Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 66 — page 55: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION or tell her what; and she didn’t ask. ““Coffee ?”’ “Please.” A mirror hung over the mantelpiece and he stared at his own reflection as he sipped the coffee, grate- ful for its warm sweetness. Grimly he stared back at himself, a brown-haired, brown-eyed man, no longer young, and yet not old. Lines of worry searing once smooth cheeks, more lines creasing his forehead, the corners of his eyes, accentuating the bitterness of his mouth. A tired face. A disillusioned face. The face of a man who had seen too much and done too little about it. An ordin- ary face. The face of a man about to vanish? Sam sighed and set down his empty cup. Tony came in then, vibrant and eager with the wonderful health of youth, his voice high and shrill with the tones of childhood. “Dad!” “Yes, son?”’ “Freddie Blake’s got two 54 new fish, and can I have some more, tomorrow, please?” *“More fish?” Sam forced himself to be patient. ““You can only put so many in the tank, you know. If you over- crowd them they’ll die.” “Gosh, Dad.” Tony ran over to the small aquarium, bright with its lights and tropical fish, standing in the corner of the room. He stared at it, his brown eyes following the languid, lazy motions of the angels and mollies, the swordtails and zebras, the slow and stately snails and the wriggling tuberfix worms. “Dad!” “Yes, son?” *“‘Something’s wrong, Dad. Look!” Reluctantly, Sam heaved himself upright from the chair and joined his son. Together, they stared at the miniature, aquaceous world behind the glass. ““What is it, Tony?” “That fish, dad. See?” A little finger touched the glass. “It’s not moving.” ‘Perhaps it’s just resting?” “Tt was like it this morning, comiclooks.cormn