Abortive Fiction

He stared at the mottled sky until his eyes glazed and thoughtlessness seized him. He allowed himself to float freely in the frost of his disassociation and the world to grow fainter. Before long, the gentle undercurrent of an afternoon breeze and the chatter and playful yells of summertime revelers were the only reminders of the world around him.

They walked at a brisk pace, each one carrying a bag or a tote full of drinks and finger food. It had been close to a year since the pandemic was deemed over, and they were eager to make the most of each seasonable day. The summer was proving to be particularly favorable for outdoor enjoyment; more than one person could be heard commenting on the goodliness of one god or another, or whatever force it was that they believed controlled the universe. One of the group had spied a lone patch of the field, and they all wormed their way through the gathered people. As they neared their chosen spot, one from the group cast a side glance at a man lying nearly spread eagle on the grass and staring into the sky. That one group member didn’t have a passing thought about that man; in less than a second, they had forgotten the man and were setting themself to enjoying the rest of their day.

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For the Intermittent Writer


Short books about albums. Published by Bloomsbury.

The Wink

This Week in Kink

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