Judith Barrington The Octopus Master of stealth and disguise, he shoots away, leaving behind an inky alter ego. Once I perfected his art, I became a true master— ducking and weaving, obscured by a cloud of something like ink that surrounded my head. Was it grief or something less worthy that sent me scuttling off in a flurry of sand, leaving my shadowy image to shake hands and smile, to wake and to sleep, untouched by the weight of the deep? |