Her name was Cube Clear, and she was nought less than that. A woman whose womb cracked a churchman’s windpipes. Whose workbooks carried the windbreak.
Her middle name was Clasp.
Management fell on their knees when she looked their way. Childminders forgot about their lost tracheas and flocked to her.
Her eyebrows shone like millipedes of supernova.
“I am contingent,” she said, to no one in particular.
She settled down on a soft hill and calculated her tolerances.
A bird sang in terror beside her.
MORALITY IS A THUMBTACK WE ALL NEED TO MASTER
Chuck Lancet ate the moralist.
Chuck Lancet ate the moralist because he was 47.
Chuck Lancet legislated.
Chuck Lancet remarried.
Chuck Lancet vanished in and out of Hiroshima.
Chuck Lancet had opened his mucosa to merriment and now he was dying, ready to headmistress his way up to the pearly white gates.
Chuck Lancet bought a small housecoat.
Jonathan Cardew won a travel toothbrush at a boules competition in northern Brittany. His stories appear in Passages North, Cream City Review, wigleaf, SmokeLong Quarterly, Superstition Review, Best Microfiction 2021, and others. He is the author of A WORLD BEYOND CARDBOARD (ELJ Editions) and the blog editor for Bending Genres. Ignore him on Twitter @cardewjcardew.