Book of Flash

Writing

Someday I just might be awake as my fingers reach the keys.  Someday my screen might be blank, though words file through my mind with ease.  Someday I will turn on the light so I can see the letters I type.  Someday I will try harder to speak the words I write.

Said the Pebble

Said the pebble to the grass,

“This spot is mine, you will not last.”

The blade of grass fought but failed

To keep its spot, the rock prevailed.

Bruised and nearly broke in half,

The grass did cry, the pebble laughed.

“I’ll be back, then you shall see,”

“There’s no chance of you beating me.”

But the blade did grow with time;

It grew into a tree sublime.

At its roots the pebble sits,

Shifted, broken, and full of splits.

There I Walked

There I walked among the stars, asking softly what they are.  Dark blue swirls around orbs of light, which though surrounded, are so bright.  My feet drift among star paths, as I hang them off my raft.  Ripples in the universe or perhaps, just the lake’s surface.  There I walked among the stars, asking softly what they are.

Octopi

I once went swimming in the sea, gliding slowly by the reefs and through the waves.  I soared upon the crashing peaks, watching fish swim beneath.  I felt like a bird.  Then upon a pink, spotted, coral I found brown spiny legs.  Eight of them twisted on the coral, all winding in their own ways, and suckers along each one.  I stared at this strange sight awhile and reached a tentative hand, black eyes glittered with wonder back at me and I started as the creature spoke.

            “Which do you choose of these?” The octopus asked, holding out its legs as they waved slowly in the current.  “You have eight choices, now pick just one.”  Fish swam in schools around my head, much like my thoughts residing there.  I struggled with my choice, first lifting one tentacle and dropping it for others.  They all looked the same to me, though I’d had no experience with octopi.  Eventually I gave up and asked,

            “Does it matter, will this choice last?”  The octopus smiled and said,

            “It will not matter, if you are dead.”  At once my lungs began to burn and I spluttered to the top for air.  I sat panting upon shore rocks and pondered the answer given me.

It’s been three years since I’ve been back to sea, but still I remember now.  All choices are to be made prudently and in order of importance.  When thoughts threaten to overtake my head, I still remember what the wise creature said:  “It will not matter, if you are dead.”