othereyes

Ignorance is Bliss
(50 words)

On the second day of Spring, after peasantry and workers counted their winter losses, the King called forth all soothsayers and philosophers, cut out their tongues, and, for good measure, threw every book and pen down a well. 

From that day hence, only the King's prophet possessed gift of speech.       

Finding Something to Talk About
(50 words)

Contrary to Grandma's advice, speaking with newly met Americans about politics and religion wasn't at all a recipe for social disaster. Although, remaining mum on matters of education and childhood was always best. Better to entertain with discussions of worldly matters than to remind others of opportunities they never had.

   

Too Soon
(50 words)

Half awake from the heavy press of a reclining body. The mattress shifts. For just a moment, the warm squeeze of a hand on her shoulder. Breath against her ear. 

"I need to tell you something," an intimate whisper.

"Tell me what?" She rolls over, realizing it was a dream. 
 
 

Today I'm having yet another self-confirming "you need to write novel-length literary fiction that confronts the disaffected, alienated, and estranged aspects of (post)modern life and how people cope or fail to cope with it, so just stop fussing with ideas that try to mold themselves into popular genres that all of your friends read because you're mashing a square peg into a round hole every time you try. So stop. Just stop."

I know this sounds sort of stupid, but, realizing that many, most, or all of my friends and family might NOT be my story audience is, probably, the most important realization evah.

( Please pardon my blunt little rant )

\o/ 

In His Dreams
(50 words)

"I only dream of people from my past," he says. He rolls to his side, clutching the blankets, drawing them up to his chin. "Last night, I dreamt of you."

Eyes closed, he waits for sleep to return him to solitude, and hopes that when he wakes she is gone.