Oil, by Atomic Chestertom
Oil By Atomic Chesterton Originally published in Softcartel N___ was unsure if this was a dream or a video game. There were surefire ways to tell, but he had forgotten them. It’s all about targets, navigation, safe exits. Something about grounding should tell you. All he knew was that he was evidently in a shitty neighborhood in Chicago, and with a feeling of disgust cloaking him, as if he was soiled with something that would never come off. The houses here were old townhouses, many boarded up. There was a feeling of sharpness in the air--not just from the cold, but a certain old-country lilt. It felt like an easter mural in an Orthodox church--bright primary colors and ethereal song, lurking behind the drab exterior reality. But things would dissolve and rework periodically, into other scenes, only the refrain of breathing remaining constant. I know I’m in danger. She told me what he did to her. He probably knows I know, he probably beat it out of her.
