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Memory 22: Gates
Apr. 6th, 2020 09:14 pm“Gates,” says Hurricane.
The image on the paper before him doesn’t look quite like gates, if he’s honest. There’s a swoop that suggests a high arch and what might be bars, but it’s all in the sloppy black of splattered ink.
“Interesting,” says the woman sitting across from him. She has black hair that’s cut short, around the length of her ears. She’s wearing a long, white coat and sports a name tag that reads ITO. Although there’s a desk nearby, she’s not seated behind it. She’s next to Hurricane, on the other side, in the chair beside his. “What kind of gates, do you think?”
“I dunno,” says Hurricane.
He knows, all right; if they really were gates, they’d be the kind you see in a cartoon cemetery, all jagged and grey, with ghosts behind them. He knows better than to say that, though. “The big kind? Like something out front of someone’s mansion or something.”
( Continue )
The image on the paper before him doesn’t look quite like gates, if he’s honest. There’s a swoop that suggests a high arch and what might be bars, but it’s all in the sloppy black of splattered ink.
“Interesting,” says the woman sitting across from him. She has black hair that’s cut short, around the length of her ears. She’s wearing a long, white coat and sports a name tag that reads ITO. Although there’s a desk nearby, she’s not seated behind it. She’s next to Hurricane, on the other side, in the chair beside his. “What kind of gates, do you think?”
“I dunno,” says Hurricane.
He knows, all right; if they really were gates, they’d be the kind you see in a cartoon cemetery, all jagged and grey, with ghosts behind them. He knows better than to say that, though. “The big kind? Like something out front of someone’s mansion or something.”
( Continue )
