The hexagonal plate, the needle and the rosette. Shades of yellow varying from near colorless to a turbid brown. They might be beautiful if they weren’t so damn painful when they struck.
At the Mind Bar, they each took a chair with a Mind Specialist, overhead lights beating down on each of them at their individual station.
It can see us from above as we try to hide among brambles, hoping it will mistake our human shapes and movements for those of boar or deer or badgers.
That gesture, that tightening of the hand, such a simple thing, simple but it reassures me.
“Fifteen-love,” Georgia says then serves.
Amelia knew there was no running away when she boarded the glorified tuna can called the Canary . . .
“The Purge” took place in 2021 . . .