Archipelago: How it spoke
What the monkey said was true: "We are the product of all our scars." I meant to see him ... it again. It had been a year since. A year since that first pilgrimage.
Somehow the unreal nature of the scene made sense. In the dank coolness, the dirt smell, it sat. White fur, hollow eyes, plastic features. My colleague, Ikonov, and I, standing there, not knowing whether the thing was dead. And then it spoke those words.
We'd later wonder how, without moving its mouth, it spoke.
There are tales and there are tales. Some must come before others, and some should never be told. Those foremost in my mind aren't my own, they're his ... its, the monkey's.
For any of it to make sense I must start from the beginning.
Somehow the unreal nature of the scene made sense. In the dank coolness, the dirt smell, it sat. White fur, hollow eyes, plastic features. My colleague, Ikonov, and I, standing there, not knowing whether the thing was dead. And then it spoke those words.
We'd later wonder how, without moving its mouth, it spoke.
There are tales and there are tales. Some must come before others, and some should never be told. Those foremost in my mind aren't my own, they're his ... its, the monkey's.
For any of it to make sense I must start from the beginning.
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