Imaginarium: The Best Canadian Speculative Writing by Sandra Kasturi & Halli Villegas

Imaginarium: The Best Canadian Speculative Writing by Sandra Kasturi & Halli Villegas

Author:Sandra Kasturi & Halli Villegas [Villegas, Halli]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781926851686
Publisher: ChiZine Publications
Published: 2012-02-15T00:00:00+00:00


10 things to know about staplers

CAROLYN CLINK

1) The Greeks invented the stapler.

2) Buzz Aldrin took a stapler to the moon.

3) Staplers can refuse to staple for religious reasons.

4) Staplers regret nothing.

5) When a stapler jams, someone will die.

6) Staplers are government spies.

7) Staplers eat one sock a month.

8) Surgical staplers are alcoholics.

9) Staplers dream of electric staplers.

10) Staplers know all your secrets.

laikas i

KATHRYN KUITENBROUWER

“Trevor?” Hilary called through the mail slot, having pushed open its tarnished little door. When he opened up to let her in there were so many strays jostling that he didn’t see her crouched there among them at first. But he knew it was her by her voice and the crazy magnetic pull on his heartstrings. The dogs continued to lay claim until she whistled and growled, “Laikas, sit!” Then they all lowered, panting, some cocking their heads, some not.

Laika was the Russian dog that went up in a space rocket and Hilary had named the pack collectively in memoriam. To some of them she had given individual names but as a group they were always Laikas. Now, Monday, at 7:15 a.m., seventeen strays stared at Trevor. And there was Hilary in sweet profile.

“Smoke?” Trevor handed her the thin cigar he had already lit.

“I was in the neighbourhood,” she said, smiling, turning her face to him.

In fact, Trevor had texted, called and finally begged her to stop by. He was slumming at this present address on Fair view. He’d moved out of home to share an apartment with three delinquent acquaintances, something his wealthy parents lauded as potentially character-building. But because the roommates were usually out and/or stoned, Trevor was often lonely. Plus, he was experiencing lovesickness. Now that Hilary had finally arrived, he knew the jealous dog pack would give them an hour—maybe—and then she’d be laughing at his fabulous attempts to keep her there.

“I don’t know why you tolerate them,” he said. Hilary had scars where she’d been bitten and an oozing wound that she wouldn’t let Trevor tend. “Those dogs are feral, Hilary!” They were tucked to the hips under an old red velvet curtain on the sofa. An ashtray he’d liberated from his parents’ place was nestled into the concave of his belly.

“I don’t tolerate them,” she argued. The ashtray, Hilary saw, was one of those Greek black-figure-vase replicas. She leaned over and twisted her cigarette softly on Orpheus’s leg, watched his skin peel off. “I have no idea about them, at all,” she said. “They like me. They lick and nip. It’s just play that goes too far.”

Trevor could hear the dogs outside, whimpering, beckoning. He flexed his pectoral muscles tight and tried to look naturally hot. He pouted elegantly, desperately. He proffered more Cuban cigarillos. He exhaled earthen smoke into her ears, her mouth, whatever opening he could think of.

When he went too far, Hilary giggled and pushed his face away from down there. Then, getting serious, she said, “In the old stories there is always a door through which the hero must never pass.



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