Dream of the High Mountain

A man in white djellaba crossing a high rise balcony. A view from a compound window in Tucson. Wagtails dying by the motorway. ‘My name is Mieko Tan. Welcome to my crazy world!!!’ The last spire of Venice slipping beneath the waves.

Not long into his stay in the retreat, Morgan realised where he’d first seen Elena Fisk. She sat near him at lunch: a tall, pale, gently muscular woman with sedate grey eyes behind narrow retro glasses, her black dreadlocks twisted into the shape of a tortured spider. She shared a table with another recent arrival, a Swedish man, who, during those first lonely days Morgan had entertained himself by imagining as a Scientology spy.’

Published in Interzone 284: http://ttapress.com/interzone/

 

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