He showed me the scars that ran up his calves, angry red welts that reached up his legs like tentacles. I looked away, but couldn't keep myself from glancing at them even while he explained their significance.

"Most of us with these, we don't talk about it. Some of our friends gave up, some just melted."

"But everybody that's been through fire been changed, somehow or another"

The visual language workshop had a sort of side project, a place for more than just visual language. I wasn't so sure anymore that I wanted to go there.

The Nodeshell World Fiction Project

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