COAL FACE by Wordhunger
Amanda stepped back from her drawing of chaos, her final stroke an immolation of
her charcoal in a bruising smudge like singeing blackpowder. Her husband eased
her back onto the couch and assured her in whispers that it was in accord with
all the math he had worked out.
He had first used this line when they were dating, and it never failed. But the
geometric line was now hidden in the chaos. And she felt as if the bruising
smudge were now actually coming out on her face when she saw her husband trying
to erase the surreptitious additions he had earlier ham-fistedly made to her
personal chaos - but not without him inadvertently erasing her own final stroke
in the process.
He shuffled to the table to pour her the remainder of the lemonade, the
scratching of his slippers entirely masking the sense that his erasure ensured
that the meeting of the Second Pontifex in 12,348 years would not obviate the
Parliament's resolution. The return echo changed very little in his or Amanda's
Multiplication tables lead to all manner of unlikely periods of time. Art as
exponential chaos theory. And the ironheads met within cavalier dreams...
Amanda smiled. She blew upon her drawing - and shavings of charcoal vanished
leaving a clear-cut picture. Her husband squinted at it - the only known
likeness to Cromwell. History and its characters could be drawn in perfect
'photography' by eventually focussed scribble, like children forming specific
shapes from doodles.
Posted at 11:35 am by Weirdmonger