The Devil's Kennel (2)
By Randall Johnston
Transient Typos - The Days The Same and So Is The Horizon
"It's mutinous to think I'd ever amount to anything; when the Devil grins don't smile back. Feign interest in the Devil's Kennel. You won't remember what doesn't exist, along with everything else. My name is Carson Kellings and I have circulated souls, like yours." The man before me kneeled for another other forever over, an intangible tangent of the Shale blue sea. The light descends upon me to still my hands from trembling and avert the calamity within the cliche of my throat, my jaw clicking at the vocoder's rotary cogs attached to my throat, like a bad cliche of breaking budging sounds of the inner mechanics you'd notice holding the knowledge of time. "Barrault fares faults fathomed to feign falling for a flame to traipse and tread on the faint facet of fraying to footprints of fried compliance." Patched in Kin, you might be the first stolen hourglass, filled with diamonds. Opening his eyes to stars projecting stands high above me I turn around seeing a cosmological crunch. The cascade of colours is the raising for rolling an ankle, you may know your fate when the light meets the mind and the mind has been set. "Barrault is Rev's tandem an anachronism forced to stay at a place that always stays at the beginning and the end where time does not shift. Be careful what you hear when your deviation enters recourse." Throwing coins damages the eardrums of the recursive displacement of sentients. Drawing them closer to my enclosure, the precipice of the premise to finish the precluded signed evolution. "Flask, are you listening? You're drunk again, aren't you?" He hands me the flask not saying a word still cessating from alcohol, "What a waste, it's empty?" Gravity's absence is aforementioned keeping a precarious balance between us dropouts. "Tempting isn't it to drink my poison, good thing a drop didn't fall out." Giving him back his empty cantine he takes a chug while the hourglass starts to suspend stretching our conversations across the expanse of time thinning out the clinical study of world-weary travellers. "Gravity's influence does not bend us out of existence. It's just an irritating answer that expression, shocked. Because of affluence not your own." Breathing rapidly he scrapes his nail at the flint hidden behind his teeth and sparks within the devoid. "My favourite trash is wasting time in it, still the wasted are well managed. I could dream without the damage." Crunching over the blinding light I'd produced to define the ground, "Stay stable, I'm shocked." I said curt, "I'll manage through this though, this dream is already without you."