Tuesday, October 6, 2015

troubling strands, part the second

[click here for part 1]

He had time and space for thought, possibly an infinity of both. The wizened wizard hobbled along a broad walkway of stretched leather. Each step became a careful negotiation; the leather was not quite taut. He wasn’t sure he could take another tumble.

The wizard couldn’t remember when he’d had so much time to simply think. The surprisingly petty demands of his preternatural life ate up an asinine amount of his day to day.

He could do without the aching hips and screaming feet, though. The wizard had spent so long without touching the floor; it was a wonder he managed walking at all.

He ought to be offered a choice, any day now. If the situation had meant to kill him, the wizard would have starved some time ago. His hunger, of course, would never lessen.

“Ah well,” he muttered to himself, “pain means very little.”

He meant it. The wizard had lived for years without lungs, always aching in their absence.
This place was meant to wear him down.

The stubborn old coot had wrestled death, outwitted godlings, and stolen secrets from the stars. He turned his head and spit into infinity. It hissed against a falling ball of flame.

The old man snorted and shuffled along his way.


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So I've added a tip jar to the blog, in the form a Patreon Campaign. 

If you've gotten any worth out of these poems and stories and experimental fiction and what-have-you, please consider donating. Any amount would be greatly appreciated and help to ensure I am able to keep doing this.


Thanks,
Edward

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