Category: issue 9

The dubious shelter of native prairie grasses let Dandy believe—momentarily—that she was being ridiculous. “Dandelion!” His voice held a condescending calm as measured and heavy as his footsteps. She’d never told him her name. No one called her Dandelion but her mother. Some quick, invasive googling would explain it, though. And would turn up the car she drove and her trail volunteer schedule.

I’m not going to ignore this, but I’m not going to call my doctor either. Not yet. The last time I made an appointment, it got scheduled weeks out, and the problem had cleared up by the time I arrived. I paid money just to look like a hypochondriac explaining what had been going on. Instead, I’ll keep an eye on it. I’ll even take some photos on my phone—document their progress. If my ears get any longer, or hairier, then I’ll call.

Chloe stared through the car window at the darkening skies and despaired at their cloudlessness. So much for Vancouver’s perpetual rain. The moon hung large and round above the treetops.

Every heart pulsed a lazy rhythm one rainy Friday evening as I stood huddled in the mass of commuters waiting for the Red Line. Every heart, that is, but one. Tendrils of my magic, invisible to everyone but me, picked the owner out from the crowd.

I was among the first to upload to VelleSomnia, an armored, fridge-sized satellite surrounded by a football field of solar collectors in geostationary orbit over the Pacific. Despite occasional jitters and fickle object permanence, the ten thousand of us beta testers had the run of hardware meant for ten million digitized souls. However, like all good things—romances, highs, balanced ecologies—the beta run eventually ended, and the fees and charges started.

When night leaks into the sunset, you flip the gate latches. They aren’t so much there to keep the cloud sheep in, more to signal that it’s time for them to roam the hayflower fields below the Sister Crescent Mountains—twin peaks standing side by side, sharing winding roads and sloping valleys. Each sheep unfurls their wings, bristles their hide, and rubs their horns against one another or a nearby tree trunk—the vibrations wake their siblings and relatives perched on the branches as thick as their bodies, hidden, partially, by head-sized leaves.

“I only want to be seen for who I really am,” I tell my friends. Only two out of three made it over, and I’m trying not to feel too many feelings about that fact; I’m already delicate enough after the gallery opening today.

One thing I learned about Bradley Zhao before he graduated was that sometimes, it was best to let him talk until he ran out of energy.

They had been digging a hole for quite some time. That was fine, though—what was childhood for if not endless digging?—and there was nothing more exciting than digging in the middle of the night with no adults around.

Another one of my brothers was killed today, which really spoiled my Friday afternoon. And I saw it, too, which made it even worse. He was sitting in the street, and of course they’re always waddling around in the street so it’s not like that was anything new. Usually my boys would fly out of the way in time, but this guy was beginning to lose his hearing. Too long spent around city traffic, I think. Taxi turned the corner and the rest of his brothers fled. He couldn’t hear.