Digital Ischemia

15/04/2012

Four

Filed under: Jalopy — Teepwriter @ 08:47

An exquisite anticlimax. Inertial ground rock set into a swooping sensory illusion as your receptors adjust back down.

“By all means supersede Einstein, but you can’t create energy.” Your narkiness arises from a niggling imminent cognition around conversations had. Nicol’s gaze seems patronisingly fond.
“I don’t need to. There’s plenty. Wasting. I just need to harness it.”

Laz’s cocky rejoinder fires joyously, looping around your skull. “Surely your man of the moor, MacHauch…”
Nicol MacHauch. How did you miss that? Grievous error. Bad news. Each pass at the name stirs your nausea.

Your lethargic mind shudders to deliver another gem: the mineral. Your finger, tapping on the fascia, soothes, aligns your gathering cognition.

“What are you thinking?” You barely notice how unusual it is for him to ask.
“By… any… chance… when you inherited the land…”
Nicol goads your inferior intellect toward his impending doom with resignation.
“…did you also acquire a title?” Your gratification at the cunning deduction suddenly dissolves to fear as you express it, with no easy explanation.
“Aye.”

Nicol Mor MacHauch is frighteningly motionless. He stares at you with what could be despair, disappointment, horror, or just absent-mindedness. He snaps his head to face the moor and jolts into his dominant mental routine, away.

Your cranium strains to contain the explosion of implications: could he know you lift the mineral grit from his moor? How far did those cursed, bar-sodden bastards set you up? They all call him Mor. ‘Big’. Not even an original substitution for that impossible articulation of letters.

The plaid fan of a sparrowhawk’s tail glides over a fence. It must have held motionless this whole time.

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