The Sky is Yours

by Chandler Klang Smith

Eclipses confuse animals, and the animals of the city are deeply confused. Most of those animals are us.

He doesn’t want to want; he’s never wanted for anything. It’s not in his nature. He’s been spoiled to perfection. He has foie gras for brains.

Their slogan—“The Sky Is Yours”—got outdated at least two decades ago, when it became apparent that the dragons actually owned the shit out of the available airspace.

seafaring death pyre somehow appears to be functioning as a sperm-splotched, unmade bed. Explosions detonate on a massive projector screen. They say the instant before one dies lasts for all eternity. Perhaps the same also applies to the instant before one’s heart breaks in two. A ball pit, almost overflowing with rainbow-colored plastic orbs, sunken into the floor: in it sit Duncan Ripple and a young woman, topless.

“That’s our lot in life, isn’t it? We fall through the world without leaving a trace, all the while trying to grip the air. Oh, to be an unstoppable force of nature.

“Beer money can suck it. I’m a dragon prince.”