As with many high school English classes, we were forced to argue for different interpretations of a story – however, luckily for us, we got to decide which group we were in, and surprisingly the numbers were balanced. For today, we were arguing about the possible interpretations of the illustrated children’s book The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. Inder had chosen the interpretation that the story was about unconditional, ideal love, while I had shrugged and stated that it was an environmental interpretation of what people were doing. It wasn’t like I thought one interpretation was truly correct, but it was just a story.

This high school wasn’t “normal” in many other ways though – the teacher, Ms. Scarves, had allowed both students with disabilities and twenty and thirty year olds to participate in certain classes. Although the class was officially English, Ms. Scarves also featured film, TV series, and other special events like cooking. “No one in their right mind would realistically want to be the tree,” one of the boys named Hobblot spoke up. “I don’t think it’s as gendered or feminist as others in my group, but it’s just about sometimes how you have to pretend to be happy to make friendships, relationships work.”

“Is the tree really pretending though?” Inder was surprisingly more interested in the conversation than I had expected, while most of the students were more half-hearted, like me. “It’s a work of fiction where trees talk, so it’s just an ideal. Human beings need arms and legs and internal organs to function, but I’m sure there are many people who would be the tree for someone they loved.” A few seconds of silence fell upon the classroom.

“Rhyme, why don’t you share your opinion?” the teacher decided to call on me.

“Well, it’s environmental,” I said, looking at my notes. “Trees and plants usually have the bad end of the deal as even though they’re on the bottom of the food chain they have no choice to be shelter and tools for other animals. Although most of the time they get reimbursed later on, since when animals decay and defecate, it provides another fresh layer of soil for the tree. Human beings are different on the other hand since they cut entire trees down, they domesticate crops. And just like the boy in the story we’re never satisfied and have to cut down more trees, or genetically modify our crops to make them more delicious…”

Some of the classroom was amused and I shrugged, as if trying to say that it wasn’t my fault Ms. Scarves had called on me. “Modify crops?” Ms. Scarves asked, as if wanting to hear more.

“That’s the reason why we aren’t just running around chucking spears,” I said. “The natural fruits and grains would never be enough to sustain a human population – we can’t chew through cud like cows. So slowly over time we made foodstuffs – corn, wheat, potatoes, and rice… I think those are the staple diets, right? I suppose they get the better end of the deal, although they’re terribly mutated. Human beings deform dogs when they inbreed them too, trying to make them all small and cute when they were fierce wolves.” Ms. Scarves nodded, but admitted that I did go off on a tangent. I had never really bothered much with English class, but ever since I had saved Inder from the allosaurus and coming across Xavier’s mad rants, I felt bolder than usual.

“Such doge, much wow,” one of the kids spoke up. He was one of the children with disabilities, perhaps a form of ADHD, and Ms. Scarves wasn’t bothered – it truly was a no-child-left-behind school.

“Since you know so much about trees, why don’t you harvest some of their fruit? We can take the seeds and grow them,” Ms. Scarves suggested.

“The sapling will just get eaten by snails,” I said. It was the most likely thing to happen, as I had tried doing amateur gardening with my parents before, but then I realized that in this fantasy world full of dinosaurs and Seuss-creatures, the seed I planted might end up growing up to become a giant beanstalk.

“We don’t know until we try,” Ms. Scarves said. “Hobblot, why don’t you help her? Rhyme’s a little short, so she might have trouble reaching the higher apples.” Hobblot seemed like a normal-enough guy, but I wondered if I would have to save him if something bad happened, and tried to recount some rhyming schemes in case Dr. Seuss creatures popped up again.

“Do you honestly believe what you said?” I asked Hobblot as we approached the forest-like area behind the school.

“Well, human beings are social animals, but not hive-minded enough like ants,” Hobblot responded. I wasn’t expecting such a weird conversation, and he caught his own awkwardness. “Sorry, I was going off what you had brought up. But I think it’s like that in most mammals where there is enough intelligence and emotion. Creatures band together, form alphas and packs more for survival than because they really enjoy the company.”

“It’s all in the imperfection of our evolved brains,” I muttered.

“That perspective is… What do they call it, reductionist?” Hobblot asked. “Not that it’s wrong.” I remembered my dream with Xavier’s insane ramblings.

“Any philosophy that isn’t reductionist in some sense makes things more complicated instead of explaining them,” I replied. “There are an endless amount of religions that conflict with each other for that reason.” I thought for a bit, and wondered if I should tell Hobblot about Rolf the cyborg and his warning from the future.

“I don’t think we’ve ever properly introduced ourselves,” Hobblot said as he reached up for an apple. “Although I’m not particularly interesting.” Hobblot seemed to be as normal as a boy could be, mostly watching and playing sports in his free time. “Although a lot of my old friends from middle and elementary school now prefer to play video games instead.”

“You can’t blame them,” I started. “Within video games, there’s less unfairness when it comes to athleticism, and no risk of injury either…” My voice trailed off and I decided to tell Hobblot about Rolf’s dystopia, still framing it as a hypothetical. “Perhaps one day technology will become that advanced, so that humans will never really feel bored or sad anymore.”

“You describe a future in which everyone becomes so indifferent to the human experience though,” Hobblot said. “That’s part of what life is about, trying to help others with their issues and weaknesses. Although I knew that I would never be a star guard or a quarterback since high school really. Do you think human beings are that egocentric, that to hole up playing a video game is better than working together as a team?”

I kind of felt amused. “Since high school you say? That’s probably longer than most people when it comes to clinging to their dreams.”

Hobblot shrugged. “Hey, mentally I thought my knowledge of sports was high enough, I was really just waiting for that growth spurt. Now then, what about you? You didn’t sound too enthusiastic about preserving the environment.” I picked off another apple from one of the lower branches.

“Well, for every species we do end up saving, a dozen or so die out due to damaged ecosystems, right?” I asked. It was honestly kind of embarrassing. “I’d have to be lying if I said that I never had dreams when I was a child, like being an actress or a model… But by the end of elementary school I think I had more realistic expectations for life. Still, it’s not like I’m particularly happy about it,” I muttered, my voice trailing off. I had been given a second chance, if this world returned to normal after I helped fight the weird creatures with Inder. Maybe I could try something more out there like being a biologist, even if not a conservationist.

“Your attitude isn’t irrational,” Hobblot admitted. “But it still is lacking. Maybe becoming cyborgs wired up to video game simulations is really is the best we can do.”

Once the basket of apples was full, we headed back to Ms. Scarves’ classroom and began creating our apple pies. I wasn’t particularly good at peeling the skins, even with a peeling tool – I was too used to either cutting them with the skin or eating them whole. Inder, on the other hand had quite skilled fingers – at least she was more useful in this department versus fighting against dinosaurs. However, when the end of school came, it appeared that today would be a more peaceful afternoon. Still, Ms. Scarves gave us each apple seeds and some fresh, fertilized soil to attempt to make backyard gardens. “It’s ridiculous,” I said to Inder after class. “But I’m going to try planting it anyways. I still don’t think my Seuss-speak is reliable, so I’d take anything as an extra weapon.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Inder said. I was still really depending on her to tell me if there was magic or curses to be on the watch for.

“Hey, Inder… Did you have dreams of being a hero?” I asked, reminding my short conversation with Hobblot. “If you did, when did you give up on them?”

“What do you mean?” Inder started. “I didn’t have anything too far-fetched in mind, if that’s what you’re asking. Are you trying to stop Rolf’s dystopia? He’s way from the future, so I don’t really know how that would work.”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” I said. I felt surprisingly emotional as I returned to my house. I was telling the half-truth in many ways, but I was sure that no one would really be interested in my life story. To say that I had never put effort into being beautiful was a lie… When was the first time, really? By middle school I mainly didn’t bother too much about thinking of magic and monsters. I did want to fit in with the popular girls once, and they saw potential in me – I was always a bit awkward but I was also supposedly exotic being mixed-race, and make-up could go a long way as well…

How long had that lasted? Me caring about a frilly dress or a cute jacket, and getting used to how the popular girls practiced wielding their power, hiding their insults within their words, picking out every facial imbalance that wasn’t covered in make-up, and always trying to make sure the three sizes were in the correct ratio. Perhaps it was almost a month. The final straw was when I had to go up and act as part of a school project – I wasn’t the main heroine or anything, but I was always self-conscious about those things. It was just supposed to be a slight inconvenience, stuttering over the words…

“O Where art you now, Hermia, your glassy eyes dazed? Could it be, have you survived such love unfazed?” It wasn’t even like I was particularly bad at acting, but it was bad enough that the cool girls didn’t want anything to do with me. I had a few words of encouragement and support from my truer friends, but that was the real nail in the coffin to give up being special, not at the end of elementary school. But of course my dad came around to comfort me about it, while my mom was always more concerned with more practical matters.

“I dated one of those popular girls once, for a few weeks – all my friends were jealous,” my dad said. “It was in college, so not everyone was officially going out… But more or less I saw that it was going to be a problem. She wasn’t dumb, but at the same time she couldn’t accept me if I didn’t step up my game. Eventually I said it wasn’t worth it, although we kept in touch – for a while I regretted it, because it seemed like she was happy with her new boyfriend. But as they say, nothing lasts forever. Within six or seven years she called it quit and filed for divorce, and her husband bled like crazy. But she was still good at keeping up a good face, as if she had planned that possibility all along. Still, they say the higher up you go the farther you fall, right? She could squeeze money all she wanted, but nothing would save her when it came to age.”

I didn’t look up to my mother when it came to her romance with my dad either. She was the child of Asian immigrants who started with very little, and followed her parents’ advice to just focus on education and careers – and I was expected to do the same. Was I identifying more with my mom’s side? Even when I was a young child so many people from my dad’s side had blonde hair, green or blue eyes and knew how to keep a conversation going.

Then again, I supposed in Rolf’s world there would be no need for such arbitrary discrimination amongst beauty. I got up from my desk and decided to go out to the backyard and plant the apple seeds, trying to think of such enchantments I could spray onto it. “Oh, let these seeds grow undisturbed by bugs, let the sapling sprout from out the seeds, oh please flourish free of snails and slugs, and drain the life from would-be weeds.” The dirt around the fertilized soil I had put in the hole was still pretty dry, but the sprinklers would come on every now and then to give the seeds life. “Just give me a weapon,” I told the seed. “If not a sword, maybe a spear or a bow and arrow.”

It appeared that I would have to wait for the seed to start growing though. I headed back to my room and begun working on my homework yet again. I didn’t have anything in particular to say to Xavier if I saw him again. This time, however, my dreams featured something perhaps even more disturbing. Hunchbacked creatures with shriveled, thin legs began marching alongside the barren wasteland. “Abandoned, abandoned!” they murmured.

“Abandoned, abandoned!” one of them repeated. “Half-born, yet never truly dead!”

“Half-born, half-born! Vengeance on the full-born!”

“Half-born and sacrificed because of beauty!” another one of the creatures chimed in. “Beauty must complete us!” I started to notice that they were following a shimmering light in the distance. Inder couldn’t be found, and I was stranded with these things. Some of them began to turn their attention towards me.

“Like us, also abandoned?” they asked curiously. The creatures all wore heavy scarring on their faces, some of them even exposing parts of muscle and skull underneath. Some of them further off in the background were still fighting against each other, wrestling and clawing at each other with broken pieces of swords and spears. On the wasteland was a field of broken, rusty armor and other miscellaneous weapons.

“What are you guys?” I asked. “Where are you going?”

“Forgot, forgot, creators forgot,” one of the hunchbacked things tried to explain. “All forgot when they took note of beauty.”

“Not beauty,” another one of the creatures said. “Not beauty, just lust. Strength and power is true beauty.”

Even though these guys were speaking in fragments, I could guess their meaning. Perhaps before thirteen or fourteen, the stories of these authors usually involved heroes fighting against villains in endless combat. Some of them were lucky enough to in fact stand out as comic book superheroes, while most weren’t too lucky – most of them were probably cast aside for stories with heroines and love interests. “I doubt you’ll get your creator to go back and polish you guys though…”

“Lucky us, lucky ones – maybe can possess it,” some of them whispered in response. “Become heroes and be true-born.”

“Beauty will choose,” another one said as it cracked its neck joints. “Take over the true-born, I hear… Kiri-tofu, Goko-cool, Uber-van.” Even though he had gone insane and relied on juice boxes for sustenance, Xavier the Unshaded wasn’t in such a poor condition.

“Forgot, forgot, messed up names,” another one said. “Creator forgot and abandoned – but we forget not.”

“Also abandoned, you are – come march with us,” another said.

Perhaps Rolf’s dystopia wasn’t the worst after all – as long as authors and writers existed half-finished ideas like these would sprout into existence. But still, the alternative was no ideas, wasn’t it? I wanted to see this beauty that the hunchbacked creatures decided, anyways. “Can I become like this Beauty you speak of?” I asked.

“Only one beauty, and all lust for it.” I didn’t exactly get that explanation.

“Humans can be pretty crappy I guess,” I found myself talking to the planted apple seeds the next morning. A sprout hadn’t formed yet, so I was facing a patch of soft soil. “And perhaps God is even crappier. We’re all just failed experiments, useless thoughts for the sake of what? To take the mind off of another less pleasant thought until something better comes along, right?” The patch of soil didn’t talk back. “But it’s supposed to be like that in the molecular level too, we only are because our DNA tells us to keep being… That’s even colder than a world with a mad-scientist God.”

When I got to school the next day, I was greeted by a slight surprise. Rolf the cyborg wanted to strike up a conversation, or perhaps get me to fix his decaying body parts. He was holding what appeared to be a light-saber in his hand, but it was just a holographic projection, and he swung it around, as if he was seeing a battle through his artificial eyes. “Star Wars, really?” I asked.

“I’m adjusting more to primitive existence,” he commented. “It is intriguing how self-destructive mankind really was. So much of mankind is dominated by the animal instinct – the adrenaline rush or sex drive. It surprises me that our species came so far in spite of it.”

“Well,” I started. “It’s not necessarily just those two. Even if they were strange, people invented myths, games, other forms of entertainment and stories.”

“Empathy is limited in this world,” Rolf added. “Most often kept in check by fear of disapproval, or perhaps by some lurking god. But in my future timeline empathy is perhaps impossible when thoughts and feelings can be shared directly.”

“What exactly made you agree to come to the past anyways?” I asked.

“Perhaps it is pointless,” Rolf admitted. “Changing the future may be impossible. But I was… curious, is that the term? To explore things more slowly as a child would, as a fool would. Without the modification, it might be less total experiences, less total knowledge, but I wanted to appreciate things from a new angle.” Rolf was having difficulty with his words.

“Heh,” I chuckled. “Most people want things to go faster, more efficient. To debug a string of code or not to get stuck reworking possibilities in math problems. No matter what it seems pretty egocentric.”

“But it’s also sad, right?” Rolf asked. “Human brains run out of energy in this form – first less and less adrenaline, and then even learning new tasks becomes hard.” I remembered the empty eyes of the older folks working at my company. I shrugged.

“Nature is cruel,” I suggested. “All creatures are only meant to live long enough to reproduce before their downward trend, in which they’d probably usually starve or get eaten by another animal.” We were perhaps figuratively masturbating to our biological impulses, and yet with every passing week or month, exercising them became less interesting, less exciting – but as long as humans indeed reproduced there would be Dr. Seuss, dinosaurs and a ready Mary Sue.

As luck would have it we would yet again enter the bizarre world of half-finished creations, as the wolf pup Inder carried sensed another disturbance near the downtown area of park. This time it appeared we had arrived in the middle of a battle, and I saw Arthur fully clad in armor now fighting against a horde of those nightmarish, hunchbacked creatures. “Possess him!” one of them declared.

“Rebirth, rebirth!” another one chimed in.

“Oh hey, I could use some help,” Arthur said. He was swift and quick-witted as any Mary Sue hero might need to be, protecting his blind spots with his shield and hacking away with his sword, always able to see when an opponent let his guard down. He knew how to squeeze in through the disorganized sections of the crowd so that he was never truly surrounded either. Still, the hunchbacked things were dropping out of the storm clouds one after another, and Arthur would probably tire eventually.

“What are these guys?” Inder exclaimed as she began to chip in with her ice magic.

“Ah, she’s arrived. A bit too plain, but she has potential,” one of the less scarred hunchbacked men said, wearing an ill-fitting suit and tie. His attention was focused on me. “Your friend there needed villains to slay, but moreover it was a decree from the Queen of Beauty, the one we all serve. It was the proper role for many of these half-born men all along – they fought their villains mindlessly, pitched in with the worst of stories, but now they have purpose.”

I looked around at the clouds with forming scribbles – no Dr. Seuss creatures were eager to come to my aid. “Perhaps there is no purpose, and life is a happy accident.”

“And yet it eventually became more than a happy accident – mutations played their favorites with lucky and unlucky combinations, but more combinations could be formed when reproduction took a sexual nature.”

“And maybe that was a mistake too,” I said. “Maybe it should be viable to just masturbate to yourself and have a new copy come out instead of having to deal with so much heartbreak and chaos.”

“All of those fools – and the man you call Arthur included,” the butler said. “Are like young children who fight without truly knowing why – why is it so? For land, food, or simply power? They’re created for the sole purpose of destruction, destruction to increase the odds of reproduction. That is the best they can do when it comes to beauty.”

“So what do you need me for?” I asked. “I didn’t make any of these mindless power-fantasy characters, and I doubt that I’m creating one any time soon.”

“The Queen of Beauty has many servants,” the butler answered. “I am lucky to retain my form and sanity upon meeting her. You may still be turned into a dog or a cat or become one of her proper servants.” I supposed it was a better fate than trying to fight against all of these swarming, half-born heroes. “Oh, it’s not cruel at all – some people are better off as animals anyways.” This queen fit into any sort of sorceress from many myths and legends.

“Who exactly created this queen anyways?” I asked. “If she exists in here…”

“She is an existence similar to that of the perfect hero you met, Arthur,” the butler said. “Every girl in the world had a part in her creation, and so you are also partly her creator. She is always looking for ways in which to enhance her beauty. If those are all your questions, then come along.”

“Be right back there, Arthur, Inder!” I called out. I still remembered my experience trying to fit in with the popular girls – even if this Queen of Beauty wasn’t as shallow, I would still likely be humiliated in her presence.

“My Queen said that you are possibly a witch,” the butler started as the fog in front of us disappeared to reveal a fine mansion. The grass leading up to the building was green and neatly trimmed, and statues and fountains all adorned the surrounding roads. “They say that it has been common that villains are created through the stories of fallen heroes, so perhaps witches and their curses were created by fallen ideals of beauty.”

“So is it just her turn to gloat in my face then?” I asked. As we got closer to the mansion, many types of different dogs barked excitedly as they jumped about, playing with young children – too small to really be called beautiful yet, but all probably eager to learn from this mysterious Queen. “Is it really that important then, to have this ideal of beauty?” I asked. “Sure, symmetry and good health probably was a factor in reproductive success, but a lot of it is just social and cultural.”

“Indeed, perhaps beauty is to be condemned,” the butler said. “Veils to be worn and full-body burqas for a God that desires modesty and chastity. But still, the collective unconscious of both men and women create more beauty, no matter how hard they try to suppress that urge. Humans are imaginative, after all.”

This was the world of sinful thoughts then, of thought-crime – of half-finished thoughts that were blurred out by more pleasant social norms. Perhaps in Rolf’s future everything would be replaced by more “productive” thoughts and there would be no need for this farce. As the butler led me indoors and towards the kitchen of the mansion, many different forms of flavor hit my nose. Each of the chefs was busy arguing with each other if not preparing food, and many different forms of math equations were plastered on the refrigerator. “Let the witch decide,” some of the chefs began to whisper to each other as they saw me enter. “What is the proper ratio of things?”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. There were three different jars waiting on the counters of each of the chefs. One was labeled “sugars”, another “spices”, and another “everything nice”. Other than that the food looked to be normal, with pies and other confectionaries being tossed in for dessert alongside cuisine from all over the world. “I don’t think food can really be beautiful,” I said. “You taste it first and then you associate the flavor with beauty.”

“Indeed, she speaks like a witch would,” one of the chefs agreed.

“Only a witch would know the proper ratios. Human gluttony has been a foe for the rest of us.”

“Well, I want to see this queen of yours, and stop her from destroying this fountain of creativity,” I started, simply trying to walk past the chefs and finding that my path was blocked.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“She is vengeful that many ugly things are published,” one of the chefs explained. “She’ll only come out when we serve her a proper meal, and so far we have no luck. She told me that the witch might have a chance, but only to let you through once you create something for her.”

“It’d just be a random guess if I tried to hammer something together,” I said, but a chef gestured me to start working at one of the empty counters. It turned out that within each of the volleyball-sized jars were smaller jars. There were different types of sugar derived from different materials – syrup, powdered, or fresh cane plants, and the same with spices, ranging from cinnamon to jalapenos to garlic. As for the “everything nice” jar, I opened it up to see miniature snow-globes, as if each globe contained a joyous experience rather than a material object. I wasn’t really given any hints at all, and wondered what would happen if I served this Queen something disgusting.

She couldn’t have such delicate taste buds, could she? Food science was supposed to be simple – enough sugar or salt would generate flavor for the masses of people, and only food critics would really complain. For a while I almost forgot how boring I found grinding out code given how arbitrary this world seemed to be. I tried out different combinations on the sheets of raw donuts I was given, and mixed up a combination into some of the curry. Many mathematicians found deriving equations beautiful, and yet it was just a foreign frustration to most people. Perhaps it wasn’t too irrational for there to be such a ridiculous Queen of Beauty, to have some form of greedy individualism.

“About the whole ‘witch’ thing, I have no idea what it is,” I said after writing down my proportions and putting the foods I modified into the ovens. “If you guys could help me get powers so that I can fight an allosaurus without having to make weird rhymes that would help though.” I wasn’t sure if I should reveal my abilities to the chefs, but I got rather bored waiting for things to cook.

One of the chefs thought for a couple of seconds before trying to explain it to me. “Our world is incomplete, but much larger than your world,” he began. “It has existed ever since instinct turned into cognition – but even then, it was mysterious, fuzzy. But as humans grew more and more proficient with their language, they desired more and more. Outside of the base survival instincts, humans began to desire beauty. Indeed, some announced that it would be beautiful to die for love, for passion.”

“Well, maybe it just evolved as a distraction,” I started. “After having the ingredients necessary to survive, people developed one way or another to pass the time until the next basic survival activity was needed. The ones that weren’t able to find anything beautiful grew crazy or suicidal. That’s why even bad music and songs and basic rhymes stick in our heads when we’re bored.”

“And this world is where the pure ideas live, where there is beauty without the defilers, but not the judgment as well. Things are similar with regards to the mathematical world, are they not? A perfect circle or a perfect sphere could never exist in real life, but it is possible to consist of them, and mathematicians find it beautiful. None of us have managed to truly gaze at the Queen of Beauty’s face, but all of us are blessed to serve the concept.”

But it was counterproductive in the end, wasn’t it? I thought to myself. Mathematics and theoretical physics eventually went hand to hand – but it was human desire and familiarity with beauty that made work so boring, so routine and unpleasant to begin with. And eventually even the greatest actors and actresses couldn’t always remain beautiful – their work would become cliché and shallow once they mastered it anyways. “If here is beauty, where is the incarnation of ugliness or repulsiveness?” I asked.

“I’m sure it exists somewhere here,” was the way the chef decided to answer. “Perhaps most of it is already woven into the fabric of existence.” Indeed, the beauty of fiction and the humanities depended on the author to take a dumb risk, to temporarily enter a drunken and ugly stupor. In the end though, this philosophical banter led nowhere, and I decided to try out some of the ready-made food here and there. I was never particularly a picky eater, so everything tasted good to me. There was still a handful of time to be had before my food was ready, so I decided to go to the backyard and try playing with some of the puppies.

Indeed, perhaps I was a witch after all – the animals and children playing in the fields all thought there was something off about my scent. Most of them looked at me nervously and shied away, but a small Shiba Inu dog crept towards me curiously. It barked once and turned slowly, as if gesturing me to follow, and I shrugged as I followed. The dog led me towards the forest-like area outside of the gated mansion, and sniffed around at the ground, as if searching for something. His ears twitched a couple of times as he leapt up at a spot near the tree and begun digging. “You got a bone in there?” I guessed.

Instead of a bone, however, the Shiba Inu brought out what appeared to be a belt polished with gold and silver metal chains. I took the belt from the dog’s mouth and eyed it curiously – he twitched once again and began barking as he looked around frantically – or perhaps it was more like he was trying to get something stuck from inside his neck. “Ruff, ruff!” the dog barked. “Rooo, wooo… Ai-ooh…” These were definitely less dog-like sounds, and he appeared nervous once more, twitching with discomfort. “Awoo, soooo…. So, so hard-ruff, ruff!” Temporarily forming words and then dissolving back into barking.

“Well, what do you know?” I asked myself. “Maybe my power is talking to animals. Not as good as transforming into them…”

“I am… arf, arf, ooohh… speaking… Arrr… English,” the dog mustered, frustrated at my misunderstanding. “Woof, woo… Witch arrr…” he mumbled again. “Only the witch, ruff, fff-could, could turn us back…” I sighed. This was painfully slow, so I should probably be the one to guess what this dog was saying.

“All of you guys were human before turning into dogs?” I asked. The dog nodded, which still looked awkward with its frame. “Do you want me to free you?”

“Most… ruff!” the dog continued. “Want to arf, arf – stay this way. Being hrrrr, grrr… human is harder.” As if on cue, the other dogs sniffed out the discrepancy and began moving forwards. They still looked at me warily, as if they might suddenly ingest poison if they tried to bite or claw at me, but the talking Shiba Inu began to back up towards a tree, and I spread my arms out to defend him. Once six or seven dogs had surrounded me the children began to follow as well. “It’s the witch, the witch!” one of them exclaimed.

“The witch’s ugliness knows no bounds!” a little girl in a pink frilly dress said. Some of the boys took sticks and rocks in order to poke at me, and I sweated nervously. However, once they got within three meters or so they turned their eyes away as if I emitted blazing sunlight. Their throws were way off-target and bounced off the ground around me harmlessly.

“Only the Queen of Beauty can defeat her! Save yourselves!” another boy exclaimed, and most of the children seemed to agree. Still, one little boy, just like the Shiba Inu that had invited me stayed to gaze at me curiously.

“Mind telling me what’s going on here?” I asked.

“We all lived ugly lives,” the boy started. “I’m not sure how long ago, but it still gives us all nightmares. And then ever since the Queen of Beauty came… We were all turned into these forms. Some of us became children, the less ugly ones, others were turned into dogs and others cats and other such animals.”

“And you’re okay with staying a kid for the rest of your life?” I wondered.

“Well, none of us want to grow old, fat and ugly,” the boy shrugged. “They say that Witches like you have plagued humanity – no, life itself with ugliness.” I almost chuckled, a grim smile forming on my face.

“That’s a child’s way of seeing things all right,” I replied. “Didn’t you learn in Charlotte’s Web that everyone dies? And if things didn’t die different species wouldn’t really evolve, would they?”

“That’s what witches do – we all know,” the boy said. “To justify suffering and death like that.” The boy had a small rock in his hands and seemed to consider throwing it at me, but it appeared that he knew his aim would be off. “The Queen of Beauty will mete out your just punishment,” the boy decided, giving me one last look before making his way towards his friends. The dogs on the other hand couldn’t really communicate with me though, and wanted to punish this Shiba Inu for threatening to turn them back to humans.

“I can’t protect you forever, you know.” I turned back to the Shiba Inu and started walking out of the dog encirclement, and luckily for me, the dogs broke their formation enough to let me through. A putrid smell filled the air as I walked through two dogs, and I realized one of them had defecated on the grass while he shivered with fear. I wondered if the food I had put in the oven was done baking now. Some of the chefs were busy serving food to the kids, while specialized veterinarians and animal trainers were working with the dogs.

Perhaps modern science was wrong after all – perhaps the world really was full of witches and magic and curses. If that was so I would never really choose to play the villain, or be the ugly character meant for little more than slapstick. I doubted that the Queen of Beauty would be impressed by my Seuss-rhymes, or with my epic combination of sugar and spice and miscellaneous nice things – but to my surprise, after a few minutes of waiting and watching the kids play, two chefs came back to me. “The Queen of Beauty is more than satisfied with your special recipe,” one of them declared. “She demands a private audience with you at once.”

The dining room was as fancy as one might expect, with a chandelier light hovering above it, a fancy polished tablecloth, paintings adorning the walls and polished plates and utensils. I was still in my jeans and jacket, and the butler and maid set out an array of light appetizers. I wondered what to expect when it came to the Queen of Beauty, and when she came in through the doorway I saw a figure that was constantly morphing and shifting.

Perhaps that was to be expected, with the wide arrange of preferred body types and hairstyles – even her skin color changed frequently, from pale white to deep chocolate and all of the various shades in between. She could be short and petite one second and in a few more seconds be tall and voluptuous – curvy enough to have a slight belly and wide hips, but always dodging an obese frame. Somewhere along the lines of these transformations was my shape, size and skin color, so perhaps I should be flattered to be considered beautiful, but at the same time it felt like this avatar of beauty was indeed cheating when displaying so many forms of beauty. “Only a witch could learn to cook that way,” she decided as she gazed at me curiously.

“I don’t get why I’m sudden a witch,” I objected. “All I really did was making Dr. Seuss creatures blow themselves from a dinosaur in order to save my friend. That, and the people you turned into kids and dogs didn’t want me to change them back.”

“Perhaps you should blame your ancestors as all witches do,” the Queen of Beauty said. “Far too many of your caliber decided to become witches. For every comedy there is a tragedy – and for every hero there is a villain’s downfall, often even multiple heroes’ downfall before the final battle. Who made the world this way? The witches made the world this way, for they wanted to elevate their heroes through their curses.”

“Before any form of sentience even evolved?” I asked. “What’s your world anyways, huh? I’m not impressed by the ‘doggies and kids’ show.”

“They were at their best – most beautiful and happiest as dogs and children,” the Queen of Beauty decided. “The witches let tragedy and horror touch every part of the page – and thus it is your kind that enacted famine and child soldiers. But nevertheless they asked me to introduce myself to you, for the higher powers are willing to test the powers of a Witch. But I can see that although you can make a fine meal, you are no match for me in a proper judge of Beauty. In three days they will judge the two of us, and you shall be added to my collection – your face ripped off like a mask within my collection of destroyed witches.”

“You couldn’t just let those mindless hunchbacked minions kill me?” I asked.

“Only a Witch knows how to make my favorite meals, after all,” the Queen of Beauty decided as she took a garlic bread roll. “If you decline and run though I’ll kill your friends, perhaps even make them into toys and playthings for my dogs and children.” I looked at the Queen again – this time her skin was a rich caramel brown, and her make-up and eyeliner had shifted to give her mystical looking patterns under her eyes. Even though she shifted racial features, in general the Queen maintained good symmetry and high neoteny, with round eyes and soft eyebrows.

“That’s not fair though,” I started. “You’re able to shift into multiple body types and faces. I’m stuck with one,” I started.

“Beauty isn’t fair,” the Queen teased. “But you wouldn’t be the first Witch to run away from my offering.”

“What if I make my own codes of beauty?” I asked. “Wouldn’t I win no matter what?”

The Queen raised an eyebrow, amused. “Witches have tried that against me before, and I prevailed. Narcissism will get you nowhere.” I was forced to think on my feet a bit more. The Queen indeed embodied most of what any healthy male and female would consider beautiful. “So will you compete or will you run?”

I wondered what would happen if I died – if I wasn’t the main character of this story perhaps my death would be disturbingly permanent. But I felt I didn’t have a decision to run either. Deep down inside there was still a part of me that wanted to be beautiful, even if winning against a cheating avatar like this was impossible. “I’ll show you what I can do,” I said. “Let my friends go – or at least let Inder go.” The Queen of Beauty gestured to tomato sauce and took out a garlic breadstick. Perhaps by dipping our foods together we would sign our contract. “Has there ever been a draw?” I asked after dipping the breadstick into the sauce and taking a bite.

“If there is a draw, chance through rolling dice, youth, or flexibility are then considered before the victor is chosen,” the Queen answered.

“How did you get to become this Queen anyways?” I asked. “I heard you were created by the collective imagination of young girls, but certainly one had to be the origin.” The shifting girl then seemed surprised, shifting into more Caucasian features, and instantly I was hit by a fresh reminder of what it felt like to be frowned upon by the popular girls.

“I thought you would know,” the Queen answered. “Any girl who manages to escape the curses of the Witches then begins to wield the power of beauty.” That wasn’t really an explanation I was looking for. “Your friend Inder is free to leave, but it appears that Arthur, the hero’s incarnation has decided to continue to fight. It befits a fool like him.”

“I can’t really help you with that, Rhyme,” Inder said as we left the world of imagination. “I’ve never really put effort into what’s considered beautiful. But thanks for saving me again. If Rolf can give us some input maybe things will work out.”

“A cyborg from the future is my only hope, huh?” I asked. “Still, I don’t think I can constantly shift forms like that Queen could.” As if on cue, Rolf observed us coming back from the other world’s entrance, wearing an awkward smile on his face – it was still taking time for him to become more human, perhaps.

“I was supposed to follow you on your quest,” Rolf announced. Inder explained the details of the situation, and I looked away sheepishly. But Rolf appeared enthusiastic upon hearing the problem. “In the future that’s always what we thought the world was missing,” the cyborg began. “We missed Beauty. It isn’t really something that comes to mind once your brain has become… mechanical. But a lot of people studied it, the history of art and religion and even social etiquette. If I install nanomachines on just your skin and muscle, you would begin to act in manners deemed ‘beautiful’.”

“That’s a start,” I admitted. “Should I also enlarge my bust and hips?” Although the Queen of Beauty did shift shape and size, her average figure usually had the typical sexy curves that I always lacked. Indeed, I was even slimmer than Inder despite being equal in height.

“Well I owe you twice after you saved me, so we’ll do the best we can,” Inder decided. Rolf took out a smartphone and I saw wires and electricity being attached to the back – perhaps he was searching for the “average” ideal of beauty. “Could we do the make-over at your house?”

There were around thirty of these small coin-like machines, each the size of a penny in which Rolf programmed with data that would make this body part of mine “display” the standard of beauty. I was nervous about stripping naked in front of Rolf, even if he was a cyborg, and so he gave us a three-dimensional hologram that would guide Inder to install each of the pieces onto my body. Upon touching my skin, they dissolved, breaking down into smaller pieces and passing right into the flesh and muscle beneath. It was slightly painful like a bee sting, but the pain quickly faded away. “These will come out eventually, won’t they?” I asked. One of the coins dissolved into my scalp, and I could feel my hair straightening out from its natural spiky, messy state. But aside from that, I didn’t notice any immediate changes I looked at myself in the mirror.

I tried to make funny faces to experiment, and found that my face held rigid. I could only manage a fraction of my previous expressions, and even then it appeared I couldn’t wrench my face too much when I pouted. “What are you doing?” Inder asked.

“Just fooling around,” I said. “It looks like goofy faces are exempt from the idea of beauty.” I put back on my clothes and tried to purposely drop them and stumble around in my pant-legs, but it appeared that Rolf’s machines made me act elegant as well. “And so is clumsiness, huh?” Inder didn’t seem to notice, however. I didn’t like being controlled like this, so perhaps it was better to resist Rolf’s dystopia. But on the other hand, now I had some protection from the possibility of accidentally tripping over myself in the beauty contest.

“One more question, Rolf,” I asked the cyborg once I stepped out of the bathroom. “Do you know anything about Witches? Everyone at the mansion accused me of being one.” I then told Inder about how the Queen of Beauty insisted on turning everything they met into puppies and young children for their own benefit.

“Sounds absurd indeed,” Rolf answered. “Old age and the negatives that come along with it are natural for any living organism.”

“But if the ‘scientific’ answer is wrong, then wouldn’t we be the bad guys in all of this?” I asked. “Maybe we are – most villains don’t really believe they’re villains, do they?”

“Is that how you think stories should be written?” Inder asked. “Sounds like you’re trying too hard in one of Miss Scarves’ classes.”

“Well, some people have to live and some have to die at the end of stories, right?” I asked, remembering my conversation with the Queen. “Although I suppose some authors avoid making deaths permanent by allowing the main character to become so overpowered as to leap through space-time and undo them – but that’s possibly worse than having no deaths in the first place, because then all memories of the original would be deleted.”

“All stories have to come to an end one way or another,” Inder suggested. “Unless they’re religious accounts of why certain things come into being, that is.”

“But that’s another thing,” I said. “Almost all religions that gained popularity had gods and heroes go through the same human evils, murder and torture and rape. Stories always had to reflect some sort of evil that we observed in reality – and even in peaceful times the reality of that evil is still… in us.” I was getting clumsy with my words now. “Do you think it would be better like the Queen suggests, in which most people – the ones that contain too much ugliness and evil end up as puppies and kittens and children?”

Rolf was still too much cyborg to really have an opinion on the subject. “Well, some popular religions did promise their followers a judgment day,” Inder suggested. “That eventually Heaven will have no need for the curses of earth. I suppose the loyalty and obedience that those followers wish for can be similar to those of dogs or young children.”

Inder wasn’t too poor when it came to bouncing around ideas, but she wouldn’t really help me much at all. I noticed a change in her behavior though, as if she was in the presence of a superior on a battlefield. “So is Rolf’s modification really working on me?” Inder chuckled nervously.

“Hopefully next time I can have some of those machines installed on me,” Inder said. “I’m definitely feeling uglier than I was a couple of hours ago.”

“Well maybe you can try it out if I end up defeating the Queen somehow,” I suggested. “I don’t want to reap so many unearned advantages this way.”

“Indeed,” Rolf said. “In the future everything is fairer, without human bodies to judge on height, uniform, or beauty.” Rolf seemed unaffected by my change, but pleased with the work he had set out to do.

As I prepared for another more peaceful evening, I noticed that even my maid had different responses once she observed my newfound beauty. The same tinge of jealousy I saw on Inder, although she hid it well in her professional demeanor. I sighed – the Queen of Beauty would only let “good” things come from beauty, turning the miserable and dejected into excited children and puppies, but the reality was uglier, wasn’t it? For the sake of beauty people forced Africans to mine for diamonds, wore corsets to cause internal organ damage, walked in uncomfortable heels, and in some cultures, even injured themselves with neck and lip ornaments…

Wasn’t that something odd about the Queen? She could probably shapeshift to match any man’s preferences, and yet she lacked the hallmarks of those cultures – the tribes that wore lip plates or cultures that doubled, tripled neck length with rings. Perhaps she was just conceived out of the “natural” urges of young girls and men, and those smaller cultures’ influences were dwarfed by the majority’s preferences. I was really reaching out when it came to techniques to defeat her. There were men who preferred amputees and Cyclopes and animal women, but I doubted I could impress at the beauty contest by matching the more bizarre fetishes.

The next day at school saw me receive the same attention. In my past life, I only had maybe two or three boys have crushes on me, and those would usually fade after six months at best. But now the vast majority of boys at the school noticed my beautiful appearance – I thought that Rolf had just given me some eyeliner and lipstick, but there was something different about everything. I knew how to sway my hips a bit more and knew to smile earlier when I caught someone’s eye. Even though I had said to Inder and Rolf that I didn’t want to reap unearned advantages, I was still human enough to enjoy the newfound attention.

Most of the boys only glanced at me shyly, but as the school day began to pass even that was beginning to feel uncomfortable. But as I had experimented in the mirror, I was able to create a fraction of possible expressions – I couldn’t look too absurd and neither could I wipe off Rolf’s machine-work, so I could only portray slight disapproval. My ears were still sharp enough to hear many boys eager to ask me out or at least try flirting with me. I didn’t know if I could bother with a boyfriend when I had to fight the oddities and abstraction in the other world Inder took me to.

“Um, hi,” a familiar voice called out to me. It was Hobblot, the boy that had helped me pick apples for Miss Scarves’ class. He had done better than most of the boys to approach me, but he was still blushing and struggling with eye contact. “Remember me? I just thought maybe we could hang out together after school,” he suggested. “We could go out for drinks, or shopping if you’d prefer…”

Hobblot was cute and handsome in his own regard, and there was nothing wrong with his personality either. But I would probably cause him more trouble if I dragged him into the other world – but hell, if I lost to the Queen of Beauty I would die in two and a half days anyways. If it was just hanging out for a couple of hours it wouldn’t really be a problem – it had probably been over four years since college in which I had done something social outside of just studying, and most of the other computer scientists and engineers were way nerdier than Hobblot.

“Sure,” I found myself saying. He seemed surprised and struggled to maintain his confidence.

“That’s great,” Hobblot decided. A few students were watching and noticed that I hadn’t turned him down, so they started chatting about before Hobblot could really continue his conversation.

“Hobblot, you lucky dog!” some of the other boys exclaimed.

“Don’t you think you’re settling a little low?” some of the other girls asked, wanting me to use my popularity to ruin more hearts. It was all just more amusing to them that way.

“Don’t mind the idiots,” I said. “We can meet after Miss Scarves’ class.”

Hobblot had decided that we could go shopping or maybe even play some arcade games at the local strip-mart when I met him after school. He was still quite nervous when it came to starting the conversation. “I’ve never really dated much before this, at least not with girls as pretty as you,” he said. “But everybody starts somewhere, right? You have no idea how introverted boys are becoming these days. Some of my old friends spend hundreds – hell, they’d probably even spend more than that if they could – on ‘waifus’ on their smartphones! They don’t even help you progress faster in those games and pretty much farm their quests all their spare time…”

“Well, they’ll eventually develop VR soon,” I suggested. Hobblot was pleased to find himself less awkward than he expected. “Say… what do you think beauty is?” I asked.

“Are you trying hard for Miss Scarves?” Hobblot asked, and I shook my head softly. “I’m not too good with make-up – are you trying to become a professional model?” I couldn’t really tell him that I was competing in an other-worldly contest to save my life, could I? “I’m no artist, that’s for sure,” Hobblot laughed nervously. “Nor am I a writer, so telling me to vocalize it might be futile.”

“Well, there’s beauty in observing movies, and sports and such,” I said. “In that case, the beauty is an actor or athlete fulfilling his role – sacrificing for the good of the movie or the good of their team?”

“Now you’re getting really abstract,” Hobblot said. “When it comes to sports and movies, well – maybe not movies, but I would think that part of beauty is a sense of forgiveness or redemption. Like an athlete is hated for his shortcomings before his first championship – or how in TV shows and stories there’s an anti-hero less fortunate than the main characters, who sways between good and evil.” Hobblot was more thoughtful than I had expected after all. But it wasn’t the type of beauty that I really needed to survive in the contest with the Queen.

“But when it comes to real-life beauty isn’t that convenient,” I said. “Try as you might, most of us get fat, old and ugly.”

“Except for smartphone waifus,” Hobblot said, trying to crack a joke. “Although they come out with new girls each season – humans crave novelty, so in that sense, novelty is also beauty?”

“There’s no way we can win once the waifus get enough programming behind them, huh?” I suggested. “An endless shapeshifting creature – that’s beauty, isn’t it…” I found that my voice was trailing off. We were browsing through the stores now and I was surprised to find myself among the corset section. A pair of slightly overweight girls was seriously considering trying them out, trying to perfect their waist to hip ratio.

“Well, it’s also beautiful trying to stay beautiful,” Hobblot suggested. “I would take a less attractive girl, maybe even a chubby one who could last ten, twenty years and still hold up rather than one of those shallow popular cheerleaders that we all feel will be done with life in five years.” I chuckled as I reached another section – silk clothing, usually too expensive for me to consider buying.

“Does the immorality of an action taint the beauty of it?” I asked. “Every year millions of silkworms die in their small cocoons for us to receive fashionable clothing.”

“In the chain of the ugliness of nature nothing can be beautiful,” Hobblot said. “A cheetah’s speed is tainted with the evil of terrifying a gazelle and making its body and blood fresh nutrients. Oh gee, Miss Scarves would have a field day with you, Rhyme.” But still, Hobblot was getting more comfortable around me, as if he had expected this to be more difficult. I was also surprised that I wasn’t being dismissed as a total weirdo. It made me want to defeat the Queen of Beauty somehow and perhaps see Hobblot again.

After window shopping we ended up playing some cheesy arcade games. It was nothing that I hadn’t tried before, but I surprisingly enjoyed Hobblot’s company as we cruised through stages in first-person shooters or mixed-up combos together in fighting games. We didn’t really bother with more abstract discussions, and neither did I consider telling him the truth of my situation. I wanted to enjoy myself, but not to the extent that he would sorely miss me if I lost against the Queen of Beauty.

When the day of the beauty contest began, I awoke with a nervous feeling in my gut. Rolf’s nanomachines had helped me, but I still knew there was no way I could compete with a shape-shifter who could satisfy more concepts of beauty. I walked over to the place in which I had buried the apple seed and gave it some water. I wondered if a sapling would sprout up and give me some sort of artifact or enchantment to make the odds of victory much less abysmal. But alas, no response came from the patch of soil. Maybe I should have gotten some fertilizer as well – maybe if I had taken some cooking ingredients from the Queen’s mansion and added them here, a sapling would have sprouted.

“Would have, should have, could have,” I muttered mindlessly to myself. I sat through most of my classes at school dejectedly. Inder and Rolf still wished me good luck – maybe if I was lucky enough the Queen of Beauty would slip up somehow and I would end up the winner. After school, Inder led me towards the familiar area downtown with lots of stores in which we did our first two trips.

“Say Inder, you died before, didn’t you?” I asked. “And yet you say you were reborn for some reason… Have you figured out how that works yet?”

Inder shook her head. “Things turned out alright when it came to fighting the dinosaur, right?” The portal to the fictional world shifted, and Inder and I made our way in. Immediately, the butler who had introduced me to the Queen of Beauty and her mansion walked up to greet me. Arthur was still in an area full of jaggy cliffs, fighting the unborn hunchbacked characters with his limited stamina.

“Welcome back, witch,” the butler said. “The stage is ready for you.” I waved good-bye to Inder nervously as we headed towards the mansion again. This time we took a different entrance and found our way in the front lobby, and I was greeted by a crowd of humanoid creatures to describe it the best. Most of them were bipedal, but some of them had extra arms, one or two tails, or sets of tentacles or fur and claws – they seemed to be humanoids merged with different sorts of animals. I hoped Rolf’s nanomachines prevented me from acting too bewildered.

“These people are to judge?” I asked. I started to look around for the Queen of Beauty, and wondered if she could change to become part-animal as well. Within the center of the large lobby was an enormous, three-layered white wedding cake resting on a table.

“She’s arrived, she’s arrived!” some of the animal human hybrids announced. Sets of eyes began to arrive at me, guiding me towards the cake. There were dozens of them, but the butler gestured that I only really needed to greet a few before taking my slice of cake. “Another easy victory for the Queen, it looks,” some of the hybrids announced.

“Edlark really bet money on her?” another one asked. I tried to take the slice of cake as smoothly as possible – luckily, the nanomachines that had been installed prevented me from stumbling and tripping over myself.

“Silence!” the familiar voice of the Queen of Beauty called out. “Don’t be rude to the competitor.” With that, the crowd of hybrids began to quiet down, and the Queen of Beauty descended down from the second story wearing a knee-length dress – it wasn’t particularly fancy, but the confidence in her step truly made me want to run. The Queen looked at me with a devious smile, her hair fading into a golden blonde. “Glad you could make it, witch.”