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What resides behind your eyes
    is yours alone, a private vault.
Eidetic tech makes mockery
    of waxy orbs bereft of shine.
Neural-lace, my brain interfaced,
    memories once yours now are mine.

J. Deery Wray lives near the ocean in Southern California. Besides writing and reading, she enjoys scuba diving and travelling. Her short fiction has been published at Intergalactic Medicine Show. She can be found on X: @jdeerywray.
Current Issue
8 Jul 2024

The statue of that gorgeous and beloved tyrant, my father, stands in a valley where the weather has only ever been snow.
Panic will come / for every fuckwitted one of us
Neural-lace, my brain interfaced
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