Restored Goods (2)


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?

Though there is no air moving, I feel a cold wind stirring my fur and wonder what these splinters of glass used to be when they were whole, and who had done them this cruelty, this injury, this wounding.

I grieve; I falter.

It's obvious to me that this was done deliberately...but whose purpose it served, I cannot tell.

I squat down by a number of larger bits of crockery, or whatever it had been before, and lay my hands on two pieces with similar coloration, cupping them in my hands like a precious and savory fruit. To my amazement, the two seem to settle together into the semblance of one piece; they appear to have been joined before the wreckage began. I feel warmth running from my torso through my shoulders and arms, and from my hands, out through my fingers and palms. I feel as if electrical flow has forced my hands to clutch the two pieces tightly...and then the feelings subside.

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Inspired by (sequel to):

"03-21-17 I'm nothing but damaged goods. Shards of a person left scattered on the ground just waiti…

Restored Goods (1)
  • Published 5 years ago.
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