Page 55 - TheRedSon_PrintInterior_430pp_5.5x8.5_9-22-2019_v1

why, you’re our beasts of burden, naturally.” I spun around
to find a man floating above the floor, a ridiculous stovepipe
hat on his head, eyes like hidden moons. A thin covering of
flesh marked the space for normal eyes, yet behind that seal
of skin glowed alien-blue lights, bright enough to backlight
the tiny organic networks of the intervening tissues. The
radiant blue of his eyes-behind-flesh was the color of sleep,
and it washed over me like gentle water, sweeping me
out to strange seas. It was one of the Wakeless—the true
denizens of the City that Never Wakes, wearing whatever
hapless dreamer it snatched from sleep—and I knew I had
to escape its light. They possessed a depth far deeper and
more dangerous than the distance from the balcony to the
ground—so I leapt from the building.
I tumbled far longer than necessary to complete my
descent, and the further I plummeted, the lighter my body
felt. By the time I reached the streets below, I was nearly
weightless. When my feet finally touched the ground, I
looked up at the city—it had changed considerably. It was
the dread face of New Victoria I had witnessed only once
before. I suddenly realized my mistake. I hadn’t actually
fallen from the building, but had suffered a far worse fate—I
had fallen asleep.

58 | Mark Anzalone