Issue Three (Dec 2008)
Suet Dat, second cousin of the Monkey King, wasn’t that important. He was well below the rank of god, unlike his well-loved relative, and his powers fell short of amazing on just about every level. No one in China was ever going to sell statues of Suet or build him a shrine, nor would Dickey Cheung be relaying his accomplishments in a movie.
For something that was supposed to have predetermined behavioral patterns, the Shahrukh clone had a lot of funny ideas.
This day had started like any other – foreboding, threatening and ordinary. I’d got used to seeing every day that way in the last few months. I woke up fearful every morning as the world pressed in around me. It wasn’t that anything dreadful was happening to me – I just couldn’t stop believing it was about to.
Sometimes the pain took him when he was chopping wood for the cabin’s fire. Other times it flared up, hot and bright behind his eyes, when he was listening to the songs and skits on the radio set. Sometimes it even woke him out of a dead sleep.
Tom inspected the mailbox of 12 Cobble Court, the next house on his list. “Kurill-Flores,” it read, the handwritten letters crowding the yellowed sticky label trapped underneath the dirty glass. Not a well kept house, Tom observed.