Issue 29 (Jun 2011)
Agnes Wilder stared into Ike Ferris’ creased brown face. “You need what?”
“A cart, you know, so we don’t have to walk all that way.”
“I’ll look into it.” She kept her voice even. “My budget doesn’t allow for a lot of extras.” She couldn’t believe that her critical scientific research funding relied on people too old to walk to the conference room from the parking lot.
It was the laughter that finally drove me over the edge, the sound inexplicably bursting through the silence that had surrounded me for decades. A high, girlish peal; perfectly crafted to enthrall a young man, but with a hint of childish delight. Solomon’s eye! The energy that emanated from the girl was intoxicating.
At night the nine-tailed fox
(girl) cleaves to her shape like a held
like a prayer keened through steel trap