18 November 2013

Suspension of Disbelief

Some stories are just to good to be made up. Weather it happened or not is besides the point. It was so real in your mind. I am the narrator. I am the voice in your head as you read this. I am the dictator to your writing hand, the color of your daydreams, the engineer aboard your train of thought. I am the deity of consciousness.

I sit atop a tower at the very end of the earth and from this ponderous spire I can see the world. I can see your dreams. I can see your hopes, your grief, your happiness, your love... But today I see the frustration of Boris.

Boris was a yeast. He had descended from a long line of yeasts. He was something of a pedigree. Of royal blood almost. He currently resided in a tub of yoghurt thinking dark uncomplicated yeasty thoughts.

The End.

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Thanks for reading :)