Roundabout
12 nov 2006
I've seen them. The images.
The ones they subliminally send us in our dreams, I've seen them last night.
I had been staring into the blur at my feet, at times water, at times a ruffled carpet. After a while they started to take shape and to flow gently over the edge. You know, the world is flat. Of course you know, they have been lying to us. You know, but you deny it.
Maybe it's hot, we haven't paid the heating in months. Nothing unusual, nobody pays; we use our own souls to warm each other up. The ones alone just lived as statues. I had one in my room, she was beautiful, but very very proud, so I kept her in a box.
It is hot. So why not? But why indeed? I raked my mind until the layers of flesh were gone and I could think clearly. Ah, yes, it was you...
Pay up. Nothing. You idiot, don't scream!
No, I didn't know about your bleeding eye. I like it, I really do. Mind if I keep it as a souvenir? But, no, it's not like that... I tell you, the world is flat.
So then, why not? Why not, indeed?
