Fractal Realities: Some Investments Take Time

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

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


Anthony blinked a couple times, hard enough that fireworks of white light appeared across the dark space of the inside of his eyelids. He'd read the same sentence four times and he was still stumbling across the words like he'd never seen them before. He sat up in bed and tried again. This time out loud.

“Together they journeyed forward where the light of known stars was distant and faint. The navigation computer was now recording these first halting steps past the Edge instead of displaying maps, coordinates, and warnings about possible dan--”

His arm itched and he scratched it but it didn't go away. Far too often, unwanted sensations and thoughts invaded his sense of peace, solidly anchoring him in the world that he was trying to escape for just a few brief moments. Scratching more furiously, he tossed the book to the foot of the bed. Not today apparently.

"Anthony put away the dishes like I told you!" his grandma called.

Groaning in the face of this new injustice, Anthony started toward the kitchen.


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