Cage of Souls

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

Sitting in that cell with him as he wheezed his last hours away, I could feel my presence eroding, the desert wind smoothing over all the footprints I had ever made.

Some ancient writers even claimed that life was the universe’s attempt at self-preservation.

“Being an engineer, and taking pride in his work, he decided to make some small adjustments to the original plan, so that his son would not have to suffer some of the design flaws that human flesh and blood usually owns. So it is that my tissues will heal. So it is that I can know I am hurt without being a slave to pain, and can know feeling without being a slave to emotion. I am well made, but I am still a made thing.”

“We’re made by what’s around us, Stefan. You could get away with being a peaceful man when you lived in a peaceful place, but you can’t go back there now and just fit in. You’re not the same.”