By Alexandra Leggat
Postcard fiction a few staff of characters who look for their identities in an volatile international.
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Postcard fiction a few workforce of characters who look for their identities in an risky global.
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You watch the constable clone herself in front of you. She's doubled then tripled. You feel hot and sick and then you fall onto the table in front of you. You wake up in a white room. You tell them you can't remember a thing. They send you home with a telephone number and a please, please rack your brain, Miss. You agree to call if you think — 46 — of anything. You drop the number in a garbage bin. Days go by and you can't leave the house. Can't take your hand off your heart or keep your eyes dry.
Only look at boys but don't touch or talk to them because it causes too many problems. I remember telling him, I was thinking of joining a convent. He said they wouldn't have me. I told him my biggest sin was him. The phone has fifteen messages, I didn't think that was possible. They're all from the botanist. I hang up the phone and attempt to strangle it with its cord. He turns blue in my mind. See him hunched over himself, head shaking. See him smoking — 58 — and staring into the distance, saying things to himself like, what have I done, what more can I do and I can't take this anymore.
He can't leave me anything. Nothing to prove he was here. I've got the picture of his gray-flannel-suit-self on my wall. I've got his umpteen novels on my shelf and his ghostly scent in my bed. — 40 — Dodger This page intentionally left blank You wander down an alley lined with flaming oil drums. Passed a group of dirty, drunken men trying to keep warm. They lift paper bags shaped like bottles up to their cracking lips. You listen to them converse in grunts and cackles and think you wandered into the beginning of time when men were apes and women weren't invented yet.
Pull Gently, Tear Here by Alexandra Leggat