Letter From The Editor - Issue 68 - April 2019

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Issue 45
The Cloaca Maxima
by Rob Steiner
The Species of Least Concern
by Erica L. Satifka
Lost and Found
by Christian Heftel
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Electricity Bill for a Darkling Plain
    by H.G. Parry

Electricity Bill for a Darkling Plain
Artwork by M. Wayne Miller

There was a sombre mood over the flat when we returned from the funeral. There always is, even when it's one of ours.

"Do you think he'll come back?" Matilda asked, without much interest. She kicked off her heels in the hallway, and I went patiently to pick them up. I'm always asking them to stack their shoes neatly. I don't feel that this is an unreasonable request.

Alfie was the only one of the three of us who actually looked sad. He has very large, dark eyes, and they always show more feeling than I would expect from any living soul, or at least any living soul not soft in the head.

"I staked him through the heart when the funeral director wasn't looking," he said. "It's what he would have wanted."

"Why would that work?" Matilda snorted. She curled up into the armchair, tucking her stockinged feet up underneath her. I don't like people to put their feet on the chairs, but they never listen to me. "He really does need to accept facts. It's like the time he tried to drown himself in the bath. Water all over the floor, and we couldn't get in cleaning services because they'd have found the body . . ."

"At least that wasn't public," I reminded her. "I do loathe having to go through this charade."

"He thinks that if there's a stake through his heart, it won't heal," Alfie said sternly. "I think he got the idea from a book. It may work."

"It won't," I said.

Matilda turned the television on. Alfie went to change out of his suit. I decided that a good deal of the emptiness I seemed to be feeling was hunger, and made a sandwich. I was beginning to run out of peanut butter, and suspected the others of taking it, despite how clearly it was labeled.

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