By Michael Dean Clark

The glare off the helicopter propeller is blinding until Stazi realizes two things: there is no helicopter and it’s nighttime. He’s also wearing sunglasses and his name is not Stazi. Rather, it is Stalin Lenin Gordimer, but his parents’ hatred stopped at his birth certificate because, for no discernible reason, they called him only Stazi until he killed them. Of course he didn’t actually kill them. He calls them every day at the same time, but he feels like he should shoot them or at least burn their house down because what other destiny awaits a man whose given, legal nomenclature is Stalin Lenin? If he doesn’t slaughter at least a million people by the time they are erecting statues in his honor, he will have to encourage posterity to declare his life a failure.

But the propeller won’t stop glinting, even when he says aloud, “There is no helicopter! And helicopters have rotors!”

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