June 22, 2017 by The Citron Review
by Michael Lehman
The revolution came, and the compas have lined us up so they can look at our hands. If you have rough hands from honest work, you get a new house. But if your hands are soft from easy living, you have to pick up trash on the side of the road.
They’re coming down the line . . .
Hidden underneath my sleeves I have fingers like long, flexible vines covered with thorns, and occasionally, miniature blue flowers. The only work I can get is singing in bars, and because I can’t play an instrument, I have to give most of the money to the band.
No, that’s not true, instead of hands I have paws like a cat. Once a kid pushed me down on the playground and I cut him so bad with my claws I had to change schools. My mother told me if anyone ever saw my paws, they would burn me for a witch.
The compas are getting closer . . .
Actually, my hands are living blue light, and I have to be careful not to start fires with them. My father told me if anyone ever saw, the hueros would lock me in a secret laboratory, and tell everyone I moved to France.
The compas are almost here . . .
The truth is my hands are like anybody else’s. I just want to be loved for who I am, not what I seem to be.