[4 - Alpha] Injin v. Allya

[Kaez]

750-word limit Flash Fiction

The Peaceful Highway

[Injin]

The air is crisp.

It is autumn once more, the wind flows over the highway. This road is one that has been traveled a hundred, a thousand times. As it crests another hill, the trees atop it cover wide, open spaces, enough for a small caravan to sleep under. While this particular hill is not always host to such travelers, it is always home to the road that traverses it. The flowers of the trees smell of cinnamon and sand, though the hill is far away from the desert. The leaves fall, but the smell remains, a memory of sensation for those on their way to another place. The road crests many hills like this one, but this hill is the only one that has this smell, alone in its fragrance and apart in its stillness. Each breath on this road is a life, and each breath beyond it is fresh. Beyond the hills lies another a home of chaos, but it is content with itself, but no threat comes this day. The road is safe.

The air is salty.

Winter approaches the road as it also approaches the sea. The sand acts as a bulwark, allowing the road to travel along it. Children play along this road during the summer months, but during the winter, the road is host to those that ply their wares in either direction, occasionally by a priest who wishes to see the ocean after years inland. Flattened over time, the lane is proof that what is built on uneven ground can last, even if the builders themselves did not. The rain comes, followed by the snow, but the pathway across the beach remains. The children of Vailamus live on the waters, but also the land of this place, moving across the sea and shore to reach the other side of the ocean. Beneath the waves may lie the dark, but on the road none may be harmed and none may be drowned. The road is safe.

The air is wet.

The swamp revels in the springtime thaw, the smell of frogs and peat overpowering the senses. Despite the conditions, the road is immaculate, well maintained by those that make use of it. Though further into the swamp, away from the road, lies danger, the road itself sighs happily as it ferries its parents further away from it dutifully. Respite comes easy here, even if the bog invites other sensations. Priests travel with their company, removing the corpses of the bog after rot has taken its due. A smell of sulfur may remain, but a memory of life sustains this place. A hint of musk lies just beyond the road itself, beckoning travelers to ply its depths, but the guardians of the swamp warn and remember, for they once made this mistake. The warning is heard and life moves on. The road is safe.

The air is dry.

Summer lies above in the sky, beckoning to that which is beneath it. The plains by the sea stretch for miles, burnt alfalfa swelling the scent of the wind. The further inland you go, the more the smell turns to wetness once more, despite the dryness of the season and the arid air. The road, briefly, crosses over Shield Lake, a monumental body of water, indented into the very skin of the earth with the death of some forgotten titan. The bridge, too, is ancient, remaining still for potential travelers, ever alert as it stand at attention. The crackle of the wind against the few trees marks the only noise that any traveler could hear. The desert lies beyond the lake, its dryness invading the countryside, but air remembers that it is not the dryness that beckons, but the heat. The plains roll on, and on, and into what seems to be an infinite flatness. The dirge singers of the desert look on, but turn away. The road is safe.

[Matteo ((Taed))]

I must say, your prose really does stand head and shoulders above your dialogue. The other stories all ran into wonkiness whenever somebody had to have a voice. When you can just ramble on in the abstract, things really start to open up. You should try to work that from both angles. On the one hand, your dialogue stuff really does need quite a lot of work, and that's not something you should neglect. On the other, though, why not try experimenting with story forms that eschew character to a certain extent? Fairy tales and epic sagas and whatnot can go a long, long time before anyone has to open their mouth. You should pick up The Diamond Age by Neal Stephenson, it has great examples of adapting that sort of style for a more literary work. I'd kind of love to see what you could do with more of that.


Winner: Injin