One of the strangest—perhaps the strangest—stories I have ever written has been unleashed into the great wide world today. “I Am Held in the Hands of God Who Is Named Walter Potter; or, from the Case of ‘The Death and Burial of Cock Robin’” is a little flash fiction from the perspective of a taxidermy owl, and I love it very, very much. (I told you it was strange.)
I have a little interview coming out later this week about this piece so I won’t say too much about it here, but it’s something I’ve wanted to write for quite a long time.
If you would like to read it, or listen to me reading it, you can do so here.
As is customary, here is a little snippet:
In his tableau, I am named Gravedigger, I am named Owl; we are one in the same. In this glass case, we are a still-image, a burial ourselves, performing another. God has named us The Death and Burial of Cock Robin, see him there in his small coffin. See how we mourn. Yes, child. Yes. Press your button nose against the glass. See how plush our feathers. See how solemn we carry him.
— ELOU CARROLL, “I AM HELD IN THE HANDS OF GOD WHO IS NAMED WALTER POTTER; OR, FROM THE CASE OF ‘THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF COCK ROBIN’”, FLASHBACK FICTION