
Not What I Meant
Flash fiction, when it’s hard to get past.
Flash fiction, when it’s hard to get past.
Right now I’d rather be stupid and alive than, well, let me talk this through. But if this somehow gets to you today, it’s it’s Tuesday then people then get people up here, OK? I mean right now. But.
“Okay. Well, I’m just gonna say that your popular media inspired me to a new level of decadence. I mean, I’m like a Darkseid MMA version of the WWE. You know the word ‘turpitude?’”
“It’s like you said. That’s just marketing. Just story. I can drink this Sholi. That’s all right. But I know it doesn’t change anything.”
And he could not, then, blame himself too much at redressing some of that grievance now. A little balance in the world, please.
It was the only teaching he thought he understood. The others (admit it, admit it!) had escaped him entirely. Furenthe was what he would always be. Apprentice. Lata the Furenthe. Furenthe Imagemaker.
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