Wet

Wet

by Richard M. Ankers

Only ever alone with the rain and the sea.

I watched her emerge from the nocturnal river like a perfect pearl. Naked, she was, confused and unchaperoned. A first new life form in aeons. She shimmered for all to see. A miracle. My last hope.

Her beauty outshone the eternal darkness, like the world’s most perfect black rose giving birth to a solitary milk-white petal. She glistened brighter than any star. She dazzled. I was dazzled.

I approached with trepidation, a gliding shadow, and spoke as a mistral wind. “You… Are… Everything…”

“I am nothing.”

The starkness and speed of her response stalled me.

“I have done nothing.”

This time, I was prepared. I decided a direct approach was best.

I closed about the world, about her. “For the first time in eternity, I wished to be seen.”

Her hands fell from her modesty to reveal herself completely. Her eyes appeared to lose their glaze. She smiled. My heart melted.

“I am betrothed.”

I fled.

No star could find me. The spotlight moon illuminated without reason or rhyme. The sun did its best to fill the void. An armada of rainbows searched for my dark gold. Only the rivers had an inkling, as they swept into the deepest sea. Those in the abyss felt the loss, but had never truly experienced my all to begin with.

None would find me, for I was hardest to find by light.

I travelled the earth, and then the starways, and then more. I was everywhere and nowhere, but I never once dared her beauty again: she would have torn my obsidian soul apart. Until…

“Hello.” A soothing soprano.

“I thought my time had passed.”

“It is just beginning.”

I opened one eye to the opaque twin wonders of her own. “You see me?”

“I felt you first.”

“You found me. Me! The unseen!” I sounded like a revealed small child having hidden in a cupboard from a strict parent. “You are the first.”

“I have. I am.”

“How? It is my destiny to go unnoticed. To allow others to shine.”

“My need is greater than theirs.”

“What need?”

“To fulfil yours.”

“You rebuked me?”

“I knew not who you were.”

“But you do now.”

“Everyone does, now.”

I grimaced. “That bad, eh?”

She nodded. A tendril-like strand of hair wiped a tear from her cheek. My breath caught.

“They half need you, whereas I want you fully.”

“You need the lake, the river, the sea. You are born of water and must ever there remain.”

“Sometimes, but not always. I must slip beneath the starshine surface and embrace my creator. I am lost without him. Lost without you. This world is too bright. Too loud. I need the quiet of the…

“Don’t say my name,” I interjected.

“…Night.”

The cape of nothingness slipped from my shoulders, and I stood revealed before her. She smiled anew.

“Now there is only us,” she said, as we slipped beneath the surface into the cool, dark, wet.

The End

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Thank you for reading
Richard

https://ko-fi.com/richardmankers

Breathing in Circles

Sudden Flash – Latest Release

A big thank you to the good folk at Sudden Flash Magazine for publishing my latest micro-fiction, Breathing in Circles.

Available here: Breathing in Circles

If you enjoyed this piece, please consider a small donation
to help further my writing life.

Thank you for reading
Richard

https://ko-fi.com/richardmankers

The Mermaid in my Bathtub

Gobblers by Masticadores – Latest Post

A big thank you to editor, Manuela Timofte, of Gobblers by Masticadores, for publishing The Mermaid in my Bathtub. I hope you enjoy this little collaboration between the wonderful Gina Maria Manchego and my good self.

As always, please do take a look around the site. There’s much to enjoy.

HERE: The Mermaid in my Bathtub

Thank you for reading

Richard

https://ko-fi.com/richardmankers

Glasslike, We Break

MasticadoresUSA

Latest Post

A big thank you to editor Barbara Leonhard for publishing my latest micro-fiction: Glasslike, We Break.

Please do take a look around the site at the other wonderful works on offer.

Available here: Glasslike, We Break

Thank you for reading

Richard

Winter Lips

Published Today – MasticadoresUSA

A big thank you to editor Barbara Leonhard for publishing my latest micro-fiction, Winter Lips.

I hope you have time to read this short fiction and peruse the other wonderful stories and poems on the site.

Please click HERE to read.

Thank you as always

Richard

Richard M. Ankers

Like Milk

Published today!

I’m delighted to have my short fiction story ‘Like Milk‘ included in the Valentine’s Day edition of the wonderful Poetry as Promised magazine.

I hope you get a chance to check out my work and all the other fantastic offerings. Enjoy!

Please click HERE to read

Thank you for reading

Richard

Richard M. Ankers:

Author of The Eternals Series and Britannia Unleashed

They

They differ to us substantially. The most apparent of these is their appearance. We stand upon two legs, make our way through a tactile world with two hands and regard our universe through two eyes. In a more direct description, we are paired. This pairing navigates beyond the physical into the realms of belief. We believe we should live our lives in pairs, couples, if you will, so we do. We are a species who thrive in the plural. A species must thrive if it wishes to endure.

They exist in the singular, derived from a singular entity, one that split to spawn many. Wherever possible, they refrain from interaction and keep to themselves. They live alone, talk alone and enjoy doing so. Physically, we are comparable, but they do not see it this way. They look through two eyes, but act as though looking through none. They have two legs, but refuse to use them unless necessary. Their paired arms and hands have become so conjoined with technology, they have become indistinguishable from the greater whole.

Their name? They have many names and many subsets. They dislike being classified as many and prefer singular — as is their way — identification. My colleagues term them vermin, but the correct and almost forgotten genus is human. They are a strange lot, yet as a scientist, I find them intriguing. Though at their present rate, I suspect I shall not for much longer.

Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.

Undone

I am undone, dissolved, wiped from this world like a ghost from a photo. I have nothing left to give, except for my soul. Is it enough?

A cool wind chills them all, whilst I feel nothing. There is no pleasure, no fear, no love, no suggestion of self, and yet I want more than ever.

Chasing rainbows has become a pursuit. I glide over these reversed smiles, refusing to look back at such multicoloured miseries. Is God watching?

I was once a man with a life, wife, and daughter. When I lost them, I know not. How I’ll find them, who knows. This may be my penance for sins foul and false, yet to them all, I remain clueless.

The night gathers in swirls of gloom. The stars pop out of existence like stung balloons. A black sun rises. There was never a moon in my night.

I smile, or pretend to. No one sees.

The End.

Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.

Every Evening Before I Dream

An evening routine, this is my way. Routine differentiates me from the billions of other night-dwellers who huddle beneath their covers like frightened rabbits, shuddering themselves to sleep, whilst praying for tomorrow. Only through sleep will they welcome the light. They crave it more than food or water. More than love. I need only my routine. This will never change. Until…
I prefer a stark December cold to the false warmth of early May, or the stifling nights of mid-July. You may think me picky, but a perfectionist would be nearer the truth. Optimal conditions help me find my peace, for only in peace will she find me. Or I, her? I forget which? My mind is not what it was.
My bedroom is tiny. There’s room enough for a bed and a small cupboard. This otherwise empty space serves as a reminder of the life I have left behind. Here, I interact, hoping beyond hope that all is right. Nothing more. Worrying achieves nothing in the hours before dawn.
I wonder what it’s like to dream the partial realities of a normal person. Dreaming is a prerequisite of being, and I am a being, even when not being. If you catch my drift? Does it make me a non-person if I hang in the shade like a panting shadow, loiter at the corners of dusk? I hope not, as it intimates insecurity, and I am far from insecure. Mine is an endless dream where this infusion called life is nothing but the pricking of a syringe. I am past this. I am past normality.
There’s a confused robin who sings all night. The streetlights fool the little creature into believing the sun never sets. He trills his little heart out anticipating finding a mate to constant disappointment. I know how he feels. I wonder if he pities me as I pity him. Still, he has his routine: eat; perch; trill. He’s relentless. When the hovering kestrel realises the robin there, this may change. Not until then, though, and neither will I.
I feel this evening, this section of dream I flourish in, will be the one. I feel it with every creaking bone and pulled muscle. Age will do this to a man. Time has a lot to answer for. Regardless, I sit on the end of my bed in this room for a cage, hands clasped together in prayer, and wait. I’m always waiting.
Am I sleeping, or awake? Does it matter? The curtains flutter, as does my heart. Reality changes. Her whispers brush my ears like December snowflakes. I hear her above the blood surging through my arteries. I hear her in all her undiluted loveliness. She is here, in this room, blooming like a rose through a glacier. Her eyes melt my soul. They always did. For the first time since forever, I smile.
When this dream called life is replaced by another, my darling is there to hold my hand. She says my little bird has come for me, as she’s wished to every evening before I dream. “Is this night?” I ask. Her lips say no.
Only in eternal beauty does one find release.
The End

Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.

The Six Signs

The first sign came in the form of migrating crows. Not in the least bit odd, apart from the fact they don’t. They poured from the fields like a great Black Plague, out over the basalt cliffs and away.

The second sign was subtle: A grasshopper dead in the snow.

The third sign was less so. An earthquake hit the city, shaking every brick from its neighbour and every bottle from the fridge. I lost my milk in the event, which annoyed me greatly.

The fourth sign was as easy as breathing. The wind changed colour from nothing to lots. Crimson particles filled the air.

Sign five was my personal favourite. A dove flew over and sat upon my shoulder. There, the creature cooed for all it was worth, until I stroked its head. This seemed to settle my avian friend. Perhaps the crows sensed this.

Sign six, the final one, was given a name: The Return. The crows streamed back over the ocean like a black fog. They coagulated, poured down like an open vein, ignoring everybody except one, me. They pecked and cawed, scratched with sharpened talons, refused to stop. It woke me from my slumber, that which all else had not.

I awoke from my dream to the dove at my feet and a snowing of black feathers. I looked from one to the other and wept, for I was no longer bound by disdain. The wind, having returned to clarity, only emphasised my own crimson nature. The steadiness of the earth only served to highlight my volatile self. Mephistopheles had returned from his sojourn, and thanks to the six signs sent by my father, Death, would make sure the world knew. Well, everyone has to have something to do.

The End

Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.