He considered it a fun weekend project. He stacked the wood carefully, reflecting on how deeply he would need to dig and what he might find there.
When the stranger wiped his fingerprints off the stolen neuroempathic motorcycle he forgot to remove the afterimage of egregious velocity.
“I am a forgotten wilderness. I rise in the mornings, wary and uncharted.”
According to the legend, snow will fall until The Stranger returns and replaces the statue with the heads of the cursed.
The Stranger leaned against the far wall, slowly rolling a cigarette.
Reaching out cautiously at first to the glowing wall, the orphan then deftly manipulated existential conditions.
He was wearing a frock coat and carrying a cane, kept checking a pocket watch. He asked me who the current Emperor was.
Huddled together, their bright, wet eyes focused all at once on The Stranger.