Investigator Deos

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

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

I pushed the beaded curtain aside and stepped through the front door. A little naked boy, perhaps six or seven frowned at me as I entered his home and ran through the darkened doorway behind him without saying a word. The floor was made up of interlocking straw mats which had been trampled down, flattened nearly to earth level. A small rectangular table sat in the middle of the room topped with a tentacle-y mass of rotting fruit known as the Buddha's hand.

The god had chosen to live in a hovel.

It was cramped and smelled like unwashed bodies had lived there for generations. It didn't help that air was hot, stale, and unmoving. A hoarse cough that degenerated into wet choking came from the room that the little boy had disappeared into.

A voice rich and welcoming, said, “Karuppu Nilal Maranam.” The name or title sounded like it was just on the other side of the doorway but I couldn't see anything in the density of the shadows there.

I invoked my own name to complete the ritual introduction. "Roberto Wills."


No prequels yet. Why not write one?

« Write a prequel


No sequels yet. Why not write one?

Write a sequel »

Comments (0 so far!)

  • Published 3 years ago and featured 3 years ago.
  • Story viewed 2 times and rated 0 times.

All stories on Ficlatté are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 License. What does this mean?