I simply cannot human any longer. I feel I must request of thee, oh Universe, to free my spirit from this fleshy casing. Perhaps, even, if you wish to further ease my discomfort, you might remove, also, my soul from existence. Hide it safely away for the day when I can, once again, human.
How lovely the thought is of this world in which to simply exist.
Might I be a the ocean waves for several days? The ones out deep, rolling, alone. The fish are no obstruction for me as waves. They merely show to say hello and then good day before they swim away. I'll be the ocean waves, for the salt upon my lips should float a thousand ships!
Might I be the rushing wind? Oh please, Universe, Friend; make me the wind. Oh to be the breath of the Earth! Blowing in and out of perforation, whipping around solid mass, caressing the curves of what I cannot move, and moving in curves what does not withstand. I'll be the rushing wind, for I am rushing to my end.
Might I be the mighty tree that towers over all things? Of wood and earth and water, fearing only fire. This version of me shall touch both earth and sky. Fluidity in solidity, I see no other way to ease this great pain of sentience. I'll be the mighty tree to hug the wind that brushes up against me.
Might I be the spark that ignites the dancing flame? Oh to be fire! I would use my flickering, flailing, frame to see the shadows that I might inspire. Fire is light, heat, destructive desire. Burn the world down to ash and watch what rises up to fight. I'll be the flame to love the wood and flee the rain, anything to prevent the knowing pain.
I simply cannot human any longer. I beg of thee, Universe, strip me of such parts that cling to reality. I'll be the water, the wind, the earth, the flame. Oh please, my request is but elemental. Nonsentience is quite simple. Strip me of all but mere existence until such a day when I can, once again, human.
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Short Stories, Tall Tales
Short StoryA collection of short stories I've written over the years. The inspirations, plot content, morals, narration, and execution vary across stories. Each one was written as a stand-alone piece. They were, however, all pulled from the same swirling ma...
