Flash Fic: Fate, Trials, and Ripe Nashi

    “Old Wise Konichi, is there a—that is... How does one become a man?”
    “Child, you must live.”
    “Live? Is there no trial or test?”
    “Every day is a trial. If you make it through, that is the truest test of them all. Whether it is a test of your manhood, or a test of life.” Old Konichi’s eyes crinkled merrily.
    “But, Wise Konichi, isn’t it said that you are fated to live and fated to die?”
    “Boy, you’ll find that as much as you want to believe that fate rules all and that your actions have no effect, the wisest among us will see that is not true. The only thing set in stone is our response. So, for you to take control of your own destiny, you must react, not without thought, but with calm meditation. Then, and only then, will fate release its grasp.”
    “I think I see, Wise Konichi. Thank you.”
    “You are always welcome, child, it is what I am here for.”
    But the boy did not move.
    “Yes, is there something more?”
    “Well, Wise Konichi, but, what if that is what is expected? What if the calm meditated response is all part of fate? How do I escape fate then, and win a trial I am already fated to lose?”
    Old Konichi stopped and considered the boy for several moments, massaging his chin slowly. “Well then, my boy, it is simple: you must react hastily and without thought.”
    “But...”
    “No, no, no more questions. I am hungry and I see a large, ripe nashi hanging from that tree. May you be hasty and impetuous.”

© 2012 Clifton Hill, all rights reserved.
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A taste of the whimsical today and perhaps a little bit of insight. I hope you enjoy. So go forth and be impetuous and make calm meditated responses, but just make sure that you do so when and where appropriate. No, no, no more questions. I am hungry...

Flash Fic: 8 O’Clock - Expectations Over Coffee

Every day I sit here, and it’s the same. Coffee to my right, a donut to my left—pink icing, white sprinkles. I twist ever so slightly in the squeaky seat, drum my fingers on the formica table top. The harsh florescent hums above me. Morning light floods long storefront windows. A siren oscillates in the distance.

It’s 8 o’clock. I see the digits high on the chipped plaster wall—they’re red, hypnotic, absolute.

I like absolute. I like certainty. I like knowing what will happen next. I like knowing when and how, but even as much as I do, when I raise the donut to my lips—the familiar hint of sugar and fried dough wafting past my nostrils; the touch, texture and taste of the iced coating melting upon my lips; the satisfying feel of the crispy sweet dough severed between capped teeth; the taste: perfect, as I swallow each morsel—I have to wonder: What brings me here?

Before me, through the windows, within dawn’s peaceful light, the red and blue strobe of emergency vehicles flash and turn; like everyday, every time, without fail. The crushed metal and shattered glass of another life taken

Coffee to my right, donut to my left, the lights flashing before me; mixing their colors with the white sprinkles—a patriotic splash upon my fried confection.

Every day.

My eyes glaze over, misted by the regularity—a known quantity to life; there is a beauty to it all, and a horror. But I do not think, I only appreciate the fact that I know one thing that will happen every day, as I put the hot coffee to my lips and sip.

Coffee to my right, donut to my left.


© 2012 Clifton Hill, all rights reserved.
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Creeped out? Good!

Perhaps this is a slight commentary on how we like things in life. Despite the fact that they are not good for us, we like the regularity, we like to repeat, and do the same. There is something intrinsically, obsessively compulsive about it, but also: comfortable.

Do we seek it, or does it seek us. The chicken or the egg?

Or maybe this was just a visual that popped into my head, meaningless and yet gripping in some indescribable fashion.

Poem: The Book

I opened the book.
I turned to the first page.
I read.

Each word sounded in my head like a bell.
Each sentence flashed about, like a raging symphony.
Each paragraph changed my very perception.

I felt my worldview shifting.
I felt everything changing.
I wanted to tear my eyes away.
Something screamed inside.

Nooo!
No, stop.
No more!

But my hand turned the page,
and my eyes could not tear away.
And another,
and another,
and another page I went.

The light around me dimmed.
It became dark, but still I read,
into the night.
Deep into the night I read.

Finally, as sun tipped horizon,
a small bead of light wreathed in dark,
I came to the last page.

My fingers trailed over final words,
in a daze,
then I closed the book and stood.

And though I stood still,
the world spun.

And I knew what I had become.


© 2012 Clifton Hill, all rights reserved.
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Any lover of books can relate. Relate to what happens when you lay hands on a book that transforms you, shifts you to another realm, another time, another body, another world. Thoughts, concepts, entire peoples presented before you in compelling fashion that transport you.

Is this what happens to you? Do you become something greater and grander when absorbed by a book? It can for me and there is a certain power within that ability.

Poem: Order of Corenne - Lonely Knight.

I am Tristfallin, Knight of Corenne, Order of the Deep,
My orders are always to keep:
The Faith, from the evils of Fire,
Persecution and undue Ire.

Let my arm be strong, my aim be true,
My shield hold and my virtue:
Stand.

In the quiet and shadows I do train,
Waiting, patient—as those, that before came,
I sharpen my blade,
I oil my steel,
And I prefer for that one day:

When the waves will rise and the sun falls fast,
When the Knights of Corenne rise to the task.

Let it be soon,
Let it be now,
For I tire and ache,
Of seeing fellows hung low,
When our colors SHOULD show.

© 2012 Clifton Hill, all rights reserved.
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A small taste, as it were, of my novel Felling Abberfaun. The Knights make an appearance in the novel that is both beautiful and sad, all in a hope to challenge religious tyranny that drove their peaceful order to near extinction. One day I will share their plight with you. For now, a poem will do.