A Few Pages of Elric in the Night
by Richard King Perkins II
It is too early in the night for me to die in the stories: tales of romance, of war, and all infinite, godless virtue beyond the rising of the moon; bitterness in the deepest dark.
I’ve read this dozens of times before, and the waxing of Chaos doesn’t concern me. I take up the saga in my hands, and the words are as familiar as that which holds them, sinking deep into me until I can think of nothing else.
This is the strain of winter, the moon ascending outside the earth, the ether of time, cold against my imagination.
Silently, you will understand me as the words alter my body, recognize the new countenance they have given my face, and the strange shadows created against the whitest of albino moons.
Copyright © 2015 by Richard King Perkins II