Speak

A short story

Published by Fireside Fiction

Pale skin, poreless. Plastic polymer. Eyes too big. Nose too straight. Black-wire lashes. Mouth like an open wound, boiling with insect larvae. She’s been dead for days.

Camera pans out.

Tattered red dress. No shoes. An arm stretched like a prayer. Rats squirming loose from between the slats of her ribs. The shot lingers on the slope of a brown nipple. Zooms out; refocuses on the detritus that surrounds her, a funeral pyre of plastic and rot. A drunk pisses against the wall three feet away.

Maurice contemplates the headline, even as a communication channel dilates. His editor’s voice pours through the frequency, abrasive, baton-blunt. No. Just another whore. Not worth the time. Skip.

He clenches teeth, tears himself from the woman’s blank stare.


SPEAK FOR US

The malware is cigarette burn, stove-top kiss; pinprick inferno that slithers through his firewalls like a nest of tapeworms.

SPEAK FOR US

Words crawl through. Video clips of dying, dying, dead and dying things. A demand loops; his vision suffocates under a flurry of letters.

SPEAK SPEAK SPEAK —

Read the full story at Fireside Fiction.