FICTION.

Through The Wall

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by Sheila (30-B-2) FPE

Steve Craig awoke on Saturday morning with very mixed feelings. One was that he felt wonderful, the other that he and the world--felt WRONG! Not only felt, but smelled wrong, tasted wrong and sounded wrong, but wrong in a nice sort of way. So, reluc- tantly, he opened one eye, and then shut it very fast indeed. But not fast enough to avoid carrying with him. a visual image of something even more disturbing: a long, slim hand with long red nails on the pillow near his face. He tired to rationalize this; while it was not his practice to sleep in nail polish, he had some- times gone to bed without removing this last detail of make-up, but the fingers he had just glimpsed were never his thick, chemical-stained digits! Well, there HAD been real girls in his bed before; some had even stayed all night, but his memory of the previous even- ing was entirely inconsistent with any romantic ad- venture. Anyway, there was no room on that side of the bed for even a very thin girl! A severed hand? Not likely, the hand had looked LIVE.

Reluctantly, Steve conceded the need for experi- mentation. Again opening that eye, he moved his fore- finger and the hand obediently curled it's. In a split second, he was standing upright in the center of a

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