Reluctantly, I pluck you out of my mind's labyrinth, put you in a burial ship. Watch it float, aflame, while my orchestra plays a funeral dirge.
And hope I won't turn up at the wake to find you there, drinking. As I might not be above necrophilia where you're concerned.
50-word-story by Lisa Falzon
Neat, thank you.
ReplyDeletei am smiling, knowingly. awesome.
ReplyDeleteLove this!
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