Tuesday, 19 March 2013


A short story I did for some competition or summit.


I stand beneath it; liberty. One hundred and fifty feet, one inch, a height greater if you include the pedestal. Dauntingly it stands a constant stare. I see smoke, but it comes not from the torch. There’s trouble in the city. Noise is heard; chaos envelops the anesthetising authority instilled by the figure. Its sullen countenance seems to disapprove. They won’t let us leave the island. Together we are all paralysed, made to view yonder horror. E pluribus unum.

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