Devin is nineteen or he’s three months old or he’s dead. He’s beginning to realise that he’s all three at once.  He cocks his head to the side and peers at the writing on the wall, trying once again to make sense of Spenser’s spiky scrawl. It’s easier said than done; Spenser’s handwriting is atrocious … More CONVERGENT: A Short Story by Leandra Inglis