Cylinderhead

Posted: October 21, 2013 in Uncategorized

Magnified a thousand times, the tip of the pen hit the arm of the couch like a wrecking bell, a flick of a finger adjusted to scale to be like the hammer of a gun firing. The dust of the blue and green fabric terrain  kicked up like a comet striking the moon, a ripple in the air that explodes and then settles gently over time. In the opposite direction, it becomes a fleck holding a smaller fleck, ejecting imperceptible nothings into the air between atoms and particles. The grand cosmic mobile spins and spins, unconcerned with these events. On the appropriate scale however, a man is considering gravely what to do with his life. He is embroiled in a long, arduous study session, on the road to saving someone’s life in a few years, and how he performs here determines whether or not that person lives or dies. The mechanics are strewn about temporally, but the consequences are seemingly massive. He wonders if it’s worth the pressure, if he can hold that weight and the truth is he can not. Not yet anyways, but then they’re banking on that — that some people are weaker than others. And this man has a competitive streak.

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