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Posts Tagged ‘flash fiction’

I am Seeing Eye an Ambassador-at-large. No big deal, I tell you. The Big Spirit sent me as with Appetite, another spirit,- you don’t see him unless you are spreading a feast. Over there you shall see my comrade who cannot get enough of anything to be heard. While man over there is blowing the thigh bone of an antelope, he is all shook up, But I am on my way to check out the caves in Dordogne France. For me art of man is a big deal. I almost wished I could have been a man for Lascaux was beyond belief. Ever since it is writ large across my Spirit world.
I watched this statue in marble, by Phidias and the Parthenon,- and I will be blowed if ever I could chisel my way around a block of stone. What beauty! what elan! I almost cried for vexation. Only if I were a man! Many of my fellow-spirits tried to say the carnage at Marathon, Salamis, burning of Persepolis was an error in judgment. Oh no the seeing eye shall not feel a thing except a work of art. It must come from somewhere, O man, you be godlike,- sacking of Rome or Constantinople is child’s play. But tell me, where have you hidden the key to your art? There is the village of Guernica and airmen like swarms of gnats go to it,-it is being pulverized! It is a sight, I admit. But Picasso,- but I don’t know the fellow, his canvass almost made my gorge rise. His rage almost became mine. Impossible I cannot feel but with my eye, -even with smoke and ashes flying around. I feel my eye smarting but where is art! it shall salve my eye. I shall not complain.
Ah now I see the entire earth going up in smoke. One big conflagration and nothing but tongues of fire,- united colors of Benetton as the fella said, white heat blue orange palette of floating tints surfing the shock waves again and again. No masterpiece more worthy of man I suppose I shall ever see. What the hell I just witnessed his art.
Benny

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“Come master, I shall lead you to a seat of honour myself. My great patron has opened his doors and finest wine from Cyprus must flow. Yes indeed!” I being a stranger did not think twice. I followed my cicerone into the cool hall marbled and gilded along the cornice,- and beneath the unbroken band and between pillars festooned with rose garlands I could see the Aegean sea purple, and looking the other way the tables of viands and wine cups by the reclining lounges were lordly. Men from strange lands took their ease. The host a portly man, a cross between Midas and Lucullus, who upon seeing me came towards me and greeted, ‘Gods above and titans below but mead within our hands.’ I thanked and said, “May we live to enjoy work of our hands ever.’ My guide had meanwhile found the seat of honor and made himself scarce. He was a parasite and having done some useful service he was entitled to his share of the feast.
My host led me to my seat and next he settled himself. Pouring wine he slowly pressed me to share my experience for the benefit of all. Having quaffed enough drinks and had eaten I said,” I made so much wealth which was easier done than my three sons who having received their share went their ways. One son went in search of the world to come and that was the last of him; so I went in search of the son who went underworld and may gods forgive if he have lost his way. But the last one who was the least adventuresome decided to find his own occupation.”
The host said, “If you want to find your son, your task is a wild goose chase.” How shall you find him? Does he carry any easily identifiable feature to pick him from the crowd?” I said, “He is tightlipped except when has had more wine than he can carry. He is sure to sing the most outrageous imitation of catcalls. In between he would add crowing of a rooster as though it made his silliness any better.” Instantly the entire audience turned their necks to one corner and sure enough I understood why. There was my son ready to perform. He barely could stand but there he was my cicerone for the evening, drunk as a lord. I would not have recognized himself,-but sure as Zeus is Jove, my son in flesh! his performance was tour de force. How did he achieve it I could not say.
Benny

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One night I jumped from my sleep for a thought had struck me. I woke up my wife of 40 years and asked,” With millions of migrant passing through our fields does anyone think of the plague that are coming into our midst?” Silence. My worry had become her worry now while I rattled of the names, ebola, malaria, rotavirus Zika and the whole flotilla of unseen enemy gathering momentum. My wife in the end stopped me to say,”You are foaming at the mouth, dear.” In the end I said, tomorrow I shall visit our city fathers. We cannot rest till we heard from them direct.”

Next morning I went to the city hall. Surprise oh surprise, the whole city hall  was now housed in a new edifice all chrome and glass. “You get what you see” the sign at the entrance did not exactly gladden my heart any more than the cleaning lady down on her knees and she said without even looking up, “there is none in”. I did not take that for an answer. I was already feeling nameless pains from nameless pandemic virus all going on at once. The offices were fully automated, and a state-of- the art robot sitting behind a table. There was a notice: “Ask me.”

I asked what was uppermost in my mind. “Ask me another.” the robot replied. I persisted till  the robot replied for twentieth time the same reply in the same placid tone.

Before I go berserk I thought it better to flee. I fled and the cleaning lady had not moved an inch where I left behind last time. I stopped squarely before her and barked, “You saw me last time didn’t you?” No response. I bent down and spat out “Answer me.” In the end she said askance,”I only take order from my boss.”

“You mean the robot inside?” She mumbled. I persisted since I saw a drop of tear welling on her left eye. “At least she is a daughter of Eve.’I asked,”From who does the robot take orders?”

She said, “From  the man upstairs.” I ran  before I could lose my marbles.

Benny

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Among my fellow practitioners I was at the same spot at the same rush hour as I did every other 364 day, pan handling. I scraped my pan with my wooden spoon. Every other beggar was doing the same. The noise must have ratcheted up a few decibels the cop on the beat  swiveled around to bark, “Beat it.”

“This aint drum ,-and no retreat either,” I said like a pro.

Seeing his sickly smile I said, ” I found a rabbit foot this morning. A lucky day for me, Pennies from heaven, sure. ” I told him to stick around. Poor fellow he beat a hasty retreat.

Hardly I went back to scraping all the beggars were scraping their pans and I felt I was the conductor and the orchestra was there to follow suit.

The beggars said, “Success smiles on us fellows!”

Suddenly there was a bang! ear splitting one at that. Pieces of people whatever left of them flying before their legs could catch up with them. What carnage! what bedlam.

Before we caught on what was happening a miracle!

Our pans were filled to brim with nails, ball bearings and iron rivets and what not. We beggars looked at the days earnings . No word was necessary. All that metal would fetch a couple of thousand pounds. No pennies from heaven. Who cares?

Scraping pans louder brings luck for beggars everywhere, I believe.

benny

 

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“At the Creation Time each life form was allotted equal levels of energy to which behemoths complained. Their complaint was, “You have counted us equal with insects which are so many.” “Our energy level is same..”
“Trim yourself to make the most of it.” Advised the Keeper of the Celestial Park.
Taking heed of his advice they became in course of time, elephants which were half the size of their forefathers. Complaints of injustice did not come from the behemoths alone. Bees were angry too. They saw mites lolling whole day among the herds of cattle. They complained to the Celestial Keeper that holding same levels of energy with those lazy blood suckers was unfair. “We buzz all day and by sundown we are a wreck!”
“Make your constant toil, something to remember by.”
The result was that they began producing honey which pleased all. “Give them bees, whatever energy left of mine,” said bears who loved it above everything else.
“Why such kindness?” the Keeper could not understand.
“I am thinking of my cubs.” One wise old bear said,” perhaps self interest. Call what you will.”

In every action and reaction energy is carried across. Every cause and every effect in the loom of Cosmic Nothingness works non-stop. How the wicked prosper by downright villainy stands out. Simple folks believe they are benefited by their lawlessness. But how long? The upright and simple folks also prosper with energy as in this story. Can the bears or flowers thank enough the bees for their yeoman service?
Perhaps a supernova scatters energy suddenly upping the chances of survival for some weak species. Laws of Compensation and Negation are moral co-valence of Supreme Intelligence.
benny

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Thank Heaven!
Rabbi Benn Weiss was waiting for me at the sidewalk. Cock-eyed Happy Place catered to anyone who had a certain style. The raffish sailors frequented there as well as beggars who paused in between panhandling for a swig. They paid in style of course with the money they cadged from the customers. Anyone with the style, I mean those who had money, got attention. When I reached the Rabbi he had just disposed a beggar who claimed had acted in the production of South Pacific.
“ There is nothing like a dame.” I crooned knowingly. Benn Weiss shrugged his shoulders and suddenly he said in alarm, “ You look as if seen a ghost!” I explained after having downed a couple of shots of whiskey, “ I suddenly remembered Gigi!” My friend looked perplexed.
“ Remember Maurice Chevalier singing, ‘Thank heaven for little girls?’ I was just twelve and was in love with Leslie Caron myself.”
The Rabbi was listening closely. “ Oh Jake you’re a romantic.”
“I went on singing for days the same number till my father kicked me in the seat of my knickers.
“So you mooned and was in love. So what?”
“ If I sang ‘Thank Heaven for little girls’ now like I did then, would not I be thought of being a closet paedophile or something?” I said.
benny

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“Ecco homo!” Rabbi Weiss one morning exclaimed laying aside his papers. I waited for him to explain which, as I had anticipated, he did. He patted his luxuriant white beard and said, “ Mattan this Armenian Jew! He is now become the Mayor. I had long ago warned him of coming to a bad end. Now he has gone and proved me wrong!”
That name seemed to ring a bell. “ Wasn’t his grand father who ended up in a gulag?” The rabbi nodded.
I added, “And a terrible poet to boot. He wrote, ‘Lament from the Lost Ark.’ Remember?”
“ Who doesn’t know the lines, Lark, lark is it you? / It is me again; / I’m set down as Cain/
My love for Mark it’s true. And so on.” I quoted from memory.
“Please refrain from quoting his lines while we call on Mattan this afternoon,” Benn Weiss cautioned me. I replied, “ Mum is the word.”
“Once his father was so worried about him.” Rabbi Weiss ruminated, “ that he would do such a thing as serve the public.” “Isn’t serving the public a good thing?”
“Yes, Jake,” my friend continued,” Not in case of Mattan. He will beggar the public funds as he did with his father’s life savings.”
“So we are going to meet a crook?” Rabbi Weiss was deep in thought. “I shall not quote poetry.” I assured my friend, ”Perhaps a joke or two when the time calls for it?”
The rabbi nodded his head.
Later in the evening while the mayor and the rabbi had exhausted the topics I asked,” Have you heard about a fellow who stole the white elephant of the King of Siam for a lark? When the law caught up with him he could only say, ‘It was all a mistake, fellows!’
“He is now in Sing- Sing on account of a lark.”
benny

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