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September 21, 2016
FFM 2016 6: Birds Bring the Rain by ilyilaice
Featured by doughboycafe
Literature Text
They ran through the rice field, crops crunching golden underneath their bare feet, Lucia bounding ahead like she always did.
“Wait!” Mateo gasped. “Listen! I. Need. To. Show. You. Something!” He tried grasping her saya, but it slipped out of his fist like buttery silk.
The sun on her shoulder, Lucia stood on the crest of the hill and looked down at him. By the time he reached her, her black eyes gleamed with starry glitter.
“What is it you wish to show me? Is it a new game for us?”
The stars twinkled.
“So you see, at the current state of things, weather at the archipelago is not exactly optimal. The infernal heat and the fickle typhoons do not entice investment. That is a fact.”
A cough from the American in the second row.
“But there is another thing that is taken for granted as a fact — that the weather is the domain of God, and that we humans cannot control it. But that’s why we are here today, gentlemen. I am standing before you now to overturn this misconception.”
A snort now, from the British gentleman at the back of the room.
“If we disperse silver iodide crystals — or even the household staple, sodium chloride — into the air, we can trick the sky into thinking that it is time to rain.”
“Ridiculous,” sneers the Spaniard, who stands up, glares at all eyes that will meet his, then proceeds to leave the room.
“I heard my father saying that this heat wave is going to kill all the crops,” Mateo said. “Have you noticed that rain showers are like blooming flowers?”
Lucia nodded, not questioning this. She cocked her head to the side, seeming to listen to the twittering birds outside.
“And so I thought that perhaps the clouds are like the soil, just in need of a good seeding. Lucia, if you and I can seed the clouds, we can make it rain. Look.” Mateo handed her a bundle of banana leaves. She opened it and spilled the white crystals onto her palm.
The crystals were clearly rock salt. “Rain seeds? Oh Mateo! How wonderful.”
“Yes, this way we can have enough to eat. But I still don’t know how we can fly up and sprinkle the seeds into the clouds.”
“We don’t need to fly, silly.” Lucia pointed to the window of the nipa hut. A maya had alighted there.
By the end of his demonstration, he is the only one left in the room. But it is a step up from his last one, during which the white men advised him to untuck the back of his barong to befit the Indio that he was born to be.
As he leaves the exhibition hall, it begins to rain. No wonder the white men declared his invention irrelevant, although they did pay more attention to his accent, audibly mimicking his pronunciation to one another.
He is about to race up the steps of the city hall for shelter, when a woman at the top of the stairs catches his eye. She too is standing there to hide away from the gathering wet winds.
“Hello, Mateo.” She twinkles at him.
Salted spiderwebs strung from the tails of maya birds make the most excellent kites. Lucia and Mateo race around the field, but for once neither cares who wins over the other.
They ignore Mateo’s mother as she shouts at them not to stomp on the rice. They ignore Lucia’s mother, or her absence, for she has disappeared for a year now, and no one knows where she went.
A clap of thunder, then the sky opens.
“Wait!” Mateo gasped. “Listen! I. Need. To. Show. You. Something!” He tried grasping her saya, but it slipped out of his fist like buttery silk.
The sun on her shoulder, Lucia stood on the crest of the hill and looked down at him. By the time he reached her, her black eyes gleamed with starry glitter.
“What is it you wish to show me? Is it a new game for us?”
The stars twinkled.
“So you see, at the current state of things, weather at the archipelago is not exactly optimal. The infernal heat and the fickle typhoons do not entice investment. That is a fact.”
A cough from the American in the second row.
“But there is another thing that is taken for granted as a fact — that the weather is the domain of God, and that we humans cannot control it. But that’s why we are here today, gentlemen. I am standing before you now to overturn this misconception.”
A snort now, from the British gentleman at the back of the room.
“If we disperse silver iodide crystals — or even the household staple, sodium chloride — into the air, we can trick the sky into thinking that it is time to rain.”
“Ridiculous,” sneers the Spaniard, who stands up, glares at all eyes that will meet his, then proceeds to leave the room.
“I heard my father saying that this heat wave is going to kill all the crops,” Mateo said. “Have you noticed that rain showers are like blooming flowers?”
Lucia nodded, not questioning this. She cocked her head to the side, seeming to listen to the twittering birds outside.
“And so I thought that perhaps the clouds are like the soil, just in need of a good seeding. Lucia, if you and I can seed the clouds, we can make it rain. Look.” Mateo handed her a bundle of banana leaves. She opened it and spilled the white crystals onto her palm.
The crystals were clearly rock salt. “Rain seeds? Oh Mateo! How wonderful.”
“Yes, this way we can have enough to eat. But I still don’t know how we can fly up and sprinkle the seeds into the clouds.”
“We don’t need to fly, silly.” Lucia pointed to the window of the nipa hut. A maya had alighted there.
By the end of his demonstration, he is the only one left in the room. But it is a step up from his last one, during which the white men advised him to untuck the back of his barong to befit the Indio that he was born to be.
As he leaves the exhibition hall, it begins to rain. No wonder the white men declared his invention irrelevant, although they did pay more attention to his accent, audibly mimicking his pronunciation to one another.
He is about to race up the steps of the city hall for shelter, when a woman at the top of the stairs catches his eye. She too is standing there to hide away from the gathering wet winds.
“Hello, Mateo.” She twinkles at him.
Salted spiderwebs strung from the tails of maya birds make the most excellent kites. Lucia and Mateo race around the field, but for once neither cares who wins over the other.
They ignore Mateo’s mother as she shouts at them not to stomp on the rice. They ignore Lucia’s mother, or her absence, for she has disappeared for a year now, and no one knows where she went.
A clap of thunder, then the sky opens.
Literature
Winter
I remember winter in
the old stove we huddled at,
an audience of shivering limbs
within cold walls.
There was a desperation to this closeness
that love could never inspire. It glowed
within us, a common flame
we dared not feed, and through
the night we curled in embers
and burned ourselves to sleep.
I could almost remember summer’s
cotton arms, the playfulness
of ocean waves in August. Those dreams
wished to drown us beneath memories
and wishes, but
in the moment before we awoke,
as the tide cried
for me to stay, I always
always swam to shore.
Every morning, I breathed snow-capped
mountains in the air. They were nothing
more th
Literature
December 5, 2016
When the feelings fade away
what becomes of love?
what is "I love you"?
was this ever love?
Yes
But those feelings are now a distant idea
so they do not mean much to me now
which kills me
because it will kill You
I pray this is just a superficial moment
for how else could I not care?
The truth is,
I care too much
yet so,
it isn't love
for now
Literature
FFM July 3, 2017 - Arithmomania
The UPS truck made a beep-beep-beep sound as it backed up Maude's driveway. She'd gone out to meet him and advised him that it was easier to back in than out, as her house lay at the bottom of a rather steep hill. Now she stood in sight of the driver's side-view mirror, giving expert directions with her arms. He had many obstacles to circumnavigate, from her carefully laid flower benches to the tasteful little statues, a bird-bath, and a row of little faux-torches - and she would not have a single one of them so much as touched. Neither would she allow the delivery man to park anywhere further away. "We do not have all day." She'd said to mor
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611 words for Day 6 of Flash Fiction Month 2016. I did the Jules Verne & H.G. Wells Challenge.
Lucia and Mateo also appear in a story of mine for Flash Fiction Month 2015: Santa Maria, Pray for Mama.
Read the rest of the day's flash here: flash-fic-month.deviantart.com…
Lucia and Mateo also appear in a story of mine for Flash Fiction Month 2015: Santa Maria, Pray for Mama.
Read the rest of the day's flash here: flash-fic-month.deviantart.com…
© 2016 - 2024 ilyilaice
Comments24
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Such great social commentary here!