Issue Eleven (Sept 2009)
The fairy-tale never mentions my name –
A perfect reflection of my role.
Every day, she needs
to slay that dragon again.
Everyone who comes here knows my story. At least they think they do. It reminds me of my childhood, before the great sleep, when I’d tell my father that I had discovered a fairy cottage in the yard and he’d interrupt my story halfway through to tell me that I meant the groundskeeper’s home, or I’d tell him about a room of glistening treasures, and he’d call it an armory without listening to what I’d found.
Emily looked up through the clouds. If she squinched her eyes up real good, she could see Castle Barrineau. She jiggled her fishing pole.
Mrs. Nisha Sharma was a sociable woman, and a galaxy of friends and acquaintances swirled unceasingly around her. Among these, Dr. Mohan Sharma was a faint, unobtrusive star. Small and neat, with soft, plump hands and a gently raised paunch, an air of shabby respectability clung to him so resolutely that people were inclined to forgive his not infrequent social lapses.