Scattered, we roamed the lowlands like seeds in the wind

waiting for a smattering of soil and our roots to take hold;

there was never nearly enough.

Lifted from the homes we would have built, we searched

the skies for memories of that which we’d lost,

that which we’d forgotten: Home.

The word echoed through the valleys

to smash upon highest crags, only to cascade as shaled truths.

The wind grew bitter then, cold even.

Birds of unsure feathers pecked at our shared epidermis,

a people made one by necessity; we bled for each other.

Higher we rose through gathered wills, a pact made true,

until the clouds were left in our wake and heaven beckoned.

There on highest dreams where the air was thin and

our dreams were set to fail, HE came for us in glowing

anticipation of repentance; and we did, as did HE.

Windblown, he called us, children of the unsettled pastures,

born to ride the winds of independence:

we ride them still, but always on a golden tether.

50 Word Stories: The Second Coming

We swept into the garden of no return like the spring tide, a relentless wave of humanity. Elliot had taken my hand and asked if this was Eden like the one taught in Sunday School. Better, I’d said. Why? he’d pressed. I smiled, “Because this time God wants us here.”

50 Word Stories: Fate

We never saw it coming, the day the world paused. If God’s work, who could say? The long breath, we waited without exhaling as snowed ash proliferated. They came. We wept regrets, the skies afire, world aflame, everything igniting as one. The Apocalypse, some called it. I called it fate.

One Last Hurrah

Time collapsed with the inevitable crunching of multiversal cogs and gears gone mad. The scientists had claimed we’d know nothing about it, that one day we’d go to bed and wake up, the next, we wouldn’t. But we did. We stood in our crumbling streets as light and darkness battled with sound and silence, watching, nothing more, just watching.

There’s only so much a human mind can take, so much madness, so much pain, and mine was no different. Whilst most of Earth’s inhabitants wept, or grew angry, or both, I got even.

I climbed the tallest tower, until I stood beneath roiling skies bathed in an abstract, mauve light. Peering through the splits in time and space with the look of a man who wouldn’t be denied one last hurrah, I spied them. They sat in their golden kingdom of perfect everythings: the saved; the best and brave; the Holy Host; Him. They saw me then, horrified at my insolence, stepping back in shocked anger. And, as all that was, is, and would be clanged a final chime of death, I blew a raspberry and flipped them the finger.

It made me smile, that last defiant gesture, made it worth it, that one last hurrah. Well, sort of. When the rest of humanity, both living and dead, made their merry way into the sky and the heaven beyond, I tried, too. I made it as far as those golden gates; Saint Peter stood waiting. He looked to me with gentle eyes, smiled, then blew a raspberry and flipped me the finger.

I still thought it was worth it, right up until everything ending, including me.

The Unicorn Dilemma.

“Does he have to come?”
“I can’t see any reason why he shouldn’t.”
“There’s only one of him.”
“That’s hardly his fault. If we were to base the future of the planet on copulation, I think we’d be doing everyone a disservice.”
“That’s what I’m saying, he can’t.”
“He can just not with another unicorn.”
“God has spoken, Noah.”
“I know. I know. But it’s in the interpretation, isn’t it?”
The unicorn watched from his berth at the prow of the ark. He didn’t like arguing and especially so over he. The other animals regarded him with downcast faces and shaken heads. They pitied him and that made him sadder. He listened as Noah came up with suggestion after suggestion, but didn’t hold out much hope. He knew eventually the decision would be his to make. ‘C’est la vie,’ as the skunk had said to the black cat.
“We could cut off his horn, then he’d pass for a horse,” Noah continued.
“Hm, maybe not.”
“He can’t stay.”
“But we’ve already lost the dragon, the minotaur and misplaced the wendigo. We have to draw a line somewhere, it’s what makes us human.”
Noah wiped away a tear that merged with the rain he’d not even felt.”
“It’s beginning.”
“I know,” said Noah. “I know.”
The rain came down like an overturned bath. The heavens let loose such a storm as to make the world tremble and Noah grit his teeth. His choice was made as the ark lifted from the ground: the unicorn had to go.
They searched everywhere for the single-horned wonder that was the unicorn for three days and nights. The ark was big but not so big as a creature could hide that well.
The answer came with a constipated lion. What he passed was conical and comical. At least, to the hyena. The unicorn was gone. And the world Noah loved, lost another unique gem.

An Angel Wept

She waited, wouldn’t go. When the others departed, she remained. In feathered beauty, a subtle vision in white, she was and forever would be, the last.

The divine lantern slipped into the finality of night in insipid ripples of gold. No more than a melted dream, the sun dissipated. The light went out.

She wept for us all beneath the nothing moon, an angel cried in the night. But, for what?