The Cecilia Paradox: Short Story - Plot & Excerpts
Ralph’s like eighteen and wears two big, diamond studs in each ear. He’s got a beard and long Jesus hair. His breath reeks of tuna fish, and don’t let him touch you because his hands smell like they’ve been places hands are not necessarily meant to go. Once, when I made the mistake of giving him a high five after my team won the New World Relay Race for a Better Tomorrow, my hand smelled like ass for hours. There are only six of us. Survivors, that is. Or dumbasses. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. In order of how much I like them, they are Cecilia Theresa Frank Theo Marjorie. I hate Marjorie. All of us signed up for some government survey. It paid one thousand dollars, which is pretty good money, or was pretty good money. Now money is something you wipe your ass with when Dominic forgets to refill the toilet paper dispenser. Oh yeah, Dominic’s the custodian/muscle down here. So Ralph trots around all day, speaking in parables and turning water into wine—“You have to use your imagination!”
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