I assume many of you know that I am the author of a novel entitled ‘MetaMagik’. If you haven’t heard of this, but would like to check it out, you can find it as an ebook here;
The reason I’m telling you about my writing, however, is not to try to sell you copies of my past work. During the worst of my recent morphine miasma, I found it very difficult to write at all, but now that my mind is clearing, I have been thinking about writing again, and reviewing some of my unpublished work.
I found a file of what is called ‘Flash Fiction’, containing very short stories. These were experimental stories I wrote under very strict, self imposed, conditions. Every story is exactly 250 words long (excluding the title), not 249, nor 251. This sort of restrictive writing helps concentrate the mind, as you may well imagine, and produced from me a series of somewhat whimsical phantasmagoria, that very few people have ever read.
As I am feeling brave today, I have decided to publish one of my ‘250 Word Wonders’ for the first time, on this blog. I’m not looking for flattery, but if enough of you like my flash fiction, I have others that I can show you over time. For now, please read what is written below.
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Tales of Times Gone Bye and Lands Unknown
There is an old man who has lived in my memory since childhood, although his body is lost in some forgotten grave. This white haired and withered old sea-dog, silent and secretive, sometimes let strong liquor encourage fantastical stories to slip his lips.
As a young man of vigour and daring he sailed the wide ocean, crossing deep and dangerous waters in search of sights unknown; coming at last to the shores of a land lost to civilisation. A place of mystery to history, and neglected by modern man.
In that far forgotten country there were to be found, great cities that would wander the land. Without people to occupy them the buildings had gone wild. Skyscrapers and bus shelters, schools and hospitals, the houses of the rich and poor, would travel in herds, leaving wide roads of trampled wilderness in their path.
What purpose these cities possessed without a population, the old man could not fathom. He was the last human to see the cities, but what he saw was very little. Fear had kept him from exploring the secrets of their streets. He had only ever spied them as they stumbled over the distant horizon.
No one ventures any more, to the land of the roaming cities, but I assume they abide there still. The cities live while the old man, last human witness to their existence, has left this world for good. What other wonders did he witness, but fail to leave for future generations to remember?