Contributor: Graham Lowther
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"Nothing is indivisible," said the moldering frail shadow of the antique silent dead clock.
"Well that's very dispiriting," came the reply.
"Not my concern. However, there is this exception." The clock's shadow extended a faint fist which corresponded with nothing of the clock, and uncurled it revealing the Indivisible Exception flickering with inward red light--a Substance in the shape of a miniature unicorn stood solidly on the moldering silhouette palm.
A human hand took the Indivisible Exception. A mouth laughed in triumph. Eyes roved about in jittery, nervous near-terror. Legs carried the whole assembly, the man, away from the clock and, more significantly, its shadow. The shadow of a lamp lay in the path the desiccated shriveled brain had plotted out. "Why do you put my progress in doubt?" said the mouth.
The lamp's shadow was still and silent.
"You should know of my importance: I am the carrier of the Indivisible Exception," said the mouth. A fist extended clutching the Indivisible Exception, and uncurled.
The lamp's shadow rippled and shook. It said, "That is a model of indivisibility in the same way as it is a model of a unicorn."
The ears recoiled, squeezing themselves into the skull, smothering the brain. The other, unpreoccupied hand reached for the lamp's switch. Both outstretched hands trembled. The Indivisible Exception tipped and fell. The lamp clicked on, its shadow-obliterating illumination depicting individual abstract shapes scattered on the floor.
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Graham Lowther lives in Maine, currently five miles from a timeless black planet he sees hovering thirty feet closer to his residence every other week. A flash fiction of his was published in The Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiosities.
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"Nothing is indivisible," said the moldering frail shadow of the antique silent dead clock.
"Well that's very dispiriting," came the reply.
"Not my concern. However, there is this exception." The clock's shadow extended a faint fist which corresponded with nothing of the clock, and uncurled it revealing the Indivisible Exception flickering with inward red light--a Substance in the shape of a miniature unicorn stood solidly on the moldering silhouette palm.
A human hand took the Indivisible Exception. A mouth laughed in triumph. Eyes roved about in jittery, nervous near-terror. Legs carried the whole assembly, the man, away from the clock and, more significantly, its shadow. The shadow of a lamp lay in the path the desiccated shriveled brain had plotted out. "Why do you put my progress in doubt?" said the mouth.
The lamp's shadow was still and silent.
"You should know of my importance: I am the carrier of the Indivisible Exception," said the mouth. A fist extended clutching the Indivisible Exception, and uncurled.
The lamp's shadow rippled and shook. It said, "That is a model of indivisibility in the same way as it is a model of a unicorn."
The ears recoiled, squeezing themselves into the skull, smothering the brain. The other, unpreoccupied hand reached for the lamp's switch. Both outstretched hands trembled. The Indivisible Exception tipped and fell. The lamp clicked on, its shadow-obliterating illumination depicting individual abstract shapes scattered on the floor.
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Graham Lowther lives in Maine, currently five miles from a timeless black planet he sees hovering thirty feet closer to his residence every other week. A flash fiction of his was published in The Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiosities.
Author:
Graham Lowther
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