“Activity off the consonantal shelf,” says Enrique, eyes tracking a wiggly needle.
Hazel swears. “We’ve been warning them about this for years! Get on the horn to FEMA, tell them to close the schools.”
“It’s too late now. It will have already started. We never could predict them precisely.”
“What’s the point of plate linguistics if we can’t save a way of life?” Hazel demands.
But Enrique’s eyes are wide. “Wait, this is different. Hazel–it might be another big one.”
“What? There hasn’t been a Great Vowel Shift since the savanteenth–”
They stare at each other.
“Oh shut,” she says.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
The whale wears a mask tied behind its dorsal hump with string. Â When it speaks, the mouth’s mask moves; Charlene can see its jaw does not.
“Your dreams are dangerous,” it’s saying.
“Because,” says Charlene, “I want to change the world?”
“Because they are metastasizing.”
“That word is for cancer.” Charlene feels a certain pride for distinguishing contexts, in a dream. Â Wait, this is a dream?
“Sometimes things go wrong here. Â Sometimes they multiply.” Â It kicks its tail nervously. Â “I have to leave. Â Please tell the doctor. Â She’ll believe you if–”
Charlene wakes, bladder taut. Â Urgency competes with memory, and wins.