30 April 2016

Zero.

You can try to count down from one hundred by sevens, but you can't, not really. You stop at two, or you go too far and end up with a negative number. The ritual is broken.

What seemed to Celia like a green trap looks like paradise to me. You reach a limit in this world, and if you're lucky, you find a door.

I made a promise, written in mud, long ago. A trade: me for her. I didn't remember. I do now. It's time that I fulfilled it.


I'm leaving now. I don't think I'll be back. 

2 comments:

Mark K said...

Quite brilliant. Though I still don't think I have it worked out? Well done on another successful A-Z. Lovely, economic writing. I'm so envious ;)

C R Ward said...

I loved this, from start to finish.

Carol at My Writing Journal.

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