Flash Fiction :: Manali Trance
Onward she drums her feet. One step. Two step. Next step.
On and on, the drum beats lead her. There it is. Hidden between mountains of oppression, she finds the refuge. Many call it a High Ground. Some refer to it as The Lost Place Where They’re Found. Trance, it’s true name, a forbidden word, now.
He comes to her. A tall fella, with bony arms and pointy knees. A generic greeting. She let her hair loose. Arms move in a rhythm, trying to match the beats of drums in the distance. She ignores him. Their footsteps march onward.
Two become five, and it’s time to play a game. Passing the parcel. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Beats of drums grow louder. Everything moves in sync. There’s a time to be merry. It’s now.
Is it now?
It is now.
Hydrogen is the first atomic element in the Periodic Table. Two of its molecules meet with one of Oxygen, making seventy per cent of our bodies. Parched. They need water. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Let go. Holding on is a myth, passed down from generations. There’s no meaning to search for.
Is it now?
It’s now.
Life is water. Two molecules of Hydrogen and one of Oxygen. Parched. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. David Foster Wallace said that about water. Look, we don’t have time for your philosophies. There is only one meaning to life. Live it. Time goes by so slowly, so slowly, so slowly. Those who run seem to have all the fun. Madonna sang that.
They turn around on the spot. Round and round. Hair flying. Arms flailing.
She and him stroke cheeks.
The five hold hands.
Ring around the rosies; pocket full of posies. Ashes! Ashes! We all fall down.
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