Novel

Pulling from the reserves eh? I'll post this one. It was on I Hate Wednesday a while ago...

The hand that takes, the hand that feeds.
The hand that lies, the hand that bleeds.
Like an off brand aspirin cured headache the hand comes back 4 hours later. It leaps back in bullet-time, full force, drilling, sawing, carving its message into your synapses. You pop yet another Roundy’s brand tablet and attempt to read the inscription. A message cryptic, with no end, just a mish-mash of adverbs nouns and slightful adjectives. A horror novel you realize towards the edge of the still printing scripture. A series of them all as dark and inconclusive as the next. With no definite beginning or end you try to avert your eyes. You shut them, say a prayer and open to the vast sonnet staring you down. You blink, still there, blink, imposing, blink, growing. Tattooed, burned, the scar tissue that rests in your eyes is still developing. The plot unfolds, characters are developed and there is no aversion, no serenity just the ever self-creating epic scrolling across and down across and down.