My Cardboard Balcony

Reinstallation by Belinda Roddie Sometimes, I feel like deprogramming is the only way I can be debugged, but I'm also aware that pulling the plug doesn't guarantee that, should by a miracle I am restarted, the celestial parts of me I tolerate won't wind up corrupted, like files gathered in a row on an open sea of data, trickling green into the brine.

It was just a flip, tuck, and a tumble to get Mick on the other side of the hill, clutching their shotgun to their chest. As they settled into the grass, they could feel the pollen already begin to settle on their body, dusting their thin hair and settling onto their nostrils. They willed themselves not to sneeze - the Summertime Zombie Dream Team would hear them. So Mick gritted their teeth and went to chamber a round.