Tuesday, June 2, 2009

although the room was dark she knew he was getting sick of her-it must have been his tendency to shrug with his whole body.

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  2. The darkness swallows him. The air is dry. And sticky. Lying motionlessly. He wants to reach out. Wishes he could make her understand telepathically. Concentrating on the pitch black he pushes brain waves. Pulsing through the room he feels them bounce off the ceiling and search through the haphazard sculptures of the perfunctorily discarded mess on the ground for a resting place. The gnomes smile with an undersanding he fears will stay their little secret. Her breathing doesn't change. A faint rumble is the only thing briefly interrupting his concentration. All to no avail. This is not the time. This is not the place. His body shrugs in disappointment.

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  3. The grass tickles his neck. Ants embark on a journey through the caverns between his toes. Far above a white castle passes by. Followed shortly by a band of gypsies searching for somewhere to rest for the night. He can't be bothered by the breeze pushing a tuft of feathers across his brow. Because he knows the secret told in the song.

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