About onlyfragments

I'm a writer on the hunt for someone as passionate about writing as I am. It doesn't matter what kind; it just matters that the person love the written word as much as I do. I dabble in different things, but my primary focus is something along the lines of cross-genre character-based multi-narrative introspective episodic flash fiction. (That's fancy mumbo-jumbo for "I write short fiction involving the same two characters in different settings and genres." I just liked all the kooky words.)

#1723

Hail Inanna, Queen of the Heavens!
Hail Inanna, Morning and Evening Star!
Hail Inanna, She Who Descended and Arose Again!

My eyes widen as I consider Your path
yet I embrace its dark corridors;
lead me, Lady, and if I wander
by Your blaze I will find my way back.

My feet tremble as I set them upon Your path
yet I surrender myself to Your guidance;
lead me, Lady, and if I stumble
with Your strength I shall stand again.

My heart beats fast as I take my first step on your Path
yet I do not turn back from its challenge;
lead me, Lady, and if I hesitate
for Your smile I will take the next step forward.

Hail Inanna, Queen of the Heavens!
Hail Inanna, Morning and Evening Star!
Hail Inanna, She Who Descended and Arose Again!
Hail Inanna!

#1722

somewhere it sleeps in endless winter
potential energy, patient hibernation
a machine that does not rust
a predator that does not tire
somewhere it sleeps in mechanical winter
waiting, hungry, always ready
a killer that does not distinguish
a weapon that does not sheathe
somewhere it sleeps in artificial winter
while men plot their enemies’ demise
a virus that should be extinct
a virus that still exists

“The virus’s last strategy for survival was to bewitch its host and become a source of power. We could eradicate smallpox from nature, but we could not uproot the virus from the human heart.”– The Demon in the Freezer: A True Story, Richard Preston

#1721

I was asked, once, how I can walk the path so surely in blindness when another stumbled with eyes wide open. I knew, even then, that I should pity the questioner for some reason, but all these years later I finally understand why: because I was not blind. I was never blind, only willing to close my eyes and follow the pull of my inner compass. Is not all belief thus? Do Christ’s disciples not also close their eyes and trust they will not be lead astray? The path you cannot see even with your eyes open is the wrong path. True, I pitied this person for thinking I must walk blind if I did not walk in the light of his God, but now I see I pitied him also for thinking he saw truly. I do not know what veil had been cast over his eyes, but he could not have felt so lost if his vision were clear. I know now I should have told him close your eyes and have faith, but back then I didn’t understand that was what I had done by instinct. I have only entrusted myself more to this faith since then, not less. I wonder what road he walks now?

#1719

can’t quite grasp the dream, just remember elegance, a mansion and fine dresses, but blood amid all that finery, something wrong, running down the paved garden paths past guards, into the hall full of revelers, why? something wrong, very wrong, danger, a knife or something else but blood, definitely blood, on pale hands? maybe, maybe, it must have been because they thought he was dead, they took him away in a body bag and left him in a cell but he wasn’t dead, he sat up when they weren’t looking, did he kill the guards? not sure but then later on a confrontation, an accusation and a broken nose, blood running down grinning lips, what do you do when your lover is the killer, so fragmented it’s all hard to remember but trying, grasping, why does everything feel important in the middle of the night?

#1718

I live in a world where I hope I will be respected for my love.
I live in a world where I hope I will be respected for my gender.
So how can I contribute to a world where something will not be respected for its species?
If I hope for respect, must I not first respect the most vulnerable of us?
If I hope for freedom, must I not first ensure the freedom of the caged?
If I hope for happiness, must I not first limit the unhappiness I cause?
It is dangerous to be queer in this world.
It is dangerous to be a woman in this world.
But it is more dangerous to be an animal in this world.
I am privileged to be human, and it is not my place to decide what lives or dies.
So let nothing more die for me.

#1717

The omen is ancient, almost an old wives’ tale by now, but the king takes no chances. Two yolks in one egg – the son will slay the father. With a roar he commands all of his sons be brought to him, from the oldest toddler to the youngest newborn. His wives rush to fulfill the order, carrying in their babes with tears in their eyes and lips clenched tight. The king takes each child personally, hurling them from the high tower window as if they have already sinned against him. Though once proud of these male children, of their potential as his successors and perpetrators of his line, he tosses them as if they’re nothing more than bundles of dirty rags.

Only the youngest princess, a worthless girl and bane of her father’s existence, dares intercede. She has always been too headstrong, too wild, and she tugs now on her father’s arms, at the guards, begging for mercy, for an end to this madness. None pay her attention past a swift push to get her away; none seem to care as half the royal family’s children are sent to their deaths. Beside herself, the princess begins to scream, a shattering wail like nothing such a tiny human should be able to produce. The sound is horrid and the king cannot ignore her any longer. He turns on the child, eyes blazing, and threatens to throw her out the window to join her brothers on the flagstones below if she can’t be silent.

It’s a threat he will act on without hesitation, the princess knows this, but she can’t sit by and watch this senseless slaughter. She continues her wailing until a guard makes to grab for her, then she runs. Down castle corridors, past bewildered servants and weeping wives, just out of reach of her pursuers. The doors to the outside are all blocked, so she heads for a first floor library, diving through an open window just large enough to fit a young girl but too small for an armored guard. The princess hits the ground running and makes a mad dash through the manicured gardens, mind racing to form a plan beyond mindless fleeing. She’s never been past the castle grounds; a princess only leaves the castle once in her life, and that’s to be shipped off to her husband. Where will she go?

This princess is determined to escape no matter what, though, and her tomboy proclivities, while shameful to the royal family, serve her well now. She vaults hedges and clambers up decorative walls, heading instinctively for the wall separating the castle from the surrounding nobles’ lands. While too high to climb, she uses the smaller walls like scattered stairs, jumping from one to another until with a final desperate leap she’s over the last hurtle and landing on the other side. Her sudden appearance startles a group of nobles’ children playing hopscotch. One of them, a boy the princess has often played with, rushes to help her up. Catching sight of the matron watching over the kids, she begins to babble her message of terror.