I thought I’d tossed all my hope away, but when I stepped through the Gate, it still pinged. One of the guards slithered out of its seat, snarling as it drew forth a wand. C’mere, it hissed, it seems you’re still holding out hope. Its crusted hide was a Venus landscape up close. It brushed that cold black wand all over my skin, put it in places I don’t want to talk about. Snaggle fangs huffed in my face: Sir, step over here, please. Then the strip search began. My flesh rolled up & tossed aside for mushy sifting. Bones X-rayed, stacked in narrow rows, marrow sucked out, tested, spit back in. They made me open mind, heart, soul, shook them out like sacks of flour, panned the contents for every nugget of twinkling hope, glistening courage; applying lethal aerosol to any motion that could be ascribed to love or will or malingering dreams— sparing only a few squirming morsels for later snacking. Once they were done they made me pick up my own pieces (I did the best I could without a mirror), then my guard kicked me out— with a literal kick— sent me rolling down the path to my final destination.
What do You think about Nebula Awards Showcase 2008?
