Dec 9, 2016 Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings
Nightmare-Dream-Nightmare
(What I Wrote Before Going to Sleep Last Night)
©December 8th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I’m dreaming about an alternate world, a parallel reality.
In this world, The Drmpfster flickers like an image in a hazy, half-remembered nightmare, the kind from which you awake, your mouth open in a soundless scream. You look around and drink in all the peace and beauty that you know exists in this world. Then, you notice your mouth is dry and you go downstairs to get a drink of water. Sipping slowly, you stand – while your heart stops hammering and goes on to its more measured rhythm – gazing out your kitchen window, to see a landscape flooded in moonlight, and the promise of a glorious tomorrow.
You know that when this morrow comes, you will not be wasting time on FB and news articles, scanning madly like a crazed thing for any kind of news that’s good. When this morrow comes, the trees will glow brightly. Birds will sing, and bees will go about their bee-business.
In this world, when the morrow comes, the voices of cheerful children and parents and grandparents and other grown-ups of all races will be part of the air you breathe.
In this parallel world, there are no oil-spills, no pipelines, no dying seas, no loss of ocean life, no species disappearing, no earthquakes caused by human activity, no lack of rich, organic food.
In this world people will help those who fall, or are hurting, and songs will be sung while the usual scenes of living and striving play out, but without that sense of hideous malevolence that looms over us like the blooming of a darkness that cannot be understood.
You stand and envision this world, and smile when you remember what the morrow will bring. Your certainty in the parallel universe is diamond-bright.
And then, the dream fades, and the flickering nightmare world rushes back in like a loathsome, disease-flecked tide, bearing on its crest the Destroyer Of Worlds.
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Tags: #Dream, #Nightmare, #originaldreamvignette
May 26, 2016 Friday Fictioneers, Original Flash Fiction, Uncategorized
Dream a Dream of Love
May 26th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
As the waves sweep towards these rocks where he stands, he dreams.
He is holding his beloved in his arms, she of the gossamer hair and glimmering eyes, of the breath sweet as wildflowers, she of the voice like the sighing sea-breeze, of the laughter that broke upon his heart, like the waves breaking upon these rocks.
He dreams she loved him and he loved her back, but in time, his heart turned hard.
When he left, she walked into the sea.
Dreaming, he mourns, as the water surges around him.
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With thanks to our beloved Fairy Blog-Mother, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, for hosting Friday Fictioneers, and for today’s beautiful photo-prompt.
Tags: #Dream, #FridayFictioneers, #Love, #Original 100-word Flash Fiction based on a photo-prompt, #Sea
May 24, 2016 Original Flash Fiction, Original Short Story, The Daily Post
Dream-Song
©May 23rd, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Out of the dust rose Dream.
And Dream held in her palm a flower of darkness, gathering her raiment of chaos around her body. She stood tall and black, full of stars in her pockets, and full of inchoate longing, for she was all alone, and loneliness wasn’t yet born.
She looked around her, saw no one, and yearned blindly for that which had no name.
A song arose in her, full of hunger for someone to hear her.
And Dream sang a song that wound around all the worlds there were and the worlds to come, her song a whispering thread of shining silver that edged the darkness, to light the way for Someone.
Her song held stories that stirred in many minds, stories of things to be, stories of love and death, and suffering and peace.
One day, her song came whispering into the mind of a man who had no eyes to see with. He spent his days begging on the streets, singing a tuneless song about loss and loneliness. Out of pity, people fed him, and clothed him, but they would have no more to do with him, for they feared his misery and his loneliness, for these clung to him like a shadow.
Into this mind, Dream blew her song, and into his lap, she dropped the flower of darkness, and the man who was lonely now knew he had found someone.
And Dream wound lovingly into his world and brought him the gift of seeing into, and beyond, what was there, so that when the blind man lay down at night on the wretched sidewalk where he spent his days begging, he saw stars and a sky that went all the way into him.
And his song changed.
He sang of the beauty of life, of the beauty of love, of his companion whom no one could see. He sang of stars and sky, of the universe and of friendship. He sang like one possessed, and now the people reviled him, saying, “Surely he must be mad, for he sings of things that he cannot see, nor know nothing of.” And they beat him about the head and shoulders, even as he sang.
He cried out at first, but they didn’t hear, so loud was the clamour around him. He sang louder and louder. They berated him loudly and beat him some more. He sang louder still, with broken and bleeding voice, about mercy.
Now, tired of beating him, the people went away, saying, “He is possessed of the devil. See how he sings about that which he cannot know!” They cautioned children to stay away from him, when some, touched by his song, and moved by his plight, tried to go close and listen.
Nobody fed him any more, for they were afraid of the blind man with his unending song. And now, they felt a darkness closing in on all of them.
Bloody and crazed, the blind man sang in sun and darkness, in rain and wind for seven days and seven nights. Now, his song changed, and he sang of blood and war, and spite and hatred.
Dream watched from afar. And she suffered, because she knew what he was becoming, and why. She had no way to stop him, and her heart was sore. For, she had sung to him, and caused him to sing.
On the seventh night, the man died.
The people of the city caused his body to be thrown far from the city gates for the vultures to feast on. They were afraid, and did not know why.
And Dream watched, with quickening breath.
Suddenly, there was movement beside her. She turned, and caught her breath. For there, in front of her, arrayed in gold and red, bigger than the worlds she saw, stood the blind man whom she had driven mad. With smoky eyes, he smiled at her, and held out his hand. She stepped back.
“You came to me,” he said, and his voice was soft. “You sang to me. I am yours.”
“What do you call yourself?” asked Dream.
“Ah, but surely you know the answer to that!” smiled the Man.
And she did.
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Written in response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Dream
Tags: #AllegoricalFiction, #DailyPrompt, #Dream, #OriginalShortStory, #TheDailyPost
Apr 5, 2016 NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Street
Street-Dream
©April 5th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Gliding through the streets ‘tween dusk and dawn
Sliding past your eyes; you look; they’re gone.
Shining through your gaze ‘tween noon and night
Finding eyes so glazed, it’s hard to think right.
He walks, she walks, and they walk all in line.
When seen by you, or them, they all decline
Your pity, charity, and silver dime –
What they want is some of your free time.
Do you have time to spare, O Brother mine?
Do you have time to spare O Mother mine?
Do you have time to spare, O Sister mine?
Do you have time, as I stand in this line?
The street is harsh, and full of hearts that beat
A clock that ticks and ticks, but no hands meet.
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Submitting simultaneously to The Daily Post and to NaPoWriMo.
Tags: #Dream, #sonnet, #Street, #The Daily Prompt, #TheDailyPost, #Time