Pseudopod 161: Fourth Person Singular
September 25th, 2009
By Dale L. Sproule
Read by Jaron Cohen
Every night since I was seven years old he’s swooped down at me out of the darkness of sleep: a pale, skeletal boy with thin arms thrust out like wings, eyes like white domes in black craters, mouth open as he screams acceleration.
His name is Wren.
