Hej readers,
Look I am right on time with my one-post-a-month goal.
This one is a bit different. It’s micro-fiction, a supposed sub-genre of fiction (probably made up by some people probably crunched for time). This one’s a stand-alone story which creates it’s own world. There is a whole pre-story and post-story.. but it’s in your mind. You can make up whatever you want to make it a whole. I don’t mind.
Hey: Have you ever noticed when you’re talking with some people and you’re having a really good conversation that a thought will emerge.. and you’ll FEEL the thought.. and though the thought takes a split second in earth-time, it requires many, sometimes hundreds of seconds in earth-time to describe the thought? No? Me neither.
Hey! Listen to this awesome song.
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animus and the bout.
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It was hard to know from where the pain emerged. Like an earthquake the rumble made shoe strings loosen and teeth move like off-balanced bowling pins dangling from the apparatus, searching for equilibrium to fall back into place. Eyes projected concentration like headlights cutting the evening darkness on some backwood country road. But it was the spirit inside of him that was turning the gears, white-knuckling and choking the wheel, pedal smashed to oblivion’s floor. He felt directed by forces from some primordial place caged deep within his bones. Whatever the impetus of the pain it mattered little: it brought him face to face with that profound inner chamber.
Our souls are made up of fragments, he believed it finally. Our spirits from the decomposing spirits of dead ancestors, energy transferred never destroyed. Placed together like a puzzle of a trillion pieces, shards of broken glass washed up smooth and ancient on a cold city shore, those greens and dark reds, clears, oranges and yellows, the rare blue… fused together by light... These fragments were once living beings, warriors and mothers, revolutionists, dreamers, healers and hunters. The epicenter of his being, heart and mind. He was now the final grand sum of flesh, bone, and spirit.
Photo by Johann Walter Bantz on Unsplash
Words and images found their way into his ears and eyes, the outer and the inner, followed the lines to the heart. The capacity to love, to let go, reminded of mortality, fight or die. He danced, defended with his stance. It’s always the inside which will break you down the most, cutting the foundation and placing bombs in the floorboards, taking a sharpened axe to the stilts which hold up the psyche. Move torso to evade a fan blade attack of fists and feet, but the insides know where you are going before you get there.
Moving in unison, body as a mass of ravens, a stormcloud alive and beautiful and dismaying, an omen. His foot went away and then the opposite hand a punch landed the way he imagined, ducking then smashed an uppercut to the jaw just like he imagined just like that one... Like he had done before light years ago a million miles away and far from the way he looks now.
He’s not the same man he once was, not even a second ago, only a time traveler could see the difference if there was sucha thing.
See ya,
T.
Very poetical, thank you :)