Electric Rather Issue 4: Prose

8/11/2019 Electric Rather Issue 4: Prose

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Electric RatherA Literary MagazineIssue 04 August 2014

Letter from the Editor

Electric Rather is a fledgling literary magazine with a vibrantspirit. We publish original poetry, prose, art, and photography.We publish new and innovative writers that challenge theboundaries o what is considered good art. We seek raw, intense,

and emotional pieces that give us hope or the uture o art andliterature. Were passionate about this magazine and want to seeit continue to grow. Our goal is to provide a publishing outlet ornew and unknown authors and artists. Tis issue is divided intotwo separate poetry and prose sections.

Tis issue eatures fiction by Nikki Rae, Elizabeth Teriot,Nicholas Leonetti, Kim Koering, and Kevin Reilly; a nonfictionpiece by Bill Vernon; as well as artwork by Anne Bengard,Aaron Kaminsky, Sean Schemelia, and Jack Savage. Pleasevisit electricrather.tumblr.com or more inormation about ourwonderul contributors.

Submissions are always welcome. Please email them [email protected]. I you wish to contact us, you can alsouse this email. Visit our website at electricrather.tumblr.com orlook us up on Duotrope.com. Tank you or reading!

Te stories presented in this issue are o many different genres,including antasy, sci-fi, and nonfiction. I believe all o these authorshave distinct voices that motivate the imagination and create emotionsuspense. I was impressed with how neatly our accepted artwork seemed to

in with these stories, but this only points to how creative and well-drawthese stories really are. Te authors o this issue take elements o realilie and paint them surreally. Te art in this issue similarly portraysrealistic emotions like pain and ear in a cold, unique way. Most o thin this issue was taken rom canvas paintings. exture and stroke shoube evident. I love that I am able to publish such a variety o work with magazine.

As always, I am immensely proud to be able to publish so manytalented writers and artists. I am still in awe that this magazine has beas successul as it has. I hope that readers are as elated as I am to see tissue published.

-Barb


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Table of Contentsiction

ikki Rae: Silver and Cold ................................................................................... ............ P. 2

lizabeth Teriot: Te Birthday Candle ....................................................................... P. 10

icholas Leonetti: Scrappys Rocks ............................................................................... P. 18

ean Schemelia: Excerpts rom Its More than Likely ..................................................P. 28

im Koering: Familiar ................................................................................................... P. 30

evin Reilly: Epicentropolis .......................................................................................... P. 34

Photography and Art

Aaron Kaminsky ................................................................................................P. 1, 23, 33, 27

Anne Bengard: Circus Child .............................................................................................P. 9

Sean Schemelia ........................................................................................................P. 17, 22, 27

W. Jack Savage: emple in the Sky .................................................................................P. 27

Cover design by Aaron Kaminsky.Graphic design by Barbi Moroz.

NonFiction

ill Vernon: Club Swingers .............................................................................................P. 24


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Whether all o it was made up, exaggerated, or real, I always thought it was weird that no oneever mentioned the chemical-ridden reserve. Sure, people around town theorized that the thing peoplewere seeing was either some radioactive animal, or worse. A radioactive person. Hell, maybe everyonewas breathing in umes and thats what caused everything. In any case, the reserve was curiously alwayslef out o the stories and media. No s urprise there. Our town was the picture o quaint, and the once-storage unit or explosives took away rom its charm. It was a scab no one wanted to pick.

By the time I was a teenager, Te Pleasant Point Nature Reserve was a hangout or teenagers toget drunk, and the people who were too araid to hang out there at night were just chicken. Our par-ents orbid us rom going anywhere near the reserve. Tey wouldnt say i they believed in the giantbird, only that it was a rundown place where there could be potentially harmul chemicals and some-one could get hurt. S o o course we wanted to go there even more. eenagers are reckless that way,always wanting to put themselves in danger.

Daphne and I usually went on a Monday or uesday night, when my parents thought I wassleeping over her house or a study-slumber-party or whatever girls our age did.

Te reserve wasnt ar rom her house, so we had no problem walking to the bridge, stolen al-cohol and snacks in our backpacks, o course. On Mondays, there werent any other kids in the reserve.Parents in Pleasant Point didnt let their kids out on school nights.

You hear about the dog coll ar they ound in Mr. Somerfields yard? Daphne asked as weclimbed over the ence that had a aded black and orange sign reading: Keep Out.Yeah. I took off my sweatshirt and tied it around my waist. It was September, but still hot at

night, especially i you were sneaking around in the dark. His dog went missing a month ago and thenall o a sudden, BOOM. Baxters collar is on his lawn.

Freaky, right?I shrugged. I guess.Maybe Bird Man did it, Vye. Daphne made s ome ominous sound effect that she must have

heard in a horror movie and then laughed as we made our way toward the pond. Our flashlights shoneon the water when we reached it and the rusty red didnt hold a ripple. Not one.

Tis was our usual spot. Even i there were other kids in the reserve, everyone else was tooscared to sit near the supposedly radio-active pond. Not us. We werent araid o anything. We werestupid.

I didnt exactly believe in Moth Man. I wanted to, o course. Daphne did. Tats why we went

there almost every week, just in case the eight oot man decided to show. She had this theory that thereason he had suddenly reappeared was because the bridge was being reconstructed. Te goal was tofirst repair the bridge, then the reserve, but construction only happened when the workers could bepaid, and that wasnt ofen. So ar they had replaced one beam beore taking a break or a month.Daphne still thought the workno matter how l ittlewas disturbing the restless spirit o the chem-ical-ridden-bird-man or something. She always explained stuff like this as i it were act. I enviedher. Who wouldnt want to say that something cool like that was happening in their boring town in

the middle o nowhere? But I believed more in things that were real: cutting school, dating, and lyingabout how good I was at both o those things.Daphne and I sat down in the grass with our flashlights between our knees, only illuminating

our aces so we could see each other. She wasted no time cracking the seal on her moms Birthday cakeflavored vodka. She took a huge gulp o it. She was gagging, but she tried to hide it rom me. Youwant some? she asked. Its good.

I took a sip and that was enough or me. ruth was, I didnt really like drinking. I just likedDaphne.

Tink well see any lights out here tonight? she asked afer another gag-gulp.I shrugged. I dont care, I said. Lights are cool and all, but I wasnt sure what else to say to

keep the conversation going so I just said, Whatever.

A branch snapped behind us and made us jump.What the uck? I said as Daphne flashed her light in the direction the sound came rom.A boy around our age stepped out rom behind a tree. He was wearing dirt-stained jeans, a

plain -shirt, and sunglasses. And he was smiling at us.Tis was a normal thing. People hid out there and tried scaring kids like us because it was ea

But we werent scared anymore, just annoyed.Who the hell are you? Daphne asked, sounding almost disappointed that he wasnt a gigan

bird.My name is Cold, he said, stepping orward.His smile stuck to his ace like putty. It looked like he had never smiled beore in his lie. His

lips were stretched so ar over his teeth that I was araid they would swallow up the rest o his skull.oad? Daphne asked.No, Cold. Te boy stuck his hands into his pockets, and I watched Daphnes expression tur

into a deeper disappointment as he came to stand in ront o us, the rusty pond behind him. He waseven tall,I could imagine her complaining later. He could have at leastbeen tall like Bird Man.

Cold? I asked.He nodded v igorously, like a puppy.Tats a weird name, Daphne said. I heard the liquid in the bottle slosh around as she took

another gulp. It started to smell like vanilla soaked in rubbing alcohol when she spoke and it was maing me nauseous. Last time I was hung-over, it smelled a lot like that. Well, Cold, she continued. Wkind o have plans.. .so, beat it.

I nudged my tipsy riend. Dont be mean.Te boy was still smiling. Id never been araid o a smile beore that night, but his was makin

me shiver. I just needed to give you a message, he directed at m e. Ten Il l be on my way.Daphne rolled her eyes.I dont even know you, I said. How could you have a message or me?Te boy ignored my question. Go home.A snort let loose deep in my nose and throat. No, yougo home.He didnt answer. Te man named Cold walked slowly away rom the pond, looking into it

briefly, beore he disappeared into the trees.Shortly afer the strange boy vanished, Daphne got trashed, as she usually did when she stole

alcohol rom her house and had the opportunity to drink it without any chance o an adult walking

on her. She used me as a crutch to hold hersel up the short walk home and once we were inside, shepromptly passed out on her bed, backpack still on.

At first, I couldnt sleep because I was thinking about the boy in the woods. I didnt want to blieve he was anything more than some weirdo trying to reak us outthey were everywhere when yowent to the reservebut I still couldnt get his ace, and the smile pasted onto it, out o my head.

And I was so itchy. First my ace, then my arms and my fingers. Finally, I went into Daphnebathroom and flicked on the light. Tere was nothing there besides the aint, pink marks my fingern

made in my skin. I tossed, turned, and scratched until the next morning, periodically wondering whthe boy named Colds message meant.As soon as I got home the next day, I took a shower, scrubbing my ace and arms over and ov

again until I was aintly less-itchy. Although that could have been because my skin was raw and thethrobbing in it distracted me.

I took a Benadryl I ound in the medicine cabinet and ell asleep. I was thankul, and alwayswas, that my parents went to work beore I had school and got home a ew hours afer I was back. Itmade skipping class a lot easier.

Id like to say that I had some oreshadowing dream here, but that Benadryl kicked my ass. Ipretty much blacked out or the next our hours, so i I had any dreams, I didnt remember them.


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Ten the phone was ringing and my head was hurting, especially around my eyes, which tookme orever to open. I picked up the phone rom the coffee table, moving as little as I could or ear thatthe itching would return i I became too aware o my skin. Hello?

Tere was silence on the other end.Hello?Tere was another long stretch o silence, and just when I was about to hang up, the person on

the other line spoke. Violet?Yeah. I was getting irritated now.Have you gone to the bridge yet?I rubbed my eyes with the back o my hand. What?Tat was it. I didnt hear the person on the other line hang up, but there was no other response,

so I slammed the phone down mysel, turned over, and went back to sleep.

Dude, you look horrible, Daphne said to me on Saturday. By then, Id developed a ever andthe stuff I was coughing up wasnt exactly attractive. I had hives around my neck and down my arms,

but I didnt really pay attention to how itchy it was because I couldnt see too much o it through myswollen eyes.

You go to the doctor, Vye? She plopped down on the bed next to my legs and turned on my

V to some show about rich housewives complaining about some rich housewie problems.Yeah, I said, though I had to stop and blow my nos e beore I could continue. Tey said itssome kind o allergic reaction. I must have touched something at the reserve and rubbed my ace orsomething. I paused so I could cough or a l ittle while. My parents are pissed that Im missing somuch school, butwhatever.

Are you stupid? Daphne said suddenly. Tis is shit that happens to Bird Man people.Come on, I said. I wanted to roll my eyes, but it wasnt possible. Not now. My head hurts.No. Seriously. What I could see o her jumped up and turned off the V. And you said s ome

weirdo called you and asked i youd gone to the bridge?Yeah, I said. But that doesnt meanWe need to go to the bridge, Daphne interrupted.Right, I said. I can barely see or walk straight, but lets go to the bridge.Afer ten minutes o fighting an argument I knew I would lose, Daphne drove us to Silver

Bridge.

We had walked across it dozens o times in order to get to the reserve, but it looked differentduring the day. Tough it was named Silver, it was made out o wood that had turned a dark greenishcolor, somehow making it look wet, even though it hadnt rained in a while.

Daphne wrapped her arm around my waist so I wouldnt trip when we got out o the car, which

she had parked in the grass near some trees. God, she said. Can you like, walk? Youre kind o heavy,

leaning on me and shit.

No, I said, not bothering to conceal the s igh that soon ollowed. I told you I was sick.I had to sit down so I wouldnt all over. I didnt know how close to the bridge we were, but wehadnt stepped across it, and we definitely werent on it. I hoped that w as good enough or Daphnebecause I didnt want to move anymore.

I dont get it, she said, finally sitting next to me in the grass. Why would they want us to comehere?

I snorted. Whos they?I dont know. Daphnes voice raised in deense. Just they.I sighed. How long do we have to stay here? I want to lie down. I closed my eyes and rested

my head on her shoulder.

Daphne sighed too. I dont know. I guess She didnt finish her sentence. What are you ding here?

I had to blink multiple times beore I could see what she was talking about. Tere was the samboy with the creepy, stretched out smile on his ace. He was still wearing the same sunglasses and dir

jeans. I saw him clearly, as i my vision wasnt blocked by my puffy eyes.Who the hell are you? I asked, trying desperately not to be araid, but my voice was shakin

I couldnt place it, but something about this kid made the hair on my arms stand up and my stomachurt. Or maybe that was part o the allergic reaction. Whatever, he was still creepy.

He stood in ront o us, unmoving, unspeaking.Okay, Daphne said in an annoyed tone. ime to leave, Vye. Only her voice had more o a

edge o ear added to it. She stood up and grabbed my hand, but I couldnt move.I couldnt look away rom that kid and I couldnt move.Come on, Vye. Now Daphne sounded p anicked as she tugged on my arm.All I saw was the boy, Cold, as he walked past us and onto the bridge. He walked backwards,

staring at me the entire time.

You have my eyes now. Youll be able to see. Cold was staring right at me, through me.I couldnt concentrate on the words as they bounced around in my head. I wanted to ask all

kinds o questions. How was this kid talking to me like that? Who he was talking about? Why was he

talking to me?But there was a high pitched screech that broke off my thoughts beore I could say them outloud. It was like someone was dragging a metal chair across a metal floor, and that floor was inside ome. Tat floor was my head and I had to hold it so it wouldnt explode.

Tats probably why I didnt hear or see the bridge al l.Daphne told me that once the noise started, I collapsed. She said it was bad or her too, but

she managed to throw me into the car and drive off. She said she hadnt seen Cold all, although hewas clearly standing on the bridge when it went down, and there was no way he would have had timto turn back. She said when she heard the crashing and banging, she pulled over, too araid to driveany urther. Tats when she saw the wood alling, piece by piece, until the entire bridge was gone. Twhole time, she was searching or the six oot tall man with wings, but he never showed.

Te noise stopped as soon as the bridge was gone, and my head stopped hurting soon afer. Smade me wait in the car, still unconscious, as she got back out, searching or the boy that was standion the bridge only minutes beore. But he wasnt in the woods, and he wasnt in the water.

Te next day, my rash and eyes began to clear up and I w asnt coughing anymore. Te doctosaid it was thanks to antibiotics, which made sense.

Daphne and I told the police about the bridge. Te high pitched screech, and the missing boFor a week, they sent out missing persons reports, then dredged the lake. He wasnt there or anywhealive or dead.

In the weeks that ollowed, all the people in town talked about was the bridge alling, not reaizing we were the ones who saw it because that wasnt the part o the story they wanted. Tey wanted

danger. ragedy. Not two stupid teenagers who only saw it happen. I couldnt blame them.Stories are only un to tell when they seem less real. When theyre fiction. Daphne and I didneven talk about it to each other.

Also lef unmentioned was the act that rom three pm, when the screeching sound began, anour pm, when the noise finally stopped, that the entire town shut down. Appliances and cars stoppeworking. All that the residents o Pleasant Point couldnt think o anything else but that all-consumsound. People curled up on the ground at work, church, or wherever else they stood.

Ten their own stories ormed. A school filled with kids hunched under their desks saidthey saw a flock o hundreds o birds fly into the windows and writhe on the ground until the soundstopped, and they simply took flight again in the opposite direction. Mr. Somerfield swore that he

heard his dog, Baxter, barking in the backyard through the hour long screech, but he couldnt move


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open the door. Once the sound ended, so did the barking, and Baxter was nowhere to be ound.Tough he told the newspaper that the collar he ound had once again disappeared. And the mosttalked about story came rom a gas attendant who said they saw a boy matching Colds description asthe screeching consumed the town. He said he could have sworn he saw eathers dangling rom theboys arm as he waved, unaffected by the noise, a smile stuck to his lips.

Te bridge was never rebuilt. Te town said it was because o the missing boy and they didntwant anyone else to get hurt. It only took a month or people to stop telling the stories. News andreporters disappeared. Cold was a mystery no one wanted to talk about anymore. Another scab thatmade others uncomortable to watch being pulled off. And no one talked about Bird Man anymorebecause there was nothing to tell. Like the bridge, the sightings ell away too.

But sometimes when I go to sleep, I can hear this aint sound, like someone knocking. Not onthe walls or on the doors o my house, but somewhere inside o me. Like something is asking to comein.


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The Birthday CandleElizabeth Theriot

Te curtains were drawn and a red, diffused light wavered slow and haltingly throughthe room. Myra knew that she was not allowed unsupervised in her athers library, but also knew thhe wouldnt be returning home until afer supper. Her fingers grazed the book spines as she movedtowards her athers desk, and she imagined them shaking and trembling beneath her skin. Once someticulously neat, the large mahogany desk was now piled with crumpled notes, browning documedusty books, and old cups o coffee. Its size at least had not changed; it was still daunting, still hunch

in the corner o the room like a large, waiting beast. When Myra was younger and her ather stillsmiled, the desk had seemed big as a house to her and she would play beneath it while he worked, ming China dolls climb his legs like trees. But now this desk, this library, had grown dark as her athereyes. Myra pulled hersel into the rolling chair, smoothing her dress over the cracked green leather.Instead o risking discovery by upsetting the mess, she scanned her eyes over the pages, the smudged

and rantic ink, the lines and circles and strange illustrations that leered and looked ready to crawlrom the page. Myra hurriedly shook away this thought and finally noticed the envelope, a brighterand cleaner white than most o the paper on the desk. She gingerly slid it rom under a heavy red boand breathed a sigh o relie to see it had already been opened. Te envelope was heavy with thick anslightly ridged paper, her athers name written on it in blue ink. Te return address was typed. St. Agustas School for Girls.

Myra breathed deeply and slipped out the first page. Te salutation began under a strange locomprised o two swans with their necks intertwined over a basket o apples. Dear Mr. Bienvilleware pleased to inform youthe term beginning September 26thMyra dropped the envelope in her lanot in surprise but pained resignation. She made hersel look at the calendar hanging on the wall. Ared circle surrounded September 25th, her twelfh birthday, the day her ather would be sending heraway to New England. He had spoken o it months ago but Myra had held onto hope that he would

orget, or change his mind, or she would be declined entry. She had imagined the place or weeks inthe space between waking and sleeping, a vision clear and cold as ice: dreary grey skies and drearygrey dresses, rote recitations and sewing, playing piano hymns until her fingers ached, and plates obland, overcooked ood. As she saw these things a great empty eeling stole over her bones and herskin elt dry as inertile earth. But there was still a chance that this was just a possibility, just one optamongst many others rubbing against this reality like a hungry cat. Except now...accepted.

With trembling fingers Myra placed the envelope back under the book, wishing its weightwould crush the thing into ash. She slid rom the desk chair and hurried rom the room, touching nbooks, lingering over no detail. Her ootsteps smacked the marble stairs like a growing storm, and sh

careened blindly down them until something solid caught her around the shoulders. Zorias handswere old and gnarled, but firm, and Myra sighed deeply with the knowledge that escape would not ybe possible.

Where are you going in such a hurry, child? Zoria asked, the once thick accent somewhatsmoothed and sofened by decades ar away rom home. She had returned to the United States withMyras mother and ather afer their wedding and remained afer the atal illness, indispensable andwise. She would ofen say that she did not miss her home, that her old bones preerred the Southernheat. Certainly she fit right in with some o the citys traditions, leaving small satchels in the drawers

and lining the windowsills with salt. But Myra knew that at night, when the supper was finished andeverything cleaned and put away, Zoria would sit by the fire and rock slowly, singing songs o home


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Myra pressed her fingers to her temples, hard. Te aching that sometimes overtook her headwas beginning to build, like an egg slowly cracking. Zoria smoothed Myras hair and gently removedher hands rom her head, olding them between hers.

Come. I will make you a cup o chocolate. Let us talk.

Papa doesnt allow chocolate beore supper, Myra said in hal-seriousness. Zoria only smiledand tapped the side o her nose.

Te kitchen was already filled with spicy smoke in preparation or the evening meal. Largebronze pots bubbled and hissed while Daisy and Claudine laughed together as they chopped okra andpotatoes. Te gramophone in the corner played the warbling, otherworldly tones o a woman whosounded in distress, singing in a language Myra didnt understand. One o Z orias choices, surely.

Hey there, Miss Myra, Daisy said over her shoulder. Myra smiled in response. Daisy was likea younger, prettier version o her aunt, with smooth skin and lively eyes. Tough she wore her hairwrapped up in a colorul scar, the pieces that escaped were dark, bouncing curls. Claudine was also

jovial but her eyes were harder, more tired, her skin rough like old leather and hands almost as knobbyas Zorias. It hurt Myra sometimes to see themwhat Claudine once was, and what Daisy would even-tually become.

Te girl has had a shock and needs some chocolate, Zoria said, taking down tins and preppingthe kettle.

How did you know I had a shock? Myra asked this question already anticipating the answer.Because I always know.You have a birthday coming up, dont you Miss Myra? Daisy asked. Myra elt her ace flush.

Claudine nudged Daisy, who smacked her lips and continued chopping the okra. Zoria set down thekettle.

On September 25th. Te equinox.Daisy and Claudine exchanged another look, less amused. Myra wondered i they knew about

the school. Zoria beckoned her close with one crooked finger.In a low voice she asked, So you have seen the letter, girl? Myra shrugged, then nodded. Zoria

sighed, a slight wheeze in the sound.You should not be snooping in your papas study. People keep their secrets or a reason. As or

the schoolI shall see what I can do.Myra elt very hesitant about allowing hersel to hope or a more positive outcome but orced a

smile or Zorias sake, mostly wondering what she had meant about secrets.Whats going on in here?Myra jumped and turned rom the stove.I am teaching the child how to make a roux, Zoria explained, inching her large rame to the

side to block the tin o chocolate powder.Myras ather looked at them with eyes momentarily suspicious, then cold.My daughter will never have to cook or hersel. Myra, come with me.

She guiltily ollowed her ather rom the kitchen into the den, standing by while he fixed a tum-bler o brandy and ice. His white suit hung limply rom once-broad shoulders, and it had been manyyears since his hair had been either dark or ull; it receded sparsely rom his orehead in swatches oblack and grey. His loaers badly needed a polish and swollen bags protruded beneath his eyes like rot-ting ruit. It pained Myra to look at him, so she stared at her eet instead.

Im going on a trip, just or a ew days. Tere are items I need to procure rom some associatesin London. Myra looked up and realized that he was not s eeing her either, but instead gazed at theclock on the mantle while he spoke. I expect youll behave while Im gone and work on your lessons.You need more practice with French. Monsieur Jean will be here to tutor you three times a week now,instead o two.

Yes, Papa.And youre not to leave the house, he reminded her, as he reminded her without ail beore

every business excursion.

Yes Papa. Good, he said. He looked at her then, briefly, and she thought she detected a momentary suggestion o warmth in his dark eyes. She was sure they had once been a nice, comorting shade o some-thing other than burning tar, but that seemed lietimes ago. He looked about to say something else buturned abruptly away and headed up the stairs.

Myra once would have cried at this treatment and had, ofen, but it was simply a matter ocourse now, so many years since her mothers death. She instead leaned against the wallpaper andstared without seeing its dark green and golden whorls, pondering her athers words. Some associ-ates in London.Myra knew they came rom old money and wondered why her ather worked in thefirst place; she had never been told what his economic pursuits entailed. Business is for men, he wouldsay, not for girls,but Myra suspected her sex was only part o why she was kept rom any knowledge oher athers activities. Something had changed over the past ew years and i the strange papers on herathers desk were any indicationor the gaunt men with hard aces who arrived holding dark bundleor the unpleasant smells that would waf through the house some nights, keeping her rom sleepsomething more was happening.

*** Te three days her ather was gone moved slow and thick like the summer heat that stubbornlyreused to dissipate, even this close to autumn. Myra completed her lessons, recited French with the

heavy-jowled tutor, and tried to distract hersel rom the dwindling calendar pages by reading, butmost o her time was spent in her bedrooms window seat. Te humid air hung heavy with the smell omagnolias, cooking smoke, and garbage waiting to be collected, rotting in the heat. Myra elt despon-dently similar to a princess in one o her stories and wished that she could don a eathered headbandand join the constant procession o bodies that moved on the sidewalk below. Maybe it was her dis-tance, but they all seemed colorul and ull o joy, while her own lie elt unairly dismal.

Myra was eeling vacant and slow, picking at some lint that had attached itsel to her stockingswhen the car pulled up. Her ather exited the backseat carrying a heavy-looking black satchel, his acedrawn and lips thinly pursed. Myra stifled the desire to run downstairs, knowing it would just irritatehim, and waited in her room until dinner. But her ather was not at the table. She stirred her spoonback and orth through the shrimp stew and watched Zoria tear at a piece o bread, eeling the slightthrobbing in her head that threatened a migraine. Her ather joined them when the melted remnants odessert were being cle ared away.

Ill take a plate in the drawing room, he told Zoria in an exhausted voice. When he turned to

leave the dining room, Myra ollowed, eeling slightly emboldened by a good supper and her atherstired countenance, almost mild. He was sitting in his large leather chair by the empty hearth whenshe entered, and upon noticing her, patted his knee. On these very rare occasions when the heat wasdrained rom his eyes, leaving only harmless ash, her ather would welcome her company. Feeling bothuncomortable and pleased, Myra joined him in the chair. Her ather groaned slightly. Youre getting too big to sit with me like this, he said, but did not urther encourage her tomove, so Myra haltingly settled against his chest. He drew an arm across her and she closed her eyes,

trying to pretend this was how it always wasshe and her ather together afer dinner, he smelling likeshaving soap and tobacco and asking about her day. But he didnt ask anything, and afer a ew minutesMyra wondered i hed allen asleep.

Papa? Hmm? But she had nothing to ask. Eventually Zoria came in with a bowl o stew and Myra slipped roher athers lap so he would have room to eat. Afer a ew spoonuls he pushed the bowl away, then no-ticed his daughter watching. He cleared his throat. Your birthday is tomorrow. Would you like anything special or dinner? Or maybe breakast,beore the train leaves in the morning? Myra clenched her jaw tightly against the threatening tears. A small part o her had still hoped


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that the acceptance letter would mean nothing, disappear into the endless piles o paper on he athersdesk.

Whatever is easiest, she whispered.***

Myras attention was split between the pile o luggage in the corridor and the pile o melting va-nilla ice cream on her place. Its sloping mound-shape reminded her o Monkey Hill, which she used tovisit with her amily beore her mother ell ill. Te banana oster sauce met the melting ice-cream andmixed to create something resembling muddy flood run-off. Myra pushed the plate away and turnedher attention to the dining room clock, ticking with a hollow sound. Mumbling in Romanian, Zoriapicked up the plate and disappeared into the kitchen, returning momentarily with a new dish o des-sert.

Never mind waiting. Eat, she said with irritation that Myra knew was not directed to her. osatisy Zoria she ate about hal, barely tasting it. Her mouth elt dry and deadened. Te two sat togetherat the table in silence until the clock struck eight thirty. Zoria cleared her throat.

Wash up, then bed. Do you need anything rom me?

Myra shook her head. Zoria brushed back her hair and kissed her. Micua mea, she whis-pered, then took the dishes into the kitchen. Myra climbed up the stairs with slow eet and a heavyheart, eeling that her hands had once gripped on to something tightly but were now hanging by the

fingertips. She washed her ace with the tepid water in her ceramic rose bowl, changed into a cleannightgown, and laid in bed until Zoria peeked in on her way to settle down or the evening. By the timeMyra climbed back down onto the chilly pine floor it was almost ten. Her eyes ached so she splashedsome more water on her ace and waited by the window. By the time the black car pulled up in ront othe house another hour had gone by; Myra was nodding off when she heard the engine. She watchedher ather stumble out o the car, his arms ull with something in a burlap bag, and climb unsteadilyonto the porch. Te ront door opened and shut. Myra saw the driver disappear towards his lodgingsbehind the house, and afer a ew more minutes her ather reappeared in the yard, hurrying towardsthe sidewalk.

Without thinking Myra tore rom her bedroom, flying silently down the stairs in bare eet. Herwhite nightgown practically glowed in the dark, so she grabbed one o Zorias dark shawls hanging bythe door and wrapped hersel in it, then slipped outside and ollowed her ather. She was scared that hewould hear her ootsteps or the rightened thudding o her heart, but he was ar enough away and toodetermined to notice. Myra struggled to keep up; at one point she had to crouch behind a parked car

when a stray dog began barking, and her ather stopped and looked over his shoulders. Te streets theytook were empty besides a ew strays but Myra could hear the distant wail o a trumpet and a muffledcacophony o chattering, laughing voices. Tey seemed to be part o another universe; a sane placewhere people attended parties instead o stalking their athers through dimly lit streets.

Finally they reached the iron gates o a cemetery. Te streetlight was not lit so Myra couldntread the inscription, but the place elt amiliar. Her ather umbled at the lock until it snapped openthen, looking around him once more, hurried inside the gates. Myra ran rom her hiding place behind

a large tree and ollowed. It was like being in a completely different city, a city comprised o the deadand their white houses. She ollowed her ather or what elt like miles, past empty eyed cherubs andbrown flowers, until finally he stopped beore a large sepulcher and dropped onto his knees in thegrass. Myra hid behind a nearby tomb and peeked around its side. She stifled a scream with a hand-ul o shawl when her ather pulled a long bone-handled dagger rom his bag and sliced his orearm.Te blood that flowed rom the wound looked black. He dipped his fingers into it and began writingstrange symbols on the stone door, muttering words to himsel that reminded Myra o their priest; butthis was no Holy Sacrament. Her ather began unloading the bag and arranging a rightening collec-tion o items beore hima skull, a chalice adorned with rubies that looked like evil eyes, piles o smallbones. He lit a candle dark as the blood staining his arm and the tomb, and in the wavering flame Myra

could read the name inscribed above him. She should have known, should have known, but the sight o

her mothers name painted with blood sent a wave o hot, sickening pain through her body. Her enedisappeared and her knees dropped hard onto the steps o the sepulcher. Her ather began pouring luids rom stoppered glass bottles in a small copper bowl, sprinkling herbs into the mixture. His voicthat had so ofen lately been tired and weak was rising without a waver, each syllable dropping intoMyras chest like the heaviest o stones.

Sed non incorpore, en spiritum lemurs de mortuis, decretum espugnarede angelus KatarinaKatarinased non incorpore Myra grasped the shawl around her in ear, waiting or the winds to rise, the tombs to breakopen, the dead to crawl out with rotted flesh and gaping, bloody mouths. But there was only silence,the slightest whisper o leaves. Her ather nearly screamed the incantation again, then waited. She sahim rifle through some papers with shaking hands, mumbling to himsel again, but this time in Eng-lish. NonoI did everything rightwhat has happened? Where are you? Te papers tumbled to the ground, joining the leaves. Myra wondered what she should doto her ather? Zoria? Te police? Te moans that now gathered in his throat sounded like the cries o

dying animal and they rightened her more than the knie and the chanting. He sobbed brokenly andbeat at the tomb with his fists, which quickly began producing more blood. Katarina! Katarina! Why dont you come?

Myra broke through her paralysis, scared that her ather would completely crush his knuckleagainst the tomb and be lef with nothing but bloody stumps. Feeling that she would collapse in earany moment she orced hersel to run to him. Papa! Stop! Stop this! She clutched at his shoulders, shaking them rantically, scared thatthough he had never hit her in her lie, the fists would turn to her next in his anguish. But finally thepounding slowed, then stopped, and he collapsed against the tomb. His sobs belonged to somethingbroken and lost, a sound Myra would never have expected to hear rom her ather. He did not even cat her mothers uneral.

Why would you do this? Myra wanted to ask, but she knew the answer would be nothing coheent, satisactory, or anything she would want to hear. She barely could athom what this was, but kneit had something to do with the sallow men, the business trips, the old papers on his desk; somethingentirely different rom the pouches Zoria lef beneath their pillows, or the cards Claudine would readafer Saturday mass.

Her ather finally stopped sobbing, perhaps rom exhaustion, and seemed to notice Myra or

the first time. He clutched at her hands. She expected him to question her, but instead said, I missedyour birthday dinner. Papa, its all right. Its all right. More tears gathered in his eyes and he placed a hand on her cheek. I this gesture had beenmore commonplace, she would have shrunk rom the smell o blood and dirt, but instead, she held hfingers to her cheek, somewhere in the darkness and ear welcoming this oreign gesture o affection How can I make it up to you? omorrow, what shall we do? For your birthday? welve now

ast, and so much li ke her He trailed off, the tears coating his cheeks silver in the moonlight. Myra was surprised to seethat her athers eyes looked almost blue; bloodshot, rantic, and heavy with grie, but almost blueagain.

I want to see the jazz players in the square, she said finally, resisting the urge to cry out withglee because her ather had not mentioned the train, or the dreary New England school. He noddedand smiled as i it hurt to do so, then with hal closed eyes, opened his arms to her. She let him hold hagainst his chest and wondered what they would look like to a passing officer, or a couple o teenagesneaking around the cemetery on a dare. Like ghosts probably, maybe ghouls or vampires. Her atheheaving chest began to settle and his breath sounded almost like a childs alling asleep. Myra wonde

what being a vampire would be like, how it would eel to live orever. Probably lonely. Even though


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there was dirt on her nightgown and blood on her ace and her heart was still pounding with residualear, she at least, or the first time since her mother died, did not eel lonely. Myra allowed her achinghead to rest against her ather and watched the black candle gradually melt.


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Scrappys RocksNicholas Leonetti

A bell rang over head as Jay opened the door and stepped inside Scrappys Antiques. Like allthe times beore, the smell o dust and mildew hit him immediately along with the comorting eelinthat only air-conditioning can give you on a summer day as sweltering as this.

Te old man that owned the shop sat behind the register acing the door, surrounded by theoddities collected over the years. Te old man Jay didnt know his name momentarily taking hiseyes rom the b eaten up paperback hed been reading, nodded at Jay, and Jay nodded back.

Tere were porcelain dolls, baseball cards, records and cassette tapes, VHS tapes and DVDs,dog-eared paperback books, train sets, vintage lunch boxes, Nintendo NES games and Super Nintengames a nostalgic twilight zone that took Jay, i only or a short time, away rom the chaotic and htic world that was now his newly sanctioned adult lie.

Figurines placed in various positions inside a glass-case Darth Vador, Mr. Spock, Wolver-

ine wore small price tags wrapped around their necks like slack nooses. Jay looked at these, seeingsome that he may or may not have owned as a child, smirked and walked on. Further back, a shortstaircase led up to another room where larger, more precarious items Big Kids Toysa sign scrawledhal-assed cursive read were showcased: a crossbow hanging rom a nail in the wall, and BB guns o

various sizes in a glass case much larger than the one holding the figurines sitting below it. Tere wa deunct countereiting machine rom the 1930s in one corner and an old-time shoe-shining kit bel

it. Various other items scattered the room, but none o it interested Jay very much.Trough another door that led to another room, the local finds area, one could come across a

number o strange and weird items that Scrappys claimed to have ound in the surrounding Pine Barens. Careully preserved animal bones, some with an excess number o heads, arms and legs posedshelves, along with exceptionally odd-looking plants and rocks and other things o dubious nature.

Showcased in the center o all this was a small chestnut table, lacquered and shined, with a sigscotch-taped to it. Te sign read in that same deplorable cursiveAUTHENTIC SPACE ROCKS FOUIN YOUR OWN BACKYARD. Jay approached the table and saw ragments o what looked like alabater marble, some bigger than others. He picked one up. Te eeling was not what he expected it to bHe expected a hard, cold sensation, but he ound a sof and warm one. He squeezed the ragment inhis hand, expecting it to give, but was surprised to see that it was very much solid.

It was the strangest thing he had ever elt beore.Te price or the space rocks was $10.00 or one and two or $15.00. Jay picked two o the la

est ones he could find, deciding that he would give one to Amanda, and took them to the counter topay.

***Weird, Amanda said, wrapping her finge rs around Jays gif. Its so warm.

Yeah, Jay said, holding his own. I ound them over at Scrappys. Te old man is claimingtheyre rom outer space or something. Not sure about that. He said he ound them just this morniTeyre pretty cool, anyway, right?

Yeah, Amanda said, opening and closing her fist. You sure theyre sae?Why not?Well, you dont think they, like, m aybe harmul to pe ople or anything do you?Jay laughed. No! Not at all. Ive never heard o a rock being harmul.


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What do you know about rocks? Not much, Jay said. I m sure theyre fine, though. You dont have to keep it i you dont wantit. I just figured youd like it.

Amanda shook her head. No, I love it. Im sorry. Tat was rude o me. Jay smiled and kissed her.

*** Tat night, while Jay and Amanda slept, the rocks began to glow in the moonlight.

*** Te next morning, Jay woke up with a headache. He went to the bathroom to find a pain reliev-er. Amanda still slept soundly. He made coffee and breakast and then took a shower. It was 7:00am.

Jay was straightening his tie w hen Amanda started to stir. She placed her hand over her head and rose rom the bed. Oh, she said, I have a headache. I did too, Jay said, tucking in his shirt. oo much wine last night. I didnt drink any wine. I did. I drank enough or both o us. I took some Advil. It helped. ake some. Teres some

coffee, too. I eel fine now. Im tired, she said, alling dramatically back into bed and stretching like a cat. Jay smiled. Ten go back to sleep, mama. He went over to her and sat beside her warm body.

He kissed her orehead and walked his fingers down to her protruding, hard belly and rubbed it.I guess I could. Ten you should. Okay, she said. Ill see you later. Jay kissed her again and lef or work.

*** Around noon, while Jay was in the lunchroom eating a slice o pizza, his headache came back.It was worse this time: a hot, searing pain that pulsed behind his eyes. He flinched at the suddenness othe onset and rubbed at his orehead. You all right? Pat, his co-worker said, picking at a piece o pepperoni.

Headache , Jay said. Hang over, I guess. Jesus, I thought it went away. Came back or one last bite, huh? I guess. Jay rose rom the table. Im gonna go wet my ace.

Te bathroom was empty. Jay ran the water, elt it with the tips o his fingers, and then splashedit in his ace. He looked at himsel in the mirror and saw the first strands o blood crawling out o hisnose.

What the He wiped at his ace, and almost i mmediately, two more thin strands o blood ranout o his nostrils. Jay pulled a handul o paper towels rom the dispenser and put them to his ace.Te whiteness o the towels quickly went red. He took the mass away rom his ace and saw that nowhis nose was literally pumping out blood, as i someone turned on a aucet in his head. Crimson lines

o gore ran rom either side o his chin in a quick staccato that eventually led to a consistent flow. Tewater running turned pink as it hit the sink and washed Jays blood down the drain.More blood came rapidly, and Jay started to panic. He yanked another wad o paper towels and

put it to his nose. He slowly walked away rom the sink, starting to eel lightheaded and made his wayto the door. Tere was so much blood coming out o his nose that a pudd le o it ormed under his eet,and he slipped in it, landing hard on the tile floor. With the paper towels still clenched at his ace, Jaymanaged in a muffled yell, HELP!

And then he blacked out.***

He woke up in a hospital bed a ew hours later.It took him a ew minutes to realize where he was and why he was there. A blood bag with a

long IV running into his arm read O+ on its white label. He was wearing a blue hospital gown, anhis bare eet protruded rom a thin, white sheet at the end o the bed.Te television was on.

It was the five oclock news.Five oclock? Jay thought. Ive been here for almost five hours? Amanda has to be worried sick!

His attention was caught by the warbling television screen in ront o him. Scrappys took upthe whole picture. At the bottom a caption read: Breaking News: Local antique shop is currently in quantine. Death toll at 3. Jay could eel his orehead begin to perspire. Cold sweat ormed underneath both o his armand his eyes elt heavy. Amanda, he said, over and over again. Ripping the IV rom his arm, Jay slowly got out o bed. Te minute he stood up, he had to sitback down again. His head was swimming, still dully aching rom the hours beore. His clothes sat a neatly olded pile on a chair at the other side o the room. He glanced at the hallway to make sure n

one was around beore he changed into his clothes. A doctor walked past, his head in a older, but thwas all.

Jay quickly got changed and lef the hospital.

Realizing that his car would still be at the office, Jay hopped into one o the idling cabs outsido the hospital and gave the driver his address. It took about fifeen minutes to get home. When the cab rolled into Jays driveway, the sun halready gone down. Amandas car was in the driveway, but the house was completely dark.

He paid the driver and made his way as quickly as he could to the ront door. His hands shooas he placed the house key into the lock and turned it.

Amanda! he yelled, walking into the house, not even bothering to clos e the ront door.He turned on the hallway light and elt the absolute silence o the house closing in on him.

Tere was something wrong, terribly wrong, and he was horrified at what would be beyond the bed-room door when he opened it.

He was at the door now. His hand was around the knob, squeezing it tightly, hot and dampwith sweat. Te rame o the door was glowing blue rom whatever lay behind it. In a hoarse whisphe said her name, hoping to God that she would answer back.

No answer.

He turned the knob, and the door creaked open, and the glow grew brighter. His head hurt,and he could eel the first trickle o blood start to leave his nostrils. Jay took a deep breath and went inside the bedroom.


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go-around. My threesome finished the first nine and without a break, played the nine holes a secondtime. Te man paid and thanked me. My perormance had apparently been okay, good enough by mystandards.

Fingering the our dollar bills in my pocket, congratulating mysel, I headed or my bike andstepped on something. I looked down. An inflated bicycle tire. Beyond it was another in the grass. Be-yond that were handlebars, a seat, pedals, a kick stand, a rame and chrome bumpers. God, it was myweek-old Schwinn Phantom lying in pieces. I was paying its $82.65 cost mysel at $5 per week, but nowit looked ruined.

Ten laughter. Five caddies were on the benches watching me, Lebanon public school students.Te truth was obvious. I attended an out-o-town Catholic school and so I was an outsider to them.

om, the baseball player, the one caddie I knew, was among them so I approached him. Heturned away, drank at the ountain, then aced me. I asked him whod taken my bike apart, and hisanswer was to spit a mouthul o water in my ace. Tat was such a terrible insult, I leaped on him in arenzy and wrestled him to the ground.

Several hands dragged me off and broke us apart. I yelled, Who did it? Which one o you?

Te biggest one, James Douglas, s aid, It was me. Whatre you going to do about it?I attacked without even considering that he was heavy and muscular, a ootball star, two years

older than me. He slapped my hands aside, grabbed my wrists, spun me around and threw me aside

like a sack. I ran at him again, but it was like wrestling a building. I couldnt even get my arms com-pletely around his waist. My hands unclenched, my arms dropped, and I stepped away. Fighting himand all five o them was impossible. Amid hoots and guffaws, I rinsed off at the ountain, ignored thecaddies, and inspected what was lef o my bike.

Put it back together, you little baby, James Douglas said. Its all there.And they lef, their un over.What a mess. Should I call Mom to come with the car?She was busy, but I couldnt leave my bike

lying here.Hey, whats up? Te manager whod hired me was on the ne arby putting green.I pointed. Te caddies tore my bike apart. Its brand new.wirling his putter in one hand like a baton, he came over, and the rest o my tale poured out.James Douglas said he did it. I took a deep breath. I guess Ill pay Cutlers Bike Shop to put it

back together. Douglas said all the parts are there.Te man said, You can do it yoursel. Wait here a minute.

He went into the clubhouse, returned with a metal tool kit that looked like a tackle box, andbasically reassembled the bike himsel. I handed him things and held the bike steady while he worked.When finished, he set the bike upright on its kick stand.

See i its okay.I pedaled around in a circle. Everything works fine. I was elated.Te man stood with the tool kit in his hand.Jimmy was just having un.

Yeah?He didnt hurt you and he could have, rig ht?I shrugged.Im Richard Douglas. He smiled. Jim and I are cousins.Oh. I thanked him again and pedaled off.For a ew laughs, the caddies had put me in my place. I was still angry, but the managers kind-

ness made me eel better. About halway home, still mulling over the experience, I realized, though,that the manager hadnt apologized. In act hed sort o excused his cousin. He also hadnt promised todo anything to stop the caddies rom acting that way again. I was nobody to him. My career as a caddieended my first day.


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FamiliarKim Koering

Drops o blood catch in its whiskers, and it licks them up. Bits o flesh and ur catch betweenits teeth. It scrapes flecks o organ meat rom its palate with a sandpaper tongue. At its paws, only tinbones so thin it snaps them beneath its pads with a little pressure, just to hear the small sounds odestruction and the corrugated tail remains. It never eats the tail. With all its sections and bare, paflesh, it looks like a worm. Worms remind the cat o death, so it buries the tail with the bones beneatthe soil.

It thinks a lot about death lately. Mostly when a witch dies, her amiliar leaves with her. It thio the mummified mice ound in Egyptian tombs, presents or the eline gods as they pass over into tnext realm. Te cat cannot understand why an offering o death ought to comort the dead. It raises paw to its mouth and cleans away the traces o its kill rom its claws.

Perhaps it is a loyalty thing, the cat thinks as it moves among the shadows o the graves. Te

amiliar accompanies its mistress into the beyond, ready to search out the mysteries o the next lietogether. Whatever they say about curiosity and cats, it has no interest in the n ext lie.

It is ascinated by the dead, though. As its paws move over the dirt o the churchyard, it cansense what is beneath. Each tombstone names each bone pile as i naming a thing can keep it romturning back to dust. It is no different than the photographs the cat has seen hanging on the walls othe houses in the village down the hill. Tey try to reeze time, keep it rom becoming past. Tey han

pictures on the walls as i a house was made o memory instead o wood and plaster.Te ground by the graves is slightly warmer than the cold earth all around, imbued with the

essence o what is as the soil is rejuvenated by what was. In the moonlight, in the shadows o the oaktrees, the churchyard looks bare. In a ew weeks the air will become warm, the sun will have regainedits vitality, bright shades o green grass will blanket the sloping lawn. Bees will dip their eet into goldbaths o pollen. Te churchyard will be reormed. Something o the lie and nowness o the place wilspeak to the hearts o man. Lovers will walk hand in hand through the gardens, orgetting the gravesas children pedal down the paths, their training wheels scratching cryptic signs into the earth. Teycannot understand how lie obscures the essence o this place. I the cat were religious, he might thinit sacrilege.

Te manor house where the cat lived with its mistress was made o stronger stuff: stone andmagic. Spirits walked among the halls and through the walls. Te grounds, ull o tangled vines withthorn teeth to keep the neighborhood children out, were always imbued with og, the ambiance oghosts. Here there was no death and lie, only a perpetual now. Stardust settled over everything, thebyproduct o endless years o alchemical experiments. Instead o mice, the cat sniffed out bits o mag

its mistress had not yet swept up. Tere was a certain Chancellor whose spirit haunted the witchs house when she was still ali

He was rather ego-centric and ull o wisdom the living were simply too busy to heed, as he ofenlamented to the cat. But the cat enjoyed long discussions o philosophy and ound the dead were ofebetter company in this regard because they had time and little else to fill it with. Death, the Chancelltold the cat, is not an ending but a realization o ones own timelessness. imelessness, the cat responed, is immortality and immortality is a lie too ull to admit deaths intrusion. As it bats a tuf o grass with its paw, the cat wonders whether it seeks out graveyards or theipresence, or the comort o the amiliar.


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Tere was a time, when they were young and in love, when they lived in a castle overlooking a

grand meadow, when the sun was always strong in the day and the stars always glorious at night, when

the cat had liked to find a sunny patch o grass to stretch out on. Te rays would warm its ur and chase

away the haunted dreams. Te cycle o day and night and day again cheered its heart. Every day was a

new beginning, a new opportunity to recreate the sel.

Now the warmth brings unbearable pain to the cats flesh, the light burns it eyes. Perhaps there

is some truth to its mistresss words about urgency o lie, but the cat is still puzzling it out. o its right

is a flicker o movement. Silent as smoke, the cat stalks the mouse in the last minutes o the night.


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EpicentropolisKevin Reilly

April 4, 2034

Highlands Quarter, Epicentropolis, NJ, USA

Felix Etcher had made up his mind. He was going to get out o this place. He was lying acedown in his bed; the lights were out in his room. He couldnt even guess what time it was. He had bein this exact position or hours, weighing out his options. First off, everyone he cared about lived inthis city. His sister Penny was here, the only amily he had lef. Obviously, it wasnt as i he could comback to visit i he actually decided to leave. Once somebody lef Epicentropolis, they were never al-

lowed to return, in order to keep the purity o the experiment intact. When Felixs mother officiallyregistered him to become part o the emerging city, he had to swear that he would never attempt tocontact anyone rom outside the dome at any time. Tis was inconvenient, but it was the one rule th

everyone needed to abide by in order or their basic needs to be financed by the local government. Tcareree system within Epicentropolis was only possible when it was ully contained. Even now, Felixcould understand that. He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. He thought he heard birds chirping outside, thenremembered that was impossible. Te songbird track wasnt played over the city loudspeaker untilquarter to six each morning, and by then his curtains would be glowing with the first hints o mornilight. Tis was all part o the problem. Epicentropolis was a study in predictability. Without the risknormal lie, everything took on a stale, artificial air. He could map out tomorrow as easily as yesterdPerhaps leaving would be or the best. Penny was an adult now; she could look afer hersel.

Felix groaned and checked his watch. Tree thirty eight. It was always this time o night thatound him at his most introspective. When youre the last conscious person on your entire block, thworld seems to pause or a moment, and allow you to collect yoursel; nothing is happening aroundyou, so you arent missing anything. Tere are no distractions lef. I youre still in your right mind, unlimited amount o progress can be made in just a ew short hours. Doubtless whoever came up w

the idea or this godorsaken city thought o it in the dead o night, when anything was possible.***

Across town in the Metropolitan Quarter, Penny Etcher walked aimlessly along the infinitesidewalk, her hands in her pockets. She was lost in thought, and ar away rom home. She had beensauntering orward or more than an hour already, and had taken Kramer Ave all the w ay to 54thStreet, where she hung a lef. She would take Clinton Boulevard all the way back to the SuburbanQuarter, and afer a quick five blocks on 4th Street she would be home. It was a our mile walk, the

exact path she took whenever she had some serious thinking to do, which was pretty ofen these dayTe route never varied. As spontaneous as the young girl seemed, those who knew her well could sethat every aspect o her lie had a hidden routine. She was chaos, controlled. Penny sighed. Her brother was unhappy with Epicentropolis. Tat much was clear to nearlyeveryone that met him. He had never loved it here, but lately it was starting to get worse. He barelydid anything but talk about how terrible the city was. So, Penny thought, what should I do? ell himto leave? Tat I would be all right w ithout him? It wouldnt be true. She was eighteen now, sure-ootand resourceul, but she was still a child in many ways. She needed Felix more than anyone else in thworld.


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Penny took a lef turn down Clinton Boulevard. Although it was a major road that cut throughthe entire city, the street was desolate at nearly our in the morning. Automated busesthe only ve-hicles in Epicentropolisperpetually lurched along the roadway, empty. Nothing else Penny could seewas even moving. Tis was her avorite time to wander around. She was completely alone in a city oten million people. Solitude made it easier or her to concentrate. She had to find a way to make Felixeel important while keeping him close to her. Tere must be something here he could take charge o,

she thought as she kicked a holographic can down the street. Epicentropolis was spotlessthe janito-rial robots worked night and day to clean up litterbut studies showed that kicking trash down thestreet was beneficial to the thought process, so artificial cans were placed along the curb every ewblocks, balancing precariously, just begging or a swif punt. Penny smiled in spite o hersel. Howcould he not love this? As Penny walked past an alley in the center o the block, a pair o strong male hands emergedrom the darkness and grabbed her by the shoulders. She was yanked backwards into the alley so astshe heard her neck crack rom whiplash. Penny began to scream, but one o the hands covered heropen mouth. She bit down, hard. OW! Te hand let go. She could see blood already suracing on the fingers as they quickly withdrew. Now it was herturn. She spun around in her best sel-deense ormjust like Felix had taught herand swung at the

attackers ace. Penny was a skinny little thing, but she had a wicked right hook. SHI! PENNY, SOP! Te attacker stepped orward into the streetlight, clutching his wound-ed eye with his good hand. Tis obscured his ace, but his voice was unmistakably amiliar. Stephen? Te adrenaline-blurred world was collapsing around her. Stephen, what the hellare you doing?!

Jesus, Pen, your teeth are sharp.***

March 27, 2034Highlands Quarter, Epicentropolis, NJ, USA

Felix Etcher and Stephen Slowe were killing time on the roo o Stephens apartment build-ing. Felix sat with his legs dangling over the edge, fify eet above a spotless alley. He looked up at thequickly moving clouds through the gigantic glass dome and shivered, an old reflex he couldnt seemto eliminate. It was the middle o spring. It would still be chilly, back home in the mountains, even atnoon. Not here. Epicentropolis had citywide climate control. Outdoorsso to speakwas always acomortable seventy-eight degrees with low humidity, regardless o the time o day or season. Felixhadnt worn a jacket in years. His sister Penny, who was born in the city, had never even owned one.

Eighteen years ago, their pregnant mother had entered the gates with a ten-year-old Felix. Teirather opted to move to Pennsylvania when the experiment started. At the time, Felix was angry withhim, but when Millie Etcher died during childbirth, he understood why his dad stayed behind. Felixsniffed, and shifed his weight. Well, he thought, when you let anyone who walks into a hospital deliver

babies, thats what happens.Stephen paced around a small pipe jutting up rom the center o the building, smoking. Stephenwas smoking, o course, not the pipe. Felix detested the habit. In an effort to curb his riends constantpestering, Stephen had taken to always moving while smoking. He argued that with the exercise, hewas practically breaking even, health-wise. At the end o each week, he lef two packs and ourteenmiles behind him. At least hal o this walking took place in a tight circle around this pipe.

Felix leaned on his elbows and tilted his head back, watching an upside-down Stephen pace.Tis made him eel slightly motion sick, but he supposed that was better than eeling nothing. Do youremember the river?

Stephen glanced over at Felix, then resumed his course. Sure. I think about it all the time.Tere was nothing like it, watching millions o gallons o water move south every second. I always uto wonder where it all came rom. You think its still there? Felix asked. I hardly think that place still exists, afer all this time Stephen chuckled. O course its still there, man. owns long gone, but rivers dont give a shthere are people around to watch them. Tey dont need upkeep. Tey keep right on moving. Tat ri

is better off without us.Stephen tripped over himsel, his tennis shoes squeaking under oot. He looked down. As a

result o his constant shuffle, there was a slight ovular depression in the cement, crosshatched by scumarks, as i someone had spent an afernoon hal-heartedly power washing the roo, opting instead make a weird pattern or the next handyman to find. Similar markings could be ound on the porchin Pennys tiny backyard in the Suburban Quarter, but hers were more erratic, orming a rough figueight around a couple old lawn chairs. Her marks were evidence o compulsion, not routine.

Felix sighed. Youre probably right, but I d ont think Im better off w ithout the river. No, Stephen said, I wouldnt think so. We could take a bus to the Shore Points Quarter i ywant. Check out Leisure Ave, have a look at some ountains Felix rolled his eyes. Im so sick o those ountains, Steve. More proo o our battle with na-ture, thats all they are. Another example o man taking something pure and justruining it. Makin

more complicated than it has to be. And they have the nerve to put them in there, and say Look, waEpicentropolis is like the real world, but better! Forget about the past, lets move orward! Into whatTis place is like living on a carousel. Its nice or a little while, but eventually you have to either get or throw up. Stephen flicked his cigarette butt off the roo, down into the alley. He squinted and watched

janitorial robot roll swifly over and sweep it up. Te robot looked up. Tanks!Stephen resisted the urge to spit onto the deenseless machines head. Instead, he gave it a curt nod,and walked back over to Felix. He stood next to his riend on the edge o the roo with his hands on knees, panting slightly. Well, you can hop off whenever you want. Te carousel, I mean, not the Felix glowered. You say that like its crazy to even consider it. We dont need this place to su

vive. We didnt beore and we dont now. Maybe not, but surviving is a lot easier here, dont you think? Stephen scratched at his chiFood, water, shelter, all paid or by the government. And they ask us or nothing in return but to haout in here and let the rest o Jersey grow back or a couple generations. Plus theres pretty much nocrime, no struggle Felix grimaced. Save it, Ive heard it one too many times. He hopped up onto his eet with start. No, you know what? Tats the problem right there. Struggle! Lie is about struggle, more thaanything else. Right now, we dont have any. Were complacent, were stupid. When nothing goes wrtheres no reason to think, or to affect change. Teres no drive to improve the world we live in . Everone shrugs, says Close enough. I swear, this is the first time in human history that we are at risk o

losing our sentience. Were like arm animals now. Maybe, Stephen grinned, but on a nice, organic arm. Were given enough space Just enough to keep rom suffocating one another. Te weather is perect. Felix scoffed. I havent elt snow in a decade.

Stephen raised his eyebrows. Aha! Ive caught you! It still snows every year out there.

Oh please, Felix said, rolling his eyes, the entire dome being covered and blocking out all

natural light while I bump into shit wearing a t-shirt and shorts hardly counts as snow.


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Fair enough, Stephen said. Well, at least we dont have to work. Were parasites. We dont produce anything. Dont you see that? Felixs right eye began totwitch so slightly that it was barely noticeable. Stephens eyes lit up. He had seen that twitch many times. It was the sign that he should stopantagonizing Felix immediately. Still, he thought, what are best friends for?What do you mean, noth-ing? We have all these great conversations, that has to be worth something.

Felix shot Stephen a blank stare, punctuated with the slowest, most sarcastic blink he couldmanage. Tats just not enough, and you know it. I all I get out o lie is sitting up here arguing withyou, I might as well just take a quick jog off the side o this roo. You know, Felix, youre right. Youre absolutely right, as always. Stephen sighed, and looked upat the clouds. But it do esnt matter. Tings are justbetter here. Tey are. Teres almost no disease,zero starvation. Our survival is all but guaranteed. He patted Felix on the back. Granted, you make alot o good points. Tis is a bland lie at times, a little too easy. Im not disputing that. Im just saying,my olks sit around their apartment all day, happy. My old man used to lie on the kitchen floor just toget his spine in line. Every night, or two hours. He didnt own one shirt without splinters and dust alldown the back. He doesnt have to do any o that shit anymore. Felix nodded. I know, I know. And they deserve it. I dont mean to sound ungrateul. I justI dont think I can live like this anymore. I need a change. Some conflict, some excitement. I can eel

mysel starting to shut d own, and I really dont like it.***

March 29, 2034

Suburban Quarter, Epicentropolis, NJ, USA

Penny Etcher sat on the floor o her little duplex, cross-legged. She lived a mile away rom herbrother, on the edge o the Suburban Quarter, in a neighborhood populated by young people that wereborn in Epicentropolis. Since all the housing in the city was equally nice or different reasons, peoplemoved around as they pleased, and tended to flock to those that they saw as peers. Tis ar into theexperiment, the city was separated by hobbies and interests more than ethnicity or social status, whichsuited Penny just fine. Penny sat so still it hurt. She was a kinetic being to the core, a chronic leg-wobbler, and a ca-eine junkie. She was always moving, treating every moment with complete enthusiasm and determina-tion. Tis was her greatest asset, but ofen her lack o control and poise maniested itsel in inconvenientways, hindering her. So she spent an hour each day doing as little as she possibly could. Some peoplesaw meditation as a relaxing. Penny saw it as penance, a daily sacrifice to keep her capricious nature incheck. Tere was a knock at the door. Penny flinched and opened her eyes, then shot up onto her eet.

Tank God! Penny ran over to the door and flung it open to reveal Stephen Slowe balancingon one oot on her ront porch, with his arms stretched toward the sky. Penny smiled. Meditating, were we? Stephen brushed past Penny into her living room. Wouldnt dream o

interrupting. Nonsense, said Penny, I was just about to scream anyway. Penny gestured to the couch andwalked over into her kitchen. What can I do or you, Master Slowe? Drink? Sure. Cola, i you have it. Stephen took two running steps and dove onto Pennys couch, land-ing ace down w ith such orce that it slid along the wood floor. By next year, Stephen said, his voicemuffled deep in the cushions, this couch will be against that wall. And youll be dead. Penny placed two sodas on coasters on her chestnut coffee table andkicked the couch back into place. Tis space has been arranged, quite meticulously I might add, tostreamline the creative process and inhibit procrastination.

So Ive heard. Stephen took a deep swig o his soda and punctuated it with a crisp audibleexhale. How exactly does the position o the couch effect theqi? Flow? What do you hippies call i Dont patronize me, its irritating. And there isnt really much canon or what we hippies calthings. Penny squinted at Stephen and plopped back onto the floor, Indian-style. Besides, I dont byou about your weird pacing, or the rankly shocking amount o stuffed animals that reside in yourhome. My mother gave me those and you know it, Stephen said with an indignant huff. Exactly. So you have your baggage and I have mine. Now then, out with it. Penny cocked hhead rom side to side in a utile attempt to crack her neck, a sure sign that she was paying attention.You must have had a reason or dropping by. All right then, Stephen said, you caught me. Stephen took another swig o soda, sliding hthumb down the side o the can until he elt the cool liquid inside, keeping track o the level, an oldhabit he picked up rom his ather. Its Felix. Ima little worried about him. He seems a bit detachlately. Sounds about right, Penny said, drumming her fingers on the floor. He never was one or

grand displays o emotion. I remember Stephen brushed her anecdote aside with a decisive wave o his hand. No, Ive known him oa long time, practically his entire lie, and this is different. Its this place, I dont think he wants to try

make it work anymore. I think he wants out o the bubble, or real. Penny choked on her soda, her eyes widened. Are you sure? Did he say that to you? She staed to jostle a leg, making her look like she was meditating on top o a washing machine. She couldntkeep still when she was nervous, something that Stephen could understand well. No, no, not exactly. But thats what hes thinking, Im sure o it. Stephen picked at the dirtunderneath his fingernails. We have to do something, quick. Find him some way to see that he maka difference here. Or else were never going to see him again. Penny sighed. I mean, hes always had the idea in the back o his mind, I think. But i youresure that hes serious, then Ill do anything. We have to keep him around here. Stephen nodded. Im with you there. I just dont really know how to go about it. Hes so pessmistic itd be hard to get him to tr y something new. Yeah, Penny chuckled, Im pretty sure thats not an option. HmmWhat iwhat i insteo something positive, we do something negative? Stephen urrowed his eyebrows. Im not sure i I know what you mean.

Likewhat i we create a situation where hes the only one that can fix it? Show him that wiout him, we wouldnt have someone to help us when stuff goes wrong. Stephen jumped to his eet. Tats great, Pen! Yeah, something badI hadnt thought o thaIt might just work. I knew you were the right one to ask. Do me a avor, and think about what we codo. He began to w alk toward the door. Listen, Ive gotta run, Im late or dinner. Just thought I woupop my head in on the way home. Ill mull it over too, and well meet back up in a couple o days, allright? Whatever it is, we have to do it quick.

Penny nodded. Ill give it some thought. See you later, Stephen. Say hi to the olks. Will do. Stephen waved goodbye and closed the ront door gently behind him. Penny straightened her back and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes, trying to clear hermind. Something badsomething bad has to happen.

***


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April 4, 2034

Highlands Quarter, Epicentropolis, NJ, USA

Felix sat on a polished silver bench in Backstreet Park, three blocks away rom his apartment.He had given up on sleep or the night. It was just afer dawn, the sun was beginning to rise overhead.Sunrises were still nice here, but the light reracted through the dome was s omehowoff. It was colder,a little arther away, like always looking at the sky through a window. Felix shivered and rubbed hishands together. He had come to this bench or the same reason he went anywhere, to watch the people. Felix was so tired that there was an audible whir within his skull. Still, the sleeplessness wasstarting to numb over, the sight o the sun gave him some encouragement. He stood up and walkedover to the amenities area o the park. Several stands with little vending machines and robotic baristassurrounded a ountain shaped like five young men dancing in unison. Water shot out o the micro-phones they each held at jaunty angles. Felix shook his head. He grabbed a resh coffee rom the robot barista, then turned around and

blew steam rom the piping hot cup. What, no thank you? quipped the machine. Felix glared over his shoulder. Tey made you things way too realistic. He shuffled back to his

bench and sat down. Te early risers were just starting to surace and scavenge or ood. Felix sippedhis coffee. It was perect, as always. Epicentropolis was built rom scratch, in what was once a rural area o Southwestern New Jer-sey. Everything that used to exist within the current city limitsa couple unexceptional towns, a littlewooded area, some strip mallshad been completely bought off and leveled, and the entire projectwas executed according to an incredibly detailed master plan. Te idea was to move the entire popu-lace o New Jersey to a single city, so that the barren, depleted natural environment could slowly reviveitsel. Since the experiment effectively shifed all state and ederal unding directly to Epicentropolis, aninconceivable amount o money was available to those with innovative city planning ideas. In the end,almost all menial, uninteresting jobs that people used to do to survive had become automated. echno-logically, this was possible years earlier, but companies did not want to have to deal with the expense,which was astronomical compared to conventional human labor, not to m ention the inevitable back-lash rom a newly unemployed workorce that could not survive without meager compensation orunskilled labor. Te shif to automation needed to be seamless and all encompassing i it was ever go-

ing to work. Epicentropolis was the perect opportunity. As a reward or sacrificing their previous livesand joining the experiment, new residents o Epicentropolis were told that their living expenses wouldbe ully subsidized. Everything within the city was complementary. Employment opportunities wereall but nonexistent, and the ew essential services were perormed on a volunteer basis by whoever wasinterested. No one had to work to survive. As a result, everyone in the city had way, way too much timeon their hands. Tis is what Felix ound so interesting. Instead o watching boring Americans doing the only

thing they were amiliar withworking themselves to deathhe could now observe an entire popula-tion o people orced to do whatever they want. Some took ull advantage o the reedom. Others didnthave the first idea o what to do with themselves. Felix was definitely in the latter group. He glanced atthe bench beneath him. Even two decades into the experiment, it was painully, unnaturally new, sobright and scratch-ree that it gave off a migraine-inducing glare. Te same could be said about most oEpicentropolis, Felix thought. It seemed more like a really elaborate movie set than a city. As a child, he had visited New York and Philadelphia, the cities o the past. Tese were dingy,old places, with history, and palpable scars. Tese cities made Felix eel insignificant. It was impossibleto look at them without realizing that they had existed long beore everyone he had ever met was alive.Sure, they werent in perect condition, but entire lives had taken place within their boundaries. Tey

had character. Epicentropolis had no character. One day it might, but or n ow, it was much too pristine.

Te city was domed in and exactly the size it needed to be or all o the citizens to be comortable, wiplenty o room or population expansion. Everything was just a little too neat to be believable. Excepthe people, Felix thought. He smiled. When you drop ten million humans into a perect little doll-house, theyre araid to touch the urniture. It was ascinating. oday was a morning like any other. Felix peered into the steady stream o people in businesattire, hurrying this way and that. Eighty percent o them were going to breakast, he thought, but thall seemed late. Tey bumped into one another, jaywalked across intersections between automatedbuses, and checked their watches compulsively. Te morning commute to nowhere, he thought. Teearly risers had the most difficult time transitioning into their new lives o leisure. Something aboutit made him eel better, like he wasnt the only one who was unhappy with the way things were. Tespeople, they were embarrassed to have nothing to do. Tey wanted to pretend that they still had jobsand commitments to blame or their lack o ambition and ree time. Tey were lost in the maze o thpermanent vacation. Felix elt that he could relate to them better than a lot o his peers, who didnt rally see the problem with doing absolutely nothing all the time. He liked this time o day best becaushe almost never saw anyone he knew. Scarcely any young person woke beore noon.

Felix never had the opportunity to become an overworked young proessional, but he thoughhe would have fit in great. He needed structure, somewhere to be, some infinitesimal task to accom-plish in order to help a bigger picture. Tere wasnt any o that here, and they called it progress. Felix

called it the sel-destruction o society. He sighed. I might just go back to bed, he thought, as he tookanother sip of his coffee. Felix! Felix glanced toward the source o the voice, just in time to see Stephen run across the interstion, narrowly avoiding being struck by a bus. He was a mess. He was covered in dirt, and his lef eyewas swollen almost completely shut. His hands were coated in dried blood. Felix jumped up, droppinhis coffee on the ground in ront o him. Te crowd parted to allow Stephen a path toward his riendNobody acknowledged his presence, or even the act o avoiding him. Tey brushed past in a practiceapathy that was once reserved or dodging the more aggressive homeless o the old cities. Stephen cato a stop next to Felix and collapsed onto the bench. Stephen! What the hell happened, man? Are you okay? Felix was rozen in place, hoveringnot sure what to do next. Yeah, Im fine, dont worry about me. Stephen was breathing in deep, heaving gulps.Its justoh man. Its Penny. Hehe took her.

Felix elt his heart stop or a moment. His mind raced or a logical explanation. It didnt findone. Penny.He ell back onto the bench in a slump, partially on top o Stephens legs. Te two stayedsprawled out or a ull minute in silence. Middle-aged men and women passed by a ew eet away, ig-noring them. Finally, Felix ound the energy to speak. Who? What? What are you talking about? ShPenny! What happened? Is she okay? Stephen propped himsel up to a normal seated position. He was still panting. Shes okay, Ithink. I hope. I wasI went over to her place late last night. I couldnt sleep and I figured shed be up

kept knocking at her door and no one answered. Something didnt eel right, in my gut, you know, sohopped in through the window. I checked everywhere, but no one was there. Felix elt nauseous. So then what? Why are you all beat up? Maybe she was on her walk Exactly, thats exactly what I thought. Stephen had caught his breath. So I thought Id try tfind her. Normally I would have just come back later, but like I said something wasnt right. So I staralong the path backwards, hoping Id catch her on her way home


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And? Come on, out with it! What happened? Stephen held up a bloody hand. Hold on, Im getting there. I jogged as ar as Clinton and 53rdwithout any sign o her. I was starting to think I was crazy, that she must be off doing something else. Iwas about to turn around and go home, when I heard someone yelling down the next alley. It was Pen-ny, I was sure o it. I sprinted down there, just in time to see some gigantic dude carrying her off downthe street. She was kicking and biting and screaming, but he was just too much or her. I shouted Hey,put her down! but he just walked around the corner. I ran afer them, but as I turned the corner, theguy clocked me. Stephen pointed at his swollen eye. I was knocked out cold. When I woke up, theywere gone, and this was right next to me. Stephen pulled out the boot he had tucked into his waistline.It was a small black womens boot, with the toe worn almost completely down rom too much shuffling.Pennys. I got up and ran here to fin d you. I d ont know what to do, man! Felix stared, more past Stephen than at him. He elt like he was going to explode, but he didnthave time. His sister was in trouble, he had to ocus. He stood up and began to walk toward the Metro-politan Quarter. Come on. Stephen jumped up and ollowed on Felixs heels. Where are we going?

Felix kept right on walking. Show me. Show me where it happened. Were going to find her.***

Felix and Stephen took the bus to the Metropolitan Quarter and hopped off at the corner o

Clinton Ave and 50th Street. Only a ew blocks remained between them and the last place Penny wasseen. A smattering o people walked along the sidewalk; it was only seven thirty in the morning. Felixpushed orward at a blistering pace, clutching his sisters boot, jogging more than wal king. Stephentrailed behind him, gasping. Stephen unsuccessully tried to grab his riends shoulder to slow him down. HeyFelixcanyougo a bit Felix turned on his heels and ran in place, glaring. Its only been three blocks, suck it up.Pennys missing, man! You gotta quit smoking, its really getting pathetic. I knowbutrunning wontmake herany less Stephen was exaggerating, a little. Heneeded as much time as he could to figure this thing out. You think I dont know that? I just Stop! Were here! Stephen doubled over, sucking air. He nodded his head in the direction othe nearby alley. Felix dug his heels into the sidewalk and skidded to a stop. He looked all around the entrance to

the alley, but didnt notice anything out o the ordinary. Tere was one o those idiotic holographic cansa ew eet away, but you could find those anywhere. He wondered i Penny had been kicking it. Sheloved those things; she could hardly pass one without sending it flying. Maybe thats what distractedher. Stephen was watching his riend poke around, still pretending to catch his breath. Tis is a goodplan, he thought, it makes sense. Now it was show time. Okay, Im good. It all went down in here. Hewalked into the entrance o the alley.

Felix ollowed, his eyes fixed on the ground, scanning. Tere! What? Felix indicated a pair o thin parallel scuff marks. Tey were identical to the marks that coveredPennys back porch. Tat was her, Id know those scuff marks anywhere. You were right. His heartbegan to beat aster. He didnt know what to do. Still, he had to press orward. He had to figure this out,or Penny. Stephen kept walking down the alley. Te scuffmarks continued or a ew eet, then stoppedabruptly. Okay, so she must have be en dragged to right here, thensomething happened. I couldnt

see all this earlier, it was still too dark.

Felix bent over the spot where the scuffmarks stopped. He saw a ew small circular stains, sodeeply red that they looked black rom arther away. Blood. She must have hit him, or bit him, orsomething. Stephen held his throbbing hand behind his back. Well, I dont want to bemorbid or any-thing, but couldnt it behers? Felix was looking at the scuffmarks a little closer to the alleys entrance. He was screaming onthe inside, but he had to keep it together. He shook his head

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Electric Rather Issue 4: Prose