By Boris Glikman
It started out inconspicuously, inauspiciously, a small pimple on the lower left of his back, something no one would ever give a second glance.
It didn’t even itch, so demanded no instinctive scratching.
a small cyst at first,
then into a larger and larger one
acquiring along the way the powers
of perception, cognition, speech, reason.
It became more and more dominant
in the running of his life ’til
there came a point
when he realised
he had become
He now was the awkward, ugly lump of shapeless, useless flesh that needed to be amputated at the soonest possible opportunity; discarded with other medical waste, or better still, pickled and preserved for eternity as a freakish anatomical occurrence–a talking, reasoning pustule that apparently possessed all the features of a well-developed human being.
He clearly saw how all this time he had deluded himself into believing he was a real person who deserved love, companionship, all the rights every member of society should possess whereas he was just a cyst that somehow grew, assuming the proportions, the attributes of a person.
BORIS GLIKMAN is a writer, poet and philosopher from Melbourne, Australia. His stories, poems and non-fiction articles have been published in various online and print publications, as well as being featured on national radio and other radio programs. He says: “Writing for me is a spiritual activity of the highest degree. Writing gives me the conduit to a world that is unreachable by any other means, a world that is populated by Eternal Truths, Ineffable Questions and Infinite Beauty. It is my hope that these stories of mine will allow the reader to also catch a glimpse of this universe.”