Track #writephoto

Track

passage

 

The tall trees shelter us from the heat, high above the still green leaves. The path is a ruler, one cannot go wrong. But the woods are silent, nothing stirs, and we know we are observed. Someone, somewhere, is counting our steps, deciphering our minds.

Soon, we will know.

Obelisk #writephoto

Thursday May 4

obelisk

 

I must have lost consciousness for a long time. I don’t remember who I am, I don’t know where I am. Was I travelling? Where did I start my journey?

I look up, alerted by the sound of waves. It is dusk. Is this desolate shore my final destination? On whose orders did I come here? Or have I just materialised here, from nowhere, other than a maddening nightmare?

I look up and see the obelisk, the sentinel… In my mind a message is forming: “You were expected long ago.” Expected? By whom? When? Was I on a mission? Have I failed?

On the horizon, the golden globe is sinking. Is this my world? Am I alone? I hear a low humming floating in the air. The temperature is quickly falling. The sound seems to be coming from the monolith…

Is this an alien world?

#FiveSentenceFiction: Waiting

In memory of Arthur C. Clarke (The Sentinel)

SentinelWhen they saw you, they knew, as if eons of time had collapsed into this instant: the smooth surface, the faint light absorbed, the silence.

Space was unforgiving, and you had waited such a long time, in the absolute solitude of the desolated moon.

But now you are awaking, at your feet the small ants look up at you in awe, at the unstoppable thrust, at the slowly revealed mystery.

Rocks fall around you, and you are still, just the apex of this marvel:

A billion year-old artificial satellite.

#FiveSentenceFiction: Forgotten

Forgotten, or the Sentinel

For Arthur C Clarke

Sentinel Their small group approached the monolith, step by step, grey on grey, in the rocky, icy landscape.

Its surface reflected no light, as each one of them felt the same longing in their heart: they bowed silently, in the solitude of space.

“I appreciate your loyalty”, She said, “few would have undertaken that perilous journey as you have…”

“Mother”, they replied, “Thou are not forgotten, your daughters are here, to worship you”.

Now the monolith was reflecting the light of the distant star: as the intensity grew they felt the irresistible pull, as they started their ascension to their Mother.