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December 08, 2007
Flash fiction n°12: "Change"
Marta wrote:
Another day has gone away. Colourless, tasteless, indifferent, useless. Hours lived in black and white, but without the poetry great photographs are able convey. The only source of light, constant and cold, is the reflection on the blade. The hands holds the rope tightly, but they could soon let the grip go, and then… then the blade will fall, merciless. Swift, but maybe not so painless.
She observes the metallic surface, she sees her eyes reflected on that blade which has unwittingly become a mirror, it's like she'd never seen her image before, as she didn't recognize it, recognize herself.
She has never changed, at least never for the others, she never did so when changing meant changing for the worse, loosing time and wasting energy. Why should she do it now? Why giving in to a stupid blackmail, to the insolence and arrogance of someone who's never really grown up, even less changed?
If I really have to change, it will be for myself only.
The trick is building a solid barrier, filtering and selecting with care what can go through and what cannot. Of course there could be some risks, but she has become good at it. She has listened to the words the wind brought to her for years, she welcomed them with anxiety, hope and a little bit of fright. Every time, she heard it coming from far away, blowing with force, and envied its might. The wind is gentle with those who know how listen to it, but merciless with those who try to hinder its run.
The blade is still suspended in the air. The light reflects on it, insolent. Her eyes are now looking at it defiantly. She has heard the wind coming, it will soon blow hard, and she will blow along.
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