Dream. Baby

This is something from me for once. I am in the running as a finalist for one writing competition with results due September. I cannot share that piece, but I can share a flash fiction piece that is from a previous year.

These chimes chant a tune so familiar, yet altogether unknown.  A song sung for the very first time, but yet the last. For why are they are somehow too quiet; as if coming from far in the distance? Then how are they so vivid here in front of me?

I stretch out to touch them in my mind’s eye. The rich copper tubes look to be on fire from the sunlight, glowing vibrant and colorful. They are indeed warm as I extend to touch them, the fire kissing my fingers and I pull back with fear.

A once proud master of the voices, the sliver of bleached and tattered wood now dances beneath by but a thread of frayed cotton. This alone speaks of the years of life this musician has led. Excitement and expectation flood my senses as I grasp a hold, feeling the roughness and surprising lightness of the wood from within my small hand.


Mama pulls me away from the chimes and I am floating and flying in her arms. The thumping in my chest has eased since erupting from delight or fright, I can no longer tell.

Spread over the soft and cool sheets, my eyes no longer see the fiery copper tubes or the vibrant greens of the garden beyond. I am in the neutral serene of where I sleep. My safe haven where friendly, furry faces smile at me with their all-seeing, button eyes.

And she is here, crooning along with the chimes: Mama. Again, I reach out to feel warmth not unlike that of the copper tubes. But it is not fire that kisses my fingers. My eyes are heavy as I slip back into the lilt of the chimes, sounding that familiar, yet altogether unknown song.  

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