Issue No. 15, Winter 2015

Shanon M. Ingles

From this angle the black cake of her mascara hangs –a sleeping bat,
skylined and dreaming of all the fruit flies clamoring in its stomach.

Wings ripped and tattered. The lace fringe of her bra. Ribbed metallic bodies,
melting together like plastic-wrapped lipstick tubes, glistening in halogen storefronts,

She’s built towers of pomegranate and plum. Swirled in dust bowls of blushing
coppers, pinks. Swam in moats of cream, as if lost at sea, lost in the
Crème de la Mer. But my mother definitely didn’t come from the ocean.

She came from her 401k and rubs her retirement all over her face. Retinol gels
like sea foam. White gooey clumps too soothe the lip lines. Obscene enough
for any amateur web cam. It’s as advertised: Perfect for all those sensitive places.

She could easily be Countess Bathory. Crème de la girl. Red and clotting.
Gynaeceum-tested. FDA-approved. When she rubs it around her pinned-back
eye-lines, the screams of a thousand dead eggs clamor. But hell if she can hear them.

She blinks her Venus flytrap lashes and asks me to hand her a towel.
The black wiry vortexes of her pupils dilate. Eyes that turned green after her hair
silvered and her tits filled with sand. She cut herself over that.

And I suddenly realize that could be my blood.

Shanon M. Ingles is a video game writer, designer and copywriter living in the San Francisco Bay Area, Her 15 year career has encompassed every kind of writing — from journalism, advertising, screenwriting, to game writing at companies like Electronic Arts, 505 Games, Sony, and NBC Universal. She earned a B.A. in cognitive psychology from New College of Florida and attended graduate school at University of Texas at Austin’s Radio-Television-Film program, where she was awarded a Michener Fellowship for screenwriting. Shanon currently works as an episodic game writer for Telltale Games.