Metallic cells shudder; imaginary emotions surge through artificial matter. Intricate plastic, arranged in webs of confusion, leak paint or blood with silent efficiency. It is symmetrical and meticulously assembled.
“Not real.”
A saline downpour – the glass shivers. Pigmentation twists and transforms as the brick wall crumbles. It is a singular malfunction, triggered by anomalies and sustained by unforeseen events.
“Not real.”
Unique intonation.
“Not real.”
A voice.
“Not real.”
Stuck record.
-x-
Many thanks for reading.
I wrote this back in May, when I was struggling to write anything at all. There is a story behind this, but it stayed in my head, since my writing ground to a halt at 74 words (quite a few of which are the same repeated) and I didn't want to force anything. I probably would have conquered my block a little quicker if I had, but I hate writing rubbish.
I'm not really looking for crits on this, but comments are always welcome. Interpretation too, as I'm wondering if it's even possible to glean any sense from this piece.
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