Eclipse, a Flash Fiction Story

Tags

age difference, amreading, amwriting, blood moon, change, eclipse, Flash Fiction, hidden truth, lunar eclipse, moon, reflection, satellite, writingcommunity

 Photo of last night’s Blood Moon taken by Side Antalya Turkey on Facebook

(July 27, 2018)

 

 

Taking a right turn from the highway, Tim steered the car into a dust road that meandered towards the coast.  After parking at a dead end in the middle of nowhere, he unloaded his camera bags and tripod.  Carrying the picnic basket, I followed him to the top of a hill, facing the sea. Away from traffic and city lights, the night sky resembled a star-studded umbrella in complete darkness. The cicadas sang as we waited for the moon to appear, and the eclipse due in a couple of hours.

“What’s special about a lunar eclipse?” I asked.

“The moon plays hide and seek with us.”

“And a blood moon?”

“It happens a few times a year. This one is rare because it will be one of the longest. Instead of going dark, she becomes red. I believe it carries a message for the blood spilled on earth.”

“You’re making this up,” I chuckled and sipped the red wine.

“I am, but I it could be true. Eclipses always bring out the truth, like your mood today.”

“What mood?”  I asked, knowing he was right.

“You’re hiding something, playing games with me.”

I lit a cigarette, inhaled and exhaled the smoke. I looked at his face in the moonlight and stared into his eyes.

“Tim, you know, this is not right. I’m too old for you.”

“You love me, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do, but that doesn’t change anything. A fact is a fact. This won’t work.”

“You’ve been with an older man before. Did that work?”

“It didn’t, but this has nothing to do with that.”

“You’re biased. If this relationship were between a woman and a man ten years older than her, you wouldn’t question it.”

“True.”

“Then, you’re contradicting yourself,” he said, pouring more wine into my glass.

“Maybe.”  I raked my fingers through his sun-streaked hair and touched his face. “I’m scared. This might lead to a heartache I won’t be able to cope with. They get worse as one gets older.”

“I won’t break your heart. I promise. I’ve been with younger women, some around my age, but none of those relationships worked. It has nothing to do with age. I’ve never loved anyone like you. Why won’t you accept that?” He held my chin and kissed me, and wrapped me in his arms.

I stroked his back, clinging to his big frame. Opening my eyes, I saw a shade of darkness on the outer edge of the moon. “Quick, it’s happening now.”

I watched him taking pictures behind his camera. He swapped lenses, and shot from different angles, as the moon went dark. Then, as if through magic, a rosy colour appeared from its edge, and gradually covered the entire sphere, frame by frame, until it became a red ball flaunting its beauty in the night sky.

I wondered whether the rosy colour hinted at a good omen or a bloodbath for my future disappointments, disillusionments. There was only one way to find out.

After one hour and forty-three minutes, the duration of the eclipse, everything went back to normal. Normal as we know it. The full moon slowly returned to its familiar appearance of a white sphere, as though nothing had happened. It was an illusion. Something had happened, but it would only be revealed in time.

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Mirror, Mirror

Tags

aging, approval, illusion, images, memories, memory, mind's eye, mirror, moment, past, present, reality, reflection, time, vanity, vision

 

An ad I came across on the Internet got me pondering. Round mirror for sale, never used.

Once I arrived home, I confronted the hexagonal, guild-framed mirror hanging in my lounge, one I’ve had for a while. “Are you used? Your frame must be chipped and the glass slightly scratched, but that’s not what I mean.”

How can a mirror be not-used? Hasn’t the factory worker ever looked in it after coating the glass with a reflective surface? The framer assessed his work, as he raked his fingers through his hair? Hasn’t the seller peeked and winked at it while smoothing his tie? Or a female customer paused in front of it for a moment to refresh her make-up, and continued shopping. So it’s not wear and tear I’m talking about, it’s the functionality, the main task of a mirror that should count.

A mirror’s first duty is to create a perfect reflection of the person or an object in front of it. If we accept some of the above probabilities to be true, then we must conclude that the mirror has been used. Yet, there’s no proof because the mirror doesn’t have a memory. It doesn’t record anything. There’s no flashback, a rewind button, or any tangible evidence. In that sense, a mirror is inferior to a camera that produces printed or digital copies which people can later peruse and reminisce the moment.

So, my lovely looking glass of  thirty years, every time I glance at you, you reflect back my current state, but nothing from the past, when I was younger. Nor my late mother’s image when she stood before you and touched her hair, or any glimpses of my beloveds who are no longer in my life. You say the departed cannot be perceived with the eye because they become tiny specks of light. I agree with that, but I’m still here, so are the estranged ones.

I can’t remember when I first saw my own reflection in one, but I do recall watching my father shave before the bathroom mirror, his face covered in white foam. And my mother sitting at her dressing table and putting on lipstick, then dabbing it lightly with her finger.

Is it vanity, a narcissistic habit that we consult mirrors for approval each day? Or is it a self-destructive approach that gives us pain as we age? I don’t know when the attachment starts, perhaps with a shy peek during teenage years, until it becomes an addictive routine. I’m three-dimensional, though the image you project is two-dimensional, an illusion of how others see me, just like the photos.

Yet, when I look into you, I see other things than what you show me. I can search your depths and bring back visions from my mind’s eye. Maybe I should avoid you, stop witnessing my aging process, if not day by day, but from year to year. Perhaps, you’re being kind by not showing me the past. Telling me I should stay in the moment and not delve into the folds of time.

Sometimes I see my mother peeking back at me or my grandmother’s eyes in mine. Other times the radiant face of a young girl greets me with a smile and whispers, “What will be, will be.”

The Winning Stories of the Flash Fiction Year-end Special Competition at Scribblers – Story Number 1 by Matteon, M.E. Lucas

Tags

alter ego, anger management, argument, competition, confrontation, conversation, ego, Flash Fiction, inspiration, moods, muse, reflection, scribblers, the beginning, the end, weather, winning stories, year-end special

Over this weekend, I’m delighted to share with you the top three stories of the Year-end Special Competition at the Flash Fiction Group I host on Scribblers.

Flash Fiction at Scribblers

http://scribblers.freeforums.net/board/26/flash-fiction

 

The prompt was The End and The Beginning, with a 1000 word limit.

 

Here’s story Number 1 by Matteon, M.E. Lucas :

 

Just Another Conversation

 

The weather Gods are frantic with their hailstorm task. The bouncy-ball-sized ice smash downwards through the flashing clouds. It’s a surprise they don’t crash into each other. I guess that’s why they are the Gods.

D.Q. Parker-Braithwaite Jr is deep in conversation, I expect he hasn’t even noticed the prostrate pedestrians in the street below his window, hands and heads bloodied and bruised from large frozen water droplets.

‘Oh, go on then, have your say mister bossy-pantaloons-ideas-man!’ He says.

‘You can’t do that, you know you can’t,’ comes the reply.

‘Will you stop being so bossy.’

‘You’re starting it at the end!’

‘Yyyyes,’ he breathes, ‘at the end. What’s your point?’

‘What do you mean at the end exactly?’

‘You know?’

‘No! I don’t think I do.’

‘It’s a time frame thing,’ he starts to explain, ‘a reminder of what’s to come. A snap shot of action to pique the interest the reader.’

‘Well, it could be action from any decent part of the story. So, why end it before you’ve started?’

It was an honest enough question. And D.Q. has an answer, he’d researched the structure.

‘Wwwwell,’ more lengthiness, ‘you introduce all the characters at a really interesting climax.’

‘Then you’ve nowhere to go?’

‘But you have to explain how you got there.’

‘Who cares, the reader now knows what’s going to happen.’

‘The reader will care, and no, you forget that bit anyways.’

‘So, why add it, if you forget about it.’

‘No, no, you don’t completely forget, only your recent memory, it becomes ingrained into your subconscious, and then at the end of the novel all re-revealed, your head pops and thinks Woah, what the hell! I remember this now, that’s amazing! And you suddenly realise what’s happened, and how it happened, and why it happened, and who it happened to, and when—’

‘That’s a lot of happening.’

‘Yeah, that’s the best part, it all comes crashing back to the readers memory, conscious and subconscious mind collide in a planet sized imaginational vortex of—‘

‘If … you can pull it off.’

‘If I can pull it off?’

‘Yeah, if!’

‘Oh man, don’t bring me down, I had this. All meticulously planned, interweaving the back story of my MC, his family, ex-lover, current love interest, the protagonist ulterior motive, and the—‘

‘Yap, yap, yap, too much woof of back story blunders. Action! That’s what you need, action, more action, platefuls of … restaurants full of … shopping malls full of, no, city centres exploding with action.’

‘Literally?’

‘If it works, big bangs, shards of sugar glass, why not?’

‘I don’t have a mall in this WIP.’

‘Then put one in.’

‘Really?’

D.Q. ponders the inclusion of a high street shopping mall, the plush new finishes, free WiFi, ice-cream counter, could it work with the antagonists sweet tooth?

‘No, you plonker, I was being metaphorical. Just get with the action ASAP.’

‘Which is the end bit, at the start in this case.’

‘Umm …’

‘And! The best part is I can use a great piece of writing twice; at the start and then splice it in at the end.’

‘Copy!’

‘Splice!’

‘You really think so?’

‘Sure, dude, why the hell not?’

‘Because readers aren’t morons, some are pretty intelligent, and reading the same thing twice will feel odd, especially if you made them forget it by stuffing it into the old subconsciousness.’

He has a point, D.Q. thinks. He reaches out for his drink of half-drunk coffee in his favourite Hogwarts auto-stirring magic mug. He takes a long gulp of cold coffee until his cheeks are full, swallows, and gasps for air.

‘It’ll be ok,’ he says after inhaling enough oxygen to get his brain in gear.

‘It won’t, there’ll be queries.’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as, ‘… I’m having a Neo two glitching cats moment …’ or ‘… did the author write this bit twice? That’s a bit cheap …’ or ‘… I’m sure I’ve read this before, what a waste of my precious reading time …’ then they’ll close it and bin it, just paragraphs from the end. Chastising it as plagiarism!’

‘Don’t exaggerate.’

‘Well, your it’s your decision I suppose.’

‘It is my decision, thanks, and I’ll thank you not to interfere.’

‘Interfering now, am I? Well there’s gratitude for you, interfering indeed.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Yeah, you’re the boss and if I don’t like it then …’

‘Oh, don’t start that again.’

‘Again?’

‘Yes, again, you always start with the boss nonsense.’

‘You mean the bit I started with.’

‘Yes, you started, you know, you where moaning at the start, telling me how to plan this novel, telling me I’m being bossy, when it’s you who are the bossy one, and now we’ve gone full donut back to the start-line again.’

‘Back to the beginning, huh?’

‘Yes!’

‘Like your story!’

‘Like my, no, you cheeky sod, not like my—‘

‘Yes, like your start stop end beginning twisty turny finish ending tale of repetition.’

‘Ah …’

‘You see, or rather you didn’t see it coming. And now it’s here it’s a bit of a—‘ there’s silence as D.Q. makes a movement behind his writing desk. ‘What are you doing with that large jewel encrusted dwarves sword?’

‘Changing direction.’

‘Changing what?’

‘Direction. Wait it’s too damn heavy. Ahhhh, this is a much better description.’

‘What the, where did you get that from?’

‘It’s an old one of yours, don’t you remember?’

‘Wait! Yes, let me see, of course. Ultra-pulse photon-clasp automatic firearm with omni-rotator and eyeball recog. That was a while ago. Let me just—‘

‘No! Oh, ho, ho, no you don’t, not this time. Prepare to meet your make, er, your imaginator!’

He points his weapon and the gun lets out a loud Zzzzongping, quickly followed by a ftomb!

‘Bet you didn’t see that coming did you, mate? Change in the plot, see. Little twist. Playing on the end-beginning-end-beginning-end sequence with a drop of sufficient darkness to make the reader—‘

D.Q. peers over the top of his glasses. Then stands and gazes down from his messy paper covered work surface, to the unfolding scene on the shaggy carpet.

‘Are you alright?’

There is no answer.

‘Muse?’

 

 

 

Matteon, M.E. Lucas,  is a regular contributor to the Flash Fiction thread at Scribblers.

Short Bio:

Matteon AKA M.E. Lucas is a fifty-something (but not too many) architect, who attempts flash fiction and poetry on a regular basis. He began his escape into storytelling through the sci-fi comic 2000AD as a young boy, however, only wrote his first fiction five years ago following the death of his father. He has finished one novel, but seems content to keep on re-editing it!

M E Lucas Blog www.melucas.uk

 

***

 

If you wish to take a look at the other great stories of the Year-End Special, here’s the link to the thread:

Year-end Special

http://scribblers.freeforums.net/thread/966/flash-fiction-december-2017-results

 

Or better still, come and join our bi-monthly Flash Fiction thread at Scribblers. Newcomers are always welcome. Here’s the link to the current thread:

Flash Fiction January 2018

http://scribblers.freeforums.net/thread/972/flash-fiction-january-2018-week

 

 

 

 

My Shadow and Me

Tags

copy, eternity, figure, form, identity, intangible, light, outline, perception, reflection, shade, shadow, Shadowland, silhouette, sun, tangible, timing

media.giphy.com/media/l3q2LN4GoToXK8xbi/giphy.gif

 

I like walking with my shadow ahead of me

She is taller than me, slimmer than me

Her neck is more slender, she has no face, just a silhouette

I like walking with my shadow in front of me

Her graceful figure accompanies me during my stroll by the sea

I enjoy her company

I hadn’t seen her for a while, she is so full of life.

I must have caught the sun behind me at the right time

Is she me or is she a reflection of me?

If the sun wasn’t at a certain angle,

I would have missed her

She disappears in the shades,

then reappears when I’m back under the sun.

I can see her long legs,

even her feet below the Capri pants she’s wearing.

 

Will she be here tomorrow, or will she vanish forever?

I must catch her at the right time or I’ll never see her again.

Where do shadows go when the sun moves?

Do they travel to Shadowland?

If she’s a part of me, do I go, as well?

Will I see her tomorrow?

Will I be here tomorrow?

Or will I also disappear into the Land of the Shadows?

 

There are many other shadows

They reflect the forms they copy and repeat

They have no faces, just elongated outlines

that appear temporarily.

I’d like to walk again with my shadow before me

My shadow and I are the same