The Inkwell’s monthly “Half-hour Challenge” competition, themed “Bells” for January.
What you can see or can’t see depends upon where your eyes are and which way they’re pointing; the light; and what’s in the way. I can see a hand. I think it’s mine, though I can’t seem to prompt any movement. The hand is lying on a patch of vertical lawn. No, maybe horizontal lawn, viewed from equally horizontal head. Beyond the lawn is a huge yew tree; behind that, a graveyard and a church. A bell is ringing, slow and sonorous, like a death march. “Dong” he says: walk this way. Again “dong”: slow and sober, but not distracted or deviated, please. “Dong”: inevitability is overwhelming. “Dong”: the birds twitter on regardless.
It’s a sunny day. I can feel the warmth on my back. A shiny black fly burbles and bumbles around the gravestones, busy and blissfully unaware. Dandelion seeds drift by me, riding the warm breeze.
Everything is here and now. Life goes on apace. Bodies lie in their graves but don’t complain. Babies are born and complain about everything. Children grow and learn their lot. The bell tolls for another who shakes off the mantle of time and returns to the earth.
