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By Root 752 0

inside peoples’ mouths, and stringy hair sprouting from their heads. Memories of his own dismal chompers were faint. Teeth fell out of gums as soon as they broke through, clattering to the floor, first when he was three or four and again, blackened, rotten, when he was ten. Memories of hair were non-existent. Once he must have possessed it; infants grew hair and lost hair, within their first year. So he was bald now, save for a few resilient strands, and all he had left of his teeth was one stinky peg, which he often licked, recoiling at the horrid taste as if it were the face of an unpleasant friend. Licking the peg now, not only lost in the hallways of his world, but apparently getting lost in the recesses of his memory and in the gaps between moments of time, while ghosts of vanished teeth haunted his dark gums, he wondered if he would ever see Crystal’s mouth again, or her liver-spotted scalp. He felt, in many ways, that he had betrayed her.

Glancing up at the rust-colored tresses of this new woman — who just stood there — Young Phister wondered what his recent preference for hair and teeth meant. What did the fetish make him? And were these superficialities the real reason he thought he could not go back to loving a girl such as Crystal Max? Was he as shallow as that? As fickle?

Now, visions of his ex with a bizarre, full set of cuspids in her cakehole and long stringy hair poking up out of the top of her head struck him, and arousal stirred. He chastised himself for thinking about Crystal again.

If he were not, he told himself, at this particular point in time, a humiliated corpse, cooling in the passenger seat of an ancient car, then, after emerging from this dream, he would commit, move on with his life.

And just because a girl had made a fool of him, hurt him, or quite possibly killed him, didn’t mean she disliked him, did it?

Meanwhile, where was he? And who was this woman?

Did he have a chance to score with her?

He looked her up and down again. Stared into her immobile face. She didn’t blink or move in any way. Pleasant creases radiated from the corners of her eyes. Eyes almost the same colour as her suit. More creases on her cheeks. A warm, full body. Older, yes, but radiating comfort, intelligence, and compassion. Phister, who had never known the identity of his mother (having been raised in the nursery with other children of the same age), hoped that this stranger — staring at him, stuck, as was he, in time, with her head cocked and that smile permanently on her face — might look at least somewhat like the unknown woman from whose womb he had spilled squalling forth.

But then the spell broke; the woman moved; his wandering thoughts crashed to a stop.

She said, “Are you ready? There are angry people out there. Not everyone’s thrilled, that’s for sure. Vanity to build decadent playgrounds while half the world is at war. That sort of thing. An elitist’s venture.” She reached out to adjust his collar. “Sour grapes, if you ask me, babe. And how could you let everyone in? Have you heard that recent complaint? There was an editorial in today’s Reform Gazette that said you should turn the whole project over to the government so they can use it as a refugee camp! I called them and explained as politely as I could that it’s not a charity project. They called it a theme park! A theme park! Can you believe it? You’ve almost single-handedly employed a large city’s worth of people.” She touched his face now. “I think I’m more nervous than you. Seriously, are there other ways we can help? Are you sure you’re prepared to do this?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, surprising himself. His voice sounded funny.

The woman’s eyes searched his own. He marvelled at their shine, their warmth. Suddenly she said, “I want to be with you, when we wake up.”

“We’ll be together.”

“But I’m going in like this, in my body, and you’re getting . . . reduced.”

“I’m sick. I’m breaking down. You know I am. Just think of it as moulting. I’ll get a new skin. We’ll be together again.”

“But I love this face, this body. I love you.”

He held her,