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Fictional Writings of Elleander Grey


  • Even if I could resist the temptation to understand Elleander, I would be at fault somewhere in my logic. So I want to explore, or rather, explode. A great fire of me burns, like an oven, oh no oven’s please, but the pilot only, light is to guide, guide me then like a pilot left on, to bake within, and eat slowly towards the core. I want to peel it back and see what makes him shimmer and what makes me shiver, that fine coat of gold dust and the beautiful resonance of silver, to make a great tuning fork and tap it against. Is that what God does. I ended my consciousness tonight by throwing this glass across the street. A woman's eyes caught the glimpses of the glass, looking at it in a million pieces. Seeing in it, seeing in the eye of my mind, a reflection truncated, or elongated, cut, split and whole. Her eyes shot an imaginary bullet out, like a dotted line upon a comic strip. She saw me punch through a piece of air like a great boxer, and pass through changed. She swivelled her head to see another piece, this time swallowing my image with gaping teeth, savoring it, before I crashed to the ground. All this she did without knowing, but how could I feel the glass shoot up the veins of my arm. Her sight passing into me, stepping like Alice through that looking glass and that glass coming back at me and spiking into our eyes leaving holes in the darkness, through the back of my head. But at that time all I could see was Elleander falling as he fell from the curb, and all he could see were a few teeth and the taste of metal. And he smiled and swallowed them.
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