I still wondered what I ought to say, what story I ought to tell. But an abrupt morning had dawned. I did not know whether I was to speak, whether it would let me speak. Banished, I sunk my mittened hands into my coat pockets and trekked. Exhaled wispy fumes of frost into the icy wood, a smudge in the whiteness of the world.
I walked on, for eternity, or perhaps not. I am abashed to exaggerate. Ever since I began to count my eternities- eternity one, eternity two, eternity three- that's quite a few eternities I've weathered, my immortal ass- I testified the stupidity of exaggeration. Perhaps it was Father who imprinted in my mind the vocabulary of the former verb and, with brutal hits with the belt, the command that I was not to be a stupid child.
I walked on, for eternity. Shameful, godless walk to Father's private gallery not far from my cabin. Though, would it be any more laughable than a clergyman's son, giving over to his ingrained hypocrisies and the seven deadly virtues?
I saw him in the gallery once more. Morbid in his motionlessness, he was one with the swirling dust motes under the mellow headlight that beat onto his slender proportions. Exuded a subtle timelessness, as if he had been a statue wrought of granite.
Saki, I called. How long more?
YOU ARE READING
chill at e's
Short Storywhatever randomosity the world puts me through. maybe it'll be comforting. maybe melancholic. maybe it'll become a story someday, i don't know. but i'm stickin' with it.
