Eyes forward through the window, his shadow travelling more of the room than his feet. The enormous weight of calculation translated through posture and tilt, fingers thrumming the desk. The traffic sounded canned, arriving by pipe, maybe. Soon, his voice stirred betwixt his lips. A round dollop of sound at first until it became a vicious bark. Don’t I live in the future? Shouldn’t things I need materialize right before my eyes at my whim? It’s because it’s controlled by the government, you idiot, he scolded himself. They don’t make it easy. These things are precious. Probably made of the finest materials the You-Ass Government can procure. I hear the paper is a parchment from the original Declaration of Independence, marked with the blood of Civil War soldiers and dipped in the sweat of actual Grenada invaders. Grenada invaders have that real champion perspiration, right? The purest of all the veterans, I would imagine. The excretions of real winners.
Chrysalis, a growing collection of very short fiction.
That Night Filled Mountain
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Unless noted, all pics credited to Skitz O'Fuel.