Challenged, Bah!

Hey Everyone,

I am internet-challenged, yet I was able to come to Laura's schools' campus and go online. Hooray! She had a seminar class all day, so I am writing and fooling around with photoshop all day. I wrote another flash fiction piece. They are certainly addictive little suckers to write. Let me know what you like/dislike about this one. I am looking forward to your responses.

A quick note of readings. I just finished two books, one a christian novel dubbed, "Reedeming Love" by Francine Rivers, a NW writer. Not bad, but not great. I was intrigued by some of her methods of storytelling, and also thought the premise and themes well played out. I also read "The Hobbit," in three days, in fact. I loved it. Great stuff. I liked it better than "The Lord of the Rings" by far. A great hobbit-sized tale. Now, I have borrowed Gary Paulson's "Winterdance." He has a distinct style that is, at first, hard to get into, but also has a charismatic tone to it. The first two chapters were good. It's like a journal with a great personality, so far. :-)

Well, here is the story. Enjoy! and do well in thought and deed this week to come.

A Prelude to Bipolar
By Chris Lindgren

She hadn’t called, he thought. And then, at first, it grew, swelling within his belly, when crimson burst and heat flooded up into his cheeks. It crept softly and slowly, back down deep within the Mirkwood of his heart, pressing ill-balanced thoughts against his life beating on, trying to push back.
Then dormant it laid, feeding still on the rich blackness, which rests fertile within the wild of his heart. She’s just delayed, he reassured; yes, she will call, I can count on that. But then its shadow began to dance with gripping intent. Its toes like slivers, and its heels like hammers romping, hoofing across and atop any grace reaped in the past, and now, soon forgotten.
She calls, he blinks; momentarily freed from the seduction. “Hey, it’s me,” said she, “so how are you?”
“No sorries, I see” it whispered. “I think she cares not for thee.”
“I’m fine,” replied he. “So where were you?”
“Working at Justin’s, no cause to worry,” said she.
Whispering still, “Alone, you’d agree?”
“Doing what?” asked he.
“Our reports, silly, it was rather boring,” answered she.
“I’m sorry,” said he.
“You’re the fool!” it said silently. Yet, its whisper seemed to carry and grasp his heart with fingers like daggers.
“I’m no fool!” said he.
“What are you talking about, sweetie?” asked she.
“I’m no fool!” again said he.
“What are you saying?” asked she, “what do you mean?”
And with a laugh, his heart burst. He danced imbalanced with heat coursing about his face. “You never call. You think me the fool! But I know what you mean to do. I know,” said he.
“Honey, I…”
“No. I know,” interrupted he, “I see it clearly, and clearly I see it true.”
Now, with the phone hung back up, and her put away in her place, he stood listening to the faintness of laughter, back deep within the black of his heart. Confusion did not set in, instead, a wall of pride was set, making it simple to forget, and easy to imagine the world gone wrong, and only himself the right.
It lays dormant, yet complete.