Tag: Flash fiction

It happens

On By NW FilbertIn Experimenctes14 Comments

mist

            It would happen.  The things approach us.  We feel them in our horizons.  Extending out behind us.  A sort of fullness.  A swelling, sweltering cool.  Billowing possibility.  Stand and stare, even in our movement, unseeing.  We blindly gaze.  Caught short, upended, the rhythm is certainly sea.  We are dry.  We will happen.  We are bound to.  Look out.

Remote murmur.  You know.

Not trauma.  Distant thrumble.

You speak.

Echo absorbs.

It would happen.  Consider.

It will happen.  Just you wait.

A world is a kind of ode.

Your body a stylus.

We are here.

N Filbert 2012

for Friday Fictioneers, August 24, 2012

The Sounding Tree

On By NW FilbertIn Experimenctes16 Comments

quick submission to Madison-Woods Friday Fictioneers…thankful for a task I can get my mind around!  Please join, newcomers.

tree

As close as he would ever come to stillness, the boy, lying here, slit and dying at the base of this strange tree.  How could he have?  Only one simple task, one clear instruction that might have spared them all.  Any boy could do it, why not he?  Why must he never be capable, never succeed, always fall short?  How he’d run, as the marauders swooped down, how he’d raged through the woods, torn through the brambles toward the sounding tree.  How could he have missed it, faltering here, now, cut from ear to ear, staring at the shofar of alarm, secure in its nook?

Corrosion: Friday Fictioneers August 3

On By NW FilbertIn Experimenctes16 Comments

Home from vacating for a couple days.  Free-write 100 words prompted by photo as follows (thanks to Friday Fictioneers / Madison Woods instigations/inspirations.  Please join)

The trouble is corrosive.  Is rank.  I do not say what you think I say.  I do not say what you say I say.  I hear you wrong.  Rot.  You love taking pictures of ruins.  I love the effects of rust.  On iron.  On rock.  The meal of erosion is slow.  Don’t yell.  Things erase when we turn our heads.  Eyes such enormous editors.  My ears confuse wind with anger.  What you think is running water is something else.  Is sobbing.  Are tears.  Words are constructed of contexts.  Are hints and withers.  What accrues is corrosive.  Is gentle.  Is fierce.

N Filbert 2012

Here and There

On By NW FilbertIn Experimenctes22 Comments

Threw this one together quickly…not sure it can be kept up with in its leaps.  Apologies.  But I made something.  Thanks always Friday Fictioneers

grapevine

Blue Walls & Vines

The blue of the walls was brighter than sky, made peaceful by children’s playthings.  The Other was far.  Another place, other time.  Among grapevines and meadows.

Both worlds had clouds.  I remember.  It takes time to conjure this up.

Her sky and those vines reminded me where I was – in a room full of chatter, chaotic with toys.  One is peace; one is peaceful.  Both are fraught.  Both are ripe.  There’s a difference.

We had hoped that it wouldn’t be great, but would carry.  And it does, in its longing, its loss.

Both are fraught, both are ripe.  Both are lovely.

N Filbert 2012

Holy Longing

On By NW FilbertIn Experimenctes5 Comments

First Love in 79 words (+ commentary by Papa)

What begins in desire, for Therese, is experienced as yearning, vague and fierce and embodied.  Like smoke writhing through her muscle tissues, a sudden carbonation of her blood.  So she prays and seeks the spirit, concave galaxy she hopes is large enough to receive her unnerving drive.  She moves that way, shimmers, shakes and passes on.  Out.  To where?  Preacher says to paradise, momma says to hell for too much writhing, too much lust.  Preacher likes the ways Therese seeks.  (Papa says it’s all perspective).

N Filbert 2012

79 word epic

On By NW FilbertIn Experimenctes10 Comments

An Epic in 79 words

In the beginning was the word, and the word was god and became human in the dialogue between, imagining; imagination becoming the domain of the humangodword – that subject/object constituting between or the recognition of being – that is, difference, fluctuate identities, change-charting actions of passing marks reanimated with each kenosis and subsequent in-dwelling, in other words, words began the perceiving that learned us something like self, necessitating others to be being, i.e. recognizable in varying contexts, backdrop origin…language.

N Filbert 2012

Results

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The Results in 79 words

The brothers knew it wasn’t right, what they had done.  Though Alfred had thought it was, before.  Not now, though, no one would argue the results.  Were bad.  Were harmful.  Would be difficult to live away, if ever.  Ends were so unlike their means, and either could be culpable.  The boys knew that now, blaming as they did each other, by which I mean, themselves.  Stuck with it, the consequences, are also new beginnings.  Arden took the cue.

N Filbert 2012

Survival

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Survival in 79 words

He composes within the disaster.  Step one is to mention his life.  As it goes.  For the record.  Just in case.  Reassembling rubble is only one form of resist.  But not timing, nor space.  Step two is to edit.  To search what remains.  To look for a memorable trinket.  One rarely finds something precious, or treasure, but one man’s junk…because there aren’t any rules of the game.  Evaluation, correction, such fickle appraisals, are the process of finding step three…

N Filbert 2012

A Contradiction

On By NW FilbertIn Experimenctes2 Comments

A Contradiction in 73 words

A principal aspect in being human is opening to change.  First one thing, and then another.  To be deceptive.  By which we mean adaptive and successful.  The insurance one will thrive.  If only one.  “That which differs from itself is in agreement” (Heraclitus).  I understand.  We’re talking tension, balance, strain – a relation.  Stitching together in hopes it will hold while everything tears.  If we equate human being with living.  It changes.  We adapt.

Pomegranates…in 78 words

On By NW FilbertIn Experimenctes4 Comments

The Temptress in 78 words

Her words taste pomegranate – the tart – bitter, erotic, and sweet.  I tickle them over my teeth with my tongue, trying to untie them.  I like the way the air glides over them, whispering cool and moist into my ears.  I swallow.  She speaks without using her mouth.  I listen hard.  So this is what it tastes like?  Is difficult to digest, it vaguely turns the stomach, and I want more.  Addicted as I am to the showers of seeds.

N Filbert 2012