Lightspeed Magazine, Issue 109 (June 2019) by John Joseph Adams

Author:John Joseph Adams [John Joseph Adams]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: John Joseph Adams
Published: 2019-05-31T16:37:52+00:00

©2019 by Caspian Gray.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Caspian Gray is a used car salesman who has previously worked as a funeral director’s apprentice, a pet nutritionist, an English teacher in Japan, a Japanese teacher in America, and a crystal healing “expert” in a head shop. He currently lives in Columbus, Ohio, where he shares a home with a tall man and a small toddler.

To learn more about the author and this story, read the Author Spotlight

Dust to Dust

Tochi Onyebuchi | 24095 words

I

Tuesday, 14 November, 1989

Outside, East Berlin was silent. Lamps made the train station an oasis of light amidst the darkness. Rain pattered against the windows, made the tracks slick. Past the station and the soldiers armed at each entrance and exit, there was no movement, no motion, no life. A flag drooped over a park bench in the distance. The stop in desolate East Berlin was quick and perfunctory, a cold peck on the cheek, as the train rumbled back to life and continued towards Paris.

It had been raining since Damek Vojak left Prague. Quiet, thunder-less storms swept through the valleys, following him from the hushed whispers of discontent and the whimper of dying flames he had left behind. Absently, he fingered the worn notebook in his lap. His cloak clung damp to his shoulders, and he could see the deadness in his own eyes from the window’s reflection. His passport was soft and malleable in the fingers of his human hand, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, imagining he was flying.

A moth awakened him a minute later, floating before his eyes. It hovered there, its thin, silver forewings beating with bristles trailing. “Pterophoridae,” he whispered to himself, raising his stone arm, palm up. The joints always creaked, pebbles and dust falling to the floor with each movement he made. “Of the order of Lepidoptera.” He grinned. “Suborder: Ditrysia, Superfamily: Pterophoroidea.” The grin split his face. “Pterophorus pentadactyla.” The small thing fluttered onto his opened palm, its wings ceasing but remaining laterally outstretched. He brought it close to his face, then suddenly closed his hand into a fist. The moth made no sound, and light flared from between his fingers.

“Shh,” he murmured, bringing the fist to his lips. “Do not struggle. You shall become so much more beautiful.” The energy pulsing in his hand diminished, and he uncurled his fingers to reveal a snow crystal the same size as the moth. He sighed with satisfaction and concealed his stone arm within the folds of his cloak as one of the train’s guards made his rounds.

As he closed his eyes in slumber, the crystal melted in his hand and snow began to fall on the night route to Gare du Nord.

• • • •

A limb fell from the ceiling of the living room as Chief Inspector Radovan Novotny stepped into what remained of the charred cottage. Already, a team busied itself amidst the remains of the chamber, adjusting upturned furniture, snapping photos of blackened wood along the floor and walls, taking copious notes in their tiny notepads.

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