Magpie

Lucy Zhang

Dad knocks his knuckles into my forehead because I can’t explain how I know there is no
tetrahedron such that every edge is adjacent to some obtuse angle for one of the faces, I just
know there is none, and he replies by telling me of a magpie who transports humans across the
galaxy. Is that more efficient than hydrogen fuel cell systems in the Hyundai sports cars? I ask.
He jabs his finger onto the paper, points at the plane region inside the boundary, the edges
confined by two vertices, bangs his fist on the table. It’s a proof by contradiction, he says. A
generous hint, but I can’t even draw a tetrahedron from memory. Wouldn’t the magpie swell and
explode well before crossing the Milky Way, water vaporized in absence of atmospheric
pressure? Wouldn’t it be crushed under human weight like those not-so-dried jujubes oozing
sugar and pulp? So we assume there is such a tetrahedron, I begin with the lie, follow up with
the truth. I tap the tip of my pen on the paper, bend my head forward so my hair shields my
forehead in case dad knocks again. And an obtuse angle is an angle between 90° and 180°. 
Magpies must work like power generators combining oxygen and hydrogen. I ask dad how he
knows of such a magpie. He says any bird who works hard enough can take down a rocket,
eclipse a nuke, hold their lungs in from rupturing. 

Lucy Zhang writes, codes and watches anime. Her work has appeared in Quarterly West, New Orleans Review, Black Warrior Review, and elsewhere, and was selected for Best Microfiction and Best Small Fictions. She is losing sleep over a novel. Find her at https://kowaretasekai.wordpress.com or on Twitter @Dango_Ramen.