I killed a Huntsman today, pressed it flower petal flat with an austere edition of Ulysses I often call to service. I’m certain yet more linger within the walls, cultivating secrets behind countless sharpened eyes. I left the body exposed in case they harbour any fellowship of species, a warning, scant fluids and broken spindles painted on hardwood, good work if not a little gauche. Though, I linger now upon the message and the meaning of its interpretation. For if I’m understood, surely retaliation must not be ungraspable. I fear the plots I have incited in asserting my dominion.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.