flash fiction

Frigid Delirium ~ prosery

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Frigid Delirium

The lights of my cabin far behind me, I search in conditions that favor no one and no thing, on a night that holds nothing but a wall of cold shifting amid howling winds.

As I plod ahead, all is disjointed, whiteouts removing any context from my surroundings. The bitterness of cold stings my face and wraps my body in a blanket that saps, rather than strengthening me. The dull ache that grips my fingers and toes means something. Something.

Direction no longer has any meaning. Left could be right, and forward seems irrelevant. My venture now seems pointless, any reason for following this course now lost to me.

Wondering if I’ll ever know again the warmth of a flaming hearth, I wade through the knee-deep snow, suddenly stepping into nothing as the snow closes around me. A cow is screaming across the arroyo.

This bit of flash fiction is my response to Prosery #7: Jim Harrison, presented by Linda at dVerse ~ Poets Pub. With Prosery, the challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction with a 144-word limit. Included in the bit of prose is to be a complete line from a poem. For this prompt, the line to be included is “A cow is screaming across the arroyo.” from Jim Harrison’s “Cow.” My flash fiction also meets the additional challenge of hitting the 144-word mark, exactly.

Better, Alone ~ prosery

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Better, Alone

There’s always been a lonely place, but light would enter from the periphery, and that was good.

It appeared that all was well, but the words did not always agree, and insistence otherwise did not change the imbalance hinted at by those words.

Eventually, things righted themselves, and the lonely place was not so lonely. This is not so unusual, once one has opened the doors to the outside world.

And the words reflected this. They held light and possibility.

But just as there is darkness inside, there is outside, and it has let itself in, has become a reminder of that original darkness. And so, the doors are closing. The lonely place may be more confining, but smaller is better, more insular. The better to wallow in one’s darkness.

So these words would say. If it’s darkness we’re having, let it be extravagant.

This bit of flash fiction is my response to Prosery: Meet Jane Kenyon, presented by Victoria at dVerse. With Prosery, the challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction with a 144-word limit. Included in the bit of prose is to be a complete line from a poem. For this prompt, the line to be included is “If it’s darkness we’re having, let it be extravagant” from Jane Kenyon’s “Taking Down the Tree.” My flash fiction also meets the additional challenge of hitting the 144-word mark, exactly.

On Visiting Lost Waters ~ prosery

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On Visiting Lost Waters

It was his heart that took him away, but his heart still missed the waters flowing through a canyon of green that would explode with color when the first frost found its home in leaves that could bring light to the grayest day.

Trails that bordered the rim of the majestic gorge and paths that descended to follow the shore of the winding river had called to him often over the years, and many were the times he had answered that call.

But love had taken him to a distant place, and years had passed since last his footsteps had fallen in this forest, since his eyes had seen the splendor of the river’s descent, and his face had felt the mist rising from the falls.

Sadly, with these thoughts on this brief visit, he knew these memories were left here with the trees.

Prosery is a form devised at dVerse, and the challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction with a 144-word limit (144 words, here). Included in the bit of prose is to be a complete line from a poem. With Prosery: Memories with the Trees from Merril, the line to be included is “These memories were left here with the trees” from Joy Harjo’s “How to Write a Poem in a Time of War.”  While that poem speaks of the lost or stolen beauty of a homeland, my piece describes Letchworth State Park, a place I often visited when I lived in Western New York (revisited this past week).

Image
Middle and Upper Falls – Genesee River at Letchworth State Park, Portageville, New York
~ left: 09 Sept 2019 & right: 19 Oct 2010 (note the old train bridge in 2010 photo) ~
(click image for larger view in new tab)

Total Cleansing ~ prosery

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Total Cleansing

Remember when you felt good about yourself, a time when you had no doubts about your abilities, your value to others, or the value of those around you? That part of you is not lost. It lives within you, still, and the time has come for you to recognize that.

Take a moment to breathe. In. Out. Slowly. Now, think about who you are, who you can be. The negative energy that has been feeding into you has poisoned your mind, masking who were. Let it wash away from you so that you may remember who you have been, recognize who you really are, and you will love again the stranger who was yourself.

Remember all of this as you enter the polling place with a clear conscience, determined to remove that toxic presence from the Oval Office. Don’t let yourself be fooled again.

This bit of flash fiction is my response to Prosery #3: Love After Love, presented by Kim at dVerse. With Prosery, the challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction with a 144-word limit. Included in the bit of prose is to be a complete line from a poem. For Prosery #3, the line to be included is “You will love again the stranger who was yourself” from Derek Walcott’s “Love After Love.” My flash fiction also meets the additional challenge of hitting the 144-word mark, exactly.

Image source: Tulsa World (Bruce Plante)

Reflecting on Darkness ~ Reboot

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It has come to my attention that my “prosery” posted on August 4th was flawed, in that my copy/paste into the editor resulted in the first paragraph being eliminated, while the second paragraph was duplicated.  Here is Reflecting on Darkness, as I wrote it.
Ken G.

Reflecting on Darkness

Within surrounding darkness, yet awake in the light of a near-yet-distant star, I gaze at a blue marble far beyond my reach. My loneliness tells me that I am the only one who appreciates the beauty it holds. Who else can there be? Is there any face beyond my own that has gazed outward?

And what of that darkness? Should I let it consume me? The light I cast may be a faint reflection, but it is here, always, the only shadows falling beneath the measured steps of men long gone, or cast by the occasional passing of that globe of beauty amid the darkness.

Perhaps that orb gazes towards me, the same questions crossing its mind as it ponders the darkness that surrounds us. Can there be more to this world, or that, than meets the eye?

I dreamt I was the moon.

Prosery is a form devised at dVerse, and the challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction with a 144-word limit. Included in the bit of prose is to be a complete line from a poem. With Prosery #2, the line to be included was “I dreamt I was the moon” from Alice Oswald’s “Full Moon.”

Image source: ©NASA (Earthrise)

Reflecting on Darkness

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Reflecting on Darkness as it appears below is flawed – note the duplication of paragraph #2 in paragraph #1.  I have corrected that with Reflecting on Darkness ~ Reboot, but I am leaving this version here as a reminder to myself to pay closer attention when using the editor.      …      Ken G.

Reflecting on Darkness

And what of that darkness? Should I let it consume me? The light I cast may be a faint reflection, but it is here, always, the only shadows falling beneath the measured steps of men long gone, or cast by the occasional passing of that globe of beauty amid the darkness.

And what of that darkness? Should I let it consume me? The light I cast may be a faint reflection, but it is here, always, the only shadows falling beneath the measured steps of men long gone, or cast by the occasional passing of that globe of beauty amid the darkness.

Perhaps that orb gazes towards me, the same questions crossing its mind as it ponders the darkness that surrounds us. Can there be more to this world, or that, than meets the eye?

I dreamt I was the moon.

I used that line, “I dreamt I was the moon,” in my last post always early morning, a magnetic poem. I was away for a week, returning the evening of July 22nd, and apparently glanced at the dVerse prompt (now closed) before setting aside writing to work on another project for a few days. When I found the line in my notes, I assumed it was for a poem and went from there. I’m glad that Jane and Merril reminded me about the original prompt (now closed).

This bit of flash fiction is my response to Prosery #2, presented by Sarah at dVerse. With Prosery, the challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction with a 144-word limit. Included in the bit of prose is to be a complete line from a poem. For Prosery #2, the line to be included is “I dreamt I was the moon” from Alice Oswald’s “Full Moon.” My flash fiction also meets the additional challenge of hitting the 144-word mark, exactly.

Image source: ©NASA (Earthrise)

Ken G.

Final Lament ~ prosery

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Final Lament

I paddle along a river on a quiet morning. Except for the hoarse “kee-eeeee-arr” of a hawk high overhead, the air is as still as the water. Drifting between the shadow of overhanging trees and the light of open air, I see a lone Mourning Dove on a branch of a dead oak at the edge of a small bluff. The silence is broken as it seems to address me with its lamenting call. As plaintive as it sounds, there is a comforting tone to it, perfect for the serenity of the morning.

I drift past, leaving it well behind me, when, far away, an interrupted cry reaches me. Dragging my paddle to the side of my kayak, I swing around to see the hawk dropping to the ground beneath the oak, dove tightly clutched, reminding me of the fragile nature of my surroundings.

This bit of flash fiction is my response to Prosery #1, presented by Björn at dVerse. With Prosery, the challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction with a 144-word limit. Included in the bit of prose is to be a complete line from a poem. For Prosery #1, the line to be included is “When far away an interrupted cry” from Robert Frost’s “Acquainted with the Night.” My flash fiction also meets the additional challenge of hitting the 144-word mark, exactly.

Image source: The Cornell Lab of Ornithology (edited here)