Artwork from SammfeatBlueheart that you can find here for the original.
Text is for the Thursday Prompt. (Go read other entries, these should all be short--365 words.) I keep collections because they talk to me. The first one got nabbed because I trusted the wrong people. The second one is still there but I don't like to visit it. The third...well, third time's the charm, no?
Secret Stash
"You're my third collection," he said. I stayed silent.
"The first was confiscated. I'm certain I know where a lot of them ended up." He smiled and looked up for a while. "I sometimes think about trying to get them back." I kept listening.
"The second collection was...soured. That would be hard to explain." There were no protestations, so he continued. "Foreign elements were added. I hate to sound picky but when I listen to all of you, it isn't always words. I've described it to others as singing; a low, soft song that is easy to tune out but swells back into your head if you're quiet, and you listen. I figure you're singing it to each other, not really to me."
He thought for a while. "I've theorized that there is some residual connection that allows a vibration, or some resonance between us. I can see your pasts concentrated into a crystalized moment. I know you can't learn anything new, but it is sometimes good to revisit the past, and submerse yourself in it. You help with that."
He listened for a while. I thought about my life and imagined how it ended; but the world went on.
"When I say it was soured, I guess you could go with the image that it was a song, that there was a choir. But someone singing in a different key was introduced. I don't know if it was on purpose or not. I have a feeling who was responsible for the creation of...the singer, shall we say. But I don't think he would have asked for it to be added there. I know I'm not his favorite, but I don't think he bears that great of a grudge."
He rubbed his hands together. "Or imagine you kept a journal, your innermost thoughts were there, and one day someone else had written things there too. You know they were earnest. They were honest. But not you! It would rankle. I can't go there anymore."
He stroked my shoulder, then rubbed it with a cloth. "You're my third collection," he said again. He used a duster on me. "I should take better care of you all."
Text is for the Thursday Prompt. (Go read other entries, these should all be short--365 words.) I keep collections because they talk to me. The first one got nabbed because I trusted the wrong people. The second one is still there but I don't like to visit it. The third...well, third time's the charm, no?
Secret Stash
"You're my third collection," he said. I stayed silent.
"The first was confiscated. I'm certain I know where a lot of them ended up." He smiled and looked up for a while. "I sometimes think about trying to get them back." I kept listening.
"The second collection was...soured. That would be hard to explain." There were no protestations, so he continued. "Foreign elements were added. I hate to sound picky but when I listen to all of you, it isn't always words. I've described it to others as singing; a low, soft song that is easy to tune out but swells back into your head if you're quiet, and you listen. I figure you're singing it to each other, not really to me."
He thought for a while. "I've theorized that there is some residual connection that allows a vibration, or some resonance between us. I can see your pasts concentrated into a crystalized moment. I know you can't learn anything new, but it is sometimes good to revisit the past, and submerse yourself in it. You help with that."
He listened for a while. I thought about my life and imagined how it ended; but the world went on.
"When I say it was soured, I guess you could go with the image that it was a song, that there was a choir. But someone singing in a different key was introduced. I don't know if it was on purpose or not. I have a feeling who was responsible for the creation of...the singer, shall we say. But I don't think he would have asked for it to be added there. I know I'm not his favorite, but I don't think he bears that great of a grudge."
He rubbed his hands together. "Or imagine you kept a journal, your innermost thoughts were there, and one day someone else had written things there too. You know they were earnest. They were honest. But not you! It would rankle. I can't go there anymore."
He stroked my shoulder, then rubbed it with a cloth. "You're my third collection," he said again. He used a duster on me. "I should take better care of you all."
Category All / Fantasy
Species Cockatrice
Gender Male
Size 647 x 855px
Listed in Folders
I could try to flood the room every few months.
Or drive a convoy through a local carwash.
Or drive a convoy through a local carwash.
You can also invest in an electric/battery power wand washer for periodic cleaning.
No exhaust fume issues like the gas ones.
No exhaust fume issues like the gas ones.
*chuckles... I do hope you never have a little Fox in that place...
Vix
Vix
It's the ultimate expression of affection. Wanting them to be around.
Permanently.
Permanently.
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