Gargoyle 50Cover by Colin WinterbottomPublished 6/1/2005
She walks up the stairs and the top of her head disappears. The sand stretched from the base of the stairs to the edges of a red distance. The staircase, suspended by wires, bounced once or twice like a baby being burped. Her legs are bare and etched with Chinese prints, whose characters plant ferns, fish, and wink. Streaming out of her invisible head, her voice is a baleen whale bouncing against an electric cable. “Egon” she calls, “you should wear the Smilodon hide to the party, not the white bear!” Night was coming, a surge of purple stabbing its fork into the luxuriant red. Candles erupted across the plain like imbeciles who’d forgotten the desires they’d stuffed in their hearts.