Sunday, December 20, 2009

The Grim Reaper

I was using a pair of hand shears to clip the grass growing along the edge of a sidewalk when I was joined by a man who was curious about what I was doing. His hair was white and very short. His head was narrow. He was wearing glasses. He asked if he could see the shears. I stood up and handed them to him. As I did, they became an ax in his hand. His first swing was aimed at the grass. The blow landed perfectly just where I had stopped cutting. He took a breath and adjusted his grip. My body tensed with fear. His second swing was aimed at my neck. I yelled myself awake.

Added yesterday to the Annandale Dream Gazette.

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My thanks to Ed Baker for signing on as a follower. His website, Bare Bones Bonze, is also linked in the “Reading Room.”

Forum update: Do I really need this chair?




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William Michaelian said...

Wild! Thanks.

Alex Fremton said...

death instinct?

cool digs.

William Michaelian said...

Thanks. No instinct, just your garden variety psychosis.

Elisabeth said...

How about your alter ego?

William Michaelian said...

Well, as Bob Dylan once said, “All I can be is me, whoever that is.”