Day 29

September 19, 2009

Freestyle Short Story
(No pauses in typing for 20 minutes solid)

So easy to soar. He is in a flight of the year gone and past. His eyes are dissolved from the lids and nothing but the patterns and sun-memories glide before him, nothing but the visions of his imagination cruise through and around him. What a trip.

The ocean, it hurts to have known its power. It hurts to have been robbed and destroyed by it. But isn’t dissolution the whole show? We do not apologize to the friend we have wronged because we do not want to sting our pride and humiliate ourselves. But isn’t humiliation the only way? Who learned anything from cheerfulness anyway? Anyway?

Oh, these questions and more ran through the little hair’s mind all of it’s life. It was a white hair, the third white hair on her head. She had seen them come at 24, and it never sunk in that they were really white hairs. She saw them, but she couldn’t accept the reality of the situation, she could not so quickly adjust herself to the fact that she was one of those people now, who had white hairs. It is called denial, we all do it, Shakespeare too.

So anyway, this third hair of hers sure has an active imagination. In fact if any scientist were interested enough to study it for the rest of her life, she would eventually find the answers to all of life’s questions in this hair. From her human perspective. She’d never know how intelligent the hair was, of course. This would remain hidden to her.

The hair did not have a name, so I won’t give it one. I’m a human being, talking the language of humans, so forgive me if I have to resort to calling it ‘the third hair’.

This third hair was called Meshell. Me, Shell. She got this name when the head she belonged to lay down on a beach one day in England. Of all places, why lie down in an English beach, thought the third hair. Question mark. But lie down she did (the woman whose head it was). Her name was Aisha and she was not Arab or Pakistani, so take that, two thirds of the people who will be reading this! If you want to empathize with the character, I am not going to give you any easy rides. We’re going to have to go for the heart this time, guys. Looks like we’re going to have to bypass the material matter and go straight for the soul to find our commonality, guys. Team. Friends. Lovers. Hearties.

When Aisha put her head down onto the pebbles, third hair was lucky enough to not be face down. Third hair was sideways, and she was looking out at a shell which lay right next to her. She said to the Shell, (all things are in constant communication with one another, including your eyes and my intentions)

“What’s your name, then?”
“Me, Shell,”

Said the shell.

That clears that up.

Now let’s get onto the good stuff. The juicy part. About the human called Aisha who is not from Arabistan or Pakistan. Shall we make her fall in love? No! No! Why? Why would we want to do such a boring thing with her? She has so much going for her already! She has her third white hair talking to sea-shells, and plenty of other things besides.

Aisha shimmers under the glimmering sun which shivers her anew into this world like a baby again. She had never thought that possible, never thought optimistically enough to think that a moment such as this would come, a moment with light and strong bells that softly were touched by angels-of-the-moment and made her rise and rise and rise to never fall for those moments where everything seemed balanced on serenity and clarity, happiness and precision. What more is there to aim for but these moments?

Her fingers moved one by one as Muslim hands do, and the Names were repeated in her head one by one, as Muslim minds do. With gratitude and chants, such as the people of sincerity do all across this bouncy ball.

It is not trendy is it? No longer trendy to talk of God and of the word, even, to make such people cringe and want to leave the vicinity. No it is not. And yet there she lay, with the afternoon sun of September, hot but not killing, hot but welcome, and the breeze on her nose, and all of the parts of her body which worked in harmony to continue her

Agreeing absolutely.

Her nose agreeing with the scent of freshness. Her ears with the sound of the distant couple. Her eyes with the blue above and her mind with the abode. Her mind with the throne from which all legacies and histories unfold.

Never enough illustriousness in this day and age. Never enough perfection and unbounded parting emotion for hearts to die in and cry in love for separation and union and please and please, please, God, please.

The headline on reads:

Rape claim ‘traumatizing,’ former suspect says

Inner the heart of health there is no headline, no loud sign or large fonts. Only a rushing of rising, of falling, floating pantheons and disembodied Greek pillars revolving upside down and going with all seriousness into the moon’s open arms where it spills to dust

To dust


03:28, Ramadhan 29