Furious Fiction September 2019! Another hard one for me (yet somehow I seemed to have no problem with the Mayonnaise one?) with the following parameters:
- Must include the name of at least ONE element from the periodic table.
- First and last words must begin with S.
- Must contain the words ‘Traffic’, ‘Jowls’, and ‘Hidden’.
- Must include something that buzzes.
See what you think!
Since you may return a tad confused and upset – though I’m confident you will return – please accept that I may not seem it at the time, I truly will be terribly apologetic. The possibilities in light of the recent partial results continue to be astounding though, and cannot remain unexplored. But the process, the risk. . . it is regrettable. If it fails. Which it won’t.
You are my fifty-first attempt to achieve this noble aim. It might not seem so grand an ambition, trudging through the rotting landscape away from the more frequented areas, but seeing you grow so curious, so much like me over the years; I know you would understand. Will understand.
I also know you are unaware of the toll our path is taking on your body, but this is the only way to ensure we arrive unobstructed. You may eventually find some discomfort with where the twigs and splinters have lodged themselves. If the results are in our favour.
And so explains my apologetic stance at least in part. But we must avoid the thoroughfares – it wouldn’t take much traffic for one to notice, or more-so report or act on, our activities. My jaw is still bruised from an earlier attempt at ensuring a participant could attend.
I still have them all, you know. The bruises, the scratches, the buzzing in my head. None of it seems to ever go away. Its why I can no longer risk myself with this endeavour. My body seems to have forgotten how to heal, and ages beyond the standard expectations. My jowls seem to droop further and further at an alarming rate, my scalp is as hair-free as one twice my years, and every night my bones protest more against finding our next contributor.
But I cannot use myself. I cannot risk failure, though I am certain this time only bring a minimal risk. Only I have been here since the beginning. Only I have the notes, the experience, the fullness of knowledge to see this to an end. And so, regretfully, I cannot risk a failed attempt using my self. The risk this poses to the endeavour is too great.
Ah, but you, my dear Antimony, so willing and so ambitious, have undergone the same trials. Physically, you have endured all I have, if not professionally or personally. But you cannot know what I know, and you cannot conduct the activities I must. In short, you cannot achieve what is needed should this attempt fail.
It can survive your loss, as can I though it would hurt me greatly. It cannot survive mine.
It is, unfortunately, the very nature of such miracles; breakthroughs defy the very nature of life itself.
There is always a hidden cost to mortal men achieving such feats, my son. But for such an outcome, I am only too willing to risk such a sacrifice.