How awful to live in those brief moments of remembrance, of recognition that your mind is no longer your own. To awaken into consciousness and find yourself trapped into torturous pathways of mindless, muddled repetition. To find that logic make no sense; that life no longer has meaning.
The Fall of Hadryn, Son of Imrik … (extract)
Labin sat caressing the cool metal blade of her axe. She looked across the room at the forlorn Maria. ‘Stupid Maria,’ she thought. ‘Too much wine, too much dancing, too many wild ideas. It had been her idea to invite the elf and the dwarf to the castle when the inn closed its doors to them.’
Our ghost
The aroma of coffee rises from the mug on the table and calms me. For a while I reflect on my thoughts … and find them fearful. Oh, that’s Irrational of course and unwarranted; yet tangible for all that.