When they came, they only wanted two of each species. It became clear that we weren’t the equine masterpieces they were going to choose.
Their data was faulty, so when the broodmare and I managed to embed horn-like shards of farm rubble into our skulls they thought they had found the last of our kind. We traded grisly incineration for permanent headaches.
Ours was the grandest cage of them all. A place of honour. I traded with one of the bipeds for a steady supply of pink glitter.
If their data said our shit sparkled, then it damn well would.
Author bio: Joseph is a student from Boise, Idaho working towards a degree in Creative Writing with an emphasis on fiction. He likes weird stories, hanging out with dogs, and believing in unicorns. You can find him on Twitter @thew0ck.
Imposters is part of 101 Fiction issue 18.