20
Aug
I walked through the ashes of my life, and I cried as I sung. I sung for my prayers and my hopes, and I cried as I picked each hope out of the ash where it had fallen, and cradled it lovingly. I would then put them in a rucksack, and carry the hopes with me once more.
The arsonist had been my lover, when he had broken up with me. It had been cruel, and painful, and done in a heartless manner. Especially as he had done it while some blonde trollop hung on either arm. He’d found twins, he told me, and was much happier with them. Between the two of them, the girls didn’t look like they mustered more than five brain cells. But fine, whatever makes him happy.
And so here I am, walking through the ruins of my heart, the crumbled remnants of my dreams. The empty structure there was the home where we would live together. The laughing ghosts are our children at play. And above all this is a black hole in the sky, pumping black bile across the land. That, that was our love.
My heart, wounded and sore, lies elsewhere, locked away inside a box, waiting for the day when it might be safe to come out once more. This has cost me much, many friends and acquaintances, for how could I face their happiness, their laughter, their smiles when I lived in a world of ash, a world shattered?
Friends went in search of my heart. Some spent many days trying to reach it, and those lucky few that did I treasured and gathered close about me, entrusting myself to their love and company. And day by day under their tender care the ashes blew away, and green shoots flowered where there was once ruined earth.
And in the months and years that followed I experienced a flowering of my person, nurtured and tended by love and friendship. The crop grew high and strong, and my hopes danced in the air above, their golden wings shimmering in a bright sun. Dreams scudded amongst the clouds, playing with the small white puffs, and in the distance I could hear bells of laughter.
One fine day I met a shepherd, out tending his flock. A man of the land, he was weather-beaten but kind, and I warmed to his touch. Life became an entangled fantasy, and our dreams flew high together, as our hopes watched. But then thunderclouds began to stir on the horizon, and the land rumbled, and I pulled back, frightened. The shepherd became angry and red, and flame lit his person, and his dreams and hopes turned foul and putrescent. The sky turned black and bilious, and my wishes became ill, and fell to the ground, where they crumbled away in moments. Then a great volcano bestirred itself, and lava and flame fell about the land, and all was ash again. And then I walked through the ashes of my life, and I cried as I sung.
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Marisa Birns on 08.20.2010
Just gorgeous writing. Using your words as a paintbrush, leaving one with an image of poetry in motion.
The Four Part Land on 08.20.2010
Thank you. Somehow, I cannot do the same thing with happy stories. I don’t think I’ve written a happy flash piece, and they just don’t flow or come naturally to me. Perhaps it’s not within my make-up as an author.
Deanna Schrayer on 08.20.2010
This has such a beautiful lyricism to it, and I love how you wrapped the end back to the beginning – nice!
A thought – I believe this would read even better if you strike several “ands”, and “the’s”. It would make it sound even more poetic, I think.
Very nice work!
The Four Part Land on 08.20.2010
I have a tendency to use “And” or “And so” quite a lot when writing flash pieces as a linkage. It’s a style I’ve fallen into over time when writing this ‘lyrical’ flash. It didn’t happen with JNY, for instance. Which is a series I need to get moving on again.
marc nash on 08.20.2010
The arsonist had been my lover – I love that line and would have been so proud if I’d come up with it myself. Hats off to you Sir
Marc Nash
The Four Part Land on 08.20.2010
A moment of lucky inspiration, I assure you. It just fit what I was trying to say.
My personal favorite that I’ve written is the opening paragraph of the desert of souls, which is a short story and not flash. Hence the longer nature of the piece.
“There are many things that can be said about a man: that he was brave, that he was weak, that he was pious, that he was sinister, or that he was merely left-handed. All of these describe facets of the person, but never encompass the whole, the totality of what makes that man a unique individual. That cannot be put into words that I can encompass.”
PJ Kaiser on 08.20.2010
This is an interesting piece in that the narrative distance is far away, but some of the details are very intimate like the metaphors with the hopes, etc. It’s an interesting juxtaposition. I do like closing the way it began: I walked through the ashes of my life, and I cried as I sung (or should it be sang?). Nice piece!
The Four Part Land on 08.20.2010
I knew very early on in the writing that I had to finish the story with the same line. I couldn’t end the story on a happy note, it wouldn’t feel like there was a substance to the tale. And so I pushed it in the same direction. To me, the last paragraph feels a little forced, like the words resisted the direction just a touch.
mazzz_in_Leeds on 08.21.2010
Lovely piece. The whole burning/flowering thing is a good way to describe how that process (heartbreak/healing) feels
Gracie on 08.21.2010
Stunning, gorgeous, and lush.
Just an exquisite piece.
Maria Kelly on 08.21.2010
Very poetic and lyrical flow. I love the idea of the heart being an ashen wasteland after a disastrous romance. It does feel that way, doesn’t it. Great piece.
Coyote Southbridge on 08.22.2010
This was beautiful. It took me a second to realize what you meant by arsonist, but once I got it the imagery flowed wonderfully. Great job.
L.M. Stull on 01.31.2011
Um, wow. Is that enough of a review? Cause that is how I felt after I read it.