Visions of my Other Self: A novella

SmokeMy other self cries out in her crow voice more wind in it than snarl...from somewhere there off to my left...he sits there in the clearing in a grassy bowl at the bottom of the hill...hes smoking watching me...a tall hat of smoke rises around his head...wheres your brother he asks me...he gets up from his rock chair... wheres your shining stone house I say...maybe my brother is there I say...maybe your brother is there he laughs...