Her neighbors—her “friends”—were the culprits. They thought she’d gone crazy, and maybe they were half right. She’d killed a man, cut his dick off. He’d shown her who he was, was why. He was an Orbiter for sure. He had the burn marks on his temples where he fired the injector gun, so she would have known anyway. But the fucker’s right leg had vanished from the knee down, which became apparent when he crouched next to her and his pant-leg, too short to begin with, pulled halfway up his calves. He didn’t have any socks, and he didn’t have any right leg, either. His left leg was raw with flea bites. The right just wasn’t there. She wondered if the fleas had been erased, too. His shoe looked to be empty; she could see straight through to the rip in the sole. He hadn’t liked her seeing that, and that was when he’d begun his singsong ditty about “not bein’ a kid, and not bein’ a skipper”. She supposed, with that leg, he likely couldn’t skip if he wanted to.
What do You think about The Pure Cold Light (2013)?
