back and held me down. And he began to tug.
I don’t know if you’ve ever broken a bone before, but if you have, imagine that pain times ten. Just yanking me in two. You can feel it in your entire body, each nerve being twisted and tugged apart. I’m still surprised my entire back didn’t come off with the wing. It felt like it was peeling off. The boys stopped after one—I think they simply got bored. And I was just left there, twitching. I was screaming internally, but the only sounds that would come out were buzzes.
Why am I like this? I’m still alive, somehow. Don’t know how. They just left me there, maybe to play with some other creature. Maybe to fry ants with a magnifying glass, or throw rocks at the birds. What awful things we’ve all become.
Please Help,
Ian, A Changed Man
Dear Ian, A Changed Man
You know, part of me wants to think this letter was a prank, with the whole “bug-man typing an email” thing going on. It makes absolutely no sense. But we’ve seen weirder before here on Cereal Numbers, so I don’t judge. You are a real person, who did disappear—I don’t doubt that. You’re a real man, with a real family that exists. I don’t even know how you’d listen in on this, given that you claim to not understand human speech. I just hope you remember who you are, Ian. Men who turn into bugs don’t tend to hold onto their identities well.
Best,
Your Cereal Numbers Host
