Fiction Fix Sixteen

Cathleen Calbert
“Oh,” Eve gasped. “Ow.”
For once, I wasn’t the one in pain. I felt nothing at my heel: no teeth, no claws.
But I didn’t think Eve should be in pain either. I turned my head to see what was happening.
Brandy (not a girl at all, of course) happily humped Eve’s left ankle, rat-whiskers
twitching and tiny black claws scratching her golden skin. I couldn’t help it: I snickered.
Turning to the right, I saw Petey, who’d taken control of Eve’s other ankle and found a
rhythm to match Brandy’s.
“Jesus,” Eve said and tried to lift herself up, a small dog glued to each leg, a tall man
on top of her. Enough’s enough, I said to myself. I had to put a stop to this. As I started to
pull away, Eve’s hips rose below mine. “No no no” floated from her lips. I hurried to meet
her, and the two of us—the four?—went to the moon together.
Fiction Fix 21