50 Word Stories – Finite

"You mean infinite."
"Why would you say that?"
"Because everybody longs to live forever. The desire to be immortal is inbuilt. If a lifespan is finite, it has a definite ending. You can't mean that you wish for it all to end, to die?"
"Yet, I do. Yet, I am."

In The Light of Thieves

In The Light of Thieves


An unmistakable presence in the room,
lingering without revealing,
observing through unopened eyes,
the ghost of the season watches all.
He sways in a draught like a reed by a river
as fluid as the moonrise and
gentle as a warm summer night;
but it is not summer, not now.
We feel him testing the presents under the tree
teasing the corners of carefully wrapped extravagances
whilst casting looks to those without.
Thieves he calls us,
though not with malice.
We sit in the hues of myriad sparkling lights:
vermillion; sapphire; citrine and more
wondering if everything we’ve never asked for
has fallen from the stars;
there are those who only have the stars,
and even then only if roofless tents
are granted cloud free skies.
Christmas, a time of such joy and good will,
yet so hard to understand.
The seasonal ghost turns from us now,
he can’t bear it any longer.
He has dawdled as he dwindles,
as have we.
There was so much more to see
in his short window of time.
There is so much more to see
in our own.
But will we?
Shall we?
Can we?


A persons ability to judge something and act upon it never ceases to amaze me.

The example I would use would be picking an item up and throwing it into a bin. I bet you can tell I love to do that. Nothing to it, you shout. Perhaps. Perhaps not? First there is the tactile information garnered by touch. We weigh the item in our hands, judge it against thousands if not millions of other objects we’ve handled and make an assumption as to the force required to propel it. There’s the object’s exterior to consider: rough; squishy; aerodynamics; liability to collapse and many more. There’s the distance between it, us, and the target. I could go on, but I think you catch my drift. There are so many variables to consider in the simple task of lets say rolling up a chocolate wrapper and tossing it over your wife’s head and into the bin behind her. So much to get right. So much to understand. A miracle one might say.

And yet we still can’t understand each other. Crazy, when you think about it.