Nescio (16)

NESCIO (16)

The priestess lay comatose in her back yard.

Deciphering tarmac had always been hard. The meanings of road markings didn't come easy regardless of one's appitude for semiotics and theory.

The priestess had once known a thing about things but, as her knowledge increased, she'd also stopped thinking. Too often she'd sat with her heart all but sinking as her colleagues recited received information: contrived parley, convoluted hyperbole. All nonsense (as far as the priestess could see).

In the end, she'd quit listening.