Genre: Magic Realist Fiction
Word Count: 100 words
Wax-Blood
©September 17th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Farewell, my friends.
Those I’ve loved have melted away, and all those whom I hated have made moulds out of them. They sit, grinning, like skull-candles upon a mantelpiece in the home of the enemy, wherein visitors enter, and say, “Oh, how … unusual!”
All whom I loved do not exist, except as pieces in someone’s dream, atop a mantel-mountain with trophies littered around, like sleeping cats who may, at any time, unprovoked, unsheathe their claws.
Yesterday, I took my hoe, and went to my little terrace-garden on the top of the mountain.
I met a jaguar.
Sunlight spilled on blood.
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