Obituary, by Dawn Nikithser
There is always a full moon in space.
Once you break atmosphere and you’re far enough out to see the curve of the Earth, Terran rotation doesn’t matter anymore. You’re just out there—you, the tin can, her expanse, and nothing to stop it.
God, she was gorgeous, the cursed bitch. Molloy couldn’t get over it; she filled the shuttle window like God’s own snowball. He could feel the howl building, moving from balls to throat to tongue, tightening them all along the way. He had just enough time to take in the carnage that was once his colleagues, to hear the screaming alarms of ruined equipment, and to consider that maybe this was something he should have considered, should have realized, before accepting the commission. Then he tasted the blood on his tongue and felt the flex of muscle that raised the ridge of fur along his spine. It was the Moon and he owed her the paean.
He threw his head back. Molloy—and the beast—sang.
Dawn Nikithser has been writing since she could hold a crayon in her babyfat hand. She is pleased to say that both her handwriting and her ideas have improved since then, though she will still use a crayon if nothing else is available. I hope that you will it meets your needs for this submission period.
Posted on December 28, 2012, in Issue 6: Big Bad Wolf in a Big Bad Universe and tagged e-zine, genre blender, horror, microfiction, science fiction, The Were-Traveler, werewolves. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.