Take a walk they said, you’ll like it they said, something different, a new point of view they said. So I’m walkin’ here, I’m walkin’ there. Always late, missin’ out on the best food, the best views. But ya know what, I like it. Givin’ the wings a rest. Takin’ my time.
Thing is, I’ve forgotten how to fly.
Image by Gio Diani via Unsplash
He had worked for The Company for eight months and had learned. There were three kinds of employees: the Bigwigs, the Wheels and the Cogs. The Bigwigs worked upstairs. The Wheels had private offices. The Cogs slogged it out in cubicles. He was a Cog.
The physical plant was cheap. Walls surrounded the private offices but they did not contain conversations therein. He tried to keep his ears shut, he still heard too much.
Now one of the Bigwigs wanted to know what he knew about the Wheel who supervised him. In the palace intrigue, whose side was he on?
Image from Flickr Commons
I’m looking for my muse. Have you seen her? After searching for her in the usual haunts, I’ve decided she’s hiding from the daily onslaught of scandal, lies and corruption. I tried to keep her well with sleep and vegetables, but I’d find her sneaking peaks at MSNBC and reading WAPO. At first, I thought that might help, but for every hour she spent consuming TRMS she would spend three trembling under the bed. Maybe I need to let her go. Find a new muse with the muscle-mass of a body-builder and the goal focus of a raptor.
A drabble by Becky Kjelstrom
Painting by Charles Meynier
She had lived there for ages. When she first arrived, the walls of her apartment were thick. In order to hear what was happening next door she had to strain her ears, even though her hearing was quite good. Over the years, the vibrations, the rise and fall of decibels, the expanding and contracting frequencies, must have eroded wood and plaster. How else to explain? She was nearly deaf but clearly perceived the voices, movements, even the thoughts of her neighbors. They might as well be in the same room as she. They might as well be in her head.
Image by Denny Muller via Unsplash.com
She sits beside the river, resting, watching it run. She knows it is time to get in, move on. But she wants a few more moments to breath, think about where she has been and what awaits.
The river has been wild lately. Too much rain and snow melt, too many sharp rocks, hidden snags. But maybe there is a broad beach at the mouth and a sunset. Or a sunrise? Something more than this cold, shadowy ledge.
She takes a deep breath, the wind seems to settle, the current slackens. She slides into the icy water and heads downstream.
Image by Robin Anderson
In the West flows a mighty river. Down mountains, over rocks and boulders, through trees it runs. Strong and unabated it slides toward civilization. No dam or levee can hold back the fierce flood. But it neither splashes nor sparkles in the sun. It’s pools and eddies are dark. It reflects nothing and chokes all beings it overtakes. Dry and noisome, it is a river of smoke.
The West is on fire.
Image by Jeremy Thomas via Unsplash.com
A drabble
“I woke up, found soot everywhere and though it was Armageddon.” Cough
“Smoke and ash raining from the sky.”
“And speaking of rain, what about the hurricanes and floods?” Cough
“Yes, it is positively biblical!
“Sun to darkness, moon to blood.” Cough
“All before that great and awesome day when the lord returns.”
“Global warming, pssh.” Cough, cough
“End of days more like.”
“God will punish the wicked.” Cough, cough, cough
Cough, cough, cough, cough, cough, cough…silence.
“Mildred!”
“She’s not breathing! Someone help!”
“No pulse, ma’am.”
“But she’ll miss the rapture.”
“Sorry ma’am.”
Photo by Bjorn Tore Okland on unsplash
Selene and Helios, A Drabble by Becky
Selene’s love is boundless. Her dark seeks Helios’ light. Her cold seeks his warmth. She wants him to see her, gift her with a fraction of his intensity. He is blinded by his own brilliance and doesn’t notice her pale luminescence, though she is so close he could touch her. He only sees the other stars, distant in the firmament, but matching his glory.
She vows, “you will see no one but me,” and envelops his radiance in her ghostly glow.
Her love cannot hold. He breaks free. But she plays the long game, beginning her obsessive celestial dance anew.
Six word stories By Becky
Wizard’s work, subtracting sun, revealing corona.
Shadow passes over the USA, only.
Selene in dominance, Helios in hiding.
Syzygy-sun-moon-earth in line.
Sun-Moon-Sun- equal werewolf confusion.
Six word stories By Tor Harper
Oh look, the eclipse! I’m blind.
Preschool lesson, don’t stare at sun.
Ancients said panic, Oregonians say party!
“Pa! They’re here.”
“Who?”
“The crows.”
“Jeez, Ma, give it a rest.”
“They’re watching.”
“What?”
“The garden. They’re watching, just waiting for the plants to grow. To ripen.”
“Ma!”
“Then they’ll do their dirty work.”
“Yer crazy, cut it out!”
“Pa! One landed!”
“Wait, Ma, no! Come back. Ah shoot! Crow for dinner again.”
She rode into town on a mean tide. Exhausted and dirty, she figured she was washed up, done for. But in the morning she changed her mind, cleaned up and put on the paint that made her feel young again. At an open air market she picked up a fellow and decided to go back to the old ways, the siren song, maybe lure him to his death?
No luck. Instead he placed her on a shelf with glass floats and a wooden fish.
Now she dreams of the sea.
Image by Robin Anderson
