Fiction: The Sphinx in the Mirror

By Thad Fowler

 

Held captive inside the city walls, the people of Thebes picked pigeon bones for lunch, occasional fibers of meat squeezing pungent between their teeth. Eddie arrived at the city gate—the linen of his chiton moist with sweat and dusty from travel—but an enigma blocked his path. “I have four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening,” it said. “Who am I?”

“You are the sphinx,” said Eddie.

The enigma unfurled blackened claws and advanced a step, ready for blood. But then Eddie's answer sunk in. Not the one it had been listening for, but . . .

The enigma raised a claw to its head and scratched, searched Eddie’s eyes. The orbs gleamed in twisted daylight, a pair of curved mirrors. Two more thoughts and a pitched reflection.

From behind the city walls, a sunken-cheeked Theban flinched at the sound of a novel agony.

 

 

 

 

 

Thad Fowler’s novel The Taste of Fruit Not Eaten is forthcoming from Running Wild Press. His short imaginative works have appeared in publications such as 3:AM, Anemone Sidecar, New San Francisco Writing, and Tarpaulin Sky. Born in New Orleans and a longtime San Francisco resident, he currently lives in the Washington, D.C. area.