‘The Highlander’

He hefted his claymore, the two-hander heavy in his trembling hands. His enemies closed in around him. Steel rang on steel, flesh was carved, and men screamed as their bowels were opened. He swooned and struggled to stay upright. Blood poured from his mouth. It streamed from cuts and gashes all over his body. His leather tunic hung in shreds, yet he would sacrifice every drop of blood for his laird.

The fearsome knight with the dragon emblazoned on his armor charged. Their swords clashed, separated, and clashed again. His enemy was skilled, implacable. The end came all too quickly.

There were two of them, three counting the white tail disappearing under the low branches of a Scott’s Pine, I don’t even give it a second glance.

Carefully, lens changed, I drop onto the scratchy stubble of newly cut barley, gently inching forward on hands and knees to the brow of the hill where I lay for twenty two minutes exactly, my lens filled with, not my muse but friends of; frolicking and leaping together, turning full circles in mid air then running one after the other.

When showering that evening I find four ticks feeding greedily on my tummy…

Title: Dimensional Sickness

I shake my head, still feeling some bit of dimensional sickness. What dimension am I on again?

This looks to be New York City, but I know how the dimensions work. With the multiverse theory discredited, this is just a city that looks like the Big Apple.

“Spare change, kind sir.”

I turn to the source of that voice, expecting some panhandler.

To my horror, the man next to me has no lower torso. His right arm’s bigger than the rest of his body. Worst of all is his face.

I then realize that I’m in the “AI Art” dimension.