NEW FICTION:

He wrote the words down - slow and easy. He reduced his breathing, paced his heartbeat, calmed his flickering eyelids - all to follow the rhythm of his words, all to follow the shifts in illusion and perception - from flashes and flickers - to words wrote down. His words were not etched in granite or steel, they could be scribbled over, forcibly changed, erased, burnt to broken bone, ash and cinder. But somehow, someway, once his words hit paper, once they were eased out of his head, they were in a way exorcised from his body, they had to make their own way, they were their own entity. Whether they came back to haunt him, or whether he never heard from them again - it was up to them, no longer him.