Jerzy counts the steps to the summit – 88 flagstones, solid, rooted, arcane. Breathing heavy. The mid-autumn wind whips his rust-coloured hair into stiff peaks, a will of its own. He can’t bear to look over the craggy edge, cantilevered. What if he sees something, what if the remains are picked over by birds, ravaged by scavengers, even worse, what if there’s nothing there. His third eye refreshes, recalling the spat that made his arms lunge, made his body inflate like the incredible hulk, made his will gust like the wind… made Arturo topple over the edge like humpty dumpty.
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Paul A. Freeman
1/12/2023 08:06:14 am
I loved the turn around change in expectations. Well done.
Christa Loughrey
1/12/2023 09:15:28 am
Ouch! A dangerous place to have a spat - QED, Karen.
Ruby Lyn Norada
1/12/2023 01:27:43 pm
Hair-raising story. Can Jerzy make it down that mountain with his heart intact? Well done, Karen.
Elizabeth coulter
1/12/2023 05:34:11 pm
Love the use of complex words. Made me dust off the dictionary. (Figuratively speaking,of course)
Anne
2/12/2023 05:54:22 am
Poor Arturo!
Sue Clayton
3/12/2023 12:58:31 am
What manner of beast with a third eye, I wonder. Great descriptive story. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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