A new story by alumna Genanne Walsh (fiction, ’04) appears online in Spry Literary Journal:
She wears flowing robes and keeps a crystal ball tucked in her voluminous sleeve.
He has a pencil moustache, a turban, and a large ruby ring.
They are twin sisters in matching pink dresses and when one speaks, the other’s lips move soundlessly. It is said they share a brain.
He was an octopus called Paul by his handlers, and before he died he correctly foretold the outcome of dozens of World Cup matches. Paul is not his real name—the denizens of the deep know him by something else entirely.
She is a middle-aged grandmother with a ground level studio in the Avenues, and she spent her SSI money on the flashing neon sign—YOUR FORTUNE TOLD—that lights her window in pulsing bursts of pink and blue.
He is a 12-year-old with a creative streak, alcoholic parents, and a knack for the Ouija board.
They are sandpipers and when they run along Ocean Beach at low tide, the particular marks they leave in the sand have been said to indicate the next day’s weather—and in fact foretold the Japanese tsunami. (This according to Stan Noname, who makes sculptures from beach debris and sleeps in the icicle plants).
They are books lining the shelves of independent bookstores, new and gently used, with the relevant pages discreetly dog-eared. Consult these pages for direction when you are lost.
Continue reading online.