The Turnip Girl of Europe

That Hitler was a woman and my lesbian lover is but one of the revelations to unfold in my soon to be published memoir: The Turnip Girl of Europe. Yes, you’ll be delighted to know she had a Hitler. Among other truths finally told is that Kurt Waldheim was actually a woman and was my lesbian lover.
The time machine proved useless. The great tragedies of history were nested within dangers of alternative warlords, apocalypse and strange unconsidered dystopia. Little could be changed for the better. Gambling schemes unleashed tiny spinning cycles of consequence that did us in, invalidating the original time travel, so every bet went uncollected, and un-gambled. A lack of know how on my part precluded the invention any but the simplest of technologies, and the cavemen were not ready for the change, nor I for the grim sustenance of their existence. Former-would-be -lovers were even less charmed by the man I had become, my modern desires too unpalatable by the innocents of my youth. I thought that I had blown it, but they had blown it too. Attempts to seduce myself were less hot than imagined, fumbling, predictable gropings that revealed a certain weakness of passion that was mutually detected. And no, you can’t kill your grandfather.
So I took solace in transportation, viewing the nations of the world and the new outposts of space, only to find, months and many transportations into my journeys, that a new study found the technology actually did bring about your demise, merely recreating a facsimile in it’s new location. I was a copy of a copy of copies of a corpse. A few more trips and I developed the right mixture of selfishness and self-control to walk away. I was born anew, and dead.
I joined the army, in The Lord’s Cause against the traitors in California and Washington. I burned down their homes and blew up their cars. I killed their kids, cut open their skulls and yes I scooped out and ate their brains. When California was deemed The New Holy Land I did not take part in that final cleansing. I sensed it was time to leave the world of war and make my way in business.
I set up a table and sold novelties. I was swept up in the toe-clipping fad that summer. It started as a sideline in the illegal immigrant transportation business. A child’s toe was part of the price for a trip across the border. At some point the maimed nature of so many of their schoolmates inspired naturalized children to cut off their toes for fun, as well as trading and collecting. Many toes passed across my table of novelties, and I prospered.
I was born in Indiana. I know virtually nothing of that place, other than that it has a town named Gary, and another named South Bend, which homes Notre Dame University, and that there is corn, fields of corn that runs on to the horizon, starting in my back yard.
Hitler and I changed our names to Adelle and Helena. We impregnated ourselves using our own DNA, using the secret science of the Third Reich, taking the good with the evil, just so there would be a balance. Helena never acknowledged the evil of her realm, but I knew we had gone too far, but I rationalized the matter. Yes, millions had died, so that these beautiful children could be born. We named them Adam (His “Father’s” name being verboten), and Eva. No I am not Eva, Adelle still had affection for the name.
We took the time machine back to the dawn of humanity and raised them as the first children. We played Gods, calling out commands from behind the ferns. Yes, the forbidden fruit is incest, and we failed to instill the proper amount of dread. The rest of the story follows the line of the Bibles telling rather closely.
It was Adelle who led the movement to wipe out the Neanderthals. When I saw her evil could not be contained, I turned from her and became devoted to thwarting her wicked causes. I became Queen of the Picts. Adelle became Lady Macbeth.
Each time I transported, I checked for the loss. Maybe I was strangely numb, but a good meal and a night’s sleep usually took care of the problem. Even when I knew I was successively killing myself I stuck to the same ritual and obtained almost the same relief.
–Dan Kilian

A Beautiful Lie



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