It's Still Life

Part 2: Of Ash and Interleaf —
from Brigid’s Diary: Paris, 17 February 1833

The pages between here and the turn of the Seine have been removed, fed to the fire, their spines cracking like small bones.

Felreil says Paris is a danger made of touchpaper and of men who read silence as a lip-wet confession. Our accents are an indictment’s tinder, I say — our room’s the size of a held breath, with small, listening ears.

We kept one slip only: the prefect’s provisional pass, blue as a vein, warm as a slow brand against my skin. It grants us existence in instalments, no fixed ground beneath us, each few days a renewal we cannot afford to miss.

If you are reading this, know the ash spoke more boldly than we dared, our manner of speech in a language too hot for ink; remember us for what we did not write between syllables.

Previous Instalments – To access all of the instalments on one page, please use this link.

Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story including the word “ground”.  Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2026.