Do you want to write for Ink 19?
Flash Fictions
The Fabric of Time
Or else it's something else that prompted you to pick through each of those things you see. At first, it being the second number, you seemed to be a nice gatherer. You gathered time and space like hours and inches, unless you're into that wacky metric thing those kids do now-a-days. I'm not trying to say being divisible by ten is a bad idea, but honestly, what number isn't. One day, while you were out spying on marbles, I searched through your gathering pouch, and there among the miscellaneous measurements was a small clump of twisty ties. Not normal twisty ties, you know, the kind you find in grocery stores or hastily written constitutions, but very powerful, almost too powerful, twisty ties. My first thought, well not my first because that had something to do with doctors and screwdrivers, was that you were into some expensive group therapy ritual. Then I remembered that twisty ties, this particular type of rare twisty tie, are what hold our vital organs to our oddly shaped existence. And if you gathered them all up, then all the clear plastic sacks would break open, spilling tropical fruits and cheap vegetables out onto the linoleum floor. Sure, some vegetables are inexpensive and easy to grow, but those tropical delights, with all their lactose and sucrose, are what hold our world together.
Raising rabbits is not easy. No, no it's really not. If you get scared, e-mail me and I'll calm you down. Things being what things being.
