Sing the Song
Meredith Alling
“A stubborn hand is taking me away. I pluck a raspberry from a bush and launch it with my thumb. My ankles drag on the ground. The damp air wets my hair. 'What in the fuck,' I croak.”
“A stubborn hand is taking me away. I pluck a raspberry from a bush and launch it with my thumb. My ankles drag on the ground. The damp air wets my hair. 'What in the fuck,' I croak.”
“The match truck and sputtered. Victor tried again. He put match head to phosphate strip with the gentle pressure of one long finger and the thing sparked and caught and for the briefest of moments he held a yellow flame.”
“It’s strange, what disgusts people. Who would scorn the friendship of gecko, for example: golden-eyed, translucent-skinned, toes splayed on a farmhouse wall? Who could resent a long-legged spider, knitting its silver in the corner of a room? But they do: people will pay to have them killed, poisoned, destroyed.”