You are listening to another Clark's World magazine podcast. I'm your host and narrator, Kate Baker. Welcome. I hope that you're doing as well as can be. I want to thank you for stopping by and listening to yet another podcast for supporting the magazine in any way that you can via a subscription, checking a few bucks are way via donation or going to patreon.com forward slash Clark's World.

Your contributions help this magazine keep going.

And I know timed are tough and if you can't afford it, tell a friend about a story that you really,

really love.

Spreading the word also helps get new eyes on the magazine.

Our story is titled Paper Airplane Poet and is by Sherry Singerling.

Now Sherry Singerling spends her days staring at rocks and dust from space and her nights crafting worlds via the written word.

She is a U.S. native living in Germany, where she works as a laboratory manager, lecturer,

and research scientist. Outside of her work and writing, she enjoys coaxing plants to grow,

walking up and down steep inclines in nature, and listening to repetitive electronic beats. Her novels

and short stories all fall into the Alpham shared universe. Paper Airplane Poet is a direct

companion to her latest novel, Blessed is the Rot, book number one in the bit trilogy.

And Sherry has other works here in Clark's World, so I implore you to go back and listen

once you're done with this one. Wireworks and The Seed.

So, I hope that you can sit back, relax, and let me tell you a story.

Normally, Tilly didn't mind being the object of everyone's gaze.

But today, the crowd loitering in the street wasn't drawn to her orange-red curls,

or her height, or regness. They weren't viewing

her with lust or envy or simple admiration. Today, they were eyeing her with sympathy.

Even without the surveyor standing guard at Tilly's door, any passers by would know what those

otherworldly screams coming from within meant. Affliction. Some hurried by while gawking over their shoulders. Others congregated in the narrow street

forming a semicircle around her door. Tilly stood there, head held high, eyes trained forward

...