Twelve

I lower my chin slowly. It has been a long time since I’ve taken material form. The aches and pains of a body. The churning and squelching of organs and fluids in battle with each other. The dismal pull of gravity. The emotional ties and the memories that accompany them, most borrowed, but the originals slither between attempting to distract me from the task at hand.

‘Take that for now,’ I say to my new companion, straining to point at the dachshund with its head turned at ninety degrees. ‘We can find you something more suitable later.’

‘Really?’ she says, a whisper into my new mind. ‘A dog?’

‘Your creator must have warned you of the perils of worldly drifting? You will not last long in that form, not with...

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