The natural number that follows eighteen. A prime number. Of great significance in Stephen King’s THE DARK TOWER series. Always makes me think of Hardcastle (Paul that is, not McCormick’s partner) Nowadays, its connotations are not so neutral. Looking through some work from last year I found these flash fiction pieces. Micro stories. Their only connection: the fact that they are all nineteen words long.
AN HONEST AND OPEN RELATIONSHIP.
Revealing our secrets had become a contest. I couldn’t compete when she whispered “My father is my mother’s son”
THE PARAMETERS OF OUR INTIMACY.
He’d insist that our eyes were closed when we kissed. That way, I couldn’t see that he didn’t exist
THE ECCENTRIC WRITER INVENTS TIME TRAVEL.
Upon reflection, it seemed obvious. All he had to do was go back to the beginning of the sentence.
So, in order to scratch the constant itch that now exists inside my brain, these miniature slivers of fiction require some sense of completion. To wit; a challenge. Nineteen tiny tales in total, over a space of nineteen days (albeit with a little bit of cheating on my part since I am using the above as a starter of three) Accompanying musical groove of choice for today: Thom Yorke’s Suspiria. Both his compositions and Luca Guadagnino’s film are stunning and as equally fantastic as Argento’s original masterpiece with its pounding, nerve shredding soundtrack from prog-rock masters Goblin. Watch them.
“At the beginning, they gave me things. Perfect balance. Perfect sleep. Talking with our minds. But they took my hair. They took my urine. They took my eyes. Now, she can see me!”
Patricia, Suspiria 2018