"Little Thomas is pulling at my hip with chocolate-covered hands. He stinks of ammonia. I haven't changed him for days.
'Mummy? Mummy? Mummy? Mummy?'
He hits the same pitch every time. Exactly the same questioning whine. I didn't have to alter the basic design specification for this, it seems to come to all of them with their DNA.[...]As I have done so many times before, but with no less satisfaction, I lift Thomas by his little romper-suit collar, pivot in the swivel chair, draw my foot back, and kick.
It is satisfyingly solid, like kicking a warm sandbag. Even painful, given how solid a two-year-old is. Nothing else, however, gives the right trajectory, the right thump! on landing."
ur "Human Waste" av Mary Gentle, i Best of Interzone, red. David Pringle.
"Skall vi slå följe? frågar mannen med kransen av torrt gräs runt sitt huvud.
Pojken vänder sig om mot dem som han nu skall leda bort mot detta andra om vilket han också drömmer.
Ni är många, säger mannen. Vi är legio.
Pojken ser på dem och frågar dem med blicken.
Så börjar papperslapparna att regna ned från himlen."
ur skymning:gryning av Lotta Lotass.
Inlägg
Oba Electroplating Factory
4 timmar sedan
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