Category: Flashfiction

The Reading Man

Within view of the famous temple, a man sat reading under a tree.
‘Are you reading science-fiction?’

Within view of the famous temple in the forest, a man sat under a tree, reading. Despite his shaven head, visible under his hoodie, and lean monk-like frame (which wouldn’t be surprising considering where I was), I noticed that he wore a Fitbit. His eyes remained on his Kindle.
I wanted to ask him about material possessions rubbing up against a monastic lifestyle, but didn’t since I don’t speak Japanese. On the other hand, I didn’t want to walk on down the track and make the hard climb up to the temple just yet. So I decided to wait.
I crouched opposite the reading man, and remained silent. The man continued reading. I was curious – to know more about this man on a forest path, needing to know what he was reading about.

He looked up, as if he’d noticed me for the first time although no one else had come up or down the path other than me. He began speaking suddenly, as if he was merely picking up a conversation that we’d been right in the middle of.
‘One by one, everyone is leaving the planet.’
I lost my balance and had to place my hands on the soil to steady myself. He’d spoken in English. There was an accent, but in English nevertheless.
‘Excuse me? What was that again?’
‘One by one. We are leaving the planet continuously.’
‘Are you reading science-fiction?’
‘No. That’s not science-fiction. Us leaving one by one is a fact of life. We’ve never stopped the business of leaving.’
‘Or arriving,’ I said presently, as it clicked.
The monk looked pleased.
‘Now you get it. There is nothing else to understand.’

photo from unsplash.com by Jingda Chen

Another Planet

If this is your first trip to this planet…

Every planet is different. But each one, when we are gliding at this height, also has similarities. Beautiful, mysterious. Carrying much hope and potential.

If this is your first trip to this planet, you’d think there was nothing solid below, only a gaseous entity enveloped in multiple layers of assorted clouds. Sheets of white sail by in the upper reaches of the atmosphere. The late evening sun, warm and unhindered, lights the peaks of the clouds, while leaving other parts of the sailing behemoths in shade. A kind of powder blue / indigo lighting creates the illusion, however momentary, that we actually, physically, are flying over a mountain instead of a collection of water vapors.


The wind at this height really stretches the clouds out. I see a pair looking like crocodiles lounging on the surface of a river while soaking in the sun. Other clouds are thick, absorbing the full light of the sun and reflecting it back like giant, glowing cotton candies. As we watch, there now appear pieces of darker blue, among tattered puffs of white. I can’t see what’s there, and the ghostly light and the sheer drop below, makes it hard to tell from our vessel.

Then, as we make a turn, I see – in between the shreds of clouds, past the glowing light, way way below – what appears to be a body of water. A lake perhaps, glinting sunlight off its surface, glass-like. Very small from up here, but clearly containing a reflective substance. It could be water. That would explain the abundance of clouds. And then, around the possible water body, I steal a glimpse – as clouds below move this way and that – of what seems to my eyes to be not just an absence of vegetation, but exposed soil. My heart sinks in recognition, as moving clouds obscure the view once again. Exposed soil may mean one thing: Inhabitants. Such a patch around a water body, if visible at this distance, might also mean large scale land-clearing. It might mean exploitation.

If this is your first trip to this planet, the hope and potential you feel is fragile and may soon be gone. This might turn out to be just another planet.

photo from unsplash.com by Tom Barret

The Lifer

I sat with her during the break, away from the rest, and asked her what had happened. She kept her eyes lowered. It seems, for something she’d done, they had taken away her privileges.

This is how I remember her. She spoke always in a voice that never rose beyond a mildly raised tone, even when angry. She fit the same sized prison uniform, never gaining or losing significant weight. I’d been visiting her for several years and her weight, skin tone, the way she tied up her hair, her walk, had all remained constant. Sure, as the years ticked by, I noticed the gradual increase in the grey strands in her hair. And, when I sat opposite her under the sodium light of the visitors’ room, her crow’s feet grew more noticeable each year. She was serving a life sentence. I knew why but what got her into prison is not important for this conversation.

Continue reading “The Lifer”