The Secret, Part 1
Inspiration hits with a flash, stories written on the go. A rumble of laughter and the tale is heard only in echoes. The wind blows me in a new direction. Whom shall I visit next?
I never understood what I'd done that was wrong,
Why you exiled me thus from my life.
Was it something I did? Was it something I said?
I strapped me to a table, I taped still my head
Underneath the hot lights. I was cut with a knife
But my brain wouldn't tell me; its will was too strong
It nearly destroyed me, but I still wouldn't yield up the secret
I was dumpt from a car in a desolate land,
Many leagues from my home and my heart
There was no one to ask, there was no one to tell,
And I wasn't sure walking would serve me too well,
So I sat by the road and refused to take part
In the bustle of traffic of things I had planned,
And I pondered in gloom, but I still didn't know of the secret.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
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