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Art by David Revoy/ Blender Foundation

The Holy Bones

By David Kavanaugh

The old man grimaced. “You mean to tell me that the Scientists chose a pretty little peach like you to replace me?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “You can’t exactly hold my sex against me. After all, I was born with it.”

The old man’s oily forehead constricted, his wrinkles bunching together into squishy webs. “A joker, eh? Well, it ain’t about your sex, it’s about your scrawny arms and your pale skin. This is no easy job. Not sure a girl can handle it.”

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