WINDED, BUT NOT GONE
1. ‘Show Mr. Peabody into the library, please,’ repeated the insane woman clad in rags time and time again.
2. He suffers, I fear, from a severe case of permanent adolescence.
3. She was so full of herself that she overflowed onto others.
The skill and passion combined in Gandhi’s tango were unsurpassed.
a pleasure gone too far
i.e. consumption of an entire pie at one sitting.
The real me is a construct built of ephemeral words. Pay no attention to that flesh thing walking around.
The wind rushes at you, bending the sagebrush, throwing dust. Eyes to the ground, gripping your hat with your left hand, you watch your boots shuffle forward. You steer for the ravine waiting between the low hills at the far side of the flatland. If the map is right, and you know it is, the lost mine is as good as found. You reach the ravine, and the boulder is there, exactly as it should be. You moisten your lips, squeeze the crowbar in your right hand, and advance to the task. Strain and struggle to find the leverage. Finally, up and over, the boulder rolls aside, revealing the hole. Down you go, eager. You strike a match. There she is. You die.
The past we carry with us forever into the present and that is enough to contend with.
Word, you ever unnamed 2nd Mrs. de Winter in the sequel to Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca.