these plants

[Published in "Fast Forward: The Mix Tape, A Collection of Flash Fiction, Volume Three".

http://fastforwardpress.org/vols.html

http://www.amazon.com/Mix-Tape-Nancy-Stohlman/dp/0981785220 ]


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The first time I saw green shoots growing out of my skin, I pruned them with a pair of scissors, went to sleep, and though no more about it.

But by the next morning, they were back. So I watered them under the tap. The flowers started to grow. They grew so fast that I could see it happening. I went out into the garden. The flowers grew up, above the fence, above the streetlights, above my house. They grew past the clouds, up into the sky where you couldn't see them any more.

That afternoon, a young man came along and asked if he could climb my stalks, up to the flowers. He said he wanted to see what was up there. I said okay.

In the next few days, lots more people climbed my stalks. I watched them disappear, one by one, through the clouds.

I kind of wanted to go up there too, but I couldn't because they were my flowers and you can't climb yourself. There'd be nothing to hold on to.

music to feel cold to.

[A short story. It's a little large to post on a blog, so I've put it up for download at this link:

http://www.megaupload.com/?d=IOLELDW2

It's in an MS Word format that should work for most people - but if you're having trouble, please email me.]


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An excerpt:

I press play again, and lean closer. It's night. Nothing but trees. The camera pans to the right. You can hear the wind whistling through the branches, blowing ice into the air. Silver dust. The picture creeps on, inching to the right. More trees.

There. Something - small, moving through the wood. The camera zooms in, struggles to find focus. There's a figure in the distance, walking slowly, hard to make out but definitely there. My face nearly touches the screen. It could be, I think. It really could be.

I press play again, eyelids drooping. Trees, slow pan. Ice and glitter. I am asleep.

In the morning, I wake up to the news that the world's temperature has dropped another degree.

postcards from strangers

[When I was in Japan, someone gave me a whole pack of postcards to places I'd never been. I decided to write made-up messages on them, from made-up people. Then I posted them to strangers. Maybe they'll think that "I" got the address wrong, and maybe then they'll think they're getting a brief insight into other people's lives.

Or maybe they'll realise as soon as they see Japanese postcards with English stamps on them. Who knows.]

This is the view from our outpost. Do you remember it, Anya? I took the picture late last night; Ryunosuke made it into a postcard in about five minutes. He's a wizard with his Mac, I swear. I'm doing okay, just a bit nervous, that's all. Not long to go now. I'll be back soon. See you then - Nick.

I know you'll like this picture, Jean. The rescue vehicles finally arrived! I'll be back soon, maybe before this card. I can't believe how small the research centre looks.....strange to think I'll never go back, after all this time. But I'm dying to come home. Until then, your loving father.

Emiko, have you ever been to Kyushu? You'd love it here. The flowers and grass go on for hours, miles in every direction. They take you round on small wooden carts, old rickety things that clatter as they go. Maybe I'll take you here someday. See you soon - Nick.

David. They took this picture straight after the frost. It's already in all the papers.....I couldn't believe it, but I guess it is pretty. We were going back to the inn at the time. Got caught right in the middle of it. We hid underneath a bush to escapr the worst of the wind, but I swear we still nearly froze to death. Oh well. It's a story, I suppose. See you soon. Nick.

Hi Mikhail! See those trees on the front? They're Sakurajima fire trees. Burning hot to the touch! I think it developed as a defence machanism against squirrels. Pretty cool, but I wish I'd known about it beforehand. See you soon! Nick.

Jane, you can't imagine how I felt when I woke up here, with no memory of how or why I arrived. It's coming back to me now... I'm trying to feel angry, but I understand why you did it. I don't know when I'll be back. I don't really feel like leaving right now. One day. Nick.