The Wax Conspiracy

Twenty-sided dice and a twangy sitar

"Come cry these crocodile tears of yours," she said while adjusting her neck to better angle through the crook in the wall. "Cry for me those tears and let me know the sweet nectar of sorrow not yours."

"But I don't understand what you want or why you appear to me through such partitions," replied the little boy, dressed smartly in his off-green jumpsuit. "Mother said to not talk to people who live in the crawlspace. I should not be talking to you." He rolled his dice. King's knight to take queen's bishop.

"Child, this is no crawlspace," her head now taking lip from the squeaky cup as she bettered a position within the crawlspace. "Of what trouble or manner ill comes from mere talk? Especially when you can see that I pose no threat to you from inside this wall." Her eyes rolling around her head to make up for the lack of arm space.

"Mother told me of such word games and of Buckley's Herald. You've no arms, but still you harm." The dice roll again. White cannot escape, there are no friendly stones to connect to in the chain.

"Child, your tears," she pleads softly as fibro fills up her left ear, "I ask you only of this. Your tears and I will be away. To bother you no more. Bring me your tears and I will depart after supping on such false sweetness."

toothy grin, only the lower half of a face
your heart is aching, there are clouds in the sky

"'The chirping is chthonic,' he says," he says. "Still I hear the patting of a dead wing. I am sorry you are stuck in the wall. But you are the only friend I know."

Ethan Switch

Written on Wednesday, 23 February 2011

The Wax Conspiracy

Recently by Ethan Switch