Copyright © by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.
Featured Image: Event horizon, by Vadim Sadovski
“No one believes in me anymore. It’s as if I don’t exist.” “I believe in you, Mothman,” the little girl said, lighting a candle at her open window. He fluttered and landed, a tiny figure on the sill. “Lamp.” “I think they just expect you to be taller.” “Where are you?” “Main Street.” “No, you’re not! Organize your men!” “It’s flooded!” “It’s not!” Protesters laughed at cops in riot gear slogging through a duck pond. The psychic projecting illusions into the policemen’s minds laughed hardest. “I designed her when I was your age,” the inventor said. “A dream I never should have let languor until I was old.” “Do you need, a crew?” one of the kids asked. He touched the small starship. “Yes, she’s powered by imagination. The more, the better.” Her kiss is effervescence, above my books of D&D. She says I was her favorite neighbor, from a future that now won’t be. She passes me a mix tape, labeled “Let the Dance Just Be”. Says she won’t mind being an 80s teen again, so long as it’s with teenaged me. He gave his wife her tea, then sipped his regarding the lawn. “Why is there a Shetland pony here?” he asked. She eyed him with a wily smile. “Because while transformation isn’t always a panacea for asshole neighbors, my witch’s heart can’t deny it’s funny!” “I only fear summoning an Angel of Darkness,” the apprentice said. “Angels of Light are benevolent.” The blind summoner laughs. “Do you know who shed the radiance that seared me nigh dead and burned away my vision? The sun is good too, until you stand beside it.” “Doctor, is there a problem?” I ask. “You weren’t supposed to wake up,” he says. “I’m not in my new body?” “It’s called a mind transfer, but your clone gets a copy of your memories. You, don’t go anywhere.” “What?” “Nurse, terminate life functions.”