Letter From The Editor - Issue 59 - October 2017

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Issue 46
Stories
The Gaunt of Dennis Mallory
by Scott M. Roberts
Liveboy
by Nathaniel Lee
The Machine in My Mind
by James Maxey
InterGalactic Medicine Show Interviews
At the Picture Show: Extended Cut
Imitation of self
by Chris Bellamy
Vintage Fiction
The Angelus Guns
by Max Gladstone

Writing Fantasy

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The Machine in My Mind
    by James Maxey

The Machine in My Mind
Artwork by Nick Greenwood

"Daddy, did you ever live with Mommy?"

I fix my eyes on the road and ponder what brought on the question. Kayla's in first grade and noticing that many of her classmates have mothers and fathers that live together.

"No," I say. "We worked together, but never lived together."

"Mommy was a fireman?"

"No. She worked at the university. I was a teaching assistant back then."

"Oh," she says. "Did you ever live with Daniel's mommy?"

"Yes." Daniel's her older brother. I've already dropped him off at Beth's house after taking both my kid's trick or treating. Daniel's eleven; he announced as he left the car in his Superman costume that he thought he'd be too old to trick or treat next year. I hope he's wrong. On almost every other big holiday, my ex-wives' trips out of town conspire to keep me from spending time with both my kids at once. Luckily, it's always worked out that I can take both of them trick or treating.

"When did you stop living with Daniel's mommy?" Kayla asks, wadding up the edge of her Supergirl cape.

"A while ago," I say. Six years ago is the precise answer, and maybe the answer she's digging for.

"Before I was born?"

"Before you were born."

"Why didn't you ever live with Mommy?"

"We . . . weren't compatible."

She frowns, unsatisfied by the answer. Coward that I am, as much as I cherish each second I spend with my kids, I'm relieved as I pull into Sabrina's driveway. There's a flickering light from the living room, but her porch light is off. Sabrina's not really into Halloween. Handing out candy isn't part of her ritual for the night.

I hold Kayla's hand as we walk onto her porch. In her other hand she clutches her plastic pumpkin full of sugary swag.

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