YOUR DENSITY



YOUR DENSITY

by Stanley Lieber

Fine sand, hard-packed. The RAGNAROK was up to her neck.

Winter on Mars.

Slake reached out, but his arm passed through her hull. Confounded, he nearly fell to the ground.

“I’m…” she whispered, exasperated beyond consoling, “I’m your density.”

Slake stared.

Out, into the snow. Kicking pebbles over frosted runway. Deserted desert.

Thin end of the pink wedge, sinking in the sand.

Slake lit his purple cigarette, wandered through a hole in the fence. Continued beyond the restricted area.

The spiral stones.

She was dying.

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