Thread: 24/6/11 - LM - Let's Talk About Flying

LITERARY MANEUVERS
The June Challenge


A reminder of the prizes awarded to the winner of the LM.
Their entry will appear in the WF Newsletter, which is a good chance to get your work widely circulated.
Now we are also offering a Friends of WF (FoWF) subscription free for a month to the first place winner!

So, do your best.

Another round of LM begins! Our prompt for this installment is:

Let's Talk About Flying

Note: The overall theme of this prompt is flying and the extra challenge this time around is to make your story mostly dialogue.

The judges for this round are as follows: Flapjack, Fearsatan, Jinxi, InsanityStrickenWriter and Like a Fox.
(LaFox will be the one to post the scores, as I intend to join in this round, so judges, kindly give your scores to her once you are finished. ^_^)

Now a recap of the rules:

1. The word limit is 650 words not including the title. If you go over - Your story will not be counted.
2. You can no longer edit your entry after posting. There will be a 10-minute grace period, if you want to go in there and edit a typo or something, but really, you should approach this as if you were submitting your work to be published and paid for. When you submit, that should be your final work, the work you are happy with.
3. And of course, there can only be one entry per member.

As always, there are two ways to post your entry:

You can opt to have your entry posted in the LM Workshop Thread which is a special thread just for LM entries in the Writer's Workshop. You would put your story here if you wish to protect your first rights (in case you want to someday submit the work to a magazine or whatnot). Take note: If you have elected to put your entry in the Workshop thread you must copy the link into this thread or else it will not be counted.

If you aren't too concerned about your first rights, then you could place your entry right here in the LM Challenge thread.

Everyone is welcome to participate. Judges are welcome to participate, too, but their entries will not receive a score.

Submissions will be accepted until 11:59 PM [GMT +8] of July the 8th, Friday.

11:59 AM Eastern / 10:59 AM Central for those living in the US.
3:59 PM for those in Britain and nearby European countries.
11:59 PM Western / 1:59 AM (of the next day) Eastern for those living in Australia.
6:59 PM for those living in the Middle East.
For other locations not mentioned, please check your local times.

No comments, please - Only competition entries (or links to) to be posted in this thread.


Now that all's set, let the writing begin!

The Flying Lesson (650 words)

by George Potter

"Good morning, Arvin."

"Yeah. Whatever."

"Ah. Let me guess -- you hit the ground this morning. Rather hard."

"I suppose you can tell that from two words?"

"No -- I can mostly tell it from the huge bruise on the side of your face."

"Oh. Yeah."

"What's the first rule of flying?"

"Do I have to say it every time?"

"What's the first rule of flying?"

"Jesus. 'Despite gravity, to spite gravity, we fly.' "

"Correct. And what does that mean?"

"Obviously something I'm not getting."

"But you know. Tell me."

"That flying is about refusing to stay on the ground."

"And...?"

"That flying is about telling gravity to go to hell."

"And...?"

"That flying is only possible when you make it possible!"

"Exactly. What are you doing wrong?"

"You know. I don't want to say it."

"Because you still don't believe it. Saying it, over and over, is the first step in believing it. Now tell me -- what are you doing wrong?"

"I'm taking it for granted!"

"Yes indeed. That's exactly what you're doing. You're expecting it. You're trying to make it common. It isn't common. It's a miracle. You have to appreciate a miracle to keep it alive. You have to be in awe of it. Every time, for every second. Or you'll fall out of the damned sky as sure as a rock."

"It's easy for you. You've been flying since you were four! You were one of the first ones..."

"Easy? Oh, my boy. It was never easy. Never. It was always hard. Gravity is a tyrant and it will kill those who defy it. Only awe can suspend the disbelief, revolt against wicked gravity, and claim our places in the sky. Give me your hand. It's OK, just...there. Now hold on. Close your eyes."

"I'm not good at visualization..."

"Hush. Don't visualize. I want you to feel. Think of the most awe inspiring thing in your life so far. Can you do that?"

"I...no, not that. I...yes. Yes, I can."

"Tell me what it is."

"You'll laugh."

"I might. But laughter can't touch awe. Not even a bit. Tell me."

"I...I was just a kid."

"Childhood is the time when awe is closest to the surface. You know that."

"It was....the first time I ever flew in an airplane."

"Ah."

"But it wasn't the flying! No. It was...when we were coming in for a landing, and I watched out the window. It was what I saw."

"And what was that?"

"A city. The city we were approaching. You know, I don't even remember what city it was? That part of the memory is just gone. I could ask, I suppose. My mother was with me, and Debbie, my older sister. They'd remember."

"But you haven't?"

"No. Because...well, because it seems better that I don't know. Fitting. It holds more mystery. More power. More...awe."

"Understandable. What was so awe inspiring about the sight of an approaching city?"

"The size of it! And the age! And...and the fact that human beings had built it! Tiny little human beings, just like me. Over the course of seconds and minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and years and lifetimes. They'd built something huge and vast and with the chance to become ancient. Something that would outlive them and be seen by their distant descendents. Something so big it altered the weather. Something so bright it blocked out the stars. Something..."

"...awesome?"

"Yes. And I realized, in that moment, that if humans could do that, humans could do anything."

"Open your eyes, Arvin."

"Huh? Ah! Oh God! How high are we?"

"About a thousand feet. Are you ready to fly? Are you ready to build your city in this sky?"

"Yes!"

"Then hold tight to that memory! Hold tight and damn gravity for a fool!"

"Yes!"

"Spread your arms, let go of my hand! Let's fly!"

Overheard on a Plane (597 words)
by Jason Talbott

42,000 Feet Over Chicago…

“Dad, I think I lost my mp3 player!”

“What do you mean, ‘lost’? Your headphones are right there on your head.”

“Yeah, but they’re not plugged in to my mp3 player. I plugged them into the seat so I could listen to the movie.”

“You could hear the movie with those things? I thought you needed the special kind that the stewardess was selling for five bucks apiece.”

“Yes, I could hear the movie. You just need normal headphones.”

“Ok”

“But dad, my mp3 player… I can’t find it.”

“Did you look in that seat pocket? There’s lots of stuff in there.”

“Yes, I looked in there. There are just magazines and a barf bag.”

“Well, stand up and look in your seat. Check down along the cracks… Honestly, I don’t see why you need bring along all of this stuff, especially when you’re not going to keep track of it. This whole trip, I’ve only needed this one book to entertain myself.”

“’The History of Standardized Testing’? Dad, that’s lame.”

“Hey, don’t knock it; you could probably learn something from this. And it’s nice and thick, so it doesn’t get lost down in the seat cushions.”

“My mp3 player isn’t in the seat cushions. I don’t know where it went.”

“Well, let this be a lesson then. If you don’t want to keep track of something small and expensive, you should put it away. You could have put it away in your backpack and then you probably wouldn’t have lost it.”

“I could lose my backpack though.”

“Yes, YOU probably could lose your backpack. But you would never lose a book like this.”

“If I had a book like that, I’d probably TRY to lose it. Can you put that in a bag or something? It’s embarrassing.”

“You’re embarrassed that your father is an intelligent guy with well rounded interests?”

“No, I’m embarrassed that you’re the only person on the plane lugging around a huge book, instead of a Kindle.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, as we start our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. Please turn off all electronic devices until we are safely parked at the gate. Thank you.”

“Hey check this out… all those people with Kindles… they have to turn them off now. I’m the only one who can continue reading while we’re landing. And you’ll have to turn your little music player off now, too. What? Oh, that’s right, you can’t find it anyway. I guess you’ll just have to look out the window and count rooftops. Too bad.”

“Dad…”

“Can’t talk now, son, I’m at a really good part…”

25 Minutes Later…

“…On behalf of the entire crew, thank you for flying with us today. We look forward to seeing you on your next trip. Have a nice evening.”

“It’s not in any of the overhead bins, it’s not under the seats, the flight attendants haven’t seen it. It had all of my favorite music on there. This sucks!”

“I guess it’s lost. Put your jacket on, son, there’s snow on the ground out there.”

“I don’t know where my jacket is…oh, YOU’RE holding it.”

“Here YOU take it. Why am I carrying all of your stuff? You’re old enough to be responsible for your own things. And here, take your little video game too.”

“DAD!!”

“What?”

“THAT’S my mp3 player!”

http://www.writingforums.com/writers-workshop/122328-24-6-11-lm-lets-talk-about-flying-workshop-thread.html#post1444864

The above, I hope, is a link to my story "Kenneth, fondly known as Buster" which is in the workshop thread.

J.R.

Brian Airways


“Wotcha Bill, its been over a week since we seen you down the pub.” Said Derek.
“Yeah well, been on holiday me old son, took the Violet to egg whipped.” Said Bill.
“Egg whipped?” Said Derek.
“Yeah, pyramids n'stuff, lots of sand.” Said Bill.
“Oh, you mean Egypt.” Said Derek.
“Yeah.”
“Was it a cruise?” Asked Derek.
“Na, we flew. Got a package tour from Break-a-Ways on the high street.” Said Bill.
“Any good?” Asked Derek.
“Rubbish. Don't ever fly Brian Air, talk about cheap.” Said Bill.
“What happened?” Asked Derek.


“Well first of all you pay a pittance for the flight but then they offer you upgrades; like 'Would Sir like a seat to sit on' and maybe one for the wife? Would you like them inside the plane or strapped to the roof? 'Would Sir like air to breathe?' 'Would Sir like a discount for a window seat' cos you can flap an arm out the window to help on take off?”


“Come on everyone flies with Brian.” Said Derek.
“You want to try it. I tell you while we was queueing up we noticed we was the only ones with suit cases, so I speaks to this chap in front of us and he tells me its so expensive to put luggage on, and they always lose it, so everyone wears all their holiday clothes, layers and layers of them.”


“So what did you do?”
“Nipped to the bog and piled on layers of clothes, had to leave the cases in the bog.” Said Bill.
“Crikey how did Vi take to that?”
“Not happy at first but they didn't put any heating on in the plane so all those layers kept us nice and warm.” Said Bill.


“So you didn't miss the flight?” Asked Derek.
“Would've been better if we had, all that clothing made everyone fat and we all had to squash up together in tiny seats. Then there was a delay cos the rubber band in engine one snapped. Then when we finally got up in the air... Well it was like a ride at Alton Towers, all over the place, Vi reckons the pilot was drunk. The stewardesses clung together whispering prayers, and when we did a loop the loop me and everyone else joined in the prayers.”
“But you’re an atheist.” Said Derek.
“Brian Air would convert Satan.”


“But you got there all right?” Asked Derek.
“Sort of. We was starving by then, all the food they had to offer was a sandwich and a plastic cup of coffee for twenty quid, which I was not going to pay for even if my wallet wasn't inside three pairs of trousers.”


“So what was Egypt like?” Asked Derek.
“Not bad.”


“No trouble on the return journey?” Asked Derek.
“Old stager by then, smuggled on our own lunch just like everyone else. One thing not having any luggage meant Vi couldn't splash out on any fancy foreign tat. Saved a fortune, every cloud eh?”
“Nothing from the gift shop?” Asked Derek.
“Na.”
“Well you're back now, alls well that ends well.” Said Derek.
“Sort of, the strangest thing was while we was away the airport had a bomb scare and used a controlled explosion to blow up our cases.”

NOTE: First timer, please be gentle. The word limit is MUCH harder than I thought it would be!

Almost like Flying

“When is she going to fly?” a high, desperate whisper insistently dragged my consciousness back to the present. ‘Shhhhh….’ I whispered back. I tried to close my eyes and continue the prayer with the rest of the group, but it was useless. I could feel the accusatory stare of bright brown eyes on my face, They quietly insisted that they had been cheated of something they’d been promised.

No, not promised… implied.

One should never imply things to six year olds. They have no tolerance for ambiguity.

“You said she would fly.” Sophie demanded as I rolled my mat into a loose coil.
“I said no such thing.” I maintained, although I had already lost the argument. All we were fighting over now was how much pride I would be allowed to walk away with.
“I said,” I tried to explain my way out of a tantrum, “that she could levitate, occasionally, when she really, really wanted.”
“That’s the same as flying.”
I looked at her and opened my mouth to explain, but I could see from her expression, that we had reached an impasse.

It was an ill-conceived plan to begin with. An outbreak of lice at Sophie’s school meant that she was at home for a week while dozens of parents painstakingly washed and combed tiny white nits from their children’s hair. Sophie’s own locks had thankfully avoided infestation, most likely thanks to her very real and paralysing fear of ‘cooties’.

I was on the verge of cancelling yoga, when I’d suddenly had a change of heart. My mother had taken me to yoga when I was a child and it was why I still went twice a week almost 30 years later. Surely Sophie would appreciate being involved in a ‘grown up’ activity. The element of danger was next to zero, it was safer than riding bikes, running through the park or going swimming. While didn’t take much for me to justify it to myself, convincing her that quietly stretching for a full hour would be fun, had proven far more difficult.

So that’s when we started talking about flying, or ‘levitating’, rather. When I may have, in desperation, implied that advanced yogis could levitate- or ‘almost fly’ I believe were my words- and that to not come to the class was to miss a chance of maybe seeing my own teacher, Shanti, slowly and majestically float up from the ground.

Of course I had never seen anyone levitate and this week was no different. But Sophie would not be easily placated. She had kept up her end of the bargain and I had failed her. This was going to be painful. And expensive.

The last members of the class thanked Shanti one by one. All except a tall, gangly boy at the back, Shanti’s teenage son, Joe. He looked bored as he waited for his mother. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him back up against the wall of the class and then bolt forward towards the other end. He ran up the wall and flipped over backward, arching through the air in a tightly curled ball before landing effortlessly on his feet in an act of acrobatic defiance. His mother turned, horrified, and reprimanded him loudly in Hindi, punctuating her words with a fast-wagging finger. As the boy skulked away under the weight of his mother’s scolding, I looked down at Sophie, who was staring intently at him.

I watched as the frustration drained out of her small face. “Cool,” she said, satisfied, but not surprised. She’d wanted to see someone fly and, as usual, she’d gotten what she’d wanted. “Cool.” I conceded gratefully, realising that Sophie probably understood more about the universe than I ever would. She might not place much stock in yoga, meditation or even gravity, but that’s never stopped her from changing the world through will alone.

The Girl Without Aeroplane Knowledge : By B.D.Branch (650 words)

If done correctly.

Fly the Fly

“Buzz, can I ask you question?”


“What?”


“Why are flies called ‘flies’?”


“I don’t know.”


“Do you think it’s because we fly?”


“Maybe.”


“Or is flying called ‘flying’ because flies can fly?”


“Jeez, Fuzz. I don’t know. You should ask Mother.”


“But Mom’s dead. Didn’t I tell you?”


“What?”


“Yeah. Mom died like an hour ago.”


“Nobody said anything to me. How did you know?”


“Juzz and Juzzette told me while we were down at the pizza box. But come on, she was thirty-three days old. I mean, father died when he was only half her age. She had to go eventually.”


“I guess. It just…I feel that we didn’t spend as much time as we should have together.”


“Well, her funeral is in a minute. Do you want to go?”


“Yes. We should.”


Five minutes later


“Goodness gracious, Buzz. When I die, please bury me the old fashioned way. In the trash can. None of this ‘vacuum’ nonsense.”


“Same with me. Seems like such a painful way to go. So, where to next?”


“Oh, look. The TV’s on.”


“Wait, Fuzz! That’s not the—”


BzzzzzzBzzzBzzzzz


“Hmm, strange. That’s not the TV.”


“Get down!”


“Oufft! Buzz!”


“Be quiet. He’s sitting just over there.”


“I know, man. Desmond the Giant is impossible to miss.”


“Do you have a death wish or something? You came here knowing that the giant sat there?”


“Relax, brother. He can’t see us.”


“Fuzz, what are you doing? Get back here now!”


“CANNONBALL!”


Plop!


“Fuzz!”


“Ahh, perfect. Come on in, Buzz. It’s warm.”


“Fuzz, what are you doing? That’s the giant’s coffee! I can’t believe you would—oh shit. Get out of there, Fuzz!”


“Whoa, what’s up with the waves?”


“Quickly! He’s going to drink!”


“What?”


“YOU”RE GOING TO DIE, NINCOMPOOP!”


“Oh, right. Hmph. Hmph. Hmmmph. Help me, brother! I can’t get out!”


“Damn you, Fuzz. Wait, I’ll try and think of something.”


“Hurry up!”


“Okay, here goes nothing.”


Bzzzzzzzzzzzuuuu—poke!


Crash!


“Ouch, my eye! Come here, you stupid fly!”


“Fly, Fuzz! Get out of here!”


“I don’t need telling, and his coming with his tin can.”


“Oh crap. We have to move, now!”


“I’ll kill you pesky flies.”


Pssssssssst


“Better luck next time.”


“Shut up, Fuzz!”


Pssssssssst


“Oh, you were so close.”


Pssssssssst


“Shit, that was our brother Tuzz back there. We have go back and help him.”


“Damn it, Fuzz. I’m sure his alright. Behind the bookcase, quickly.”


Five minutes later


“ ‘I’m sure his alright’. He’s dead, Buzz. He ain’t alright. He’s dead. D-E-A-D. Dead.”


“You have five hundred other brothers, including me. I’m sure you’ll move on. And this wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you!”


“You’re right, I’m sorry, but you know what I say? I say we should fight back. An all-out attack on the giant. I won’t stand by and allow the giant to hurt another fly.”


“Did the coffee fry your antennas? Have you gone insane? He’s a human. We live in his house. We are its pests, nothing more.”


“Then it is time that we became more than that. A time for a revolution. I swear, the human will pay for what he did, and we shall claim this house as our own.”


“Sigh, this isn’t going to end well.”


“We’ll see, brother. To arms, brothers and sisters! To arms and fly with me!”


BZZZZZZZ!


The following day


“Hey, Kristen. How you doing? Say, would it be okay if I crashed at your place for a couple of days?”


“Erm…sure, Desmond. No problem. Is something wrong?”


“Sort of. My house is getting fumigated.”


“Oh. Is it serious?”


“Nah, just a minor infestation of flies.”


“Flies?”


“Yeah.”


“Are you freaking serious? A fly infestation? How could that be even possible?”


“The extermination company asked me the exact same question.”

“Buenas noches, Padre Sanchez,” Rizal exclaimed upon the sight of his favorite teacher.

“Buenas noches, Rizal. I see you have settled down well here in Dapitan,” the Jesuit from Ateneo replied as he sat down on the wooden chair offered to him by Rizal.

“I live in a small, simple hut; I have a peaceful and fruitful life by helping with the community here, but no matter how fulfilling life may seem here, I am still in exile. I am still away from my family. How good is a life without those you love?”

Sanchez nodded. “I feel your pain, Jose. But I submit to you, this pain can be rid of rather quickly--”

“No, no, Padre. I shan’t hear more of these sermons. Padre Obach, a good man of God, had already visited me regarding this matter, but my sentiments had not changed, nor will they in the future.”

“Jose, listen to me,” Sanchez looked at his former student directly in the eye, “You know how much I love you. You are like a son to me. Understand that I now worry about you and your family. Does your family not matter to you?”

“Of course they do, Padre!”

“Then do as the government says! Retract your accusations against the friars! Denounce the Noli and the Fili. Tell the Filipinos they must follow the teachings of the church and the laws of Spain, lest you lose your life and your family!”

“What good is it for me to live if I shall live with shackles around my feet? For me to denounce all that I have written, for me to retreat in my fight against the Spanish oppression, for me to give up my battle for freedom… What will that make of me and my people? We will be nothing more than eagles with useless wings.”

It was the Jesuit’s turn to shake his head. “What good is freedom if it were to be lived without those you cherish the most? Do you not understand that the friars will do their utmost to defeat you? I tell you with certainty: You will die, and the things you fight for will be lost.”

“My death shall not be in vain, father. There would be others that would replace me.”

“They would be eliminated, just like what would happen to you, Rizal, if you will not stop this act of stubbornness.”

“Do you not realize what you are saying, Father Sanchez? For each man they slay, ten more will come against them. Let the cycle continue and soon, this nation shall feel its pain, and it will unleash its full anger. To force a child to remain in its swaddling clothes is to risk that it may return against its nurse and flee, tearing away the old rags that bind it.”

“What if those who replace you also fail? Your death shall then be in vain, and for your hardheadedness, your family shall be in sorrow.”

“What new is there? They are already in sorrow. The tyranny of the Spaniards had done that duty well and my death shall be nothing more than an exclamation point in the essay of cruelty that the Spanish church and government have given to my family.”

Father Sanchez, fearing he had lost the argument, tried to appeal to Rizal’s sanity as a final effort, and said, “Why do you wish to die so badly? And why are you so willing to drag your family with you?”

Rizal smiled. “Pray to God that He cure your blindness and see that I, my family and all the Filipinos are already dead. We are, after all, like swallows. We long for only the simple things, but our mainspring is our ability to fly. Take away our wings and we are but carcasses; Take away our flight, take away our freedom and we are but corpses.”

I've been busting my head on this "mostly dialogue" thing, which I could hardly find a way to mix with any of my current ideas. It wasn't until I saw a painting of a blue bird flying away from the egg it hatched from, that I truly felt like I could write this. Well, here it is:

Azure
[650w]

“He laid there, resting comfortably by the shade of a tree, reading a newspaper whose contents I could not understand. Fascinating.”

“Why are you narrating?”

“A tiny bluebird, tinier than the smaller ones, dropped by my nest. In fact, she was so incredibly tiny that—never-mind… she… she was big enough to peck me on the head… ouch! What was that for!?”

“You deserved that you jerk! Don’t make fun of my size!”

“Yeah yeah. Fine, why did you drop by, anyways. Why would you interrupt me while I’m in the middle of narrating this man’s exciting afternoon?”

“Ah, you know, I for one felt like visiting my reclusive friend. How’s the shortage of grasshoppers treating you lately?”

“I don’t mind it, I mostly eat the black-berries over there. You youngsters have no taste for good food it seems.”

“Youngster? Youngster? You are just three weeks older than me!”

“And thus I’ve been soaring in the skies long before you did, little one—I don’t like this, she must be up to something. I wonder what she wants… don’t tell me she’s going to feast on my berries. I’ll have to peck her out.”

“I can hear what you’re saying, and I hate blackberries.”

“She sighed deeply, and laid on the center of my nest which was devoid of eggs and chicks. I had built it for my own enjoyment, but someone’s been using it without my permission every now and then. How bothersome.”

“Can you stop that? It’s not like anyone else can hear what you’re saying.”

“That man over there seems to enjoy my endless ranting, though. By the way, how’s your partner hunt doing? Or should I say, self searching?”

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that; it’s not going well. Most of the promising bluebirds I’ve met ended up being jerks… just because I’m small…”

“Wait, don’t tell me you were…”

“I pecked them into submission, and then they ran away… what where you mumbling about?”

“No, nothing, please go on—I don’t like where this is heading, I smell pie coming out of the oven.”

“Well, not exactly. But it seems the only jerk I can get along with is you.”

“A blunt confession. Little one, you know I’m not into that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve told me that, but why?”

“Well, for starters, it’s bothersome.”

“How rude, how is such a cute little me bothersome?”

“And why do you admit to being little only when it’s convenient? But no matter, the thought of being pecked into submission gives me chills.”

“Ah, you know I’d never do that to you!”

“My narrations have been consistently interrupted lately, though.”

“Well, that’s the only exception, it’s annoying.”

“She titled her head in a cute angle. My heart could have skipped a beat were her presence not so terrifying.”

“Hey, did you just admit I was cute?”

“What a way to skip through sentences…”

“Hey daddy, look! The birds are being lovey-dovey!”

“See, little one? Thanks to your endless ranting, that man’s kid is getting the wrong idea!”

“But… haven’t you been alone? All this time resting on this cold nest, only flying out to fill your own stomach? Isn’t that lonely?”

“Ah, now she’s crying. I hate it when little birds cry, it’s unpleasant—Look, that’s a philosopher’s way of life: we sit down, think, smirk at the world’s chaos and make witty comments no one but us understands. Get it? Now stop crying.”

“Hey, why is she still crying?”

“Fine, I understand. Just stop crying.”

“Eh?”

“One condition though, no pecking, and I get some alone time once every a while. That’s as far as I can compromise.”

“That’s two conditions… but why?”

“Well, I do feel lonely. Once every while. And didn’t you say you where a cute little one? Come, let’s fly.”

Flying to Learn.




India 850 BCE


“Come Tarquilon. Come, if you want to learn.”


“I will follow, Rishi.”


“Come with me into the wild, Tarquilon and I will teach you, of the plants and of the beasts, of the spirits who haunt the woods, so that you may better serve your village.”


“I will follow, Rishi, but if you please, do not set too hard a pace, for my leg is weak.”


“Your concern is not needed Tarquilon, I know of the accident of birth which prevents you from joining the hunters, and I need a pupil who is fleet if mind, not fleet of foot.”


“I will follow, Rishi. But what of my mother?”


“You are a burden to her, Tarquilon, and she will be honoured to have a -”


“Rishi, what is that noise?”


“Run Tarquilon, run-”


“But wait Rishi, do not leave me here. Rishi? -

What is that light? It is a chariot, a chariot of the sky, the Gods come. Rishi?”

“WHY DO YOU NOT FLEE?”


“Because my leg is weak, I cannot follow.”


“ARE YOU NOT AFRAID?”


“I am in awe, Majesty, the noise, like thunder, and the fire from your chariot, but you are Gods, and I am nothing but a cripple, I should have no fear of you because I am nothing to you.”


“EXPLAIN!”


“Does the Beetle fear the Tiger? The Bird fear the mountain? To the mighty Tiger the Beetle is irrelevant, to the ancient mountain the Bird is small and fleeting.”


“YOU ARE SAGE, SAGE INDEED, WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”


“Tarquilon, your majesty.”


“AND YOU ARE A RISHI?”


“I am nothing but a cripple, your majesty, a burden to my family.”


“WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF US, TARQILON?”


“Only what the elders tell; That the sky is your home, and that you are the ones who control the storms, that your chariots move through the air, and that you are ancient and wise.”


“YES, WE ARE ANCIENT AND WISE, BUT YOUR ANSWERS HAVE GIVEN ME FRESH INSIGHT, I WOULD GRANT YOU ONE BOON.”


“A Boon? Your Majesty.”


“IT IS WITHIN OUR POWER TO RETORE YOUR LEG, IF YOU SO CHOOSE.”


“Majesty if it pleases you, then I would like to fly in your Chariot.”


“EXPLAIN.”


“If you restore my leg, I will be only the man who was once a cripple, but if you let me come with you to the sky, I will be the man who flew with Gods.”


“SAGE, SAGE INDEED. THEN COME, COME LITTLE ONE AND BEHOLD THE WONDER OF THE VIMANAS.”

*

“I have returned, why do you run?”


“Because you come from the sky, you are one of them!”


“No, I am Tarquilon still, but older.”


“You are a demon, you have taken Tarquilon's body and you will eat us in our sleep.”


“No! Once I called you Rishi, but no more. I have seen the heavens, I have sat in the sky and seen our village, our hunting grounds and ancestral home as if from the eyes of a bird. I have seen how all things are bound together, how all things are a circle. I have sat with the Gods of the sky and comprehended their wisdom. This tribe, the Valmiki were once great, and will be again. Not through war and conquest, but through learning.”


“We do not understand, Tarquilon, tell us of what you saw.”


“I will tell of what I saw, and what was revealed by the Immortal Gods, and you shall record it. Let the Sanskrit be our weapon and the Vedas our legacy. Then our people too, will achieve immortality, and be remembered until the end of all things.”.”

Here is my entry.

http://www.writingforums.com/writers...ml#post1447324

Not Who You Think It Is
639 Words


“He’s not right for you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The man you’re thinking about. He’s not...good enough for you. Not even close.”

The man in the hat pulls the seat across from her out and sits down slowly, as though waiting for her to object. Two glasses earlier she would have. He takes his hat off, a chivalrous gesture. She knows she shouldn’t respond to things like that, but she can’t help liking it a little.

“And who might you be?”

He sighs... seemingly pondering his response.

“I am Hyde.”

“Well Hyde, what makes you think you know my situation well enough to judge it?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“That sounds like a line from a movie.”

“It probably is; would you like a drink?”

“A martini please. Vodka, with an olive.”

She gets a note out of her purse and hands it to him. She is relieved when he takes it. It’s one thing to talk to a strange man in a bar, quite another to let one pay for your drink. She doesn’t like martinis that much but ordering one makes her feel like a Bond girl. She watches him walk to the bar. Not her usual type at all, not that her usual type is any good. This one is softer somehow, almost too beautiful for a man. He walks back with her martini and a tumbler half full of something amber, scotch probably.

“So?”

“So?”

He fixes his stare on the wall behind her face.

“All right then. I’m your guardian angel.”

“My?”

“You heard me.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Of course not.”

“Well, I’m not trying to convince you.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

There is a long pause, during which she looks all around the room. His gaze rests gently on her face.

“So why isn’t he good enough for me?”

“Because he’s selfish, and arrogant.”

“Mmm.”

“Not enough?”

“No offence but you kind of all are. Men I mean, not guardian angels.”

“Ok...Because he’s shagging someone else.”

She takes a big sip.

“Who?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course.”

“It’s not who you think it is.”

“If you’re really an angel...”

“Yes?”

“Never mind.”

“What do you want to know? Why am I here? Is God a woman?”

“Where are your wings?”

“They were confiscated when I told them I was coming to talk to you.”

“Really?”

He laughs. She notices his dimples.

“No. Actually I haven’t told anyone I’m here. And what is with the flying obsession? Why do you all picture us bobbing around cumulonimbus clouds, playing harps in white suits? Do you know how heavy harps are? No way could they sit on clouds without falling through.”

“So no flying?”

“If I could fly, I’d be swooping around like superman, not floating like a rubber duckie waiting for my turn to play Greensleeves. I’d probably have been so distracted chasing rockets that I would have let you screw that creepy wigged-out sleazebag Rayle.”

She blushes.

“Dodged a bullet there.”

“Small and fast, sounds accurate. Does he think you’re coming home tonight?”

“No.”

“So, maybe you should? Just to be sure...And speaking of flying, maybe it’s time you went away somewhere warm and sunny.”

“Maybe.”

He drains the rest of his tumbler, picks up his hat and holds it to his chest.

“You never know who you’ll meet on holidays.”

One too beautiful smile and he’s gone.

She gets a taxi home. It’s not who she thinks it is. It’s his secretary. It would be such a cliché if his secretary wasn’t a young, sexy brunette called Damien. She goes to Jamaica a week later and meets a man on the plane who takes his hat off when he first meets her and drinks his scotch neat. He has dimples when he smiles. He’s not her usual type.

Let’s Talk About Flying - 647 words


“Daddy!”
“Hi Shirl. So how was it?”


“Brilliant, had a great time.”
“And the flight?”


“The flight? Oh you mean Concorde. Superb, nothing like it! I got you these Concorde luggage tags and a Concorde flight bag.”
“Oooo, I’m honoured.”


“You wouldn’t believe it, London to New York in a little over three hours…. and no, my luggage didn’t end up in Bermuda!”
“Ha, but it’s not real flying!”


“What! The wonder of the modern age, fastest thing in the sky. What else are you going to call it?”
“No, it’s not real flying.”


“Oh god, you think that we should still be riding in Biplanes, like that string vest thing you used to fly?
“Actually young lady it’s a String-bag and there’s nothing wrong with the good old Sopwith Camel. That’s real flying!”


“You’re joking right? That thing would still be up in the sky long after Concorde has landed on its return flight. Probably wouldn’t even make it across the pond!”
“Speed isn’t everything my girl. I’m talking about real flying, feeling the wind rushing through your hair, that’s real flying!”


“You don’t have any hair for the wind to rush through!”
“Very funny!”


“You would have everyone wearing flying hats and goggles.”
“Yes, well that’s real flying.”


“Times change daddy, these days it’s all about getting there as quickly as possible. Shrinking the world!”
“Shrinking the world!”


“Yes, then you have more time at your destination. Much better if you only have a two week break.”
“Still not proper flying. I mean all of you sealed into an elongated toothpaste tube with a little porthole to peer out of. Sealed in against the elements so you get no sensation of flying.”


“Wrong! It’s the ultimate in luxury travel, quiet, comfortable, and fast, very fast. That’s the modern world daddy!”
“In that case I think I’ll keep my feet firmly on the ground.”


“You old stickler! It’s progress, the future, the way all flying is heading.”
“So how’d you get to Toronto? Concorde all the way?”


“Er, no. You can only fly Concorde to New York. Had to change flights at JFK.”
“Ah, so your wonder plane can’t make it to Toronto, only to New York.”


“Now you’re just being picky.”
“Ok, so what was the difference between the two flights?”


“The difference? What do you mean?”
“I mean why was Concorde so much better than the internal flight to Toronto?”


“It was clean!”
“Clean! You flew Concorde because it was clean?”


“Ah, yes, well erm. If I’m honest. You see when you arrive at Heathrow you get ushered into the Concorde lounge.”

“Ah, too separate you from the riff-raff!”


“Well sort of, and then they ply you with champagne. Lots of champagne.”
“Hang on, they ply all the passengers with champagne?”


“Er, yes. If they want it.”
“So you all end up flying this eighth wonder of the world pissed?”


“Ahem, well yes. And they give you more on the plane to boot!”
“Ah, I get it. You were sloshed on Concorde and have no idea about the other flight!”


“Well yes, it was my holiday! I just remember that Concorde was very clean by comparison.”
“So you flew at the speed of sound in this elongated toothpaste tube basically drunk?”


“Yep, and it was great!”
“But how’d you know, it was great I mean?”


“Cause it was Concorde and I’ve got the luggage tags and bag to prove it. You can’t buy these anywhere. You only get them when you fly Concorde!”
“That’s why the tickets cost so much, to pay for all of the gimmicks!”


“No, that’s the way of the world daddy. That’s what flying is like these days, shrinking the world.
“Seems to me that it’s more about relieving you of your hard earned cash so you can brag that you’ve flown on Concorde. But it’s still not proper flying!”

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