A tailbone was stuck inside a fat man who was stuck inside a small seat on a long haul flight, fast asleep. The fat man weighed 167 kg and the tailbone felt every single one push it harder against the plastic beneath the seat’s thin padding. The tailbone had been in this position for hours and, as the fat man flew regularly, knew there were still hours left. The fat man shifted and thick blood and internal organs squashed every side of the tailbone. The tailbone saw no escape but inwards, into its memories. The plane banked sharply as it drifted into nostalgia.
It brought back better days. Specifically the days of 2.7 million years ago. Back then the tailbone wasn’t just a stub of bone stuck in a small seat but a full, strong tail, useful and long, swinging through the first jungles of the world. Blue afternoons flashed through the tailbone. Creatures unfound by humankind made sounds they’ll never hear. A flurry of ancient apes swung through the canopies, beautiful tails latching onto branches to propel them forward, and knocked ripe Terminalia to the jungle floor. The fat man farted. And although the tailbone couldn’t smell the fart, the gas pooled in the seat causing the general area to heat, ruining what few good vibes were left. Gone were the days of sticking your ass out the top of the trees and farting into the breeze, a breeze which would carry the hot gas away someplace. The tailbone went deeper into the jungle. It remembered balancing the ancient apes as they groomed their loved ones in trees as tall as skyscrapers. It remembered dangling from low branches to taunt predators roaming the jungle floor. The plane hit a patch of turbulence and the hard seat jolted upwards, tripling for a moment the weight of the fat man bearing down upon the tailbone. Another crystal clear scene played out before it. An ape asleep at the top of a tree. Laziness wasn’t tolerated back then, so when the other apes found it sleeping they decided to teach it a lesson. The apes came up with a plan and the biggest of them crouched over the sleeping ape’s palm and took the biggest shit any of them had ever seen. Then, with its long tail, it deftly tickled the sleeping ape’s nose. The sleeping ape slapped the handful of shit into its own face and woke with a bad taste in its mouth. The others all but fell from the tree tops with laughter and the tailbone laughed itself, deep within the fat man.
The fat man shifted in his sleep to scratch the top of his ass crack. His thick fingers probed the flesh around the tailbone and just like that the tailbone was back in the present day. A tailless time in which humans believe they’re too good for tails. As far as evolution is concerned, a tail is useless to a human. They don’t need them to balance (humans fall and split their fragile heads wide open every day). They don’t need them to climb (they struggle to reach a box of cereal on a shelf one foot above their reach). They don’t need them to forage (humans eat nothing but shit). A tail to them is no more than a Furry’s fantasy and the discomfort of the tailbone’s current position only seemed to confirm this. Evolution was a mistake, a giant waste of time. From the Ritz to rubble. In the tailbone’s eyes, allowing evolution to happen was its greatest sin.
It had tried to stop it, of course. The tailbone remembered its sorry attempts as the plane flew on. It saw itself choking out apes who showed an above average level of intelligence, for example. Choking was its main evolutionary blocker. Like, If an ape instinctively knew which berry was safer to eat than another, better than the average ape, the tailbone would wrap its then long form around the smart-ass ape’s neck and tighten until it died. Strangled with its own tail. And then there was the tailbone’s tool prevention strategy. The use of tools was a very bad omen to the tailbone and one that it tried to stop with a method unique to the tail. It went like this: If one of the apes used a rock to open a coconut, or a stick to get at some insect colony, what the tailbone would do is jam the tip of itself up the ape’s own ass. If an ape so much as looked at an inanimate object with a glimmer of curiosity, it would immediately get jammed up the ass. That did slow evolution a little, but sore assholes were not enough to stop it entirely.
The plane entered a smooth patch of sky and the fat man dropped into a deeper sleep which allowed him to dream a little. The tailbone had been witness to many of the fat man’s dreams. Ones in which he was chased by dogs. Ones in which he drove fast through residential streets. Ones about women. They seeped into the tailbone when the tailbone had been thinking about him deeply. The dreams came in flashes, images and scenes, both bizarre and boring, and they came then: The fat man wandering the corridors of an endless indoor facility. Rows of shops lined either side, their bright lights reflecting off beige tiled walkways. Stale air and thousands of people, not walking but shuffling. Then stopping for no good reason. Then shuffling on for no good reason, either. Then another image: the fat man sitting beside a man-made pond bordered by bricks made to look like ancient stone blocks. Astroturf beneath his trainers. Happy he is, sitting there next to his wife who smiles back. Knowing somewhere within the dream, at a deeper level of it, that his wife waited for him at home. And that was all he dreamed. A happy little dream. The tailbone almost felt happy for him for a moment.
But, really, the tailbone felt depressed. It wasn’t the first time the tailbone had felt like this. The first time was when zoos were created. The joy humans felt watching their ancestors swing gracefully by their tails to reach a moldy banana stuck in a little basket trickled down the spine and into the tailbone, waking in it a sense of unfathomable distance. A distance the tailbone now knew as Time. The tailbone felt sad and angry at once, the two states fighting for top place as its long decline replayed over and over. All of its failures. All of its opportunities. It all didn’t matter. The tailbone was useless. The tailbone felt the heat of anger and the chill of sadness one after the other until it began to burn hot like a piece of coal before running ice cold and then hot again. The fat man’s ass began to sweat, the sweat turning icy as the tailbone’s emotions flickered. Thicker streams formed, pouring down the fat man’s crack. The plane exited smooth sky and hit another patch of turbulence and the fat man was jostled and let out little streams of gas. The tailbone’s mood plummeted further. Memories coursed continuously through it. It’s temperature rising with the current of lost time. The seat bounced up and down, hitting the tailbone again and again and again. The little streams of gas turned into big streams of gas as the turbulence tumbled the fat man in his sleep. The thought of hours more. The thought of green jungles. The thought of long lost friends. The thought of uselessness. The thought of failure. It pooled, all of it, into the tip of the tailbone until the tiny stub couldn’t contain its emotions any longer and sent them shooting through each cell of the fat man’s body. A depression older than any living thing went swirling through his central nervous system. Deep greens and blues and strange creatures slipped down neural pathways long unused. Trees as tall as lightning crossed every synapse. Mating calls echoed through caves and into the hollows of his bones. Ancient faces flash flooded his brain like monsoon rain and the fat man woke from a 2.7 million year old dream. There was a little drool on his chin and his ass felt numb.
He came to and realised his ass was not numb but sopping wet with what he hoped was just sweat. The damp had soaked his trousers and had begun to seep into the seat itself. He could see the wet patches growing on the edges of the seat’s padding. He assumed the seat below his ass was drenched already but he couldn’t be sure. His ass was so wet he’d never be able to tell without looking. He tried to half-stand and look down between his legs but his knees knocked the seat in front and his arms pressed against the passenger beside him who, luckily, was asleep. It was the early hours of the morning and the plane’s cabin lights were dimmed. Shutters were shut. Everyone was asleep and he dared not move another inch. So he settled for assuming the seat was certainly drenched to the bone.
Once the sopping wet panic had settled, another thing occurred to the fat man. He didn’t know whether his ass was burning hot or ice cold. He likened it to running your finger under a cold tap and for a split second believing it to be boiling. He narrowed his mind onto his ass, studying the sensation there and what he felt were waves. Waves of hot and waves of cold, alternating at random. He slipped his phone out of his damp trouser pocket and tried to google the symptoms but quickly put it away again. He was on a flight and his phone was on flight mode and if he turned off flight mode to use the internet the signals might be caught by some clever pilot’s technology and be triangulated back to his seat. He couldn’t risk it, not in his state. He tried to think of illnesses instead. Ones that triggered alarming amounts of sweat to pour from your ass in hot and cold flushes. He’d heard of menopause. And although he hadn’t heard of it causing his particular ass-based symptom, he was the right age for it. He’d overheard his wife complaining of menopausal hot flushes to her book club before, which could be happening to his ass? But no, menopause of the ass was ridiculous, he thought. It wasn’t that. After a few moments more of panicked thinking the only thing that came to mind was the flu. It was the only illness that’d caused this kind of slick sweat to drip inexplicably from him before. And the feverish dreams of creepy, old apes and their long, beautiful tails only reinforced his diagnosis. As this time the sweat was dripping from his ass, he came to the sound conclusion that what he had was flu of the ass. Yes, he thought, I’d fallen asleep in exhaustion and my ass has sneakily developed a nasty flu.
But the tailbone knew what it had done. It had caused a whole body reaction for the first time in the long, strange history of evolution. Spread its own thoughts, if they could be called that, through the fat man’s entire core and changed the makeup of his being. The tailbone’s thoughts had merged with the fat man’s own and, for a split second, had made him believe they were one and the same. They weren’t. They came from an ancient part of homosapiens. From a network of memories spanning back further than the limited human mind could really trace. But for a moment he believed those dark thoughts were his. The tailbone had done something of major significance for the first time in a millennia and it wanted to do it again.
It began to concentrate. Made the memories stronger, more vivid. It tried to consciously place itself back in time. The more painful the memories, the bigger their impact, it thought. It gathered all it could into its tip just like before, but stronger. If I could cry I could fill the fat man’s entire lower half, it thought, before it shot its useless history through the fat man as hard as it could. The tailbone flashed red hot and ice cold and a bipolar stream of sweat burst out of the skin above. And with that sad concentrate the tailbone made the fat man stand. He’s fucking standing! Fucking standing! it thought. And then the fat man began to move, his ass was sopping wet.
With ancient memories taking control, he pushed past the sleeping passenger and woke her. The woman began to complain and then gag and then complain even louder at the sight of ass sweat dripping onto her lap. The tailbone pushed its depression harder through the fat man and the fat man carried on squeezing out. He stood on toes, knocked knees, and made the general area damp. The entire row began to shout as he broke into the aisle. Stewards spotted the commotion and approached from either end. The fat man tried to explain the situation saying, it’s the ass flu! It’s this flu in my ass! I need help! But the tailbone dug deep and shot more jungle sadness through him. The fat man’s ass made a small puddle on the thin carpet. His brain was primal now. His body at the mercy of a severely depressed, manic stub of bone. Completely taken, he loosened his thick 42” belt, dropped his trousers, and squatted. A dumb panic on his face. The stewards were shouting but all he could hear were the screams of long lost apes. He cupped his hand beneath his ass as memories of animals screeching into a long, ancient night spouted through him. The potency of the images forced him to squeeze out a long shit into his palm. It mixed with the sweat still pouring out as he flung it towards the nearest steward. The stewards screamed their ape screams louder, he recognised the animal fear in their eyes. The tailbone was pleased, eased off and cooled. The sweat slowed to a steady drip and the fat man came-to, pulling up his pants. The stewards moved quickly and restrained him. They grabbed his thick arm and escorted him to the front of the plane. He shouted again, it’s the ass flu! It’s the flu in my ass!
Everyone was awake now. Passengers removed their little eye masks and pulled their blankets up like waterproof jackets as the fat man passed. The tailbone felt proud. The fat man did not. He passed one row and a passenger’s crotch barked at him. He jerked to the side and saw a small emotional support dog sitting on the lap of the passenger who was shaking with fear. The dog was so neatly groomed it looked fake. A few passengers opened their shutters and let in the first rays of sun. There was nowhere to hide. The sunlight was bright. It reflected off a block of white clouds illuminating the fat man’s sweat patches and the long turd on the aisle floor. The plane banked left and the fat man stumbled onto a passenger. He looked up to apologise but instead his eyes locked onto the view of the earth below through the tiny plastic window. It was terrifying and beautiful and breathtaking and the worst thing he’d ever seen. It was the sun rising over a thick carpet of green. A mix of fear, nerves, and marvel passed through the fat man’s central nervous system like a waterfall and the tailbone knew immediately. They were flying directly above a vast, ancient jungle.
The tailbone hadn’t felt confidence like this for at least a million years and the knowledge of the jungle below only strengthened its confidence. Made it feel like a return to form was in reach. Like it was flying over a big, green wormhole to its best years. It also knew it wouldn’t be there for long. One sharp turn and the dream would recede and disappear forever. The tailbone began to concentrate again.
The stewards brought the fat man to the front of the plane, near the cockpit. His ass was sweating again. Or more accurately, the speed of which the sweat poured out his ass was getting faster. A constant dampness had escalated into a trickle, which had quickly moved into a small stream. He knew what was coming and clenched in fear. A dam formed and the sweat rolled off his shut buttocks and made a concentrated wet patch on his trousers.
The steward behind signaled something to the one in front. They began to ask the fat man questions like, what did you do that for? And, why is your ass so sweaty? But the tailbone focused harder and their speech once again began to sound like monkey gibberish in the fat man’s ears. The tailbone took it up a notch and the fat man’s ass burst into a strong flow of sweat as memories as real as present day burned through his entire being. The stewards became more and more ape-like, screeching and clawing, until the fat man slipped his heavy belt from his trouser loops and wrapped it around the neck of the closest steward with the dexterity of his ancestors. The flow of jungle blues thickened as he tightened his grip. The other steward slowly backed away. The fat man could see the rest of them trying to keep the passengers from shouting and screaming. Above the clamor, he heard the little yap of the emotional support dog and he barked a deep bark back.
The tailbone upped the flow even further. The fat man’s lower back practically glowed red and his ass made the floor soggy. He kept the steward strangled with one hand and grabbed the tannoy with the other. He let go of ape-like screams into the device and the passengers screamed back. The static between and beneath his screams sounded strangely like rain hitting thick layer leaves. Like the radio was picking up signals from the ancient world below. The tailbone felt the two worlds colliding.
The cockpit door swung open, banging the knee of the hostage. It was a young man. His uniform was neatly ironed and authoritative but his spotty skin and thick head of hair betrayed his position. Here was the co-pilot. He nearly apologised for hitting the steward’s knee but stopped himself when he saw the belt looped around his neck and the sweaty fat man behind.
Sir, please keep calm and tell me what’s going on and also tell me why your ass is sweating like that, the co-pilot said.
The fat man nearly replied but the tailbone countered with a dose of vicious sadness and the fat man swung the steward by the neck into the co-pilot. Their heads collided. The co-pilot slammed into the toilet door, his feet slipped on the sodden carpet. The door burst open and the co-pilot fell backwards onto the sink. There was a sharp thud and he slumped onto the toilet below. A dark red splatter covered the metal tap.
The fat man dragged the steward through the cockpit door and locked it behind them. The captain was at the helm, keeping the plane on course as calmly as he could. Another subconscious burst of fear, bigger than the first, bubbled up inside the fat man and the tailbone knew what he saw through the big front windows. It was beautiful. The sun was rising slowly above endless trees. Big ones, which meant old ones. They stretched untouched as far as the fat man’s eyes could see. The belt loosened a little around the steward’s neck as the tailbone took in the view of home. The steward clutched towards the captain, trying to form a plan via eye contact. But the tailbone regained its control and squeezed the belt harder than ever before and forced its first human words out of the fat man’s mouth.
Down, down, jungle, he said.
The captain shook his head, not breaking eye contact with the steward.
I can’t. Where would I land? It’s suicide.
The tailbone squeezed even tighter and the steward turned a pale blue. The eyes which had tried to communicate a crude plan now bulged out of their sockets. The captain tipped the nose down and more green streamed through the windows. The sight of it made the memories flowing from the tailbone even stronger. Home was so close, something in reach. Not an abstract thought lost in time. The flow throbbed twice as hard. The fat man’s ass sweated thrice as much.
Why is your ass sweating like that for Christ’s sake man!? It’s not right! Shouted the captain.
The fat man grabbed the captain’s tannoy and forced out the same words, down, down, jungle.
Screams and barks battered the door of the cockpit. The fat man screamed his ape screams back. The captain screamed, too. The fat man screamed at the captain. The captain shut up. The fat man’s ass sweated more and more. The entire cockpit floor was soaked. The fat man felt his mouth run dry, his throat seized, his face paled. He felt dizzy and slumped to one knee. The carpet, thick with sweat, squelched beneath him. The steward was dragged down, his cheek flat in a puddle. A weakness came over the fat man’s big, strong body that the tailbone had never felt before. If he collapsed now, this would all be over, the tailbone thought. The tailbone eased off.
The fat man came-to and croaked, water. Water…
He struggled to his feet, keeping a loose hold on the steward. He repeated water, water, looking worse than before. His skin had turned a darker blue and wrinkles had formed all over. Black bags hung beneath his eyes. The ass sweat had slowed but it was too late. The fat man fumbled open the cockpit door and pulled the steward out behind him. He found himself surrounded by the other stewards. He was only semi-conscious. The passengers were silent. He saw them standing in their seats to watch him. The emotional support dog’s thin yaps were the only sounds to be heard.
Water, the fat man said again. The stewards looked at the fat man. Studied his face, saw his condition. The tailbone shot one last burst of sadness through him and the fat man tightened the belt. One steward raised her palms and slowly reached for the drinks trolley. The fat man and the tailbone felt relief in equal measure. The first emotion they’d agreed on since this all began.
The steward passed him a bottle of water. It was tiny and he could see a sticker which read £6.59, but it was better than nothing. The fat man motioned for the cap to be removed, grabbed the bottle and glugged. It felt like the monsoons had finally come. He glugged and glugged. He felt the dry leaves and brittle sticks get washed from his throat. He drained the bottle, not hearing the little yaps of the emotional support dog, which were louder now. He gasped and motioned for another and glugged that without opening his eyes even once, without hearing the little yaps getting even louder. He grabbed a third bottle but his hand spasmed and jerked and he smashed the bottle’s glass opening into his front teeth, not knowing where the sudden, sharp pain had come from until he twisted and looked down at the little emotional support dog clamped onto his sodden ass. Just the sight of it made the pain shoot through his body again. The fat man dropped the belt and the bottle and yapped in pain himself. The steward collapsed and coughed and barked too and if he wasn’t barking he was gagging at the pools of ass sweat which soaked the carpet as he crawled behind his coworkers. The fat man barely acknowledged his escape and instead tried to grab the little dog but couldn’t reach. The dizzy weakness hit him like a stone and he stumbled back, slamming into the emergency exit door. The tailbone’s depression still flowed through his system. His body was cooked. His mind shot. He didn’t know if he was man or ape. Whether he was on his way home or flying over his last ever hope of getting home. He knew he’d done many bad things. He knew a small, neatly groomed dog was tearing him a new asshole.
Ass flu, he said, not knowing why.
He yanked on the door’s handle and it ripped open.
The jungle was still below, a confusing rush of relief. The deep greens that glinted in the sun looked like the jewels his mother once wore, the fat man thought. The stewards edged towards him, arms outstretched, as he fell backwards out the plane, dog and all.
The plane looked smaller and smaller, quicker and quicker. The fat man turned in the air to face the little emotional support dog who had let go of his ass and was now falling freely beside him with a strange calmness. The fat man looked at its neatly trimmed face again and agreed it did provide a little comfort to his current situation.
A short story about a tailbone that gets depressed during a long haul flight and decides to hijack the plane.