Vincent J Prince
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Stories (2)
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The Old Barn
The old barn still stands. Barely. And I stand before it. A place where once we barely ever stood still, but now you’ll lay still forever. The old barn has succumbed to the relentless attrition of time. As did we. We let go. We let the barn decline and we declined in parallel. But that’s what happens. There’s no great mystery. Time, and neglect, and wear degrade everything. Sometimes that wear causes friction. Sometimes that friction ignites.
By Vincent J Prince5 years ago in Fiction
The Born Identity
A smallish spider descended from the ceiling and deposited a sugar cube into the doctor’s mug with a plop. The fact that that happened probably tells you something, although don’t ask me what, I’m just a filing cabinet, I can’t even see. If you’re wondering how I know it was a spider, the stapler told me, obviously he needs to be able to see so he knows what he’s stapling. I need to be able to hear, so that they can shout ‘open drawer 2!’ and I can open drawer 2. That’s when someone walked in, and I began to transcribe and auto-file the following:
By Vincent J Prince5 years ago in Fiction
