Trudge slumped idly on the skull of the giant, the sandstorm fading away over the western horizon behind him. His deck – what little of it he managed to hold onto – lay in ruins at his feet. He was alone. He was always alone, though, when he stopped to really think about it. But the company of others – friends, strangers, lovers—kept him from thinking about it, kept him from being lonely.

He was lonely.

He had seen Aresian sandstorms before, but none like the one that had just taken his arm.

"Because we do not know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. And yet everything happens only a certain number of times, and a very small number really.

"How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, an afternoon that is so deeply a part of your being that you cannot conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four, or five times more? Perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty.

And yet it all seems limitless..."

- Paul Bowles

reading

You buy them books, and what do they do? They eat the paper!

listening

Forget about your seat -- it's the beat.

viewing

Television will make you dumb. C'mon and get stupid!

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Short Story: SK8R

Trudge slumped idly on the skull of the giant, the sandstorm fading away over the western horizon behind him. His deck – what little of it he managed to hold onto – lay in ruins at his feet. He was alone. He was always alone, though, when he stopped to really think about it. But the company of others – friends, strangers, lovers—kept him from thinking about it, kept him from being lonely.

He was lonely.

He had seen Aresian sandstorms before, but none like the one that had just taken his arm.

more...

posted on 08/12 • fiction • (1805) commentspermalink

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