Discovering Secret Paths: flash fiction and soundscapes
“Don’t worry about me,” the old woman wheezed, lowering herself with difficulty onto a fallen tree trunk by the path-side. “Go on on your own. Get away as far as you can.” It had been a long climb and even the young girl that accompanied her was out of breath. “I’m quite happy to rest a moment with you Granny,” was her reply, seating herself next to the old woman.… (read more)
He sat on a large, paint-stained cloth on the ground, his brush in one hand, the pot of paint in the other. A spattering of white paint tainted his hair which was already flecked with grey. There was even a white spot of paint on his upper lip. None of it seemed to bother him. “I wasn’t always a house painter,” he said thoughtfully. “I used to specialise in painting murals.”… (read more)
To think that this place had once been one of the most sophisticated venues in town, she thought. It had been a place of joy and happiness. Her father used to bring her there as a child to meet the artists and discuss their paintings with them. He had not been an artist himself, but an amateur rather; a connoisseur. She had listened to their conversations about colours and forms and meanings, barely grasping what they talked of.… (read more)
Photographers like David Hockney work with the fragmentation of pictures (and the cohabitation of different times and perspectives). Nature often does the same thing if we are looking for it. In this iPhone snapshot the panes of the window create the frames but the lines beyond add an effect like stained glass, fragmenting even further the picture.… (read more)
He turned his back on the paintings which filled the rest of the workshop, letting out a deep sigh, and began to examine the papers on the trestle table that had served as her desk and her workspace. Her presence was still as strong as ever and could be felt in everything in the room despite the fact that she’d been long gone. One large faintly coloured sheet with a circular motif caught his eye.… (read more)
From his hiding place behind the curtain of the confessional he had a good view over most of the cathedral. The place was empty, as was normal on an early afternoon. It was harvest time and the town’s people were out in the fields gathering in the corn. The deep silence of the church was filled with a smell of incense and the faint crackle of burning bees wax candles. Most of the side chapel in which he was concealed was in shadow.… (read more)
What is this emerging from the waters next to the Hull Marina? Above all it is a call from the past, a memory of something long since forgotten, a connection broken off that is only visible when the tide is right. Visually, the gentle ripples it makes on the salt water and the mixtures of reds and greens of rust and erosion make it almost poetic when no doubt originally it was part of some ugly contraption …… (read more)
Reflected in the gold-tainted glass of a prosaic office block, the distortion of the glass and the displacement due to a window slightly ajar makes the picture seem even more magic that it already it. Almost like an invitation to step into another world.… (read more)
Since her mother died life had been plagued by a series of mishaps and lesser catastrophes. Not that she didn’t enjoy preparing the food for her uncle and cleaning his house, she prided herself on her ability to do the work well and efficiently, but conditions were hard and he was strict and unforgiving. On the rare occasions that she was left to herself with nothing to do, she ventured out onto the balcony, making sure that nobody caught her there, and stared down the narrow alley in the direction of the market place.… (read more)