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Hark back to the golden age of the Macon and the Akron and recall the tragic images captured on a crackled old newsreel. (Kudos if you have even the slightest idea what's going on here ...)
Another in a series of 365-word tales, inspired by the
thursday_prompt
Just for once, it's real.
— I am falling falling from this immense height looking up at the blue of the clean clear sky my limbs weightless the air so strong it blows against my face tingling it teases I’m so very cold cold as I fall falling from the skies falling down to earth tumbling as the air grows less black less dark more blue more real though I fall slowly I fall but now the ground nearby —
Horrified onlookers howl the letter “O”. Noses and eyes connect to arms and paws as they point and prod at the falling. Watchers moan rounded sounds of shock – or simply scream – suffused as they are with the thrill of another’s mortality as, pathetically, they chart his nameless, unpowered plummet: a uniformed gnat of humanity descending through the thunderous cobalt skies.
A sketch to draw in every observer: proclaiming: Watch and Admire the Awfulness! The cacophony of hand-cranked motion picture cameras commit every inch of his descent forever upon silver-soaked celluloid. Though guided by another, the unblinking eye projects the tale for years thereafter, the misfortune of one allowing that medium repeated moments of glory as – ad infinitum – it vomits the light: no Lucifer, though it, not he, is the light-bringer of note. Cinemas, ale houses, canteens: where it shall be, so shall be the tumbler, the fallen, only his last seconds shared before packs of mouth-breathers who gasp and cheer and enjoy the circus of spectacle: every last sensationalist imagining they themselves floating downwards without fear, hurtling through space not emptied; pirouetting featherlike as the earth thunders towards them, pushing air against their skin until it is again as taut as their lost days of youth. Grace and poise abandoned, limbs mere spokes, all hope lost. Not a thought of 'he', but only of 'me'.
On a rope from an airship: dangling long ago from beneath the belly of a weightless behemoth in the sky, a sailor captured by air that should have carried him across water, was carried into the empty void.
As blessed solidity disappears from beneath my feet, I start, recalling his perfect moment of free fall in clear air.
Another in a series of 365-word tales, inspired by the
thursday_promptoOoJust for once, it's real.
— I am falling falling from this immense height looking up at the blue of the clean clear sky my limbs weightless the air so strong it blows against my face tingling it teases I’m so very cold cold as I fall falling from the skies falling down to earth tumbling as the air grows less black less dark more blue more real though I fall slowly I fall but now the ground nearby —
Horrified onlookers howl the letter “O”. Noses and eyes connect to arms and paws as they point and prod at the falling. Watchers moan rounded sounds of shock – or simply scream – suffused as they are with the thrill of another’s mortality as, pathetically, they chart his nameless, unpowered plummet: a uniformed gnat of humanity descending through the thunderous cobalt skies.
A sketch to draw in every observer: proclaiming: Watch and Admire the Awfulness! The cacophony of hand-cranked motion picture cameras commit every inch of his descent forever upon silver-soaked celluloid. Though guided by another, the unblinking eye projects the tale for years thereafter, the misfortune of one allowing that medium repeated moments of glory as – ad infinitum – it vomits the light: no Lucifer, though it, not he, is the light-bringer of note. Cinemas, ale houses, canteens: where it shall be, so shall be the tumbler, the fallen, only his last seconds shared before packs of mouth-breathers who gasp and cheer and enjoy the circus of spectacle: every last sensationalist imagining they themselves floating downwards without fear, hurtling through space not emptied; pirouetting featherlike as the earth thunders towards them, pushing air against their skin until it is again as taut as their lost days of youth. Grace and poise abandoned, limbs mere spokes, all hope lost. Not a thought of 'he', but only of 'me'.
On a rope from an airship: dangling long ago from beneath the belly of a weightless behemoth in the sky, a sailor captured by air that should have carried him across water, was carried into the empty void.
As blessed solidity disappears from beneath my feet, I start, recalling his perfect moment of free fall in clear air.
oOo
Category Story / Human
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 119 x 120px
File Size 339 B
Listed in Folders
Well, you made me laugh hard. Unfortunately, it wasn't the story. It was the keywords. "Crypticasfuck". Yeah. That made me laugh.
Well written. And yeah, it is rather cryptic. It puzzled me until the end. And now I have to do some research myself regarding this incident. Good work.
Well written. And yeah, it is rather cryptic. It puzzled me until the end. And now I have to do some research myself regarding this incident. Good work.
Your 365 word challenges remind me of a super-short-story website I frequented for almost a decade. It limited the writer to 1024 characters, including punctuation, returns and spaces. I learned much about choosing words wisely. Constraint, as you have shown, brings out some really inspired writing.
These were the dragons of my childhood. They were immense, rare, graceful and deadly. I read every book the library had, built models and dreamt of what such a flight would be like. I memorized the litany of the slain and would sometimes mutter them to myself: "R-101, Akron, Macon, Shenandoah, Hindenburg." I still wonder at the image of the Los Angeles standing on her nose at her mooring mast.
Imagine my terrible disappointment as a 12 year old after getting excited about something called 'Led Zeppelin' coming to my home town and being told it was a rock group.
There's something decidedly disturbing about how you connect those weather-fragile craft and the metal-and-fabric carcasses they left behind. I suppose it might be the fact that they moved so slow. Death by dirigible was quite unique. Planes barely gave you time to soil yourself before you passed. Ships let you slide slowly into a medium in which one could survive with luck. But slow floating balloons with tons of steel in their bellies combined the worst of the two; a slow descent toward a jealous ground that reclaimed a body from where it had no business.
It's like reading about Ninja ballerinas. And I can think of no higher praise for such work.
Imagine my terrible disappointment as a 12 year old after getting excited about something called 'Led Zeppelin' coming to my home town and being told it was a rock group.
There's something decidedly disturbing about how you connect those weather-fragile craft and the metal-and-fabric carcasses they left behind. I suppose it might be the fact that they moved so slow. Death by dirigible was quite unique. Planes barely gave you time to soil yourself before you passed. Ships let you slide slowly into a medium in which one could survive with luck. But slow floating balloons with tons of steel in their bellies combined the worst of the two; a slow descent toward a jealous ground that reclaimed a body from where it had no business.
It's like reading about Ninja ballerinas. And I can think of no higher praise for such work.
Your sentences twirl with the elegance of dandelion seeds scattering about by a subtle, spring breeze. You could write even gibberish so captivating that a time would turn its gaze and pause in awe. Each letter represents a soul on this planet because everything is essential. Your lack of waste inspires me not only to write effectively, but to live life effectively. My furry family, let us strive to treat others with the same care that Metassus treats words.
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