Current location:	Work
Current mood:	calm
Current music:	Printer noises

Don Cheadle's novel This is not my face...probably not on the best seller's list. Anywhere
The first 17 hadn't made it past the first night. Another 2 were duds and then one struggled through six days and then faded. But not these two. These two were thriving. They liked warm apple cinnamon oatmeal, it was sickening to watch them eat. Primal and yet awkward. They were ugly. That had been unexpected. Babies were suppose to be cute.

22 months ago Darren Hartfield's previous self had it all. But a jet ski accident during the company retreat put him on the disabled list. Literally. It was his cousin Wallace's crowning achievement in law. Getting a settlement from the Hewitt/Morgan company because the accident had occurred on their time. The settlement plus disability meant Darren wouldn't have to work again. It sounded great, but three weeks in he was miserable. The accident hadn't left him mangled, or in "a condition that where this once active and vibrant man would be confined to using a cane for the rest of his life", as his cousin had stated in court. He then recalled a story of the final game of the the adult inner city league softball game when Darren had picked off a pop fly heading over the fence to win the game. "That sort of athletics wouldn't be possible now" he had said. At the time it was true. But Darren had worked tirelessly getting back into shape and now a scar on his thigh and some occasional numbness was the only reminder of the accident.

"You should get a hobby" Adrienne chimed in one afternoon, after coming over straight from work and listening as Darren complained that the satellite had been on the fritz since that morning, "Maybe gardening, create a new flower and you can name it after me." He was not into the idea.

"I'm not gardening"

Two days later sitting at the computer having exhausted all means of filth online he typed the word "gardening" into the search engine. He would humor her, but he wasn't going to do a dainty flower garden, maybe something manlier, he'd grow potatoes or corn or something like that. It would get him out of the house. Looking back on it now it was laughable that this was what started it all. He clicked on a link, "Genetic manipulation of plants and animals." Maybe he'd grow a super potato.

Eating cold chicken strips in front of that glowing screen he realized how late it had gotten. Somehow from gardening he'd gone to genetic manipulation, to home genetics labs, to forums, to where to purchase all of the supplies. He had told himself he wasn't going to buy anything until he had slept on it, he was too caught up in the science fiction magnificence of it all. He was like a kid again. But $6,000 later and with the sun coming up Darren felt the cool ache of buyer's remorse.

It was another two weeks before the equipment began arrive. Darren was clueless, but his nephew was home for the summer from MIT, he called him to come help set it all up.

Sam was surprised to say the least.

His Uncle Darren was not a scientist, far from it actually. And some of the items were serious bio-engineering stuff. Not that Sam couldn't set it up. Several of his friends had some similar equipment in their basements. But they didn't use it for anything like what he thought his uncle was trying to do. They were more into making the perfect beer. Most people never realize the science used in everyday life. On his uncle's makeshift desk he had noticed several articles on the recessive gene, talpid2 laying next to the computer. Darren had been asleep when he first arrived and Sam wanted to check his e-mail. He had an ebay bidding war in full force and didn't want to lose the 1982 TI calculator with the defect of having two #9 buttons, it was a rare find. But he had been distracted by the pages and pages of printed articles on talpid2. It was a gene that if turned on could cause embryonic chickens to grow teeth. This was not child's play, and he had always seen his uncle as sort of a frat boy without the fraternity. He feared his uncle had just wasted a lot of money. Not that he didn't have it to waste.

A few hours later and one vintage calculator gained Darren drudged into the living room. Sam had made himself lunch and was sitting at the counter. "You making a killer chicken?" he chuckled. Darren turned back and went into the bedroom and came back out seconds later carrying a filling box full of clipped papers and articles and what looked like blueprints.

"This is what I'm making" he said with a childish smile.

It would take Sam days to read through all of this. And he was a fast reader. But one thing was obvious. His uncle was towing the line of ethics.

"It's like taking a radio apart and then putting it back together as a microphone" Darren told him

It was nothing like that.

And now as Darren stood staring into the cage looking into its eyes, for the first time he felt like he may have made a mistake. The gaze was broken when the larger of the two flesh toned scaly creatures nipped at the other's tail. Sam hadn't seen them yet. Not in person, and not since they had gotten so big. At over two meters their size had even surprised Darren. Chickens don't look that big. The female behaved a lot like a chicken, she pecked around even made shrill hooting noises, but the male was aggressive. Darren had once seen a cock fight in Mexico on spring break several years back, but this wasn't that kind of aggression. This was almost alpha ma- the doorbell rang.

Darren had started locking his doors. He couldn't risk anyone finding out what he was doing. His experiments had raised some serious ethical questions in his own mind, but he was too engrossed in it to care, so he knew that others might see it as animal abuse.

Darren could see through one of the glass side panels on the hardwood front door that it was Sam. He quickly unlocked the door and Sam almost forgot to say hello before heading towards the garage excitedly. Darren locked the door behind them and they both walked into the garage. Sam stood still, just staring at the chirping and hooting creatures jumping about the cage.

"They don't recognize you" Darren told him

"They are bigger than we expected" Sam said still stunned by what he was looking at.

Sam leaned forward he wanted to touch it, despite its appearance.

It reminded him of the time he went home for Christmas with his then girlfriend Kimberly. Her grandparents lived on a farm and he had witnessed them killing and plucking the chicken for the next night's dinner. Their flesh was pink mostly scaled. Both he and Darren were excited when they found that recessive gene, but the scales had turned out to be sporadic, the stomach and under the neck were not scaled, just loose featherless chicken skin. The beak's shape still remained and you could still see it at the tip of the snout, and it had teeth razor sharp teeth.

The male nipped at Sam as he touched it. He barely felt it slice through his skin but he was definitely bleeding. His tail was perfect, just how he'd imagined it.

They'd done it. They had reverse engineered a chicken back to its most basic reptilian form. It was a dinosaur. An ugly pink dinosaur.

"He's mean" Sam said holding his finger.


Dear Journal,

Yesterday I went and picked up Roboraptor. He is quite awesome. The work day has been fairly quietly thus far. However shit will be hitting the fan soon. It's not good, I'm afraid Gayle might leave. It sucks. I'll probably explain more later. Its nothing on my side of the advertising department, its hitting the sales team hard though. This evening Dylan and myself will be going to go purchase some fireworks for New Years. Woo! Other than that I got nothing going on right now, so I suppose I'll get back to work.