by Caitlyn Konze –
Your mother is mad.
Your father is false.
Your soul is tainted.
Anjelika had the letter memorized, but one word pulled her eyes over it again like gravity. Is. The first line should read “your mother was mad.” Not is. She died ten Foundings ago this Macbane.
The wall she sat against blinked from prime beetle cuts to land-side job opportunities. It was an ill-conceived, anonymous note. Nothing to take seriously. Yet, something about it birthed a horror in Anjelika. As if the whole of Avenir could implode at any moment.
“Hey, hot stuff.”
Her head turned so fast her vertebrae groaned. The sour potpourri of lust settled in her sternum like a rock in a pillow. The dispenser from the vapor bar around the corner leaning over her, more red in his eyes than white.
Anjelika pushed off the grated floor, but he grabbed a lock of hair before she could rise higher than her knees.
“I love a girl with implants.”
He licked his upper lip while rolling her hair between his fingers. It phased from cyan to violet to crimson.
Anjelika's fist tightened around the letter. She would talk to her father about it. But first, she had to run.
No comments:
Post a Comment