The Shortest Distance Back

My reflection can’t defend against even the most graceful swimmer. It creases and curves in the water’s wake. Whether it is freighter or fowl that slices by – my feeble countenance suffers permanent wrinkles in time.

The impact hits me like an iceberg, crushing my fragmented twin into further pixelated ruin. Shards so small, that I can no longer feel my limbs.

I am bruised, I am severed, I am a quartered villain.

This time however, there are no King’s Horses. No men. My only salvation is in Euclid, and in the theory that the shortest distance between two points…

is not a straight line.


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