Prisoner, by Robin Wyatt Dunn
Her hair has been matted for days. The robot has made her his, but cannot enjoy her. He’s been programmed to need consent. He rails over the loudspeaker, Guantanamo love affair, the woman in blaze orange down in the fortress basement.
Rapunzel tries to hang herself with her hair but fails, so she has to go MacGyver, scraping the explosive off the privy, saltpeter her sweet escape—
The fortress may be 22nd century but its radar-invisible vortices are delicately balanced; just a little raw black powder on the right line of force, honeychile, and she’ll pull it down like Samson—
Robin Wyatt Dunn writes and teaches in Los Angeles. His new novel Conquistador of the Night Lands is forthcoming from Villipede Press.