Remains. (sci fi flash fiction)

Standard

They were almost in sight now. He craned his head to see, the translucent walls of the craft enabling perfect vision. He glimpsed something far ahead a dingy grey/brown splurge on the horizon contrasting with the intense greens with which he had always been surrounded.

He’d never totally believed it, couldn’t comprehend this side of his own humanity, but there it was before his eyes a vast wasteland of decaying iron and concrete. Here and there a feeble tree or bush strove to bring life to the empty mounds, shriveled and corrupted. No, the “trees here were of another nature, bare metal poles and girders, once the support frames of the towers that had been inhabited, what they had been taught was a “city”, a place innumerable humans dwelled encased in glass and concrete, brick and steel. It was beyond his young comprehension.

It was mandatory to make this trip before taking on an adult role in the community, to learn from the mistakes, to take paths of peace, to understand where greed and anger could lead, to be content with the simple life of forest and lake, grasslands and sea. They were safe now, but the lesson had been learned at great cost. It must always be remembered. Hence this trip and so many others as each generation came of age.

The pilot inclined his hand and the vehicle circled whirling back towards the welcoming green haze on the horizon. He of course had no need of the craft, could have been there in an instant. The vehicle was for them, the earthbound, forged of the immense power and light of the being before them. He had always been in awe of the angels.

The Wishing Tree. (Flash fiction)

Standard

from August 2014

Song Bird Songs

oak

An ancient oak rests among the elms and birches. Its branches  gnarled and twisted, the trunk thick and ridged. It’s very old. Children have built a platform where its trunk splits into thick limbs. A boy fashioned rope ladder dangles from a planked room housed with a tiny window. A bucket hangs on knotted rope above a flower bed nestled between roots and garlands of fresh blossoms, and vines hang from its branches. You can tell the children adore the tree and the tree for its part seems to take pleasure in the children and their games.
Long has it stood here! In ages past they used to call it “the wishing tree” and many a wish it heard whispered, long ago. The whisperers are gone now, waiting in the earth, but the tree lives on. It sees the whishes come and go. It alone has seen them manifest upon…

View original post 130 more words