New story for octopus enthusiasts
On Tuesday my newest flash fiction bit went live at The New Flesh, run by William Pauley III and company. It's called The Ocean Machine, about a burlesque dancer's inappropriate relationship with her pet octopus and some Frenchman that's stalking her. If you love cephalopods as much as I do, you'll enjoy it. And if you don't, well, you should read it anyway. Did I mention the burlesque dancer?
Every night Lorelei held a captive audience at The Ocean Machine, double-jointed, doll-slack in the embrace of her red octopus Gustav.
Lorelei danced the main stage under neon flush and sweat. Gustav had hard eyes like yellow marbles, fat muscled arms snaking up her back and down her thighs to lure the viewer's gaze between them. The sailors loved Lorelei, with wild orange flowers in her hair and black glitter on her eyes, amorous for the way she folded herself in two and held her breath beneath the skeletal jut of her diaphragm. Her arms were loose like tentacles reaching for the North Star, her belly rippling in ocean waves. On stage Lorelei was more octopus than woman, Gustav more lover than octopus. Moving across the stage as one, Lorelei never said which was truer than the other.
