The exception that proves the rule. A blog of short writings from Australia and England.
Sunday, 1 March 2015
What was it like when you took human skin? When you stalked through the night pretending to be him? He killed himself and no one else cared. Now his figure forms silently in the air, collecting itself from the darkened void at the end of the pier. No one ever prayed for him. Now it's teeth shine mistily beneath an esurient grin. It calls to me at night when I'm alone, by dragging along that rope tied to a stone.