Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

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Tag: sympathetic magic


A giant boulder on its edge, barely touching the sand. A rickety pole made of smaller stones like vertebrae, with a behemoth skull on top. Cacti wearing hats of lightning-shaped fulgurite, gently spinning. These wastelands are filled with improbably balancing or hovering things. I have been studying a pendulum made from broken hourglasses, and the way it swings. It is unbothered by the wind, but I know that if I touch it, like with all the other sculptures, it will fall down. So I draw lines in the sand under its course, and I make observations. I need to know.

Little Egg

Little Myfanwy was born and her soul was wrapped around an owl’s egg. The chick didn’t make it. The surface was crisp and white, cracked from the subtle force of magic. This was how ornithologist Dr. Gibbard found it.

He punctured it thrice with a needle used for taking eggs’ temperatures. He sealed the egg in a small safe container. Whenever he came to a new town, he pretended to be on the lookout for an avian disease called devilprong which manifested in humans as three wounds in a line like Orion’s belt.

If he found her he owned her.


You are connected by magic to a certain object; everyone is. Something round. Most of the time it’s a rock at the bottom of the sea, sometimes it’s a jewel or a doorknob. In rare cases it’s a fossilized egg or the shell of a snail. Nobody can know, without experiment, which object is theirs. With age you get worn down from the waves rocking you back and forth. Sometimes objects just burst from pressure, and people have heart attacks. Sometimes I step on snails and feel someone die. It feels like walking into a freezer, or through a ghost.