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Islandsandmirrors

Prose for fun

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Made up something on the spot. Don't judge me.

Fire season began the minute we were stopped by security. They stared at us with their eyes full of hatred, wildfire, passed us from lines separate from theirs. I knew what I was to them. Go back to your home country, their eyes said. I felt like a wingless bird in cold air. Racists. I was patted down first. With my mouth, I made war, because I swear I was falling. I wanted to show them I was alive. 

 

Edited by Islandsandmirrors

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I shouted "'Ey boy, tell me now!", as my sorrowful voice bristled and cracked with great fear and a stinging anguish deep within my thunderous heart, flavored the froth within me. My leathery and callused death's grip around the guard seemed to vanish into the darkness. For that moment, it seemed that my entire life here up until now, vanished into the gaping darkness before me. 

Our marriage, my job, my mother's funeral, the children's education and vacations, going back home. All these thoughts surrounded me and then followed my hands into the abyss. I shook and sweat ran ice cold on my back on a humid June day. I heard the shuffling groan of human traffic behind us. 

I dared to not look behind at my wife and kids, for I was certain that hell would break lose if I looked at either one. Time stood still. I knew my wife was reading me like an open book, I was the warrior without a sword, the lion slain by men, the bird with his wings clipped by a cruel master and for the first time in my life, the father without an answer.

It seemed like an eternity, as a voice in my mind seemed to whisper "Gaze back into the abyss and the abyss shall gaze back into you", the dream was over. The nightmare was actually our waking reality. Starting at me, I stating at it with my dream between us, dead. Our lives were changing, my children's lives changed and I, the father, had no answer for them.

Suddenly, I heard the guard say coldly "Let go of me, or you will be detained." as I realized that my hands were shaking with fury and desperation, around the guard's neck. I immediately let go and looked down as I felt ashamed of my weakness.

My children saw me in a moment of anger and bewilderment, saw me in the lowest moment of my life and I, the father had no answer for my actions with the guard.

Edited by Gaius I. Caesar

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The good thing about heaven was that it was exactly as his religion had described.

the bad thing about heaven was that it was exactly as his religion had described. 

he had been in the celestial garden for long enough to know that time did not exist any more; certainly without the passage of days and nights, he could only count his stay by his sort-of routine which included lounging in thrones, saying "peace" and eating fruit. there definitely seemed to be something off, which he could not put his heavenly finger on. There seemed to be some distance ache, some longing in his heart that he kept repressing. after all, he was in heaven! what was there to miss? 

He knew he was meant to enjoy looking at the people in hell and asking them questions like "do you enjoy your payment for sinning" and other gloat-ey similar things. he had to be honest though, he hated it. there was something in garden which was supposedly meant to make sympathy and empathy for the fire dwellers vanish. it was something to do with memory, he did not know exactly. the warden angels, unfeeling and unthinking, seemed to get a trace annoyed when he would ask questions. he did not know his name, his life or anything which he did which had earned him his ticket to heaven, and they seemed the wrong ones to ask. 

he used the name "warden" lightly. they were not very good at their jobs. when he had first become aware of where he was, he often strayed past the edge of the garden into the silver planes. he knew he was not meant to know, but people not realising that they had wandered out of heaven by mistake into the planes often did not return. doomed to wander blindly forever. 

he had been summoned to the edge of the pit for his turn to curse the fire dwellers, already resigned to making incoherent noises which were loud enough so casual listeners would think he was shouting, until it was time to finish again. 

"Akbar!" shouted a voice from the pit, desperately. "Akbar! is that you?" he looked around. his companions were all shrieking and cursing and paying him no heed

"Akbar!" the word rattled in his mind, finding something to connect with

a flash...a memory

its summertime. he can feel the warm grass under his bare feet. smell the meat on the barbecue. his kids laughter drifts across lazily from somewhere out of site. 

"Akbar, I love you. Happy anniversary darling"

just like that, the memory vanished. leaving an imprint in his heart. 

like a strike of lightening on a black night, it was a moment of brilliance which illuminated just enough to see, but not enough to see everything. 

akbar....his name was akbar. 

that was his wife in the fire! 

like a crack in a dam, the flood of memories started coming back. he loved her. he had never loved anyone but her. they had a happy life, kids, even a pet cat called motorbike (a carry on from a joke one of his kids had made). 

there was a....blackness, a redness, after that memory. barely noticeable if he was focused on other memories, but vanishing when he tried to focus on it. 

he had to save her, but how would he escape heaven, break in to hell and even if, amongst all the fire dwellers find her, how to rescue her, and finally what to do after he HAD rescued her?

 

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1 hour ago, Gaius I. Caesar said:

I shouted "'Ey boy, tell me now!", as my sorrowful voice bristled and cracked with great fear and a stinging anguish deep within my thunderous heart, flavored the froth within me. My leathery and callused death's grip around the guard seemed to vanish into the darkness. For that moment, it seemed that my entire life here up until now, vanished into the gaping darkness before me. 

Our marriage, my job, my mother's funeral, the children's education and vacations, going back home. All these thoughts surrounded me and then followed my hands into the abyss. I shook and sweat ran ice cold on my back on a humid June day. I heard the shuffling groan of human traffic behind us. 

I dared to not look behind at my wife and kids, for I was certain that hell would break lose if I looked at either one. Time stood still. I knew my wife was reading me like an open book, I was the warrior without a sword, the lion slain by men, the bird with his wings clipped by a cruel master and for the first time in my life, the father without an answer.

It seemed like an eternity, as a voice in my mind seemed to whisper "Gaze back into the abyss and the abyss shall gaze back into you", the dream was over. The nightmare was actually our waking reality. Starting at me, I stating at it with my dream between us, dead. Our lives were changing, my children's lives changed and I, the father, had no answer for them.

Suddenly, I heard the guard say coldly "Let go of me, or you will be detained." as I realized that my hands were shaking with fury and desperation, around the guard's neck. I immediately let go and looked down as I felt ashamed of my weakness.

My children saw me in a moment of anger and bewilderment, saw me in the lowest moment of my life and I, the father had no answer for my actions with the guard.

L O L

 

you are a legend.

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The year I turned twelve was when my grandmother died of Alzheimer's. Her death came swift like an ax swing, and at her funeral, everyone was a distant dream. People payed their respects, some cried in front of my father, some in front of me, but I felt all surreal and removed from the event. I tried to ground myself with remembering the poem I'd written earlier that day. Something about how some deaths moved slow, and that I liked that kind of death. It would be beautiful to feel everything your last moments. It was a gift. 

After her death, one morning, I told my father I was dying of Alzheimer's. 

"Alzheimer's?" He said. "Elise, you don't develop Alzheimer's until you're an elderly. Even then, there's no guarantee you will." 

"Dad, I swear I'm forgetting things." I said, and began to list just all the things I'd forgotten. 

 

^to be continued. Maybe.

 

 

 

 

Edited by Islandsandmirrors

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