Flash Fiction Day

Flash Fiction Prompt

Each day a lovely little website referred to as Flashy Fiction offers a writing prompt to a photo. Today’s prompt was a two-fer because it’s been combined with Friday’s prompt.

I had to do one for today. The opportunity was too good and the prompt too right-up-my-alley. So, this is what I wrote for the photo above. I hope you enjoy it. And please, stop by to see all the offerings on Flashy Fiction. You’ll be glad you did.

The Light of Meaning

Within me grows a tension I cannot place. What could cause this sensation of impending destiny, which perches like a vulture just out of visual range? Does my breath come short and quick because of unexpected claustrophobia at the looks of this canyon before me?

My friends don’t seem to notice how silence surrounds this place, how the scent of dust carries with it a hint of the ancient. Their shouts fall short of my space, leaving me in a personal bell jar inside these striped red walls.

Illusions of undulating Dune’s Shai-Hulud flash across my mind. I wonder if this was how Paul felt the first time he waited for that beast to rise from the desert floor. Would there be such a ritual for me to perform for the coming secret to reveal itself? And how do I know there is a secret?

Footsteps echo. Shock sweeps through me. I recognize them as my own, though I don’t recall moving into the inner recesses of a side chamber. Dim illumination draws me forward, faster as hesitation drops away. I must know this thing that would be.

Twists and turns, dried water channels of exquisite sandstone, bring me, at last, to the chamber. I burst forth from the passage, panting in excitement and terror. Finally, I see what has haunted my vague dreams for longer than memory reaches. It waits; one glorious beam of pure light.

Within that circle of illumination is the future I’ve tried to escape from and now run to in a sprint of desperation. Could my heart beat any harder and remain caged within my body? Could my responding body contain so much light?

A jerk, like that of a tether drawn forward suddenly, pulls me into the beam of sunlight that squeezes through a tiny overhead opening. My head arches back. My chest swells and rises, as if I’m a mere marionette and someone has yanked my string upward. My mind is filled with music, sweet and gentle, as it ebbs and surges through the channels of my soul.

Home comes calling. I have been away longer than I can imagine right now. My mind registers the knowledge of a previous, though, different life elsewhere; a knowledge that explains so much that has confused me during this life.

The music and light fill me with the purpose I’ve been seeking. All is clear now. I have come this far to learn that only one act of mine is necessary for my life to have meaning for this world; to learn that with that act, I have completed my purpose here and can go home again.

Is there any better bliss than such sure knowledge?

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Positive and Negative Perspectives

Satire on false perspective, showing all of the common mistakes artists make in perspective, by Hogarth, 1753 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

People talk about attitudes every day. The subject is always revealing. This morning I came up against it yet again, but in a different way. Let me explain.

I was brushing my teeth a while ago when I heard the toilet flush. Ours is a split bath with the lavatory separate from tub and toilet. I was startled because I’d not noticed Sister moving past me, either going or coming back.

I immediately inquired if she’d done so, to which she said, “Of course!”

Color me surprised. I replied, “I must have been really focused, since I didn’t notice you walking past me.”

Her response was, “Oblivious would be a good choice of word, too.”

I’ll tell you what I told her. “I choose to take a positive stance on this one, rather than see it as negative.”

This whole exchange may sound silly, but it addresses an everyday choice we make as humans. I prefer to think of the episode as “being focused.” The opposite take is “being oblivious.” I was focused on what I was doing and what I was thinking at the time; which just happened to be what I was going to write for this blog post today.

Sister considered it as less aware. One the one hand, she’s correct. I was unaware of her presence behind me and of her proximate activity. From her perspective, what I was doing took little thought and, therefore, I should have noticed her movements.

At the same time, my perspective informs me of my concentrative ability to screen out irrelevant activity while working on the mental plane. This does not happen when I’m in unfamiliar terrain or in uncertain situations. I see it as indicative of how safe and secure I feel in my own home.

Different perspectives? Certainly. Different attitudes? Again, yes, though those attitudes are informed by expectations as well. My expectation was of safety in my home. Hers revolved around momentary awareness of my surroundings.

When we move around our world, we carry expectations, and perspectives based on them, with us and draw conclusions from those factors. Whether those conclusions are viewed as correct are, for wont of another explanation, dependent on how other individuals interpret those conclusions.

The behavior of the world’s populace is based on these factors. Until consensus of perspective arises, there can be little hope for consensus of behavior. At least, that’s how I see it.

If one small action—my brushing my teeth and not noticing someone move behind me—creates a schism between positive and negative interpretation, how much more dramatic are divisions surrounding vast actions?

Give me your thoughts on this question. How do you see perspective and its role in the daily behavior of those two-legged creatures called humans? Leave a comment below and join the discussion.

Until then, a bientot,

Claudsy

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Hiding Places

When a prompt for a “Hiding Poem” comes at me early in the morning, I’m baffled for a moment. I’m not a morning person to start with—no pun intended, which means that throwing actual creative thoughts at me at 8 am isn’t exactly inspiring.

My night owl tendencies keep churning out those lovely little brain chemicals that induce grogginess, if not slumber. On the off chance that Robert might have called off today’s participation requirement for his challenge, I popped over to Poetic Asides to peek at the daily headline.

Nope, no such luck for those of us who didn’t get into bed at a “reasonable” hour. Instead, he was ever-so perky—can a guy be perky? He’d gotten up early, posted his perky challenge prompt and then left before the onslaught of poets gone mad with the power of the written word. None of these writers seemed to be hiding today. That much was certain.

I made a note of the prompt and escaped, hoping against all hope that I could come up with something before the end of the day. In my continuing befuddled state, I slogged over to Robert’s other blog “My Name is Not Bob” to check out the daily task for his Author’s Platform Development Challenge. Eureka! God had smiled on me.

Today’s task was something that I already do on a regular basis. I was ahead for the day. I posted my compliance after quickly doing as requested and escaped again. I’ll go back later to do a couple of additional compliance bits.

After pondering the problem of hiding poems while chugging decaf—I know, but I can have caffeine—I got down to dealing with verse for the morning. Once started, I didn’t have much difficulty. I think I had to convince myself that having my eyes open and brain functioning was an okay thing to do at that hour. Well, you see… nevermind, off topic. Must stay focused.

Here are my posted poems concerning aspects of HIDING. Enjoy the trip through my morning thoughts. Feel free to leave a comment about your own idea of hiding or on a night owl’s foggy morning.

Hiding From Ourselves

These things we call feelings with their soaring, diving passes,

Could, if they but would, teach us much of ourselves.

Yet these emotions cause such fearful contemplation that

We cringe within prison walls of personal making,

Daring never to pay heed to those lessons which could free us,

And allow a deeper understanding of ourselves,

Or this rapidly expanding, ever-more complex world.

A Mask for Inspiration

What comes between sleep and dream,

When wakefulness rises

To disrupt almost memory

Of visions crucial to knowing?

What are these veils that hide from us

Those precious portents that clamor

For our attention upon waking?

Flashes of clarity, fresh and new,

Fog over as mist clouds windowpanes.

Our minds surge forward, searching,

Vainly scouring wispy threads of dream

On the scent of forgotten nightly films.

Would that the mind lowered curtains

As any decent stage crew does before

Shouts of Encore! Bravo! ring forth.

Twilight Idea

It wafts, this thought

That titillates

The mind; one toe

In the present,

The rest only

A dim specter,

Tantalizing

From future’s edge;

Potential use

Nagging with fog,

Not allowing

The reader’s eye

To see the words,

Or ear listen

To letters’ sounds.

© Claudette J. Young 2012

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