I feel as slow as they are, dragging their bodies to dry, trudging back to the horses to wrest off another chunk -- but I move so fast the creatures never even know I'm here.
| A Micro Graphic Novel Project |
| It Helps to Think of the Saw as an Extension of the Soul |
| By Ian Donnell Arbuckle |
| http://www.highenergymagic.org/~ian/ |
| They move. You can't see it, not even in time-lapse, but they move. Like glaciers, these creatures threaten to overrun my house, my town. Look at the old Civil War daguerrotypes; the fringe was well away and the body was passive, aloof. Now look at them. They're everywhere. |
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| I feel claustrophobic when I'm at work, with all the air bisected, clogged by these sturdy creatures, when the only way forward is through, when the only way clear is back. |
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You have to start small, pick off the sick and newborn. Their bones are wet, at first, and make soggy piles behind you. I feel as slow as they are, dragging their bodies to dry, trudging back to the horses to wrest off another chunk -- but I move so fast the creatures never even know I'm here. |
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| Sometimes they cry -- a fixed action pattern, since I divide their bulging nerves faster than their internal flow of information. I reduce them to digits and sticks and clouds of brown, inert matter. Sometimes my saw cries with them. |
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| In the end, I reduce them further yet. It's the only way to keep them from feeding their descendents, from coming back to life. |
| If I had more arms, more blades, more time, I could push them back forever. But all my length of life is nothing when compared to their, and my saw is getting rusty from their blood. |
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