Tag Archives: mantra

Leaf on the Water

You are a leaf on the water. Rippling, drifting with the current. You sail. Though you were once a leaf on the breeze, you are now a leaf on the water. Back then, you drifted with the current as you do now, but you were free to go up and down as well as side to side. Then, you were always falling. Now you are grounded. You are a leaf on the water. Surfing, held fast by the rocks. You drown. Though you were once a leaf on a tree, you are now a leaf on the water. Back then, you were held by careful branches, carried and fed by your tree, your mother. Then, you were ready to fall. Now you are grounded. You are a leaf in the mud.

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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XII

Mantra

Everyone in the world is dead. I know in my heart that everyone in the world is dead. The countries are all dead. The birds are all dead. The trees are all dead. There are no eyes to see, no ideas to believe, no atmosphere to breathe. Everything in my home is dead. I know in my heart that everyone in my home is dead. My fern is dead. My dog is dead. My family is dead. I have no fabric to feel, no bacteria to digest, no heart to know that everyone in the world is dead. I am dead.

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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XI

Door off

Some nights I want to tear the door off the hinges. Some nights I want to wrap the blinds ’round my fists, shatter the windows. Some nights I want to tear down the bannister, ram my shoulder against the walls, and bite a hole in your throat.

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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XI

Balance

“Concentrate on the middle,” he murmured to himself. “Concentrate on the middle,” he said again, steadying his rapid heart. In his mind, he split himself in half, imagined a line down the middle. He stood up straight, eyes closed, feeling out the bottoms of his feet, which he also split through the middle with his thoughts. Taking even breaths, he gripped his balance pole, finally looking again at the long stretch of rope before him. He envisioned a bright, thin line, splitting the rope in two cords. Now he had found his center and the center of his goal, he aligned them with the center of everything. Strangely, this was the easiest feat once he knew his boundaries. He placed the center of his foot on the center of the rope, keeping his head centered with the universe.

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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session X

Drink Your Jager Bomb Slowly

Drink your Jager bomb slowly. Others will try to tell you to “man up” and chug it, but you’ll know better. You must savor every drop, and only when you get to the bottom of the glass will you know what the meaning of life truly is. If you rush it, you won’t understand a thing. Others will chant meaningless phrases, trying to force you from your path of enlightenment, but don’t let them. They just want to fuck you. Women understand this truth in a much more tangible way, so they’re already a step ahead. Still, don’t let the others tell you to chug. Drink you Jager bomb slowly and the answers will present themselves to you.

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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session VIII

Jupiter’s Migraine

Troy had never felt so tired in his life. Little pins of fire sieged the back of his eyeballs. The clock above the board always ticked an inch backwards before leaping forwards. It drove Troy nuts. He couldn’t stand the useless despair and stupid joy ripping him apart at both ends. Troy repeated a mantra in his head: llama, llama, llama, llama, duck! The needling voice of Troy’s teacher melted. All his peers melted away, too—like ice cream off a cone. Troy felt top heavy, his head swelling to the size of Jupiter. His head crashed into the desk and just kept going.

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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session VIII

Heart Sutra

Part of the Heart Sutra goes like this: “in emptiness there is no form, no feelings, no perceptions, no formations, no consciousness; no eye, no ear, no nose, no tongue, no body, no mind…” I always saw this sutra as a preparation for death, nothingness, the end of all suffering. This is why I gave up on Buddhism.

More than anything, I wish to live my life calmly, without suffering or strife. However, I cannot tolerate dying like that. I want to scream and cry at the end. I want to tear at the bedsheets. I want to live forever, or maybe just one more second if I can will it. And that one second will be the best my lungs have ever sucked in before the air is gone forever. That is my Heart Sutra.

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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session VIII