Eidolon Avenue: The First Feast
A man pushing a wheelbarrow of wiggling, snapping, jumping fish stumbled and ducked into her shade, the wheelbarrow coming to the briefest of stops in the dark as he adjusted his grip and righted the wheel.
The wiggling, snapping, jumping stopped, the fish coming to a final rest.
Her reluctant friend stood and moved away, pulling a large knife, the kind used to gut fish, from a holster wound ‘round his leg. “I’m sorry,” he said as he walked to the edge of the dock to go back to work.
She and her dark followed.
“Wait,” she said. “Talk to me. Am I invisible? Can I be seen? What can this do?”
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