Keeley Kunoichi, Jimmy Grist
Keeley heard a single leaf fall behind her and felt a dull presence, masked. She tumbled forward and flashed around and there, rubbing the back of his head, stood the master ninja. He was shrouded in black and carried no visible weapons. In his mask was a thin eyeslit over which he wore a pair of thick eyeglasses. “You totally knew I was behind you just then, didn’t you?” he said.
The woman in front of her was wearing some weird shoes and a bright blue tracksuit. She had wiggy blonde hair that reached her shoulders and framed her face — and a black mask over her face with a dopey pair of glasses. “Did you just put that disguise on over your ninja suit?” she asked him. “Sure,” the ninja said.
Keeley punched the sand. She struck it while the businesses closed. She struck it with some backbone. She struck it with some elbow grease. She struck it like a dinosaur. She struck it like she meant it, and she struck it like she didn’t.
“The brain catalogues shapes and derives meaning from them, but it also needs time to interpret recognizable shapes and unlock those associations. Still — you gotta take extra caution to disguise your silhouette while hiding.” The ninja tucked a twig under his armpit and turned sideways. “See? Instead of the recognizable human form, now I’m all tree-y.”