You are not who you think you are. You are not what you think you were. You are not your future. You are not a ghost waiting for a corpse. You are not the author of your story. You are not the pilot of your ship.
You are not going to live long enough to accept reality. You are a message from another world. You are a clue without a mystery. You are the untouchable target. You are the black inside the box. You are a shadow of a shadow. You are the epic tale in every cloud. You are the legend in every sky. You are the mythology in every phase of the moon. You are the uncorrected mistake. You are the unknown. You are an eternal fixed point in space and time. You are the nothing that proves there is no such thing as nothing. You are a phantom wisp of the corporeal. You are the end of the world. You are the beginning.
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There's a scream from the end of the alley His coffee radiating his knuckles Barely a thought given to the sound He lights a smoke and stares down the morning shadows Until she arrives with notebooks and gadgets She crosses her legs She's wearing large black shades She is aloof He hears another scream from the end of the alley There's what starts as an exquisite Miles Davis flurry and becomes an angry black voice tearing through a single boulder shaped beat pounding out the Doppler through the intersection Is that a scream? She's on her phone Her fingers an argumentative bramble He's sweating The sun is rising behind him The shadows slink That's not screaming She reverses the cross in her legs He smiles at her big black glasses and waits for more laughter from the end of the alley |
Archives
March 2023
Chrysalis, a growing collection of very short fiction.
That Night Filled Mountain
episodes post daily. Paperback editions are available. My newest novel River of Blood is available on Amazon or Apple Books. Unless noted, all pics credited to Skitz O'Fuel.
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