The Wounded
By Philip José Farmer
Women wondered how he could be
so cruel—and so utterly charming.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Fantastic Universe October 1954.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The winged and shining fancy that hovers with irony-tipped talons about the writings of Philip José Farmer needs no introduction to our pages. We can no longer hail him as a brilliant new discovery, for in two short years he has become an established writer with a widely discussed novel to his credit. It seems peculiarly appropriate that the author of THE LOVERS should grace his present theme with a wit barbed so entrancingly.
Those polaroid glasses they give you at the 3-D movies were the cause of my downfall.
When the show was over I went into the lobby and stood there a moment while I studied my schedule. I was supposed to go to a big party given by one of the prime numbers of the Four Hundred. I didn't have an invitation, but that never bothered me. Biggest gate-crasher in the world, that's me.
I heard a gasp and looked up to see this beautiful young woman staring at me. She had forgotten to take off her 3-D glasses and that, I instantly realized, was the trouble. Somehow, the polarization was just right to make me visible. Or let's say that I was always visible but nobody recognized me.