Contributor: Eve Lampenfeld

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Mark was showering when he noticed it. That’s where he noticed everything. His chest hair had gone from the tawny red color he had always ignored, to a muddy greyish tint. He shut the water off with a smack and grabbed the tweezers. He felt a little electric spark when he pulled the first one out, and a smaller and smaller sense of pure joy at the 33rd and 106th hair. This may not be the best idea, he said to the dark purple rubber duck his mother had brought home for him in 1955, when he was a nine-year-old boy, sulking in the tub. Going from a gigantic square in the center of his chest, over this year he shapes himself a heart, a daisy, and finally starts ripping it off in Dadaist clumps. “If I can’t have you, nobody can,” he says.

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Eve lives in Brooklyn, NY and wishes she had a dog. Her work has been featured in flash-fiction publications like Short, Fast, and Deadly. She adores twisted little stories. Visit her at
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