Read Online Gutshot by Amelia Gray - Free Book Online Page B

continued into the labyrinth, at which point the conversation began again.
    “I’m glad to know him,” I heard Connie say.
    It was a thrilling statement, but I knew better than to stop and try to hear more. The journey was providing an immediate reward, and though I was panting and making a heavy noise in my footfalls, the conversation seemed somehow amplified the closer I came to the center. Their voices provided sound’s equivalent of a compass star in the dusking sky.
    “He has a strong heart,” a man said.
    “I’m so proud of him,” said Dale.
    “Actually, I find him pretty handsome,” added Connie.
    Their voices buoyed me on, losing only slight volume when I was heading away from them, and I broke into a trot that carried me around the far side, taking the turns without pause, drawn all the while by the trivet, which seemed towed on a wire. “I wish he’d come out here so I could shake his hand,” someone said wistfully, but there was no way to stop. The switches were coming faster and the path narrowed, as if Dale hadn’t quite figured out the proportions required. Young leaves brushed my shoulders.
    I didn’t realize my exhaustion until, turning the last corner, I found the center. The moon shined a straight beam into the clearing, which was six feet wide, with a divot in the dirt the size of a man. The trivet was straining toward the ditch. It took my whole strength to hold it back and my strength was failing. But I had to keep it safe. Dale had given it to me with two hands, looking me in the eye.
    With the last of my power, I turned to stand between my burden and the pit. The trivet did its work from there, pushing me back and down, into the hole that seemed to have been dug to suit me, complete with a rise in the dirt for my neck and a uniform pile just below my feet. The trivet settled in the center of my sternum. It grew cold there and heavier than before, though I felt no desire to move from under its wind-removing weight. I saw now that it was a stone like any other. I found that once I stopped struggling and held very still, barely breathing against its mass, I could hear the crowd again. They were telling stories of my heroism and bravery, of underwater rescue and diplomacy—tales I couldn’t remember being a part of, though surely I was involved in some way, if so many recalled them so fondly. Eventually I did try to stand, at which point I realized the trouble.
    “Folks?” I said, quietly at first. “I think I got stuck on a root structure or something.”
    They continued their talk, even grander than before. Someone brought out a guitar and began to improvise songs which told my origin story. Born to a rancher just a little west of here / Jim raised his head and never cowered out of fear , went one line. My lungs struggled to fill against the weight of the stone.
    “Dale?” I called out, gasping. “I need help. Can you bring a crowbar?” I was being driven down into the dirt as if by a machine press. The carved glyphs bit into my chest and branded my skin. I was alone. Then I met the Minotaur.

 
     
    Device
     
    The young inventor created a device that could predict the future within one-tenth of a percent of accuracy.
    “Device,” he said, “tell me the winner of this Saturday’s football game with Tech.”
    “State wins,” the device said. “A man will pour beer onto his jeans.”
    “Seems likely,” he said, marking it. He thought of his girlfriend. “Tell me, will I marry Anne?”
    “No,” the device said. “Anne will move to Missouri. You will find a similarly adequate mate. The colors associated with your wedding will be sea green and ivory.”
    The young inventor had been dating Anne for ten years. He took the news with the composure of a scientist and adjusted a knob on the device.
    “Sea green and ivory,” the device repeated. It sounded flat and bored, and the scientist made a note to swap out the vocalization for something a little more upbeat, perhaps