They speculated that divergent forms off the coast caused a fatal perfection in perception. Of course it was all conjecture. They couldn’t ask the smiling corpses laying in the sand with waves washing over them. They assume the lethality is total. They will eventually determine it is not. Until then, it is a secret between my brother and I.
The divergent forms have moved inland, and fatalities have ceased. My brother calls them the DF’s. I cannot conceive what they are divergent from. Those that speculate hypothesize whales. The speculators have not experienced perfection in perception, so how would they know? I have not had this heightening in discernment, though my brother has. He will not share. I do know that those who named the DF’s named them wrong.
They are not divergent, but wholly new. They should be NF’s. They move among us, and most of us are blind to their presence. I am not completely blind, more like legally blind. My brother’s perfection in perception brings him joy, while my half-sight brings frustration. NF’s are not to be feared, but though I know this, I cannot explain why it is true. Though it is true, it brings me no joy.
I move through my days, brushing against NF’s and feeding off my brother’s joy. I cannot unperceive, yet I cannot perfectly perceive.
I took a line from one of my other pieces and made it the first line here. I then wrote what came to mind, stream of consciousness (SoC).
223 words
Bearing Untold Stories 