The Wax Conspiracy

Gaining traction, momentum was all the fashion

Woken by the crack of a pepper dawn, the baby elephant wallowing in its own newborn cradle cries out for its mother. Softly, softly, just under the hush, careful not to wake the rest of the herd. A few lie motionless, cold to the nudge.

Through the vibrations in the ground, the beat of feet. A rhythmic stampede, too weak to be that of buffalo, or that of the bison. Too strong to warrant a scratch for weasels or meerkats.

Seconds later, a wave and then another. Of fear running rampant with human vessels blazing through the grass. Whites of their eyes wide and gleaming, brows all glistening with prescription only sweat.

In the distance, a voice carries through the fresh dawn, laughing with nothing in between or no reason outside the call. A laugh followed by the smell of a void wafting down.

Ethan Switch

Written on Wednesday, 29 March 2006

The Wax Conspiracy

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