r/flashfiction

It was bright, but it was dark. Illumination from many bright lights bled into my eyes. Supposedly, we once had a grand light in the sky that have us all we needed. My makeshift curtains did little to hold back the photons beaming into me. Did you know Denham’s Dentifrice has a special discount that ends May 12th? Or so I hear, from outside billboards blaring my poor ears. The noise was loud. To overpower Mr. Denham, it took little less than what the human vocal cords could put out. All of it was meaningless. Jane and Jane spoke of what Jane and Jane spoke of what Jane and Jane spoke of. All loud, with no meaning, the cacophony blabbed on and on and on. The last time I heard silence was yesterday. I live upon story twelve, circle three. Fortunate, I was. Fortunate, to have a glimmer of quiet when all gazed upon the gravity-struck corpse of another high-rise resident. Him and I, saw peace for once. The wilted dove fell from the sky like Mr. Doe. The absence of human noise was merely added to what came next. If we spent one hundred and ten percent of our breath on speaking over Denham, I wonder how they managed to hit such volumes. Glass shattered down there, I bet. I never went down below. Litter of sound, littering crowd. I liked it up in my abode. I didn’t even need to take out the trash, I had a window and eleven neighbors to blame. I’d sit up there with my laptop, doing whatever remote work they’d send my way. My evening, more slop and some games. I wish I knew somebody, but the people below look so meaningless. I close my laptop. This time, I bothered not to finish my chemical supplementation, which I couldn't even call food. I opened my window, looking out of it. Nothing of beauty, I note. Organics below wandered, while organics gazed and flashed me with their lights.* I wish they were still backlit, those billboards. Maybe then I’d know when I looked at reality’s eyes or the greed of someone no longer human. An advert for an art installation flashed upon the board. For once, I note beauty. That hour, I became a spectacle myself. Others felt my peace for a second, mine lasted forever. Something new. That night was always bright, but today was dark.

*Afterword; Organics flashing refers to OLED (Organic Light Emitting Diode) displays, which are known for great colour accuracy. Your phone (and many TVs) most likely use OLED, while most other monitors use another form of LCD (Liquid Crystal Display).

Thanks for reading! This is my first post here, but most likely I'll stay a bit longer. Meaningful poetry is a bit harder in my opinion and I don't want my only reader to Microsoft's next model sifting through my word doc.

This is the first installment of what I hope becomes a series. I’d love to know what you think.

The Crossing

Coosa River — 25,000 BCE

Near Childersburg, Alabama

A natural crossing in times past.

The Sturgeon

Trapped in a tidal pool the fish was doomed. Big for a lake sturgeon, bigger than any of the hungry predators that stopped to watch it circle the debris pile. And strong, too strong to die easily.

The fish was not impressed. One slap of the huge tail or a wicked head butt sent even the hungriest predators running for cover.

A lone dire wolf returned to the pool several times a day and watched it circle, waiting on the fish to die.

The dire wolf was standing at the pool’s edge, its sharp eyes looking for weakness when the forest exploded.

A short faced bear came bursting from the underbrush. The wolf ran but turned to see the bear shatter the big fish’s skull.

The bear devoured the fish at the pool’s edge, ignoring the crows as they stole the splatter.

Disappointed, the wolf sulked away, tail between his legs.

The watcher saw it all and was content.

The odd shaped rock on the cliff above the shallows had watched life play itself out many times. Never playing a role in the outcome. Even when it had been deep in the earth and under the rolling sea it was aware of the things shaping the world. Not a conscious being but a presence nevertheless.

Rumors drifted down from the north on the wind. A new animal. Slow and mostly hairless, it should have been easy prey. Yet somehow it persisted. The watcher had seen new species arrive before, countless times across countless ages.

It was curious, nothing more. There was time enough to see how this one fared.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

14 October

Rain again today; the kind that makes the city look like an old photograph; grey buildings; wet pavement; people walking quickly as if being alive were an appointment they are late for.

I had the same discussion again; the same words; the same expressions; the same polite silence that means disagreement but also relief that they are not the ones being questioned. I explained everything carefully; statistics; deterrence; responsibility; the philosophy of punishment; but it is like speaking into heavy curtains; the sound disappears before reaching anyone.

What frustrates me is not that people disagree; disagreement is normal; what frustrates me is the certainty; the moral certainty of people who take risks every single day without thinking. They swim and some drown; they drive and some die; they drink and destroy their bodies slowly; they cross mountains; they fly across oceans; life is risk everywhere; risk is accepted as the price of living.

But when I say that justice also involves risk; that every court decision already risks being wrong; suddenly they demand perfection; suddenly one possible mistake becomes more important than all the victims that already exist; as if inaction had no cost; as if refusing to decide were not also a decision.

Sometimes I think people do not really believe what they say; they just want to live in a world where difficult decisions are not necessary; where responsibility can be avoided; where everything can remain theoretical and clean and distant.

I am forty years old and I feel older when I have these conversations; as if I am watching a theatre play that never changes; everyone knows their lines; everyone knows how the play ends; and still they perform it again and again.

The rain has not stopped; the street is shining under the lamps; everything looks quiet; almost peaceful; which is perhaps the greatest illusion of all.

A veces la vida es magnánima, aunque siga siendo indescifrable.

   Hoy amanecí con un vaso de Jack Daniels a medio terminar y crónica roja de la dinastía Aqueménida en mi *feed* de inicio. 

   Imaginé una estela de príncipes persas apostando en Montecarlo mientras pedían Martinis *agitados pero no batidos*, con camellos blancos en vez de Lamborginis. 

  Glamour. Elegancia. Pasión y traición. Y el derrumbe de mi creencia de que la seda es inmune a la sangre, aunque sea azul. 

  ¿Qué más les puedo decir?

      Siempre me gustaron los Culebrones.