“We all float down here!”
― Stephen King, It
Klyde Warren Park,
I have been feeling in a deep hopeless rut lately, and I’m sure a lot of you have too. After writing another Sunday Snippet I decided to set an ambitious goal for myself. I’ll write a short piece of fiction every day and put it up here. Obviously, quality will vary – you get what you get. Length too – I’ll have to write something short on busy days. They will be raw first drafts and full of errors.
I’m not sure how long I can keep it up… I do write quickly, but coming up with an idea every day will be a difficult challenge. So far so good. Maybe a hundred in a row might be a good, achievable, and tough goal.
Here’s another one for today (#56) More than half way there! What do you think? Any comments, criticism, insults, ideas, prompts, abuse … anything is welcome. Feel free to comment or contact me.
Thanks for reading.
What is the River?
Sitting by the stream the little boy talked to his strange new friend:
“Where does the river come from? Where does it go?” the boy asked.
“It is simply there. The river does not move.”
The child released the tiny boat and watched it around the bend.
“But it is moving.”
“The water is moving. The water comes from the ice in the mountains and goes to the salt in the ocean. The water comes and goes. The river does not move.”
“But what is the river if it is not water?”
“That is a good question. The water is different every minute. But the river is always the same. The river has to be something other than the water… but what… I don’t know.”
The Boy looked at The Clown.
“Tell you what, boy,” The Clown said, “Let me go think about it for a while. When I figure out an answer, I’ll come back for you.”
“Oh, I will, I will, I promise.”
The boy watched as The Clown began to shimmer and bend and then slither down through the drain slot in the curb. The Clown looked out from the shadows at the boy for a second, then disappeared.