Monday, May 23, 2011
100/100 -1-
“The soul isn’t energy,” said the necromancer as his intern assembled the contents of his instructor’s bag. “It’s kind of a story. You start as a blank slate. And then your senses kick in. You imprint on things. And as you do, a thread forms in your mind that puts those imprints together, and forms a core. Memories make new threads, and it all weaves together, forming…You.” The intern held a box, winding with magnetic tape, affixed to a hose, which the intern forced down the throat of the injured child, strapped to a dirty chair. “Now, what’s your story?”
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Wonderful drabbling. What a format!
ReplyDeleteAnd what a piece, too! It appeals to my accursed faithlessness, as well as my unending yearning towards The Story. I am these characters, usually in chaotically rapid cycles of torment.
Bravo. In 100 words, you have captured an ampulla of raw mermaid tears. I will henceforth refer to this essentially petite, wordy-limited type of glittering gem-prose as a "Steven's Cruet."