The Statue
by Nicolette Wong

We have arrived at a shaft of blindness. In the backyard where the birds split and sing, in a thousand directions, against the chalkboard of a dark sky. When the wind burns and embers fall, you reach for the nylon strings to stop my silence.

Tie me up and leave me here, you say. The stone will grow and lose its color in the sun.

No one would see the hanging statue as it fades. Only the scars around your wrists would drift, dark waves of music circling the air. Houses of love; houses of hatred; houses of icicles melting in places you have never belonged.

I tie the knots around your hands. This is how we let it die.

Nicolette Wong is a fiction writer from Hong Kong. Her writing finds its way around the world and she blogs at Meditations in an Emergency. She is in the editorial teams of Negative Suck and Dark Chaos.


  1. The way you use language is stunning.

  2. I have to agree with julesjustwrite; the words themselves are not extraordinary but the way they fall, jar, chime against each other is something discordant and beautiful.