A Micro Graphic Novel Project
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A Labor of Lost Love
By Fiona Gibson
Etienne left on a cold winter's morning, just as the sun began to steamily kiss the thin pre-dawn layer of ice. Left without word, left with all her worldy possessions packed neatly into her hatchback, she left me in our chilled, half-empty bed with fuzzy memories and creeping melancholy.
All I could do was go about the morning's chores. I thought long and hard as wood sliced sharply by way of my tool.
I felt the grain grind against the chain, resisting my penetrating thoughts, refusing to reveal its secrets to me.
I cut deeper and deeper, realizing that this physical action manifested my tumultuous inner-monologue.
It occurred to me, then, that my heart was an organ of fire. Etienne thought I was numb and unfeeling, and that's why she left me. I didn't realize my soul housed the flame until the advent of her absence.
And so, it burns burns burns, this ring of fire. Burns to ash as the sun goes down; I suspect I shall be a new man in the morning.
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