A strange sight

A middle-aged Latina woman stood near the open freezers, next to what looked like an eighteen-year-old homeless kid. The kid was thin, dirty hoodie, messy dark hair, scuffed sneakers. In his hand was a colorful plastic toy gun that looked like something from a clearance bin, bright orange and blue with a plastic tube ending in a wide funnel above the trigger.

The woman was the strange part.

She was maybe late thirties, short and fit, with big, heavy tits that sat low and round under a plain white tank top. She wore no bra. The tank was already half-soaked. She held an open carton of milk in each hand and was tipping them over her own head, pouring the white liquid straight down her hair and face. Milk ran in thick streams over her shoulders, down the front of her shirt, soaking the thin fabric until it turned almost transparent and clung to her skin. Her nipples were dark and clearly visible through the wet cloth.

She was jumping up and down in place while she did it.

Every bounce made those heavy tits slap against her ribcage. Milk flew off in little arcs. Her dark wavy hair was plastered to her neck and cheeks. Her jeans were darkening at the waistband where the milk ran down. She kept pouring, kept jumping, face completely blank, eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly open like she was tasting the air. The empty space around her was already puddled white.

Erik’s brain tried to make sense of it and failed.

“What?” was the only word that came out of his mouth.

The homeless-looking guy had already registered them. His head turned. His eyes locked on Freya first, then on Erik. He just raised the toy gun, brought the wide funnel end up to his own mouth, and did something with his mouth that Erik couldn’t quite tell. A bright blue streak of light suddenly shot out of the barrel and crossed the aisle in a straight line in their direction.

It hit Freya square in the chest.

Erik flinched hard, expecting heat or impact or the smell of burned fabric. He checked his own body first, hands running over his stomach and ribs, looking for a mark, a hole, anything. Nothing. No pain. No wound. The blue light had simply vanished when it reached near them.

Then he felt Freya’s hand go slack in his.

Her fingers loosened. Her arm dropped.

Erik turned.

Her mouth was slightly open. Her face was completely empty of expression. The light blue eyes that usually tracked everything around her with sharp, almost judgmental focus were just… open. Looking at nothing. The pink-and-black hair still framed her face the same way it had ten seconds ago, but the person behind it seemed gone.

“FREYA!? FREYA!! BABY ARE YOU OK?”

Erik’s voice cracked as he grabbed his daughter’s shoulders and shook her. Her body moved with the force of his hands but there was no resistance, no tension in the muscles. She just swayed. Her head lolled a little. Those light blue eyes stayed open and empty, staring past him at the freezers. Milk from the other woman still dripped somewhere behind him. The smell of it mixed with the cold air of the aisle.

He shook her harder.

Nothing.

Panic turned into anger. Erik spun toward the thin guy standing next to the milk-drenched woman. The cartons in her hands were empty now but she still held them upside down over her head, arms locked in place, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Every jump sent those heavy, low-hanging tits bouncing hard under the soaked white tank top. Milk ran in thin rivers down her stomach and into the waistband of her jeans. Her face was blank the same way Freya’s had been a second ago.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKER! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY DAUGHTER?!!”

Erik’s shout bounced off the frozen doors. His hands were still half-raised, fingers twitching like he wanted to grab the guy by the throat.

Two voices answered him at the exact same time, loud and clear and perfectly matched.

“HELLO. HELLO. MIC CHECK. TESTING. TESTIIIIING.”

One voice belonged to the Latina woman. The other came from Freya.

Erik’s neck snapped around. Freya’s mouth was moving. Her face was still empty of any real expression but the words were coming out of her. The two women spoke in perfect unison, same rhythm, same slight upward tilt at the end of each word. It was wrong in a way that made the skin on his arms crawl.

“God! This is such a pain. I should be better at this by now.”

Again both of them said the same thing, word for word.

Then Freya’s body moved on its own. She balled one hand into a fist and brought it up near her mouth like she was clearing her throat. At the same moment Erik heard a clatter behind him. The Latina woman had dropped one of the empty milk cartons. Her hand rose in the exact same motion, fist near her own mouth. The two of them mirrored each other for a second longer, then the Latina froze completely, arms still raised, empty carton hanging from her other hand.

Only Freya’s voice came out this time.