ONE THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED NINETEEN KILOMETERS
Ink's appearing in drops on Broc's lips when he thinks about it. A frozen ink, like his own skin, for so many years. The waiting's whispering to his ears and only the coldness of its metallic absence survives. This, this piece of dead flesh, shapeless, which use to beat fifty to eighty times per minute in every chest of any normal human. It doesn't beat for so long in Broc's chest. What an obsolete function that a heart beating. Anyway, he could'nt make it work back, the thing's rusted, and there are certainly not some oil drops which could make the strange mecanism work back. Forget the medical vision. Imagine some clockwork, with bones, and dispersed rags of flesh.. Put the weight of experience and its inseparable venom, then you'll get the perfect illustration : an artefact more vodoo doll like, than an organ. One thousand five hundred nineteen , maybe a bit more, certainly a bit less. The promise of a counterspell, the possibility of another stroke of fate. Broc's waiting as hard as he can, a photograph in the hand. One thousand five hundred nineteen kilometers, maybe a bit more, certainly not less...
Ink's appearing in drops on Broc's lips when he thinks about it. A frozen ink, like his own skin, for so many years. The waiting's whispering to his ears and only the coldness of its metallic absence survives. This, this piece of dead flesh, shapeless, which use to beat fifty to eighty times per minute in every chest of any normal human. It doesn't beat for so long in Broc's chest. What an obsolete function that a heart beating. Anyway, he could'nt make it work back, the thing's rusted, and there are certainly not some oil drops which could make the strange mecanism work back. Forget the medical vision. Imagine some clockwork, with bones, and dispersed rags of flesh.. Put the weight of experience and its inseparable venom, then you'll get the perfect illustration : an artefact more vodoo doll like, than an organ. One thousand five hundred nineteen , maybe a bit more, certainly a bit less. The promise of a counterspell, the possibility of another stroke of fate. Broc's waiting as hard as he can, a photograph in the hand. One thousand five hundred nineteen kilometers, maybe a bit more, certainly not less...
// COMMENTS
> Everybody can post comments. However, if you want to be identified with a picture, logged in or create an account on the forum. BECOME A FORUM MEMBER !
> Everybody can post comments. However, if you want to be identified with a picture, logged in or create an account on the forum. BECOME A FORUM MEMBER !
