A Boat Named Misery…

Michon Neal
12 min readJul 15, 2022


*Em’s pov*

I woke in a sweat after that crazy ass dream. Sure, I respected and adored Tesla but there was no way that’d ever happen; not least of which because we were both asexual (as far as I knew). I’d had sex before and didn’t mind it — it’s how I got my amazing kid after all. But I never sought it out for its own sake, nor thought anyone hot in any way that would ever make me want to fuck or make love to them. It was the same for me with romance, namely me being aromantic, and imagining yourself alone in a universe with an enamored lover seemed pretty damn romantic to me. Not in an appealing way, I should note.

I shook my head and started to stretch my limbs one by one, a requirement for my disability. Chronic pain in the form of fibromyalgia, of course. After stretching. I slowly rolled over on my hands and knees before stepping out of bed. Flipping on the TV, I put on my daily tai chi video and breathed and gently moved my perpetually-aching body. As my blood flowed more easily the pain lessened a bit and I felt ready to move for the day. I sat down briefly at my desk to write in my dream journal then loped downstairs to make cereal and milk to take with my morning meds.

Nope. Not even being half-fairy could protect me from human genetic issues. I sighed, tool my pills. lit a blunt of the finest medical cannabis in the state, and wondered why my brain had conjured a sex dream about my hero while literal outer space aliens were approaching the earth. I needed to do some research, I decided and opened my phone.

And then my life changed with the title of many articles on Goggle Universe Search being some variation of “Niko T, a man claiming to be from the future, is also claiming he’s clone of Nikola Tesla.”

I spit out my cereal. Damn premonitions.

*DDR’s pov*

“No, yeah, it’s going to be lit! You gotta come,” my best friend said, practically begging. “The aliens are likely to kill us all once they’re bored, anyway.”

“We’ll see what they want when they get here. If you shut up about them until the party then I’ll go. Let me clear it with my cherished ones first. I can’t afford to drop off the map right now,” I replied.

“Great! You won’t regret it,” he cheered, running off. “Don’t call your personal assistant. Let me handle all the details. No security, either. You need to let loose.”



Michon Neal

Writer. Lover of the cosmos, books, nature, and anime. Deals with disabilities of the physical kind. Creates ways of healing and learning.