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Wanda knew better than the mesmerism
that swept the spacestation.
She had seen plenty of it in her long life.
Wanda knew what close proximity did
to one another, and their ideas.
  see them, wanda? they would all whisper
  look how they all float around each and other
  attracted to ... attracted to One and Another
  “There’s probably a leak somewhere”
  she joked back then

Before long they were calling for things,
any bead or beam and certainly dirt
to quell their new myth.
All things ... any things ... Things ...
Give us your Things.
  you don’t, wanda. they would all agree
  don’t see or don’t want to see or can’t see
  the Each and Other ... the One from Another
  “Theres a crack in the hull you dolts”
  she laughed aloud then

Now there certainly was the swirling swarming locust night
she had always believed would come. Everything, all things,
floating around one another in the center of the spacestation.
Navigating.
Looking for redundancies.
  you didn’t, wanda! they now all screamed
  didn’t Give any Things and now look! Look what you’ve done!
  forever ... Forever The Each, The Other, The One, and Another!
  Forever The Each, The Other, The One, and Another!
  “Theres definitely a hole in the ship”
  and Wanda was Goddamn right about That



Casimir R. Finnegan is a writer, comedian, and game designer. This is his Strange Horizons debut. More of him can be found at the tpwritr.com blog and unfortunately on Twitter @CazFinnegan.
Current Issue
22 Apr 2024

We’d been on holiday at the Shoon Sea only three days when the incident occurred. Dr. Gar had been staying there a few months for medical research and had urged me and my friend Shooshooey to visit.
...
Tu enfiles longuement la chemise des murs,/ tout comme d’autres le font avec la chemise de la mort.
The little monster was not born like a human child, yelling with cold and terror as he left his mother’s womb. He had come to life little by little, on the high, three-legged bench. When his eyes had opened, they met the eyes of the broad-shouldered sculptor, watching them tenderly.
Le petit monstre n’était pas né comme un enfant des hommes, criant de froid et de terreur au sortir du ventre maternel. Il avait pris vie peu à peu, sur la haute selle à trois pieds, et quand ses yeux s’étaient ouverts, ils avaient rencontré ceux du sculpteur aux larges épaules, qui le regardaient tendrement.
We're delighted to welcome Nat Paterson to the blog, to tell us more about his translation of Léopold Chauveau's story 'The Little Monster'/ 'Le Petit Monstre', which appears in our April 2024 issue.
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