Category Archives: dreams

One thing at a time

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Entry to this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction! 

A student of the Buddha once mediated on a rock by a lake. Day in, day out he would arrive before dawn, rest his feet in the lotus position, and contemplate atop the boulder till dusk.

*I am the rock, the rock is me… I am the rock, the rock is me… he would chant but his concentration would always break at the slightest distraction.

Frustrated, he picked up a nearby pebble and threw it into the waters below.
*ploop the sound it made as the pebble struck the surface and sank to the depths. A long silence then ensued.

The next day, the student arrived atop the boulder and to his surprise discovered the same pebble that he had previously thrown. Understanding the significance, he threw himself into the lake and to survive, suspended himself in a deep meditation. Centuries later after the lake had dried, some archaeologists discovered a statue of the Buddha on site. It was made out of solid rock.

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The Harbinger

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Entry to this week’s Sunday Flash Fiction! Too much Darkest Dungeon as of late 😉

Scribbles and scrawls. Sado’e journal deteriorated with each passing week. Three days he wrote, without sleep nor rest, switching hands every hour to ease the paralyzing grasp of the pen. Candlelight flickered with dire urgency as time withdrew its loan and his bargain turned treacherous.

Clairvoyance, the reward for his “deeds”, had a price for it promised no remembrance. Only fragments he could record in a journal, and always in a form removed from the immediate percept. The advantage however remained great as portents turned futures were capitalized with the ruthless efficiency of unfettered ambition. Visions of his enemies gave him preternatural initiative. Images of fame and fortune became self-fulfilling. The voices of revelation commanded obedience.

But alas, all such powers ultimately turn on their wielders. Years flew by into old age until a singular harbinger appeared before him. The date of his death he witnessed but only the circumstances he recorded. Gruesome was the depiction accompanied by an unspeakable terror. Again and again, he would return to the harbinger, begging it to reveal more of his fate. The pen however would only scribble and scrawl.

The Way Forward

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Entry to this week’s FFfAW! Image courtesy of The Storyteller’s Abode.

Cain stood at the edge of the world. Behind him lay the universe he built. Cycles upon cycles he had folded; iterations beyond what mortal and immortal memory could recall. In front lay the white, a domain he cannot fathom for the black shields him from sight. But now his world is failing; temples crumble into ruins, honoring gods once alive but now dead.

Taking off the mask, a shadow is cast and two steps he takes.  His right launches him forward, disintegrating the ground beneath and crippling one half of his body. A necessary sacrifice he felt for it would allow the other half to survive. His left stabilizes his flight as he braces for an impact that may never come.

 

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The Mourning

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Entry to this week’s FFfAW

The guitar chose Selene. Its voice, she’s heard long before she could see. Its songs taught her another way to speak. A prodigy the world called her since the age of three. They performed everywhere, circuses and concert halls alike; their duets produced music of the divines. But on one fateful day, center stage in front of a packed house, she simply stopped and walked away. Those close to her heard the early signs.

“She’s fighting him.”
“Can she keep pace?”
“Who’s playing whom?”

That night, she threw the guitar into a furnace, and turned voice to char. Years followed as she wandered city to city in silence. Some thought her mad. Others thought the guitar possessed her. The truth only she knew.  Her muse had died. A past life awaited her return.

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Vengeance

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Entry to this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers! Image courtesy of TJ Paris.

Clarice stood steadfast, closed-eyed, by the edge of the stone road.

To her right, the community that had raised and trained her for these many long years parted. She reminisced the times spent within buried halls and lost archives, learning the secrets of the dark arts. They would aid her on this day when the red tides rescind and the artery reopens. She would leave and let past turn to resolve against the struggle that must transpire.

To her left, the stony road cut straight, shooting through landscapes and seasons, space and time.  She traversed this road once before, but out of fear and escape from the organization that murdered her family. Now, she would traverse this same road that led inexorably back to the waking world and finish the deed set long ago beneath the burning rubble of her childhood village.

Clarice opened her eyes and woke up in a hospital. Five years had passed since she fell into the coma. The time for running had come to an end.

 

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A Tiny Speck

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Entry to this week’s Friday Fictioners!


I once dreamed of a Castle. Taller than a mountain and wider than a lake, it punctured cloud and sky and beyond what eyes could see. I must climb to the top, for what lies above must be worth more than the salt below. And climb I did for many years passed before finally reached the summit. What did I find amidst the stars? Nothing but a blue grain of sand. Then I woke from the dream and found myself back on the ground. Laying face up and peering into the mid-noon sky, a tiny speck of light flickered.

Autumn’s Dream

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Entry to this week’s Sunday Flash Fiction at https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/

Long ago, a young anemic who fancied autumn’s display had drowned in a lake. A strong wind had accidentally blown her scrapbook of leaves into the water; she followed suit but couldn’t swim. Pitying the tragedy, autumn gave her a second chance at life. A carpet of leaves raised the body out of the cold waters and the wind breathed new life into her. She was given the name Fairchild and tasked with bringing forth the start of fall.

Everywhere she went, a whirlwind of foliage would follow. The leaves would lend her a small fraction of their remaining lives. In turn, she painted them a brilliant orange and showed them the wider world. Up steep mountains they flew and down into lush woodlands that rolled endlessly over hills and valleys. However, the one place she could not visit was the water. When she tried dipping her toes into a lake, a swarm of leaves would cover its surface and support her weight. She could never figure out the reason till later in the season when only a few leaves remained.  But as her feet glanced the water, the memories of her previous life resurfaced, suspending her in a nine-month long dream. The mortal reminder would mark the end of her duties, a period of rest, and the start of winter.