A Matter of Perspective
“A little perspective. That’s it. I’d like some fresh, clear, well-seasoned perspective. Can you suggest a good wine to go with that?”
Anton Ego, Ratatouille 🐭
A short story, excerpt from my book Fredric.
Manly
As the portal shimmered into nothingness behind him, he remained standing for a while and considered the surroundings. He was in the middle of a sparsely vegetated open field. There was a road nearby, leading to a group of buildings within sight.
Definite marks of civilization.
The temperature was quite agreeable, with not a single cloud formation in the blue sky above. He started marching just as the translator chirped in his head: Airwaves bursting with transmissions. Commencing language acquisition.
A short while later, when he’d arrived at the first buildings, the translator silently announced, Language level now sufficient for communication with locals. He continued to advance along the same road, surveying the edifices, until he came upon a structure somewhat larger than the others, which he promptly entered.
It was apparently some sort of meeting place for women. There were several of them seated in small groups around tables, nursing large glasses filled with a pale-golden liquid. The background noise faded into near silence as he traversed the place and stopped in front of a table hosting three young maidens. They seemed to be eying him with desire. He thought one of them was quite pretty, actually.
But, first, the mission.
“Excuse me,” he said, “I seek a place of sleep. A …” The translator was still in learning mode. “A hotel,” he added after a short pause.
The pretty one grinned, as did the other two. “Sure, sure,” she said, as her right eyelid closed and opened in what seemed to be some kind of suggestive gesture.
Meanwhile, the meeting place had flared up. What’s wrong with the women on this planet? he thought. They act as though they’ve never seen a man before. Examining his image in a reflective surface on the left — long blond hair, full red lips, firm breasts, curvaceous hips — he thought, not without some pride, A handsome man, admittedly. Still …
