A Sasquatch, An Octopod, and String Theory: Flash Fiction pt. 3

Flash Fiction III

Ultra-short stories from my book, "Reflections". Each story is accompanied (in the book) by an abstract picture which relates to the story but does not actually illustrate it.

Watching the Painting on the Wall

“Hi, Greg.” A feminine voice surprised Gregory from somewhere outside of the tarp.

He parted it and peered outside. “Hi, Cindy,” he responded. She was staring at his painting on the brick wall, “It’s looking good. I like the blocks of different color and texture.” She pointed, “These lines here suggest bushes in a forest, and those others, there, are trees.”

“It’s about conservation of sasquatch habitat,” Gregory replied.

They both smiled, and Cindy emitted a small giggle. Unbeknownst to both, a small ‘squatch observed the painting from behind a nearby building — they had long ago abandoned the burned and logged-out forest.

 

The School Science Fair

After the school bell rang and most of the children had left the classroom, eleven-year-old Tina approached the teacher’s desk. Tina’s timid voice intoned, “I shouldn’t have won first place in the science fair.” She paused, still looking at the ground. She waited for the teacher to say something, but there was no reply. Tina too said nothing for a few seconds, then sighed and blurted, “You know the ice fungus cells? And all that I wrote up about their life cycle? And that picture that everyone thought was so cool?” Here she paused again, while the sound of gentle rain infiltrated the now quiet classroom. At last, she continued, “Well, I made them up. There’s no such thing as ice fungus cells. The picture was just old pieces of soap. I photoshopped it and changed the colors.”

By now Tina was staring at the teacher, her expression both a challenge and a plea for mercy. The teacher made her promise not to forge results on a paper or on a project again. Tina’s name was removed from the science fair winners, but later that year she found she’d been given a special “A+” for creative writing: fiction.

Octo-Weaving

The octopod’s arms flexed and curled in ways that he could barely fathom, as he climbed around the branches of the tree. He drew close to another of his kind. His body shifted its color. An image appeared on his skin: branches of the very tree in which they sat, but branches twisted into an unnatural, symmetrical pattern. The other responded with green and red dots, the octopod equivalent of a question. The first repeated his presentation of branches, this time showing his own arms manipulating them into the pattern. The second responded with another pattern of branches, indicating understanding.

Both had heard rumors: eons in the past, when octopods had still been aquatic, there had been a mammalian species which liked to make patterns and pictures purely for aesthetic purposes.

 

Definitions

Are rocks different from stones?

The Elder asked the question, and at first the Acolyte thought he knew the answer. There were three words in his language denoting rocks and stones. Gravel, gaboz, were little things, cast away from roads, found along trails and embedded in sandy ground. They were grey and not interesting. If there were many, they made crunchy noises when stepped on. Rocks, aroz, were larger and heavier. They were hard or brittle, smooth or sharp-edged. They were weapons, or hammers for pounding tent stakes into the ground. Certain kinds of them were metal before smelting. Stones, tanayz, were signs of creation, thrown out of fire when the world was much younger. Stones were unmoving and mute, but with a polished or rough craggy surface and patterns of light and dark, they spoke of mountains and flatlands and the unseen. Larger stones sat, few in number but great in meaning, upon decorative boards or in the monastery’s gardens of flowers and greens.

The Acolyte turned to the Elder and admitted he did not know the answer.

 

String Theory and the Argument from First Cause

“I saw it,” Dr. Carol said after attempting the submicroscope machine. “It’s there… It’s like concrete in that it holds everything up. Holds everything together. It’s tiny but it’s a vast expanse. It’s one color, but it’s also three colors. It’s a musical chord, but it’s also three chords. Impossible to describe. It’s there, pervading, beneath the surface, if you understand; below the strings of string theory…”

Dr. Charles merely nodded. He understood completely. Dr. Carol had seen a glimpse of that which teaches the strings in string theory to vibrate.

 

To read more of this book, and to see the abstract art: Reflections: Abstract Art, Photography, and Flash Fiction: Scribner, Steven E.: 9798249616823: Amazon.com: Books