Illusive and Delusional

by Fiona Duncan

Fallible flew above the wing. Midday direct: JFK to LAX. Leave at noon, fly for six, land round three. To Fallible’s left, two men streamed reality TV as she watched her only fathom-able in-flight entertainment, the sky. Once she too was so spoiled she’d forget. I’m flying, Jack! The wing outside was pigeon grey.

Mughal Selfies

On the east side of Humayun’s tomb, a young European woman in leggings and a black sports t-shirt positions herself so that she is perfectly framed by the 16th century arch behind her. She fixes her hair, lies down on the ground and pushes up into a yoga pose.

Get Your Gun, Girl

Anne Carson once wrote that in order to survive, you needed an edge; in this age, I suspect that a blade might be better. Reading the year’s new clatch of stories about the “real” Gone Girl ... I found myself wishing that men who turned out to be killers and mass manipulators were rare enough that a story about the “real” Gone Guy would catch on.

Bedding the President

Straddling two continents, the opposing strips of land that form the city are split by bustling seas. Lit by candy-floss skies, this 8000-year old metropolis undulates to the rhythm of traffic and construction, its rising population cocooned by smoke and mirrors.

The Sun Trap

‘They’ll want to talk to you,’ her mother says, squinting and raising her hand to shade her eyes. Her skin is sun-dark, mottled with age. Her grey-blonde hair cut short. ‘I can’t sit here, the bloody sun is right in my face.’ She stands and switches her seat to the other side of the table. ‘I don’t see why.

Lifeline

Jessica had installed the LifeLine kit two days ago. She had been the last of her friends to do so, although living in the comparative isolation of Zermatt, she should have been one of the first. This morning, like most, she woke at 5am and swiped from alarm to email to catch any correspondence coming from PST. There was, as there had been for the past three days, nothing.

Lucky Star, Maybe

“I don’t believe in astrology; I’m a Sagittarius and we’re skeptical.” — Arthur C. Clarke.

“Palmistry and astrology are good because they make people vivid and full of possibilities. They are communism at its best. Everybody has a birthday and everybody has a palm” — Kurt Vonnegut.

Seeking Patriotism

I’m inclined to argue that my sham national pride is, in many instances, better than the real thing; that orthodox patriotism often masks nationalism and the odious opinions of those intolerant of others. I’m in decent company in this assessment.

Somewhere in Between Part 2. Blank Space

Fucking Åmål is a movie about lesbians. It’s probably one of the only good ones, but it’s directed by a man and so is Blue is the Warmest Color, except that’s a bit shit and absolutely not the reason me and Emma are in a car driving 376 kilometres to a nowhere town in Sweden.

Intwine

At first, after I slipped them out of their kidney-shaped chemical bag and slid my lube-covered legs in, they fitted like normal jeans. All those five-star ratings, all those celebrity endorsements, totally vanilla people openly sharing orgasms on a global scale – all through the magic of Intwine.