Bird Lamp

Outside my window, distant traffic roars. A glass oil lamp, placed on my windowsill and fashioned in the shape of a bird, flickers in the night breeze. It was bought by my aunt Carol. She was kind of eccentric; the kind of person you’d expect to own twenty cats. The kind of person that always seemed to be draped in an over abundance of scarves, cheap jewellery, colourful knitted cardigans and handbags stuffed full of trinkets and a few scrunched up tissues poking out the top for good measure. You get the picture.

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Vanishing Point

I leave the clinic of THE GONE. I’m dead they chuckle. I have this fucking dial etched into my wrist. All because I stole a stupid fucking car. It’s set to 10 and numbered to 0.

I pull instructions from my pocket. Simple and direct: 10 = Opaque, 0 = Vanishing Point. Enjoy. T&C apply.

I dial in an 8, for shits and giggles. My wrist aches. It feels nice. I notice my hand; it seems to fade slightly.

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One day, when I was a young girl, I remember the town being particularly quiet and the square empty of all but one man.

He wore a dirty black pinstripe suit and purple velvet hat, shoes so polished I could see my own reflection smiling at me.

He was seated at a small desk, a few feet in front of a giant eye. On the desk I noticed an inkwell, fashioned like a tear drop.

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Shadows and Light

Shadows aren’t what you think. Trust me, I’m the only being without one. That’s why the guard keeps me here, a prisoner of sorts, in this strange cosmic kitchen.

Let me explain. On these shelves are many jars, ingredients so to speak. I have another shelf lined with recipe books. I’m currently making a dish which the guard will collect at the appointed time.

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The Indigo Sketch Unit is the only device capable of decoding the encrypted signals from the temporal slipstreams of The Unknighted Kingdom. The broadcasting of these transmissions is the task of The Overseers.