Exquisite Corpse - Issue 3
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by W. J. Sundermeyer


I am invisible to the electronic eye. And I have determined that it must be a genetic defect. Meaning, I owe it to my parents - circus contortionists who often disassembled themselves, scattering their electrons to the winds. My birth happened in the back of a station wagon on a cerulean Wyoming highway and now there is too much space in my makeup.

Grocery store doors shut in my face or never open. I am in photos and family video tapes; always slightly out of focus with some background detail invading the edges of my persona. Elevators close on my limbs. Doctors have bombarded my frame with electromagnetism and pierced me with x-rays. In 1973, I was the subject of a nondescript article in a British paranormal journal called Spectre. That is how they found me. A trio of female alchemists had hatched a scheme to return the Earth to its original state. In preparation, they said, for the resurrection, they said, of the Goddess, who had been imprisoned by Death in the bottom of the Great Salt Lake. They wanted me to help them rob the Denver Federal Reserve so they could finance the operation.

Things ended badly. Two of them were killed by marshals when they went to buy guns from the SLA. I was waiting in the car.

That's how I got here. Where I met you.

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