Letter From The Editor - Issue 68 - April 2019

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Issue 50
Cherry Red Rocketship
by James Maxey
Jupiter or Bust
by Brad R. Torgersen
Middle Child Syndrome
by Scott M. Roberts
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May Our Voices Sing Like Blood from Open Wounds
    by Jason Sanford

May Our Voices Sing Like Blood from Open Wounds
Artwork by Dean Spencer

The barber whispers "ad Dei gloriam" as he gelds me, his tongs a red-hot star blazing the firmament of my opium dream. Siface swore the opium would dull my pain, but when the falling star reaches my flesh I still taste the cut and burn.

My scream is a beautiful, painful song. Or it becomes one in my opium dream.

Siface holds my hand and joins my song as flesh leaves flesh, his mezzo-soprano voice the purest of angels delighting in what he hopes I'll one day accomplish.

"You are now like me," he says in his high-loving voice. "I will teach you. I will mold you."

Ad Dei gloriam. To the glory of God.

Five years later God forsakes us on a dark road between Bologna and Ferrara. Instead of screaming, Siface sighs a perfect note as he dies on the packed dirt and stones. His sigh sounds like a new song he created far too late for anyone in this world to enjoy.

As the vampire finishes drinking Siface's blood, the monster eyes me, no doubt wondering why I didn't flee.

"I've no need to kill you, little boy," she says. "You didn't play games with my master's mistress. Or did you?"

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