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Vol. 14, No. 2

The Track of the Assassins
by Jim Shepard

My mother liked to remind me that at the age of four I left a garden party one rainy afternoon with my toothbrush in my fist, fully intending a life of exploration, only to be returned later that afternoon by the postman. Her version of the story emphasized the boundaries that her daughter refused to accept. Mine was about the emancipation I felt when I closed the gate latch behind me and left everyone in my wake, and the world came to meet me like a wave.

To read the rest of this story and others from the Summer 2010 issue, please purchase a copy from our online store.

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