Most of Mimi’s house is gone–she’s lucky Leon showed up. She was hanging from a sink. Upside-down.
The remaining stations say the fault’s holding steady at 112 feet above sea level, which is about seven feet off the ground, here. Above the fault, things fall up. Leon notes that this has an odd effect on the hands above his head–no blood wants to go up to them, but none wants to leave either. They’re turning purple.
Mimi’s trembling. “It’s gonna be okay,” Leon reassures her, trying to sit down, as they lock arms against the pull of the sky.
Tuesday, November 2, 2004
DENVER ACADEMY OF is all you can make out now, as the encroaching black something has moved up over the bottom row. Nothing gets rid of it. They soaped, bleached and sandblasted; they trashed the old marker, dug under it, poured ten feet of concrete and put a new one on top. The black stain crept up again.
“Mutant lichen,” says Morse.
“Cheap granite,” mutters Wehner.
“Moon dogs!” insists Havel. “Pale shades, pissing their black spoor on this spot to mark it as their Hell-bound stake!” Havel got a story published once, and he’s not about to let anybody forget it.