Short Fictions from Web Del Sol


Bradford Morrow

The unicorn sees itself in the quiet pool and feels unresolved. Why, it thinks, have many learned men had so much to say about me, an animal that does not even exist? I look at myself, it muses, in this mirror and wonder what the historian was thinking when he said that I was frightening and fierce. I ask, how did the sage construe me as the most docile of creatures? How is it possible so many have understood my horn to be the essence of human sexuality? What does it mean to me? I have no horn. I have no exquisite white coat. I'm not here; I never was.

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