Restored Goods (3)


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?

There in my hands is the same material as one piece. A minor miracle of restoration has happened, and I cannot say why. Perhaps there is power, a power of empathy, that has worked its will through me.

Could this happen again?

It happened again, any number of times, my hands rough and slippery with dust and specks of debris.

How far can this power go?

The hardest was the powder. I tried for an hour to search for matching tiny bits of the flaky granules, but that was a mess.

Finally I scooped up a handful from one pile, and tried to knead it between my hands. As time went on, the consistency changed. Bits that used to be together became reunited. In ten minutes' time there was dust and a whole curved length of ceramic shell. It seemed to be the meat of the upper thigh of the being who had reached out to me.

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Inspired by (sequel to):

Though there is no air moving, I feel a cold wind stirring my fur and wonder what these splinters of…

Restored Goods (2)
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