C u t

A 100 word experimental narrative I had to write for class. I think it sounds pretty niftay.

  I am a thing, not person nor place nor wise man’s eyes mumbling lies through a bottle of Beefeater. Fluorescent bulbs can’t glow under this tent of blasphemy, the dead light of opal azure blue deep sea anglers cruising shallow and soft through the black folds, creases and waves.

  Skeletal omen ghosts screaming stretching tearing out through the black and beaming hot neon electricity, exciting mercury vapor and burning bare bone white while the cantankerous tent cripples, collapses, exposing fathoms of diamond eyes and a thumbnail grin.

A pair of shoes I step into, a land I have reached:

 

  the miles.