Inner and Outer Darkness

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.

The opium was strong and heady. It bore me on a tremendously vast, dark, wave and I felt a relaxing lassitude swim through me. If I died here, my life would be complete. The ache in me, that part that had been missing, was now filled to overflowing and I was content. A question drifted out of me like bitter smoke. “Who are you?”

Across from me, the man shook his head causing the short blondness of his ponytail to dance pleasingly. “No names.”

“I'm afraid our business, what little there was, is concluded.” I was satisfied with the outcome.

I was satisfied with everything.

He stood, gesturing to the other people he'd claimed as his. “You sot! You're so far gone that you don't realize that the Empire's become a corrupt machine, betraying all of us one edict at a time. Samuel Kershaw, what has become of you?”

The mention of my old name was a distant surprise, a dull firework flaring up so very far away. "Nothing has changed. It's always been this way."

“Take him. One way or another we'll get what we need.”


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