The Other McCain

"One should either write ruthlessly what one believes to be the truth, or else shut up." — Arthur Koestler

Friday Fiction: 100 Word Challenge

Posted on | August 14, 2015 | 2 Comments

by Smitty

They finished as a study in contrast. He held out an impossibly long B♭ through circular breathing. Her fluid, gravity-mocking ballet ended with a mime’s frozen pose. He was darkness against her light; sound to her silence; a relaxed, seated posture verses her precisely posed angles.
Their magical father/daughter routine was performed weekly. Concise, at less than 20 minutes, by the same park. The audience had grown over the months, as it crystallized with increasing precision and confidence. The bucket burst with bills and coinage.
Of course, none of the onlookers knew, but momma would get her medication again.

via Darleen

Category: Friday Fiction

Comments

2 Responses to “Friday Fiction: 100 Word Challenge”

  1. Eric Ashley
    August 15th, 2015 @ 4:26 pm

    The boss was harassing me, and the other junior accountants to find some way to make the client’s books meet approval so that a government grant would be forthcoming.
    Jeff Hornby had just screamed. “Why not just lie then?” Before stomping out. The boss sent us all out to ‘cool off’ while he tracked down Jeff who was our brightest.
    The tinkling noise of a street fair in Bronx came to me, or I came to it. Frame of reference, and all that. Obi Wan was right. Or maybe he was wrong in that their is no right.
    I smelled burgers and onions, but given the habits of street vendors, and the scarcity of local canines, I passed. A long board had dozens of amusing bumper stickers on it.
    “God is dead-Nietzsche.’
    “Nietsche is dead-God/”
    I took the first because what did it matter?
    Walking off with it in my pocket, I realized that the boss was a coward. We would lie, and boldly.
    A raven landed in front of me.
    “Right.” It said.
    I stopped, amazed. Perhaps my new clarity of mind was driving me mad.
    It hopped to my left, and then charged at me. I went right, onto another street.
    In the distance I saw a man in a glove like beige costume. But despite full sun, I could not see his face.
    Getting closer, I heard an old black man, or ….and his saxophone was a marvelous thing, out of which tunes flowed, and danced, jigged, and swanned.
    He was old, but, yes, black, but was he a man. For a second I thought he was made of anthracite, and had glowing eyes, and a flute.
    But then up came The Girl. She was everything a man could desire. Grace and beauty, sensuality and abandon all rolled up into a dainty package.
    And then she bowed, and pointed out with her arm, and I just stared. So with an impatient look, she glanced at me, and jerked her head forward even as the music swelled.
    Triumpnant it blared.
    Above the small wooden door an arch. Something about Hope, Hope Place, I think.
    And I entered. And in that narrow alley which stretched down as far as I could see there was a bird of paradise hanging upside down, dead.
    And it spoke to me.
    “Gentle traveller, savage beast.”
    “This is mad.” I said, and I heard myself say that ‘I said.” And I heard myself say that I heard myself say, that I heard….
    “This is madness.”
    “Madness is only so, when measured against a standard. There are no standards here.”.
    And it was the Raven, and it began to eat me, my eyeballs first, even as the Coal Man burned me, and the Widowmaker chewed on my shoulder with piercing teeth and delicately graceful bites.

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    August 17th, 2015 @ 7:14 am

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