Friday, January 24, 2014

"You burned the book!" exclaimed a resentful voice.

A sudden stench of scorched paper flickered in my nostrils, then all of the nerve-endings of the skin on my upper torso protested and registered pain, as if flames were licking at the flesh up to my shoulders.

"You were that book," continued the voice, "And you burned it."

4 comments:

Harlequin said...

Knowing or unknowing those crimes that we profess against ourselves. Concisely done.

Iulia Flame said...

Thank you. It is not as if I have an option. This is.

Harlequin said...

For any given point of twist or turn there is a thinking place .... detachment and objectivity ....

Iulia Flame said...

Yes. Thank you for the reminder.

Kecharitomene

Kecharitomene: music and musings, with many possible layers of meanings, composed and performed by Loreena McKennit.

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