A response to Michael Maslin's cartoon of a soldier standing outside a town's gate with a large wooden horse and a clipboard saying, "I can't just leave it--somebody has to sign for it," that appeared in the April 26th issue of the New Yorker. And Ganymeder's #FridayFlash Red Riding Hood Revised.
One should never believe they understand war. It is a multifaceted changeling lying in wait. Polyxena wore her filter over her mouth to sift through the debris, combing through the sun scoured bones, poisoned loam, and burnt ash strewn outside the dome's gates. A woman's voice, filled with air, shocked Polyxena into falling to the ground staining her jeans with the filth embedded in the lifeless bio-engineered detritus. The woman said her name was Simone while offering a white throated flower whose petals licked upwards like tongues, their flesh blushing blue. Polyxena weaved the stem through a hole in her shirt as Simone's presence blew away like a cloud of fog torn by wind.
The elders, Cassandra and Laocoön, raised their hands and shouted "No!" with the same empty quality of Simone's voice, something she had never heard before, as the tears came and their bodies washed away in a flood of oily color leaving a stain of poseidon blue and pink on the dead earth. With her path no longer blocked, Polyxena skipped into Troy's Dome.