Friday, July 6, 2012

True Horizon

The flower he tucked behind my ear fell out miles ago.  It was a cynical gesture anyway; he knew my girlness was a bit threadbare.  Thoughts were born and dropped the same way.  In such a flurry of movement, holding tight to anything was a bit like trying to catch a cactus.  So many others had fallen around me already, hands outstretched, begging for a lift. 

“It is not in your power to help them,” my mind’s eye reasoned. 

On, I raced.  To the light.  On a trail of poverty.  My own fight fired by nascent internal combustion. 

“Rev it up, girl.  We gotsta go.”  Again with the eye. 

But my imagery tossed a gander, and I nearly choked as Fred Flintstone’s pedaling feet soared in a thought bubble and popped as it hit the ground. 

The hands of the fallen beggars were soon replaced by nothing.  A tremendous nothing.  A nothing screaming toward infinity where pi times the density of each disembodied ego equaled 0.333333 beneath a vinculum of a most vulgar sort.

“You’re not them.  You’re not them.  You’re not them.”  The mind told the eye. 

My legs pumped the pistons within themselves.  Their direction twisted upward, twirling upon a spiraled case of stairs, swaying and shifting on its carbonated foundation. 

My head’s eyes were called away by the inward one, beckoning them to see what I’d known all along. 

Drifting into focus was a sight that froze my bones.  The realm of ever.  The place where the league of man gives way to creation.  A sight saved for the marksman of hearts alone.   I stood verklempt in his presence, rush of blood in my mortal face, muscle wailed on the frame of the meek. 

Though just as I outstretched a palm to cradle this gilded true horizon, my fingers opened round his flower.  Dropped.  Forgotten.  Wilted.  Picked bare but for 3 petals.  One for each truth he promised. 

A day for birth.
A day for life.
A day to die. 
________________________________________________________________________________

"Give us 33-333 words with this as your inspiration: 
The world will end in three days."

________________________________________________________________________________

12 comments:

  1. The part of the flower reminded me of the picture of your flower tattered and covered in mud. I have so much more stuff to see and and do, I'd hate for the world to end... Plus, I'd have no power to run, at the nose bleeding speed of 5 miles per hour - where would I go? To what purpose?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It's awesome that you mention that. That picture is what I was looking at when I started writing. The "he" stayed obscured, sort of a morph between a deity, a best friend, a lover, or my own internal monologue. The race a metaphor for simple soul-searching, MC Escher style. It's totally self-indulgent, I know. Most people don't know what to make of it when I write like this. But it's fun for me ;-)

      Delete
  2. The first paragrpah is so well crafted. The imagery, the use of threadbare, all of it is perfect.

    I had to read this 3 times to get the prompt. That's great work.

    loved it

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. The fact that you even tried means you totally rock.

      Delete
  3. The realm of ever. Neat. Love the imagery throughout. Beautiful writing.

    ReplyDelete
  4. you are a great writer! the imagery and how you craft your words together excites the reader's mind. well done! (:

    ReplyDelete
  5. This is amazing. I just read the comments and saw that you said most people don't know how to respond when you write like this. I think I know what you mean--that you get in your own head so much that the trail of breadcrumbs gets lost? (I get accused of that a lot with my own writing, so I'm just guessing here.) If that's what you meant, I think you avoided that with this piece. There's enough there to tie the whole thing together and keep it from floating away. You've just layered it beautifully.

    All of that to say I enjoyed it. Thanks for linking up. :-)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. The lack of bread crumbs, the symbolism, the 180s, time warps and wormholes. Yeah. I'm sure I can be pretty maddening sometimes ;-)

      Thank you!

      Delete
  6. First - this is the only time I have read the word "verklempt" without thinking of an SNL skit. It was the PERFECT word here. Second - I loved the feeling that I as a reader am developing through the story. I kept expecting some kind of come uppance as the protagonist avoided the hands of the beggars, but then realized that the avoidance had been the right thing. And I loved the conclusion - it felt like exploding into a star. Awesome.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm so glad you "got" my choice to use verklempt. It is just a fun little word, almost impossible to use in any setting outside of comedy, but it just seemed to own that sentence.

      Delete