|
Rope
Two years ago, they found me wandering the streets of Millimillenary. Another lost human; memory gone, ragged clothing, drool, the whole deal. I would have starved if it wasn't for the food vending systems which were slightly smarter than the Tertiary translation interfaces; a few of the really smart ones would grab you and feed you intravenously if they thought you needed it. Anyway. they took me in, cleaned me up, clothed me, gave me some kind of rudimentary chemical therapy. I came out of my trance, but still no memory. It wasn't a big deal. It's a kind of monastery. A couple of races are involved, but it’s mainly a Jherani concern (which gets really confusing when you appreciate that the Jherani like to customise their appearance, and take a different form depending on which race they’re dealing with). There were nine Jherani, a couple of Bythians, an Ukhur, even a Parkry. They were there for some kind of philosophy involving untying knots in string. I don't know if there was a corresponding monastery next door that tied the knots, but they sat around all day untying knots in twenty centimetre lengths of string. when they'd finished untying, they'd give the string to me and I'd ... restore them to health. Take care of them. When I got the string, it was all twisted, tiny u-shaped bumps where the knots had been tied particularly tightly. Using the warmth of my hands, patience and the kind of monomaniacal serenity you ordinarily got from half a bottle of cough syrup, I'd straighten the string out, let them rest for a while. They tried to conceal it from me, but the string always went away and came back with more knots. I knew it, but it didn't seem important. They humoured me; I humoured them. As Daffy Duck once said, "It’s a living." |
|
|
( top )
All work on this site is © Nikolai Kingsley unless otherwise stated. |