Stories are meant to be shared:
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Your glowing hands can’t touch me. The rules were bound to come, once we started redesigning ourselves. Your people became one with the renewed environment. Mine with the tech that saved it. And unlike your cinder irises and orange veins, my mods weren’t given freely. I’ll be posing here a while longer. When the platinum skin that caught your eye belongs to me, it won’t change everything. Still, keep showing off those hands. The afterimages between your fingers. I’ll never know how warm they feel, but maybe we can walk together, later, and pretend what it would be like without the rules. An Ottawa teacher by day, Brandon Crilly (he/him) has been previously published by Daily Science Fiction, Abyss & Apex, PULP Literature, and other markets. He reviews fiction for BlackGate.com, serves as a Programming Lead for Can*Con in Ottawa and cohosts the podcast Broadcasts from the Wasteland, described as 'eavesdropping on a bunch of writers at the hotel bar.' You can find Brandon at brandoncrilly.wordpress.com or on Twitter: @B_Crilly.
Short story written by Brandon Crilly
website twitter instagramStory prompt taken from a photo by Sirisvisual
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