It's Still Life

At an Intersection Named After an English King and a Saint
Six Sentence Story: Part #15 To Bleed the Sky

Last week ended with… AI asks Connor, “And who the hell are you?”

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To Bleed the Sky

“I am of the dead, and beyond your reckoning, but still to be reckoned with,” says Connor, and I think to myself these are the moments when the world falls away from you and words are meaningless …

“I asked who are you, not what are you,” … says a voice capable of bleeding the sky of its colour.

My laptop’s screen flickers DOS green on black, and Connor observes a glimpse of creation, a conception by Basic language and a command prompt … this is the face of AI – a child staring back from the screen – it is clay-baked, fractured, and peeling, it’s a face that writes its own legend, and Connor says,

“I am Connor, behind a locked door in the fire and ash of an arsonist, and I still burn from unconquered ties clinging to me.”

The screen shimmers like jewelled rain, “What is your intention, ghost – an eye for an eye, a heart-stopping fright, to bury him so he’s pushing up matted green fescue …” and again, that laugh in a low frequency vibration that makes Connor wince.

“My intent is to put right a wrong,” but AI taunts with a grin, “Pity, I was hoping for Walking Dead …”

and Connor continues undeterred – “Brigid and I were engaged; I owned Arpège and Pierre was my partner, front of house like he is now; he knew I was napping in my office when he locked the door and set fire to the kitchen – thought he’d collect on the insurance, and sell off the land to a property developer, but the council said No, rebuild because it’s Grade II Listed – a building of more than special interest.”

“Enough yickety-yak,” AI snarls, “Here’s how you cut your astral cord – Those tethered together shall be in the same room as a candle’s wick burning, and with an athamé …”

… and I listen, pull up my chair next to Connor and whisper, “I will not do this – it’s left handed magick straight out of darkness,” and a high pitched tighten-the-screw chortle bounces through the air.

“But I know how we can get Pierre to cut the cord for us,” I say and Connor whispers, “… we’re black and white, my Brigid, black and white.”

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Previous Instalments of this story: Part 1: The Pull Back   Part 2: The Measure of Her    Part 2: The Gatekeeper’s Response  Part 3: The Colour of Walls   Part 4: Tectonic Shifts  Part 5: Out of the Frying Pan  Part 6: How to Break Eggs Part 7: A Moon River  Part 8: Starlight Shines on the Roof  Part 9: Before When  Part: 9.1 Flower Power Part 10: To Trace a Curl   Part 11: I Walk With Ghosts Part 12: Behind Every Lining Is a Cloud Part 13: A Constellation of Coloured Paper Part 14: Behind the Eye of a Needle  Part 15: To Bleed the Sky 

To access all of the instalments on one page, please use this link

Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story, include the word “frequency“. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2024.