Prose

FL - Revisited

written by: Chrome

and he made his way through the desert, following a path only his feet knew

because his brain could see plotted lines, a graph, actual blue longitude and latitude, but an author he'd run into told him this was all part of the plan; that he was just a major character. none of it made sense.


interesting.

***

some gifted writer-champion, working when all the feeling had been used up, or in fact maybe feeling was everything now. detachment and retachment



well, alone or with new attachments, I'd make it.

***

he stumbled, but only to confuse anyone following.

he'd been shot down, the wreckage of his personal jet a few miles behind, the assailant unknown.


and this writer guy, this hallucination? had he hallucinated? what does that mean, when you see something that makes no sense, with nobody to give a second opinion, no photos to prove it, no video, no microphone, but there it was.

and this guy seemed to know him, all about him, filling in biographical cracks he himself had been unaware of.

so surely this was a sign, of some kind, if there was such a thing. if not, then he was crazy, and just trust the feet. keep walking.


one two three


no wait there are only two legs here


okay where was i

one two one two

i prefer four, personally


one two three four

i need a song this is dumb.

WHY CAN I NOT REMEMBER ANYTHING

he yelled it. echoes, everywhere. this was probably the first time he'd been brave enough to talk to himself at this volume.

brave beyond memory.

***

something new would show up, he gazed out over the horizon, or i did. i don't know which is which, mister hero.

***

calcium deposits. one thing you do in the desert when you're alone is you talk to yourself- this is one of the first big discoveries.

being lonely is interesting, sure, at first. it gets tedious real fast.