Bones of my Father Read Online Free

and naked as the day she slipped out of her momma.
    “What the hell,” Amazonia said, looking from me to Magenta. “Stupid, filthy...” she strode to me, grabbed me by the hair and flung me into a pile of broken tables. The burn on my back screamed awake once again, and the world swam with swirls of green.
    Magenta stood up, one hand covering her rather nice breasts, and the other lower, covering her own thinking area.
    Amazonia hit her twice. Once in the face with a balled-up fist, then a sharp kick to the ribs. The crack I heard sounded like broken bones. “Stupid, worthless...” She spat and turned to me. “She may be enamored with your amazing phallus—”
    She strode toward me, one metallic hand groping for my private parts.
    “—but I’ve never been fond of the leaky little meat puppet.”
    I screamed as her hand squeezed my softer parts and I punched her in the face.
    She grinned at me, a feral twist of broken lip and bloodied teeth. Then she head-butted me. Stars exploded in my head for a moment. When they cleared, she leaned more upright and flipped a knife from her belt with her free hand. “Let’s harvest this little thing and see if Magenta still finds you so pretty.”
    I drew breath to scream. The sound of a thousand little explosions, followed by the sound of air and flesh being shredded, stopped my scream.
    Amazonia lurched to the side, smashing her metal-clad hooters into my chest with a painful grinding sensation that made me think of broken ribs.
    Pain registered in her eyes. A split second later she rolled off of me, bellowing in pain. In a blink, she was up on her feet, one arm dangling useless at her side. “What the hell!” she said, staggering to the right, giving me a clear view behind her.
    Magenta stood across from us, her feet shoulder width apart, her hands wrapped around one of my flechettes with the perfect shooter’s grip.
    “I never liked you,” she said and pulled the trigger again. Amazonia’s face disappeared in a haze of red. I rolled to the left, hoping that that hurking large armored woman would not fall on me again. As it was, she staggered back, careened off a broken chair, and fell to the ground twitching.
    A second armor-clad woman appeared in the doorway, a laser rifle held loosely by one hand. She glanced from Magenta to me, then to Amazonia’s twitching corpse. She gasped, letting the laser fall from her grip, where it swung loose by the long strap over her shoulder. For a split second she covered her mouth with both hands, muffling a wail.
    Magenta swiveled toward her and pulled the trigger. Hundreds of tiny needles sliced into the second woman’s upper body. Several pinged and rang as they bounced off the metal breast cones, but the rest shredded her thick, rough-spun shirt and most of her left shoulder. She stumbled backwards out of the door.
    “Oh, Goddess,” Magenta said, falling to her knees, the pistol held loosely in her left hand. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
    I climbed to my feet, uncertain. I wanted to go to her, pull her into my arms and make her feel better. Another part of me, the part that sounded remarkably like Grandfather, wanted me to run away and hide. It was strange, these conflicting emotions.
    The fact that we could die at any moment was of no consequence. My immediate and overwhelming urge was to protect her. It may have been the most powerful and conflicting emotion I’d ever experienced.
    Shut it, old man, I said in my head. I limped over and dropped to Magenta’s side, placing on hand on her shoulder. She let out a gasping sob and turned, flinging her arms around me.
    She cried for a brief moment, the hard flechette pressing uncomfortably against my back. After a moment, she sat back, wiped her face with her wrist, and gave me a watery smile. Her eyes were like two pools of warm chocolate. “You smell fertile,” she said, tears streaking her face. “Sorry we’re gonna die now.”
    The feeling in my chest swelled, and I