here’s a story begun for Fluster Magazine’s short story competition…ended all too briefly?
Dropping the Mask
It is clear that we called for the meeting to leave something behind.
I don’t believe that either of us questioned its integrity, intentions.
We both of us asking to know.
It had been long in coming, decades. Still not yet old we hoped to find some kind of truth and choosing. A discovery discovering. Both an offering, a revelation, no lives to be lost.
I had never seen her this way. Never this close nor this complicated. I allowed her to undress, even asked her to. I did my best as well, to arrive ready, with a thousand masks.
Long navigation. The years had dug channels, paved roads. The routes were secret, but we remembered, as if written on the palms of our hands. We read them with our eyes, began to retrace.
I made the first call, in order to argue, to work something out. Why we never, nor knew. Our stories paralleled – the subterfuge, pain, and the pathways of scars. We dug to heal, opening the wounds.
We held it together, even with weapons. To cleave – cut and joined. Rifts and bridges. His truths were all lies, logically constructed. I sprayed mine as graffiti on his monuments, defaced. Undone.
I guess each truth is a lie to something else. Our stories held water and ran. We found ourselves somewhere in their flow and stood together as a base in cascade. In the thundering rain the masks dissolved and our veils clung to our bodies, sheer.
What we experienced together we did not forget, but forged a place for it. Here and now. We began. Possessions and pasts stolen, we clung and feigned, using only our skin and joined breaths – our voicings. Fluid in a world of statues.
Something fell away, eventuating our silence. We departed the space we had filled, abandoning its form bags packed full. I felt I’d left something behind, still checking my pockets and luggage.
He preferred the weight he carried, holding him secure and anchored to the earth. I chose the flight, and the destination, returning us unharmed. My pillowcase was empty, nothing lost, nothing gained. Of much was made.
I guess we masked our joy in difficulty.
Which fell to the ground in our separate ways.
“This is how we originate and how we are formed: a slapdash piece of work, subject to the vagaries of time and the blunders of brief opportunities”
-Michel Serres-
N Filbert 2012
All my Words are Silent 
I love the imagery in this piece. Beautiful writing here.
Yay! Thank you very very much
“Nothing can be delicious when you are holding your breath…you have to be present to savor it; and presence is in attention and in the flow of breath…..a beautiful connective cord of air.” Anne Lamott
You left something behind? Well, where did you see it last? Did you check for your wallet, you keys? Oh…maybe it was the paper airplane that you made mid-flight? You scribbled some words on it, but I think it slipped between the cracks of the seats. Wait..there it is! You’re using it as a bookmark, Silly!
Thank you for the short story…great images!
Thank you – always – for reading and encouraging 🙂
Ring the bells that still can ring / Forget your perfect offering / There is a crack in everything / That’s how the light gets through. -Leonard Cohen
nice 🙂
This is a beautiful piece. The words nearly lifted me away into their world. Love the imagery!
Brilliant! These are really inspired. Mine are “it was a dark and stormy night” compared to these. 🙂
Thanks for sharing!
Thank you for reading and taking the time to comment!
Very encouraging…and I did NOT find yours in the least bit cliche!
But, what of “cliche”? So subjective….words describing experience or feelings or creativity….
Fabulous story! Really enjoyed reading it… Hope that is fine that I credited it as an inspiration when posting my new picture on Flickr^^ May be you story and my picture don’t seem to be connected but they have a sort of connection to me… Wonderful weekend to you!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/ateriel/6952273622/in/photostream
Thank you both for visiting, reading, and it makes me happy that my work might inspire further making. Interesting and beautiful work you do – thanks!
from whence “cliche”? i’m not following i think?
Just query whether that which is cliche is always lesser. Art is so subjective and expression is critical, even if it doesn’t always represent pure originality. No one has suggested here that anyone’s work IS cliche – in fact, you’ve created a lovely, affirming forum. I am merely saying that even if someone here is tempted to feel less than, he/she should resist!
Amen…to skirt “cliche” generally means you’re near the center of something profoundly experienced anyway, I think?
Indeed.