Vagabonds: Anthology of the Mad Ones Vagabonds Vol. 3 | Page 59

Gautam Narang
Some Geometrics of the Echo
Jim Eigo
He shot his partner and then he shot himself. In neither case was he
notably more successful than he’d been at forging a partnership.
In the hospital room they shared, his partner moaned over and over and
over, “Why did you do it, Andy? We were like brothers. Why did you do it?”
No fresh iteration brought any new information, nor did it precisely repeat any
phrase that preceded it.
Andy (due to the closer range?) had shot himself less unsuccessfully than
he had shot his partner, and so, was in no shape to reply. Still, lying quietly on
his half of the room, there was enough of him there so he could hear above his
respirator’s whirr his partner’s consistent pattern, or at least he thought he could,
though thought as we usually mean it was far beyond his capacities now, enough
of him there so he could remark in his head, though not in so many words: So this
is the shape of hell.
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