Another Life #19
28 Dec 2011 2 Comments
in Flash fiction, Microfiction, spontaneous fiction Tags: another life, fiction, flash fiction, microfiction, wind, writing
Inspired by this ridiculous wind.
I possess the most powerful lungs in the universe. My breath is a hurricane. I inhale and tree branches groan toward me from miles away. I let the breath go, and buildings are flattened under the current I create. I can hold my breath for seven years at once.
This is year six.
Another Life #17
11 Dec 2011 1 Comment
in Flash fiction, Microfiction, spontaneous fiction Tags: another life, creative, flash fiction, microfiction, writing
I am standing in a vast desert, the sand burning my feet as snow falls around me. For some reason I want to sing, but my voice has been taken by an angel I met the other day, who put it into a jar, where it buzzed around like a tiny melodic fly. My coat is made of red plastic. An hour ago it was melting in the sun. Now I pull it tight against my shoulders and it barely cuts the chill at all. My eyes turn everything violet, and I start to see a vision of the ocean. I know it must be a mirage, because it never touches the ground, but washes upon a midair shore instead.
Another Life #16
10 Nov 2011 1 Comment
in Flash fiction, Microfiction, spontaneous fiction Tags: another life, fiction, flash, meeting, microfiction, writing
or Soul-mate
The brown tile platform, already littered with commuters, started to become uncomfortably stuffed with people as I waited for my train home. As yet another train-rider squeezed her way in front of me, I sighed in frustration and turned my head to mutter scathing remarks to myself. And then I saw you.
You were looking straight at me. Your face was blurred, but your dark eyes locked onto mine and would not release me. I dimly registered your spiked black hair, checkered scarf, and silver earring in some very large gauge. None of that affected me – nor did you take notice of my unwashed hair, shining with oil, or my ill-fitting jeans. We walked toward each other, weaving through the crowd as a train pulled into the station. Our hands met as the doors opened, and the opposing streams of people poured in and out of the train. We boarded together, standing in what little space the other passengers would allow us, with our fingers linked.
My stop, just two over, came before yours. I got off the train, turning to look at you again. Our eyes held each other until the train pulled away. I wished that I had asked your name, at least.
It bothers me less that I may never see you again than the thought that if I do, we might just walk right by each other, not noticing.
Another Life #14
14 Sep 2011 1 Comment
in blog, Flash fiction, spontaneous fiction Tags: another life, creative, fiction, flash, microfiction, writing
Take me back…
…to when I was in love with you. You were so perfect, and I had this hopeful glimmer. Before the unfulfillment and disappointment, before the months I spent crying over you and the plans for showing you how over it all I was the next time we met. To when the thought of your arms around me gave me a lovely chill. To when I was sure that it would be just like I imagined, only better.
…to a moment walking alongside the River Lee in Cork, feeling a sudden clarity and contentment. There was nothing picturesque or perfect about it, but I’ve been too long trying to remember that feeling.
…to flying in dreams, soaring through streaks of colors and light, a rush of excitement and unreality, and then awakening and recalling how real that feeling was.
Another Life #12
13 Jul 2011 1 Comment
in Flash fiction, Microfiction, spontaneous fiction Tags: another life, creative, fiction, flash, fragment, images, microfiction, writing
Daydreaming. Sun and water. Immersed. Soft grass, clover, flowers. Toes. Entwined. Rain and hope. Dancing, on the subway. Song. Bursting. Tears and cheeks. Pear juice, dripping. Jewel garden. Red dress. Nighttime chanting. Bright forms, flames, dancing.
Waves of wind and sadness. Constant creation. Follow. Visions. Soul, taking flight through stars. Nothing. A face. An eye. A hand. Reaching. Touch. Energy, lightning. Scent of roses. Trace of satin. Lock of hair, lying on the ground. A smile, from nowhere.
A voice. Eyes closed. Engulfing. And then, a flash -
Eyes Open
26 Apr 2011 1 Comment
in Flash fiction, Microfiction, spontaneous fiction Tags: change, creative, fiction, flash, green, microfiction, nature, seasons, spring, trees, writing
Spring is an odd progression. It comes phase after blooming phase, a transition that overlaps so much with winter that it becomes almost impossible to tell when it really begins. Right now, the magnolia trees are full of blossoms and a few other trees here and there show their buds in various shades of bright green. Others are still as bare as ever, with no sign of their seasonal green peeking through yet. The change happens so slowly, it is easy to miss the moments when it first starts to show.
Another Life #10
13 Apr 2011 1 Comment
in Flash fiction, Microfiction, spontaneous fiction Tags: connection, creative, fiction, flash, life, microfiction, morning, motivation, perception, rain, waking, window, world, writing
In the sleepy hours of mid-morning, the window is misted and covered with drops of rain. The sky, a dull gray, waits beyond, looking quite tired itself. Tree branches sway slightly, bending to the mildly present wind. The view does not encourage the will to venture outside. Still, one cannot stay indoors indefinitely. Everyone’s individual world consists of all that is within the boundaries they make. For some, that can be one single building, or one single room. Most of us, however, need a wider variety to our world. Although the absence of the sun in the day steals away the desire to exit a warm bed, what is a little rain in the face of connection to the world at large?
Another Life #9
30 Mar 2011 Leave a Comment
in Flash fiction, Microfiction, spontaneous fiction Tags: another life, awareness, creative, fiction, flash, life, microfiction, watching, writing
I am eyes open, seeing all that passes before me, never noticing my watchfulness; I am eyes crying tears of exhaustion from years of constant seeing, without rest; I never sleep; the moment I close, I am gone; I exist only as the watcher, and so I keep watching. I do not blink. I do not look away.
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