Fractal Realities: Siren's Call

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

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


I'm in a fun house. I've always like how the good ones play with perception. It reminds me of the Get Smart opening: expectation and subversion in a fun way. And they're so enthusiastic. Not the operators necessarily, who've seen this millions of times, but the houses themselves. Each one as eager as a puppy with a new toy to impress you. I shouldn't be here but I couldn't help myself. There's magic in a carnival especially in October. Perhaps I value that link to my past but I've never thought of myself as that sentimental. But I here I am. Again.

The maze of mirrors is coming up next. I can only go forward, there's no other way out, but my foot falters. I'm scared. What if someone notices? Everyone would know what it means, even if I have a needle-sharp proboscis instead of sharpened canines.

Three girls push past me, their blood pumping so loudly I wonder how they can hear anything at all. Their rhythm takes over. It drowns out everything, swallowing my fear and thought alike, and I become a monster.


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Fractal Realities: Reflections

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