Dirty Flowers
Here’s another piece I wrote a while ago. I paired it with a project that doesn’t amount to much more than a title, Dirty Flowers. I think it will be a comic, a scifi piece about cybernetic implants, a kind of post/pre cyberpunk thing.
The bit in question has nothing to do with implants, though.
No matter what happens, we’re locked in our skins, alone from the rest of the world. Nothing can really touch us in that one place that we all need to be, and long to be, touched. So much of our time is spent countering this horrible solitude with creature comfort, and aquaintances, and sensations, but none of it breaks that immutable wall of consciousness. We’re all so goddamned alone that it makes me want to…
I still can’t decide what she wants to do. That’s not the ending, though.
Can we be alone together for a little while?
That’s the first ending I wrote. But I don’t like it half as well as the second one I wrote.
When I press my ear to the wall, I want to hear you breathing on the other side?
Even if I don’t use that piece of it, I’m sure that the project as a whole will make me rich. Well, maybe not rich, but famous. Okay, not famous either. I don’t know what it will do.
Also, now that I’ve re-read it, it has everything to do with implants.