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I started out thinking of all the depressing places a Gloam could spend its time and ended up making this plucky little activist. I'd like to continue her story, but this is all we have for now. I picture her as a little shabby and glamorous, kind of like a sad approximation of a movie's leading lady. Long cigarette holder, cruddy looking fur stole, all in black and not knowing exactly what she's copying and why.



Flick was a picture Gloam. Pictures were her specialty. Humans could be so inconsiderate sometimes, arriving late to the films that showed at the Cineplex on Friday nights. They stooped and shuffled in front of the screen to avoid blocking other humans’ views but very often ended up casting a shadow-self up against the action. Flick made her leap to the human world at the start of the films to slide haltingly across the screen (sometimes losing a little bit of her shadowmass to tumbling pieces of popcorn) and stayed as long as she could, posing miserably against the wall in the back of the theater to flicker and out of existence as the screen darkened and brightened with the projector’s light. It was a job only a Gloam could do and many of her gloamy brothers and sisters detested it (Inconsistent! Exhausting! Irritating!) but Flick preferred it to being cast outside on the street where a shadow could be dragged discourteously over just about anything.

 

Flick was a picture Gloam who loved the pictures. Her favorite films were the romances set in places like Italee and the South of Frans, where the image of the sun burned bright on the screen to illuminate the dealings...

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