What Philip Did in Tulsa

By Steve Lowe

The blindfold bit into Philip’s face, cinched tight enough behind his head to pull hair out by the root.

“What is this?” He slurred his words, still groggy from whatever had been slipped into his drink.

The voice said nothing. Philip heard only grunts. The person attached to the voice was straining against something. Then the straining stopped and Philip heard exhalation. “There,” the voice said. It was a man. “Ready. But you shouldn’t be awake yet.”

Something bit into Philip’s bare shoulder and an electric jolt once again removed him from the world.


A little candle set inside a bottle glowed from a table in front of him. The flame waved inside the glass, pulling and stretching at the edges where the bottle curved. The way everything grows at the edges, larger than reality allows.

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