GHOST PRINT

He finished the thing and turned it on its ear, only to find that it was a cat set afire, falling in a streak of violet from a window. That evening, she disappeared into his room and came back in a furor: You’re terrible. That poor cat. He swore it was not what he had intended to do, but it was too late. The girl with the springy blonde hair had doodled the faces of angry zapatistas all over his fiery masterpiece.