Capillary Sun

      We were sitting on the guard rail watching suicides dive from

the rooftops in graceful arcs.   At times two would jump simul-

taneously from opposite sides of the street, their trajectories

crossing like elegant flares, bursting on impact.

     "That last flyer was twitching his legs," said Jaina, with a

trace of derision.

     "They don't get much practice," I said

     She muted a giggle, then laughed with abandon.

     Jaina was a young creeper from the Shaker Tunnels, and I

loved her.  She wore her hair in poly chrome braids of blue 

and silver; a decadent Heidi look, popular with debutantes.

Her lips described with black ointment, and her eyes were

green like lacewings, churning in the evening light.

      We had met on a scurry salvage by the river.  A sky ship had

                    flamed out and crashed on the river bank.  We were stripping 

the same body when our hands touched.  The Trolling Squads

                    had arrived hours before curfew, and were blaring Dispersement 

Sonique into the thick crowd of frenzied scavenger.

                             

                            Dispersement  Sonique; it made me tremble.  The discordant fre-

                     quencies interwove to form a sawtooth wave of sound.  The unearthly

 howl induced nausea and vomiting.  Its precise decibels caused ex-

 crusiating pain, shattering eardrums and damaging the limbic cortex

                     of the brain.