Ben Mirov



The Book of Emptiness Has No Words and Chapters but One


The camels were parked in the moonlight, ready for whatever. Janice and I were mostly naked by the smoldering fire, though, as I unscrewed the bolts that held my face intact, she stopped me. No need to ruin things yet, she whispered and we sat in a silence so large I thought we were dead. Janice slept while I flicked the light on and off in the bomb-shelter of my chest. The world was probably a piece of roseate meat, stuck on a stick, held over a fire. The moon looked fatherless, as it always did. Yesterday flapped away through a barely visible crack. I looked at Janice whose countenance had turned android-like and knew it was time to push on. I picked up the Book of Emptiness and strapped it to my back, again. The next page was empty, same as the last.