note on a brutalist fiction

A brutalist fiction somebody told me, that I was once a horse breeder located in Devon, in the South West of England. An order, to question our understanding of time, since this refers to a happening in the past, a long time ago. A possible, yet unlikely past. Moving in a herd, coming close and following each other standing in the back, watching the shapes became unclear I failed in seeing it. I was afraid of them, when they came, approaching and surrounding me that night. They were warm, almost reflecting last light of day. brutalist fiction, 2024 - ongoing