A NANOTECH SAMSARA,
by J.N. CameronCarlos.
She whispers my name with lips like ripe strawberries, sugary and moist. We press together, skin against skin. We grind together. All space and time lead to that focal point of electric pleasure.
The pleasure morphs into horror as her hand slips from mine. We are in the garden on the 110th floor of our building. She has fallen over the railing. I try to hold onto her, but I’m not strong enough.
Maria falls.
I watch her topple over and over like a rag doll. She hits a parapet fifty yards down, and her head blossoms into a red mist.
She keeps falling.
Dark. She is gone. I sit up, and I’m wet, as are the sheets. No air jets—the bed programming has failed again.
I stand up naked to the polycarb wall.
“Shades off,” I order. A line of black low
