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by Jace Daniel (b. 1969)

Late for the affair and failing the test, I flee as the unicorn draws near. Running as fast as I can, I stand still, knee-deep in the sludge of invisible wet cement. The laughing face in front of me remains vague, never completely showing itself, my eyesight warped beyond repair. I surrender to flight, soaring over the rooftops before falling into the bottomless pit. Naked. Thirsty. My teeth fall out as I stand on the railroad track, the locomotive approaching with a roar.


My trained hand hits the snooze button. I crack an eye to see the hint of dawn crawling through the blinds and across the ceiling. Birds continue their morning conversation. A dog greets the sun at the top of his lungs. The scraping sound of a plastic trash bin being dragged across concrete serves as a reminder that it’s Wednesday. I’ll just lie here for a few more minutes and contemplate my next move.

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