Wednesday, September 01, 2010
Thousand: One Hundred Twenty
and the eyes bulged, staring, lightless. “Yep, yep,” said a voice behind the counting leprechaun. “Doing good so far.” A deep, reverberant moan from the hanging body. “I bet he could carry a tune,” the voice continued. “I have some sticks. You could knock on the empty noggin. Bone makes good drum. Notes, not just percussion. It’s the crystalline nature of the structure. There are probably bones lying around here, too. You lepers got not much covering you bones either. You could bang on him with that bony arm of your.” Another sound from the body, this one a hiss
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
You need a comment on these amazing prose pieces that verge on the poetic.
I'm new here, from Jim Murdoch's blog. It's good to meet you here, you and your fascinating internal world.
Thanks so much for leaving a comment, Elisabeth.
Having restricted each section of "Thousand" to 100 words I end up spending more time on those few words than I've done with prose in the past.
Post a Comment