We all of us are things forgotten still clinging to memory. Immortality. The great and universal human ambition. Promised ever and anon by the mystic words of prophets and sages, whose very sight hath pierced the veil twixt death and everlife. Sought after by philosophers and surgeons, greedy grasping for elixirs and potions that may prolong mortality by weeks, days, even precious and fleeting seconds. It may be that the king, the historian, and the artist can rightly claim to having mastered immortality. For though their fleeting flesh perishes and withers into dust, their deeds and doings ring through the…
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Of all of the extraordinary and beautiful things in the world, none of them had ever happened to Charles Carlton. There was nothing wrong with Charles Carlton, unless it is wrong to never be right. His clothes were smart and never quite fit him, and though their hue and cut perfectly suited him, his own complexion was the wrong colour to suit them. The last time he had had a haircut that he liked was twenty-nine years ago, when his mother had last taken him to the barber. His eyes shone like small puddles, and his voice reminded others of…
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