Rapunzel’s Mustache
by Christine Boyka Kluge
Issue No. 66 ~ November, 2002
It is not passion that tugs so fiercely on Rapunzel's upper lip, but another form of desire. As the prince approaches, Rapunzel steps back into the shadows.
It is not passion that tugs so fiercely on Rapunzel's upper lip, but another form of desire. As the prince approaches, Rapunzel steps back into the shadows.
Through the pine groves, past the mown corn, down to the river bank the children gathered every day after school, with sticks hoping to see the dog. The river bed was nearly dry in deep autumn, with the leaves almost fallen from the sparse trees …
She didn't look at the palm trees, soldiers hitchhiking, or the little kids selling bananas and bread to passengers in cars waiting for the light to change. She looked at her own reflection in the the bus's window.
I was born to Martial Law. It's a time period that makes interesting fiction.