You're a poem?' I repeated. She chewed her lower lip. 'If you want. I am a poem, or I am a pattern, or a race of people whose world was swallowed by the sea.'' Isn't it hard to be three things at the same time?'' What's your name?'' Enn.'' So you are End,' she said. 'And you are a male. And you are a biped. Is it hard to be three things at the same time?

Fragile Things: Short Fictions and Wonders