It starts as a comic premonition. He yoinks the plug from the drain in the floor of the ocean. He mans the big shovel that scoops whole countries at a time. A ravishing storm of flame consumes the sky and is not satisfied and goes looking. His head sizzles with it. The afternoon is dry, bright and crinkly. Small things shudder beneath the fallen leaves. Sparks flicker in the air. The boy crouches in the shade between shafts of light and picks out from the crackling sounds of the dry woods that surround him the fading voices of his friends going on without him. He will catch up with them at the clubhouse. He has just one match. A ragged pile of shavings lies between his knees atop its raft of bark. Hands folded, silent, he checks the wind and contemplates the best way to proceed. In his mind he soars above a mountain range whose contours look like weather-softened women. He rains down flames upon the trembling hills. On his knees in the quiet valley, he folds back the flap of his trouser fly and sets the red and white tip of the match against the rasp of his zipper. The curves of the valley lie back and wait. Thoughtlessly he smacks his lips as the match fulfills its promise, then coaxes the early glow with his warm breath. Flames spread quickly from the raft to the leaf-covered ground; driven by breezes they fan out before the boy as if he were casting them forward toward the houses along the banks. He closes his eyes to soak up the heat on the front of his legs, his chest, his face. A storm of flames ravishes his diffident youth, his fear, his shame, his town and everyone in it.
Copyright © January 13, 2008 David Hodges
7 comments
Comments feed for this article
January 14, 2008 at 12:09 am
Terry Heath
Your short novels are like onions, and onions are my favorite books. They change shape with each peeled layer.
Thank you so much, Terry. I don’t have much facility for making things simple. Welcome to Very Short Novels.
–David
January 15, 2008 at 6:54 am
wailin
The forest wept, ablaze as it was, tears of sap from pores of bark. Perhaps they didn’t so much cry as sweat. It screamed in a roar of flames, belching smoke to the sky with every gasp. The birds fled, those that could, leaving behind their homes now flaming, hot, and death filled. The leaves danced on the wind, burning all they touched with their gay merriment.
Sorry, that’s all you get. After so much thinking my own writings are ruined for the rest of the day. I hope you’re happy.
Well, no, wailin. I thought thinking would help.
–David
January 15, 2008 at 7:36 am
wailin
I exhaust my imagination rather quickly some days. Kind of sucks. X /
Yeah.
–David
January 15, 2008 at 11:20 am
wizzer
Had he discussed this with his departed friends? Did they know about his tendencies? Delicious as always.
Good questions as always, Wizzer, and just how far away is that clubhouse?
–David
January 15, 2008 at 11:54 am
grantman
I don’t think the heat is from fire at all; but something a bit deeper…. you do challenge us not to think about the obvious, Dave….
grantman
I don’t think you’d keep coming back if I didn’t, grantman. Thank you.
–David
January 15, 2008 at 2:05 pm
wizzer
How far away is the clubhouse? Another good question but here are 2 more – time or distance?
Depending on what happened, he may never get back there now.
–David
January 17, 2008 at 10:12 am
litlove
I love the way that every piece of description contains a flickering allusion to the fire and its power of destruction. Beautifully charged and atmospheric. I wish I had more time to comment but I’ll try to get back when I can. Thank you for giving me something wonderful to read!
Thank you, Litlove. It’s my pleasure.
–David