cosmic

Donna

Image licensed by Shutterstock.

I had a lot on my plate this week and wasn’t able to write a new piece, so I’ve reposted one of my Patreon shorts from last year. It should be new for most of you. I’ll have an original story for you guys next week 🙂

Her human name was Donna. She had a husband named Bill, a son named Rob. Donna lived in the desert in a house she and Bill had built when they were young.

Her humanity was an integral part of who she was. But it was not the only part, nor even the largest part.

In a realm beyond the stars, beyond even empty space, she had been a queen, was still a queen, for in that place there was no time, so that when she eventually returned it would be as if she’d never left. She had ruled, and continued to rule, with wisdom and strength. But something was missing. Something important. Something necessary.

So she’d descended, subjected herself to the internal workings of the cosmos, taken on flesh and blood. She experienced the fullness of humanity, the highs and the lows, the joys and the sorrows. She plumbed the depths of human emotion, divined its arcane secrets. She learned what it was like to live. To breathe. To feel. Sometimes there was pain, but she found that it was always followed by relief. And sometimes there was sadness, but she found that it was always followed by joy.

Love.

That had been the most important lesson. She’d lived many happy years with her husband, her family and her friends, and she’d loved every one of them. Love sustained her. Guided her. Fulfilled her. It quickly became the source and summit of her human existence. It was what human poets wrote about, what human musicians sang about, what human philosophers dreamed about. It was the one thing that set the species apart from all the other creatures in the universe.

The linearity of time ensured that just as her life had begun, so too would it end. She suspected she had a number of good years left, but when it was time for her Earthly pilgrimage to conclude, she would let the sting of death take her, would let that last pang of loss teach her its final lesson. Then she would ascend once more to her incorporeal throne in the stars, and would carry the memory of her humanity with her.

It was part of her now, and would be evermore.

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The Tree

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The tree. It towered over Diane, thick muscular branches reaching high into the sky, gilded by late-afternoon light. She’d been walking through the park on her way home from work. She must have passed it a hundred times before, yet today it had stopped her.

She felt for a moment that it was calling to her, that it was trying to establish a connection. But that was a childish thought.

Grow up, Diane.

The words of her foster mother sprang to mind, and she began to pull away.

“Diane.”

She stopped, looked back. Had the tree just called her name?

Grow up, Diane. It’s just a tree. Trees don’t talk.

She turned away once more.

“Diane, come back.”

The voice wasn’t one of sound but of feeling, a silent mournful breeze that seemed to blow from someplace far away. Diane shook it off.

She was tired. She was on her way home from work after ten hours without lunch, and her imagination was getting the best of her. Once more, the words of her foster mother came to mind.

Grow up, Diane.

She peeled her eyes away, forced herself to move in the direction of her apartment.

“Diane, please.”

And the voice of the tree intensified. It penetrated her strongest defenses, reaching her heart, setting it on fire. In an instant that transcended time, visions of an alien cosmos flowed through her, a broad sweeping narrative, first of pain, loss and defeat, then of victory, triumph and love. The tree. It loved her, and it wanted to sweep her away.

Diane came back to herself, caught herself mid-stride. She was shocked to find that she’d been headed toward the massive trunk with arms outstretched. She felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her.

The voice in her head was gone now, but not the supernal mystery that lingered long after the strange encounter. It had set her off balance, sent her reeling headfirst into a universe she knew nothing about.

Diane stood a moment longer, unable to move. Then she stumbled back. She gazed up at the tree one last time, now just an ordinary tree, then turned and bolted the rest of the way home.

This piece of flash fiction is now a novella available through most retailers, including Amazon, Google Play, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.

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