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Showing posts from June 16, 2015

Helen Franklin, at Print-Tartlette

Helen likes mornings they're soft just like her cats, Ai, Ai, and Ai. She thinks that getting to work early helps prevents fugue, that it reduces fuss, and contributes to overall bliss. But since last night she's felt the weight of a thing latched to her back and spitting anxiety at all of the deep piles of sparkle that she's raised her 2 good hands for. She unlocks the office door and opens her heavy morning window. She sits down and spins around while her messages play through. The dandelion out in the corner crook between the office windows is pitiless.
Johnathon Earle Lee was once a young man in black shoes. He lived down the street in the old brick carriage house near the end. Helen Franklin had known him since she was 15. She got stuck in the Widow’s when she missed an away camp that summer. Helen hadn’t known any of the other local kids since she didn’t stay here. Her parents sent her to astronaut school with the other ballerinas and middle men for a reason. At lea…