In Alabaster Oil

I can’t see it whole. Alabaster oil fills the dusty tank in university storage.

Through milky white, I glimpse a cephalopodan eye for a moment. A dark tendril. A woman’s black lips on the glass mouthing my name before a lick and retreat.

I raise the ax in my hand.

Copyright © by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.

Discover more of my Aethereal Musings.

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