Table of Contents
- Home
- Introduction
- Where Goths Come From - Neef
- The Watcher - Hobbes
- The Resurrection Shuffle - Barbarella
- Cassandra - Cosey Mo
- Drunken Old Bastard - Sandro
- Alcohol - Trayce
- Shadows - Entrippy
- Entropy - Kage-Ryu
- Is There A Point - Trajik
- Whispers - Kitsune
- Confessional - Sandro
- Garden - Entrippy
- Radio - Cam
- Cold Spell - Nikolai
- Slices - Neef
- A Bottle of Something Strong - Jraff
- The Light Fades - Tim
- Rain - Tim
- Self Help - Gothic Gallae
- Cato - Trajik
- Addiction/Fragment - Trayce
- Heal Thyself - Nikolai
- Shattered - Hobbes
- Travelling Song - Solitaire
- Distance - Stranger
- Legacy - Stranger
Slices
Peter started by slicing time into small chunks and using them for simple things.
Mornings spent sleeping in, days off school, and any other thing that captured his imagination.
One drunk night he tried to explain the concept to his girlfriend, which resulted in her losing two fingertips a broken fan and him losing his girlfriend.
He took an air conditioner apart and learnt to slice time a lot more efficiently, in larger chunks, quickly.
Ten years later Peter was rich, as rich as he ever wanted to be, and more.
Twenty years on and Peter still had the body of a twenty-five year old and slightly more money, it was said, than god.
Fifty years on and Peter, rather mysteriously, apparently died of a simple heart attack. Something easily remedied in that day and age. He left everything to a son no-one knew he had, by a woman long dead from cancer. The money kept flowing and no one really wanted to ask any questions,
It was taken for granted that Peter's son looked just like his father, minus a few wrinkles of course.
Tak often stood on the hill overlooking his temple, watching the sunset, or sunrise, Only occasionally, very occasionally, slipping sideways and backwards to watch a particularly sunrise or sunset over once more, to fix it in his mind. On these occasions he would stand beside himself, not saying anything untill it was done, then returning silently forward again. Leaving his earlier self marveling at the beauty of nature and with a desire to watch it over, this time paying more attention.
Occasionally he was joined by his brothers who, on occasion, did the same thing.
Very rarely, the field workers below would swear they saw the brothers stand upon the hill above, their shadows come alive and basking in the light before them.
Tak lived till he was 72. Old age and a long winter finally claiming him one night as he lay peacefully in his cell. Never was he tempted to use extra time to live that much longer, One lifetime was enough.
How many people could claim to see the exact same sunset twice anyway?
"Slices" © 30/5/2001 (Neef) Niel Fulton. All Rights (in all media) Reserved.