Your wife loves purses. Coach's notched rectangle. Gucci's mirrored "G"s. Louis Vuitton's entwined "LV." But her latest bag, a grotesquely large patent-leather sack on the kitchen table, bears the unfamiliar brand "Alhazred of Damascus."
You hear her cell warble from the purse's depths. She yells from the garage for you to grab it. You reach down its maw. And down.
And down.
Around you rises a catacomb of cloth corridors. You wander them for -- hours? days? weeks? Time and space mean little amongst their alien geometry. Eventually, you find the phone.
Now if only you could find your way out.
The Season's Latest by I Saw Lightning Fall
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Friday, January 20, 2012
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4 comments:
It could be worse.
My wife has THREE purses.
If she brings home one designed by Lovecraft's Mad Arab, run as fast and far as you can!!1!.
Fun premise. Got me wondering whether she's got a Library of Babel hidden in there as well.
I stole this one from real life. I can never find anything in my wife's purses. And if one happened to swallow me ... (shudders)
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