Prosthetic

By Jeffrey A. Paolano

Brian forgave the Grumman A6 pilot years ago. The napalm dropped as friendly fire burned away his arms, legs, hirsute extravagance, ears, nose, left eye, and facial skin. The repulsive flesh and bone lump remaining possesses but one apparatus-assisted proficiency—reading.

From this single capability Brian draws his puissance.

His mother, Lynette, performs his morning ablutions, provides breakfast, and pushes his chair onto the sundeck. There, surrounded round about by his books, this gen well was stumbled upon and exposed.

Leny Tswhen, a canny, precocious lad, unearthed Brian with the inquiry, “Morning, you’ve a lot of books; ya read ’em all?”