Quoth the Raven: Beyond the Trail

Over at Terrible Minds, Chuck Wendig does a “flash fiction challenge” using this random story title generator. I gave it a spin and I’m actually really interested in the results! I’ll be posting a small fic once a week or so, nothing fancy, just going to post the title or the prompt and roll with it. You’re all welcome to play along or shoot me a prompt to add to my list of prompts and dates.

Today’s Prompt is:  Beyond the Trail

Quoth the Raven: Beyond the Trail

Spring is a stalker. He means nothing by it, really, but he just likes to pop out at you in a loud and audacious fashion. I much prefer his cousin, Fall. He says I’m jealous of colors for being.

He speaks the truth on occasion.

The path of the Seasons is such a simple one. It’s slower than most of our lives so we pass them by as if they are standing still. In reality we keep the world moving. Some of us move along with the seasons, they dress to match and keep a vigil with each passing year. I don’t have the dedication for such things. Still the trail that they march has always fascinated me.

It isn’t that I am a being that requires a pay-out for action. I simply operate with the understanding that everything has a price and sometimes I’m willing to pay it. If you move off of the path of the Seasons then you can find odd things that have been left behind; those who ignore the world entirely. They are backlit by unnatural colors and have a strange glow to their skin. Thousands of tribes, each with their own language and culture exist without ever touching one another.

It’s as dangerous as it is beautiful. It breeds laziness and poor grooming for one. It creates an insular bubble that retards growth for two. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take my time with them. Sitting on their shoulders and watching as they speak in a silent language that gets coded into 1 and 0.

Speaking the speak is easy for me. I learn languages simply. It’s in my nature to collect information. There are times where I can find myself quite comfortable here where I can be alone without being lonely.

Sometimes they send out their brave into the path. They come back with tales of work and bitterness that the frivolity can’t continue. They run from the group, swinging wildly because they must discard the old. I’ve never understood the world of the 1 and the 0. It’s far too finite for me. Life is about

01100010011000010110110001100001011011100110001101100101

Maybe they’ll learn that some day.

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Filed under Bits and Pieces, Writing

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