re:mote voices

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Thursday, May 05, 2005

An endless source of fascination for George, those boundaries. Marked on the map, but invisible in real life. Invisible but concrete because people had believed in them for so long. He was overawed by the power beliefs could generate. He could even hear it. Like electric fences, the boundaries seems to hum when he approached. He knew them off by heart, as he knew the names of the twenty-nine real policemen who took turns to patrol them. The twenty-nine real policemen, that is. How many dummy police-men there were he had never been able to work out. They were always moving them around.

DREAMS OF LEAVING
by RUPERT THOMPSON

# posted by remotepush @ 5:48 pm

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