Distilled

Foible’s desk, dimpled and grooved by his pen work, held a single sheet of white paper. He gathered everything up and began.
Things I have and need.
1. This desk
2. This pen, paper
3. This warmth, roof, silence, food
4. This mind
5. This connection
6. This journey, potential, creativity

Cleansed, satisfied and quickened, he went outside and asked people about their lists.
Most wrote furiously, desperate to fill the page, fill it deeper than the rest of the tribe could.
Some could not grasp the pen, or keep the paper flat.
A few were able to pass back the paper, blank and overflowing.

Published in: on January 28, 2010 at 2:20 pm  Leave a Comment  

Twain-met

“1,2,3,4, ” said Maria to Foible.
“Brutal,” he replied.
“No, gentle,” she said.

Published in: on January 20, 2010 at 2:46 pm  Leave a Comment  

Political Psychology

Back in his room Foible found Sybelle and Harkiron waiting to speak.
He left for the station. Later, looking through the carriage window, he saw them caught in the glass & arguing over how best to bend his life to their own. He breathed on the glass and they began to cough.

Published in: on January 16, 2010 at 9:02 pm  Leave a Comment  

Macro & Micro

Sybelle and Harkiron answered him from the street below.
“It’s driven by this in here.” she called up.
“It’s driven by that out there.” he shouted.
Dissatisfied, Foible scratched some marks into the windowsill to keep them away, then went back inside.

Published in: on January 16, 2010 at 8:50 pm  Leave a Comment  

A New Day

Foible pulled the curtains, opened the window and put his head into the air. The new day smelled of straw and jam. He looked into the street. Other people were doing. “How does all this work?” he asked.

Published in: on January 15, 2010 at 12:17 pm  Comments (2)  

Trying to wake

Published in: on January 13, 2010 at 11:33 am  Leave a Comment  

Thaw

Resigned to the thaw, Foible shrugged. Snow is only water puffed up like popcorn, he spoke at gloomy children. Then school is only words puffed up the same way, they mumbled back. He flung snow about. They chucked some words up into the sky.

Published in: on January 9, 2010 at 9:26 pm  Leave a Comment  

Relaxing by the fire

Published in: on January 9, 2010 at 9:16 pm  Leave a Comment  

Death & Return

Harkiron’s death unbound and unsettled Foible. Now limitless, he uncoiled to find himself in an utter, petrifying absence. So that’s what the cattle-king was hiding, he gasped. Terror came, then peace. Foible returned to Cantalubrion, beautifully free of all expectation.

Published in: on January 9, 2010 at 6:57 pm  Leave a Comment  

Brutal

Foible began to dote on the snow, protect it. “Stay,” he yearned at its impermanence. But it had already laid brutal plans to fold itself up and one morning simply “not be there anymore”; a temporary robe bleeding away.

Published in: on January 8, 2010 at 10:08 pm  Leave a Comment