Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet No. 17 by Gavin J. Grant Kelly Link

Author:Gavin J. Grant, Kelly Link [Link, Gavin J. Grant, Kelly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: zine, Science Fiction, Short Fiction, LCRW, fantasy
Publisher: Small Beer Press
Published: 2010-08-17T17:21:24.293046+00:00

"Discrete Mathematics” by Olaf and Lemeaux; or, the Severed Hand

by David Connerley Nahm

I) When I come downstairs to make myself breakfast, I find a severed hand lying in the floor in front of the sink.

My first thought is: the dog has done it. Then I remember that I don't have a dog.

I stand for a long time. Slipper feet, burgundy robe, bristly chin. Sun—already in early fall—cut to pieces across the hardwood by soon-to-be bare branches.

If I had a dog, life would be easier.

I decide against coffee and go back upstairs to clean myself for work. Walking down the hall. Passing the bathroom. Stopping for a moment at my sister's room. Her door is very slightly cracked. I put my eye to the sliver of dark. I see the cloud of powder blue that is her comforter. I hear her breathing. I am less afraid.

I cannot find my dress shoes and have to wear sneakers.

* * * *

II) In the evening when I come home, the hand is still there. Fix a bowl of cereal and consider it. I have not imagined it. Whether this is a relief or not, I do not know. In the pale green of the fluorescent lamp above the sink, it looks as if it never held life.

Perhaps it isn't real.

I crouch down, bowl still in hand, jaw grinding obliquely, and looked at it. There is a small dark puddle of sticky underneath. The severed portion is turned away from me but I can see its rough edge. There are ants on it. There are ants in lines coursing from it to the counter, to the window, like loose thread.

I put the bowl on the counter and go into the bathroom to be sick.

I wipe my mouth and splash water on my face. In my rush this morning I forgot to shave, and now you can make out the spots on my face clearly where hair didn't grow.

I used the guest soap to wash my hands. It is lavender.

My sister is sitting up in her bedroom, watching TV. Brown hair in long tresses and dark shapes against her thin blue robe. Her arms stuck up waving. I clear away the plates I left for her and kiss her on the forehead. She smiles, looks at me. She wants to know how my day has been. Leaving certain things out, I tell her about it.

Later she drops a fork down the laundry chute.

* * * *

III) So:

a) It is not my imagination. There is something on my kitchen floor.

b) It is a real hand. Not a wax hand or a gardening glove. A severed hand from a person.

c) I do not have a dog. There is a dog that lives in a yard behind my street that keeps me up all night.

d) I live with my sister. It is not her hand. I checked.

e) She could not have done it. She cannot get up and down the stairs. She cannot do much of anything.

* * * *

IV) I work at the University Library.

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